Chapter One: Meeting Stan Yeger

Part One

Unavoidable Meetings

Chapter One: Meeting Stan Yeger

(Ryan)

I’ve met a ton of people in my life. That might not make me any different than most people, but I’m guessing the reason why does. Having been a quarterback for a pro team that had the talent and money to win Super Bowls put my life in the spotlight and made people think they knew me.

Some of my teammates and colleagues complained about it, resenting it when their dinner was interrupted by a fan wanting an autograph or they were delayed from catching a late flight by someone wanting a selfie. That’s where we were different. 

I loved meeting new people and instantly being connected to them in some way. Sure, sometimes they approached me when I was busy or would rather be left alone and I had to rush through a conversation or autograph because I needed to be somewhere. But I always tried to stop and give people a moment. When I did, two things usually happened.

Sometimes people wanted to share their knowledge about football and my career; reminding me of my completed pass percentage, a throw during a key game, offering me pointers on how to toss or grip the ball, or telling stories about watching a game. Like how they sat in the stands during the coldest one I ever played in, forever connecting us through our shared experience of freezing our butts off. 

But sometimes the stories were more personal ones, where they shared how watching me play football impacted their lives. It sounds crazy when you think about it; me throwing balls down the field having an influence on people. . .but somehow it did.

Those were the conversations that stuck with me more than others. They were the ones that taught me that it was worth taking the time to stop and listen to people; to get to know them. They were the ones that constantly reminded me that your life could change forever with just one meeting. 

Like Brian. When I first saw him waiting outside the stadium door for an autograph, I didn’t think about him being anything other than a normal teenage boy wanting me to sign something.  He looked like your typical teenage guy. 

He had a couple pimples on his face, metal braces that made my teeth ache and a boundless energy that screamed “I’m ready to take on the world!” The grin plastered on his face as I signed a picture was so huge, that it made my cheeks hurt when I handed it back to him. 

But then something happened and it’s why I remember meeting him. As he looked down at the photo, his grin slowly faded away until he was staring at it with sad reminiscent eyes and his fingers gently brushed over my signature. “My dad would’ve loved this.” he whispered more to himself than to me, but I still needed to know why. 

I asked him where his dad was and he told me about Gene, a lieutenant in the U.S. army who got stationed overseas when Brian was eight. He was two months away from returning home when he stepped on a mine during a routine patrol. He didn’t make it.  

Before he lost his dad, they would watch games together, cheering me and the team on because his dad had gone to the same college as me and followed my career. Which was why he was at the stadium that day. He’d continued to watch the team and follow my career as a way to remember a special thing that he and his dad did together. 

I was forever connected to Brian and by hearing his story, he was connected to me. That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Our need to share our stories and experiences so we can all feel connected to each other. We all want to be seen, accepted and loved for who we really are and the way that happens is by us meeting, connecting, and exposing ourselves. 

Maybe that’s why I’ve agreed to tell our story; so people can finally know and see both of us for who we really are. Not just the guys they’ve read about or seen on TV, although we are those guys too, but the ones that have lived and loved in between those public moments. 

Maybe it’s because we believe that it’s a story worth sharing, but haven’t really known how to do that until now. Thinking about it though, I’d have to say that it’s a little of all of the above.

What I do know for sure, is that it doesn’t begin at the beginning. I could start there and get you caught up to what happened up until that point; giving you glimpses into what our lives were like before; but if you’re like me, you just want to get to the meat of the story. That starts on an unsuspecting weekend trip to my best friend’s house. 

Trev, my best friend, had pitched it to me as a chance to have dinner with his closest friends; a way to thank us for being there for him, welcome us into his new home and celebrate his new job and recent engagement. I hadn’t seen him in almost a month, so I jumped at the chance to spend any time with him.

It never occured to me to ask who was going to be there. He’d said his “closest friends” and for some reason I assumed that I would know everyone. But Trev was almost always up to something, and if I hadn’t been so eager to see him, I might’ve remembered who I was dealing with.

He was by far the loudest, most gregarious, smartass, medling, do it his own way guy I knew. If he wasn’t getting into trouble for being one of those things, he was most definitely for another.  But there was a guy that hid underneath all of that that few were fortunate enough to see, I was thankful that I was one of them.

I started catching glimpses of his carefully hidden generosity when he took me under his wing after I was drafted by the Bridgeport Bucks. We seemed an unlikely pair; the starting quarterback and the backup learning the ropes. 

Most of the media hadn’t believed it was possible for two guys vying for the same job to be good friends, but that’s exactly what we’d become in the three years we’d worked together.

Maybe it was our shared experiences of playing football for the same college and pro teams or the fact that we both knew the pressure the other felt to be the best. 

Whatever the reason, we’d become friends my first year at Bridgeport and gotten closer the second and third when he’d struggled to beat his alcohol addiction. When I’d been able to payback his support of me, by being there for him.

He’d come back from rehab more focused, in better shape and helped lead the team to a Super Bowl win. And then his career was over.

