Busted Play: The Series (Players, Books 1-6)

by Stella Marie Alden

  Ah shit. I’m such a fucking asshole.

  To make matters even worse, because of my stupidity, my playing goes all to hell.

  Today, I’m sitting with the team’s shrink in a posh office on Park Avenue, shutting my fucking mouth hoping not to get ejected from the team. I need to get my shit together. Then I can leave Mel with a wad of cash so she never has to worry about money the rest of her life. That’s the least I can do for her after being such a sorry excuse for a husband.

  “Are we done?” I glare at the frowning doctor who I almost feel sorry for because she’s been trying like hell to get me to open up for over an hour.

  With her gray hair drawn back in a tight bun, she glances over half-glasses, trying to show me how concerned she is. “How’s it going with you and Melanie?”

  “We’re over. I got my brother drawing up divorce papers.” As I cross my arms over my chest, my face is cool and my tone even more so. I got this.

  “Want to tell me about it?” The shrink looks a lot like my mom when she glowers which makes me feel guilty about lying so I break my gaze away.

  There’s toys in one corner, a couch, her office chair, and the comfy hot-seat I’m in.

  I don’t do good in small spaces for long periods of time and I want out. “Look, we just didn’t get along and decided to part ways. Friendly-like. No big deal. Shit happens.”

  I’ve said it often enough now that my voice doesn’t crack but she’s not buying it. “Do you want to get back on the field, Chance?”

  “Of course, I want back,” I snap with the best of my scowls which doesn’t faze her in the least.

  Instead, she taps her pen on her pad of yellow lined paper. “Tell the truth or walk. I get paid either way.”

  But I know on which side her bread gets buttered. “You get paid by the team, right? If I tell you something, you got to tell them.”

  I give her some credit for looking highly insulted. “Not if you tell me not to. That would be unethical. I assure you, you can trust me.”

  Well, well, what to do. If I say anything, I could get totally fucked. If I don’t say anything, I could get totally fucked.

  “Shit.”

  She stands, adjusts her skirt, and opens the door for me like our session is over but I don’t get up.

  “Hold on.” I hate being played but I need to get back on the field so I give her what she wants to hear. “I still love her. I’m leaving for her own damn good.”

  The chair squeaks, she settles back into the brown leather, and her toe taps the light wood floor. “Go on.”

  “I’m a mean bastard. The best thing I can do is leave her before I hurt her.”

  “Have you? Hurt her?” The shrink takes off her glasses and stares at me like I’m some kind of monster.

  “Yeah.” Be careful what you ask for, doc.

  When her lips purse, I swear she’s about to call the cops. “Physically?”

  “No, hell no.” What the fuck is wrong with her?

  Relaxing, she crosses her legs but hones in on me with those laser-sharp, beady eyes. “How do you mean, then?”

  “I’m a prime asshole. I’ll never be able to make her happy.”

  “Don’t you think she should make that decision?” This doctor is worse than my brother at needling me and she just doesn’t get it.

  After we talk in circles for a while, she lets me go as long as I continue to see her. On the way out of her building, with that going so fucking well, I call my guru.

  He works with me for most of the day, helping me to visualize winning because frankly, I can’t find my zone. Apparently, my ‘aura’ is off. Unlike the doctor, he doesn’t get all up and into my business. Instead, he insists that I set all that shit aside during the game and tries to show me how. Despite my herculean efforts, I can’t throw a decent pass.

  After two losses in a row, I’m called into Coach’s office. “I’m giving you one day to go fix your personal life. We go back a long time, son, but if you can’t perform, you’re no good to us, no good to yourself.”

  Shit. He’s right. There’s nothing else to be done but pick up the phone and call the fucking number on the fucking card my brother gave me.

  I ask the receptionist, “Can you see me this afternoon?”

  Sure, she says because I agree to pay the full rate, out-of-pocket exorbitant fee. It’s amazing the kind of health care we got in this country for guys like me and it pisses me off, royally. Before I lose all my brain cells, I’m setting up a foundation for uninsured kids to help even the score.

  Jack’s waiting for me outside the stadium and drops me off at Columbia, the best damn hospital in the city. There, a woman holding an i-Pad greets me and takes me up the elevator to the seventh floor.

  I refuse ass-less jammies in the examination room and have to stand butt-naked in the hall before someone comes out with a fucking robe.

  That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?

  They put my head into some kind of round cave, reminding me of sci-fi. Then they make me take a shit-load of tests, which suck, because some include reading, making it necessary to explain how I’m dyslexic.

  When the next technician comes in, I don’t even bother to give him hell. All efficient and smiles, he sets this cap of wires on top of my head and plugs me in like a Christmas tree. Then he projects images onto the wall while I watch for hours. By the end of that, I’m fucking ready to kill someone.

  In the waiting room, a guy stands and turns.

  “Andy?” I tap on the nurse’s shoulder before she can leave. “What’s he doing here. Didn’t I sign some kind of hippo thing?”

  Andy smirks. “Hipaa, dude. You gave me power of attorney long ago. I can be here.”

  The nurse runs back to her station, no doubt scared shitless.

