On a normal day Tempest Perry wouldn’t dare walk out of church during Pastor Lacey’s rousing sermon, with the entire congregation on its feet giving the Lord His praise. Today was anything but normal for Tempest. She slid discreetly from the pews and fled New Jerusalem Church before Mother Washington wished everyone a blessed day. At the rate she was moving, she could use Mother Washington’s blessing. Her long legs trotted in three-inch stilettos toward the parking lot with her chiffon sun dress floating against a light wind. Anxiety cloaked her like a creeping plant, making her all nerves. She dropped her keys and fumbled for the car lock, praying her ride back to Fox Hills would take the usual twenty minutes instead of thirty or forty. On a lazy Sunday, Los Angeles traffic could easily slow her down.
    Barreling out of the lot in her cherry Mustang, Tempest cut a sharp right and got caught at the first light she approached. “Come on, come on,” she murmured. The light, thankfully, turned green. Tempest sped forward, getting caught behind a slow moving truck.
“The devil is a liar!” She cut to the next lane, accelerating to an illegal speed; all the while angry with herself for going to church on an important day like today. Anyone who knew her knew worshiping was the most important part of her life. But if anyone knew, Jesus knew Sterling was too.
    Tempest first met Sterling two years ago at a pool party in L.A.’s sumptuous View Heights community. If love at first sight was possible, she and Sterling experienced it firsthand. From across the bustling yard their eyes met and never parted. Tempest could recall the feeling that came over her. Running to the bathroom to revive her make-up was her first impulse. Her skin dampened and her heart, she was sure, stopped beating momentarily. There were enough fine men at the party that night for Tempest to choose from, and no shortage with their eyes on her in the gold metallic bikini she wore, radiant against her mahogany skin. But no man, past or present, captivated Tempest’s eyes and heart more than Sterling. When she and Sterling were close enough to speak, they couldn’t stop talking. They eventually ventured away from the party and sat in Sterling’s then Nissan truck, where they kept up their conversation until the party concluded, listened to what became ‘their song,’ and closed the night with their first kiss. The fact that a few years later Sterling would be an NFL rising star wouldn’t have mattered to Tempest. From then until now, she loved Sterling and would forever. Now she was counting down the months to her wedding day.
    Tempest picked up speed. Peripherally, she saw cars falling back on the highway as hers dashed forward. She concentrated on the exit signs ahead as if willing herself home was possible. Going eighty miles an hour sure wasn’t getting her there fast enough. As she rounded a sharp bend, feeling the wheels of her car grip the blacktop unstably, she caught sight of a police car parked alongside the road. Her heart came to an instant standstill. She didn’t have time to get a speeding ticket. Please, Jesus.
      By the grace of God Tempest arrived home not a second too late to see Sterling.
     Now Tempest sat on her sofa, devastated, sick to her stomach, and tasting the salt of her tears. Everything she knew about her life moments ago felt surreal. Did what happened really happen, or had she never awakened from a nightmare?
      She retraced her steps in her mind. It was Sunday morning. That, Tempest was certain of, recalling Pastor Lacey’s rousing sermon this morning and how she raced out of church, forsaking God for Sterling. She had rushed into her one-bedroom condo, tossed her handbag on the sofa, slipped off her stilettos, and turned on the TV, opting for the 42-inch flat screen in the living room, with high definition to better see and hear Sterling. The NFL pre-game special hadn’t started. A commercial gave her time to raid the refrigerator. Too nervous to digest anything of sustenance, she poured herself a shot glass of orange juice. After gulping down her breakfast, she stood before the television with her hands steepled in prayer.
   Sterling’s name floated across the screen in bold letters - STERLING ALEXANDER STERLING...ALEXANDER...STERLING ALEXANDER. Clips played of Sterling charging up the field for the tackle. One after another, the clips highlighted Sterling’s aggressiveness, quickness and determination to tackle his opponent. Tempest squealed, clapped, and cheered as she had in high school.
     The sports commentator appeared in the studio, a black man wearing a bright colored suit. Seated across from him, Sterling wore an Armani ensemble, tan with four buttons, and a royal blue dress shirt opened sexily at the collar. Tempest couldn’t have been more proud of herself. Apparel design was her profession, the main reason Sterling called her from Minneapolis and had her FedEx his wear. Working at Nordstrom’s, the leading apparel store in the country, had paid off. Sterling’s pretty dark skin glowed in the color combination she selected for him. His hair was freshly cut, his pencil beard and mustache perfectly lined, and the two-carat studs in his ears sparkled. New money couldn’t have looked better than her man did, Tempest thought.
     “At six-four, two hundred and forty pounds,” the commentator said, “defensive linebacker Sterling Alexander led the Spartans in a thirty/twenty-one victory against the Panthers last week with two interceptions, five tackles, and two sacks. Fresh off the bench, filling the hole left by starter David Banks, who was injured in the preseason, Sterling took advantage of this career opportunity by giving Spartans fans a taste of his fearless aggression.” The commentator turned to Sterling.
      “Last season, you could only dream of signing as an undrafted free agent for the Spartans. Now, your persistence has paid off. Do you see your story as an inspiration to other aspiring athletes hoping to make it in the pro league?”
     “I don’t know if I’m an inspiration,” Sterling answered in his bass voice. “I’ve stayed focused on my goal, worked hard… been a team player. I hope that inspires anybody out there looking to be successful at whatever they do. Mostly, though, I think you have to be hungry for it, live for the opportunity. When it comes, be ready.”
       “Tell ’em, boo!” Tempest cheered.
     “You’re like the Cinder-fella of the league, an NFL fairytale story come true. At twenty-five, this is only your second season when other players are veterans. So, what’s your story, Sterling?”
Tempest recounted Sterling’s unconventional story along with him. How he played for two years at a junior college, earned a starting position and a full scholarship as a walk-on at USC, and the number of years he walked on and off fields, praying to get signed. When Sterling’s chance finally came, Tempest was by his side, helping him celebrate.
      Sterling didn’t sign a twenty-five million dollar contract over five years like the top ball players. His was a six hundred thousand dollar, two-year deal in which he’d received a two hundred thousand dollar signing bonus. If Sterling made the lineup next season, however, he could renegotiate for a small fortune. Tempest had every intention of being at Sterling’s side—before what happened, happened.
      The camera zoomed in for a close-up of the commentator, so close Tempest made out the deep pores on his golden brown skin. “Born and raised in South Central Los Angeles, Sterling says he’s starting to adjust to the Minnesota climate and the people. He even hopes to one day win over the hearts of Minnesota Spartans fans….” 

       Aiming at the stands, the camera panned the cheering crowd. In a split second, Tempest caught sight of her. Not her face, but her hair—long, brown spirals with blonde highlights. Her heart died when the commentator said, “Looks like Cinder-fella has already won the heart of one beautiful Spartans fan.”
       Tempest couldn’t remember a scene or remark more. She went deaf, blind and cold to the bone. Silence came down on her like darkness, along with a torrent of tears.