An injury at the end of the season forced him to retire, but he wasn’t done with football. Our alma mater, Appaloosa State University, or as us Stallions call it, ASU, offered him a job as the quarterbacks coach. 

He’d jumped at the chance to work with our former coach, his future father-in-law, Coach Haines, and being the crazy guy that he was, Trev bought the house next door to him.

The modern home fit him to a t. As far as I knew, it was the only house like it on the block and probably in the whole town of Appleville. You could pick any spot on any street in town, and all you’d see was red brick and huge white, marble columns. 

The style wasn’t the only thing that made it stick out, though. It was literally one of the biggest houses in town and even though I’d seen it before, the ginormity of it shocked my eyeballs when I pulled up to the gate that night.

But it wasn’t just the size and the way it stuck out that made the house like him. It was everything. The slight orangish tint of the wood sections broke up the grey cement ones, giving it a warmer, softer feel. It reminded me of his orangish red hair and how it softened his large frame and gregarious personality. 

The black trimmed windows gave it that extra pop, just like Trev’s clothes usually did, but in a very understated way. Even the landscaping reminded me of him; how it was perfectly manicured and wasn’t overly cluttered with bushes or flowers. 

If Trev was a house, it would be that one. Crazy, when you think about the fact that he didn’t even build it. Someone else had several years before, knocking down a colonial house and replacing it with the out of place cement one. It was like they knew Trev was going to move there, built it for him, and then waited for him to come along and buy it from them.

I thought about the far-fetched but not completely impossible possibility of it as I drove through the opened gate and parked behind the one car that I recognized. 

There were only two there; not a huge surprise, but the fact that one of them was new to me was, and it was then that I realized Trev hadn’t specifically mentioned who would be there. 

I wasn’t under the illusion that I knew all of Trev’s friends, but I did think that I at least knew most of them. We’d shared a lot about ourselves in the past three years and one thing that we had in common was that we found it hard to completely let our guard down with people. It was one of the downsides to being known because of what you do. People wanted to get close and most of the time, couldn’t keep what they learned to themselves. 

It’s why we didn’t have many close friends and usually stuck with the same crowd, our teammates and older friends, and it’s why I’d started to identify who was at things by recognizing cars; because the same ones would show up time and time again.  

So seeing an unfamiliar black Porsche that night, told me that one of two things was about to happen. Either one of my friends was going to announce that they got a new car, or, I was about to meet someone. There was only one way to find out, and I walked up the stone path to the front door and rang the doorbell. 

“You don’t have to ring the bell.” I got scolded when the door opened and chuckled as I looked down into the smiling face of my greeter.

If anyone ever asked Trev how he managed to convince one of the smartest, most beautiful women to date and then agree to marry him, he’d say, “Hell if I know.” But somehow he had, and I was more than a little relieved.

Pamela had surprisingly been one of his biggest supporters during his recovery. It was surprising because up until a year before, they’d had a passionate dislike for each other. That changed when Trev tried to repair relationships that had been damaged or gone to the wayside from his drinking.

I didn’t know all the details about what happened between them; only catching bits and pieces from Trev. But somewhere along the way they finally admitted what everyone already knew: their dislike was really attraction, and almost a year after him being discharged from rehab they had bought a house together, gotten engaged and were two of the most ridiculously happy people I knew.

“Isn’t that what guests are supposed to do?” I sarcastically smiled down at her and hugged her after stepping into the large, open foyer. Her amused smile made the corners of her eyes wrinkle and she shook her head while motioning with her hands for me to take my jacket off. 

“You’re not a guest!” A booming voice pierced through all the others as I placed my jacket in Pamela’s hands and in a split second, big arms pulled me into a suffocating hug and kept me from turning around.

“Air would be nice.” I half pretended to choke and he somewhat loosened his hold, giving me some space to turn around and hug him back. It didn’t matter if it was a month or even just a day since Trev had seen you, he always greeted you with the same massive grin and rib crushing hug and it was honestly one of the things that I missed the most with him living hours away. 

“Seriously,” he mockingly scowled down when we released each other, “don’t ring or knock from now on. Door’s always open.”

I chuckled, nodded and patted him on the back as we turned away from each other. Giving me a second to notice Pamela and everyone else joining us before being bombarded by another hug. That time from my teammate, Wes.


Besides Trev, he was my closest friend on the team. Partially due to us being friends with Trev, but also from our interactions on the practice field. 

Being a cornerback, he made it a point to keep me and the receivers on our toes with his insanely accurate ability to read plays, deflect passes and jump in front of offensive players at the last second to catch a ball. Something that usually led to us wisecracking taunts and insults at each other when one of us succeeded

“Man, if we’d been in town we could’ve ridden together.” His hand patted my shoulder like I’d just lost out on the greatest prize, but I knew the truth.

“And we’d still be standing in Bridgeport, arguing over who should drive.” I joked, mostly. Which was what made it so funny and as everyone laughed, I turned my attention to the next in line.

I’d heard of Paisley long before meeting her. She and Pamela were legends at ASU and were still talked about by those who knew and respected women’s college basketball. 

I’d heard all about the two of them and Paisley’s successful pro career in my college years, but I hadn’t gotten to know her until she and Wes started dating.  

They were the other ridiculously happy couple I knew.

“In that case, I’d have to drive.” She set us straight and gave me my fourth hug of the night. I chuckled along with everyone else and smiled at her before Trev motioned to my left and began introducing me to the only other guest; the owner of the mysterious car.  

“Ryan, this is Stan Yeger.” I caught myself doing a double take when I saw him standing there. 

You’d have to live under a rock to not know who Stan Yeger was, at least if you lived in Bridgeport. What I didn’t know, was how he and Trev knew each other and how I’d missed the fact that they were good friends. 

He was the last person I would’ve expected at dinner that night, but there he was, and I half paid attention as Trev told me things I already knew, “His family runs Yeger Enterprises. . .,” taking more of an interest in the bits of information that he left out. 

Like how Yeger Enterprises was the most successful and wealthiest company in the city, partially credited to Stan’s reputation for being a nice guy and a savvy businessman. 

Or the more personal facts that weren’t usually included when first being introduced to someone: his past struggles with alcohol abuse that the local news never failed to mention when reporting on him or the Yeger family, or in my opinion, the biggest omission; the fact that Stan was gay. 

My first thought was that maybe it was just a coincidence that the only two, single friends that Trev invited that night were gay, but I had a growing suspicion that it wasn’t. He’d commented more than once about me “putting myself out there,” and I’d completely believed the words when I replied that I wasn’t ready. 

But as Trev pressed on with our introduction and I continued to stand face-to-face with Stan Yeger, I couldn’t help but admit that photos hadn’t done him justice, causing my certainty to slightly waver.  

“Stan, this is Ryan Andrews; starting quarterback for the Bucks.” His eyebrows arched, hinting that he’d possibly heard my name before and brought attention to his steel colored eyes. 

Their focus was sharp and piercing, leaving me with no doubt that I had his complete attention, but also twinkled and were softened from his smile, making me feel at ease with their focus on me. 

His smile widened at a joke Trev always made about my younger age, peeking out from his perfectly trimmed, dark beard and I started to do internal damage control; reminding myself why I shouldn’t let it get my hopes up or keep staring at it. 

It was too soon, too risky, he was the complete opposite of what I thought I needed and wanted, and even if I unwillingly admitted that I was slightly interested, there was no way that he ever would be.

I’d almost convinced myself that all those things were true, and then he stuck his hand out for me to shake. “Nice to meet you.” His deep, sure voice greeted me and when I took his solid, strong hand, I felt it. 

That feeling that you read or hear about when people describe what they felt when they first meet someone. Sometimes it’s described as a shock, or a tingle. For me, it was more like a spark that made my hand burn a little. 

It was sudden and short lived, but it lasted long enough for me to notice, making me look down at my hand and then back up to his focused eyes, wondering if he’d felt something similar. 

My only clue he had being the miniscule narrowing of his eyes that I would’ve missed if I’d looked up a second later. But it was such a small reaction that it didn’t take me long to second guess that it was anything.


“You too.” I admitted with surprising calm that reassured me that I’d somehow covered my tracks. 

It was bullshit. Deep down I knew it, but I continued trying to deceive myself that I had complete control over anything having to do with meeting Stan Yeger, and continued to even as a house tour was suggested and the two single guys naturally got grouped together behind everyone else. 

There was a split second of hesitation as Trev and Pamela started to lead the group, with both of us motioning and smiling to the other to go first. If I’d had more of my wits about me I might’ve put up a bigger fight for the back, since it would’ve given me an unobserved chance to try to collect myself or admire the view. 

But I didn’t, and gave in, setting into motion a pattern of whenever we left a room and headed into a hallway that I would go before him.

If it hadn’t been for the smell of his woodsy cologne tickling my nose, the sound of his shoes rhythmically clicking on the floor behind me or the overwhelming sense, imagined or not, that a pair of eyes were boring into my backside, I could’ve kept my attention on our hosts who pointed out various paintings and knick-knacks in hallways. 

My success wasn’t much better in the rooms we visited either. His presence permeated each room we entered, making it impossible to ignore him and it was in Trev’s office, when I knew he was looking at a metal stallion sculpture, that I gave in and snuck a look at him. 

It was then that I stopped trying to convince myself that I wasn’t interested. I’d have to be a complete idiot to keep fooling myself. 

But admitting it didn’t make things any easier because then I had a decision to make: did I want to keep admiring him from a distance or, if by some miracle he hadn’t caught on, did I want to start throwing hints his way that I was interested, knowing that more than likely he would let me know that he wasn’t. 


What swayed me to test the waters was what I learned from a conversation that Wes started during dessert.