  Then it’s just me, my brother, and a couple of uncomfortable plastic chairs. I pull him into a bear hug and pat him on the back way too hard. “Thanks for coming, asshole.”

  “You’re welcome, douche-bag. What do you know so far?” He hands me a bag of fast food.

  “Not a fucking thing.” After unwrapping a half pound of beef, I throw out the bun. Everything tastes like sawdust since breaking up with Mel but I need to pack in the calories.

  We sit quietly for a while, then Andy sticks a cigarette in his mouth.

  When I glare at him he says, “Not going to light it. It’s just in case.”

  With nothing else to do but stare at the amateurish oil paintings for sale on the wall, I figure it’s a good time to talk about setting Mel up for life. “So, have you called her lawyer?”

  His eyes shift to the gray linoleum floor. “About that. Remember when you and Mel had that screwed up arrangement? The phony marriage?”

  “Yeah. What about it?” I smile. In comparison, our time together back then was so easy.

  “Remember how she wouldn’t take a dime of your money?” Dark brows raise, waiting for me to catch on.

  Suddenly, I know what he’s referring to. Mel made me agree that I’d never give her any of my money. Something about how accepting expensive gifts would make her no better than a whore.

  Andy shakes his head, then grabs a few of my french-fries. “The pre-nup is iron clad. I should know. I wrote it.”

  However, I fail to see the problem. “Tear it up. I don’t want it anymore.”

  “Not that easy bro. Right now, she doesn’t get shit if you divorce her.” He seems unconcerned about her finances as he dips another one of my fries into a neat pile of ketchup.

  I’m not sure I’m buying this so I try to get some clarification. “Why didn’t you get rid of it when we married for real?”

  “Why didn’t you ask?” He knows I won’t divorce Mel until I’m certain she’s set for life. Cagey bastard.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  His palms shoot up like he’s being held hostage. “Just hold off on the divorce, bro, okay? For a bit.”

  “You can be replaced, you know.”

  A
ny more conversation has to stop because a young man in scrubs motions us forward into an office. There, a gray-haired man sits behind a huge oak desk, face devoid of emotion.

  Standing, he introduces himself, then points to the wall where he’s projecting from his laptop. “Feel free to ask me any questions at any time.”

  I take him up on his offer. “Can you just tell me how long I got before my brain turns to mush?”

  He cocks his head, frowning, and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Mush?”

  “Yeah, you know. Can’t remember anything, names places, getting lost, that kind of thing…”

  My brother adds, “CTE. From concussions.”

  “What he said.” I shoot Andy a grateful look then hold my breath, waiting to hear how many days I got left.

  The doc shakes his head back and forth. “I guess it would depend on how many injuries you get in the future.”

  “But how long I got to think straight?” Now I wonder if I’ll even be able to play in this year’s Super Bowl.

  “I don’t know exactly what you’re referring to but let me be clear. You have very little signs of brain damage.”

  “Wait. I don’t have CTE?”

  “Some, but not enough to be considered serious.”

  Holy shit. I send a prayer to thank the Big Dude upstairs. I can’t fucking believe it. I’m going to be okay.

  The next thought that comes to mind is of that weasel Pranyama. Was it incompetence or did someone put him up to it. It was probably all a God damned lie to freak me out. I wonder who was in on it? Another team? Someone betting against us? It could be just about anyone.

  The doctor stands, looking around like he needs to call security but Andy puts a hand on his arm. “Forgive my brother. He’s a bit overwhelmed. We both are. The NFL doctor gave him a much different prognosis.”

  “I can run the tests again if-” He reaches for his phone.

  “No, please don’t. No more tests.” About a million pounds have just been lifted off my shoulders and I’m not about to tempt fate.

  My fucking bro grins ear to ear, probably looking a lot like me. Then, we both sober for a while as the doc shoots me a warning about getting out of the game.

  Finally, Andy writes a check to the receptionist and I’m free to text Mel. I know she loves me. After I explain it all, she’ll forgive me. She has to.

  Me: 911. Please, baby. Call me. I’m so sorry.

  A text comes back from her phone, almost immediately.

  Mel: “Leave her alone or I’ll fking kill u I mean it. You fking asshole. u broke her heart.”

  Me: Who is this?

  Mel: Kit. Do u and her both a favor. Get out of her life.

  ME: Why u got her phone?

  When nothing comes back, I say to Andy, “I got to go deal with this.”

  My brother nods, and I run out the door. I got just one day to find her because I need to be back on the field.

  Outside the weather is as dark as my mood and it begins to snow. My good luck streak at an end, all traffic comes to a halt. Undaunted, I say goodbye to Jack, jump out of the limo, and take the subway.

  When I get out at Myrtle Avenue I run as if the goal line was a yard away. I got to tell her everything, make love to her, and hold her. I got to have her wrapped around me. Dear Jesus, I can’t believe how screwed up this is.

  When I arrive at our apartment, I rush up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator. Throwing the door wide, I’m surprised how stuffy it smells. Also, a lot of stuff looks missing but I can’t quite put my finger on it. For sure, my signed photo of Vince Lombardi on the living room wall is gone. That stings. She probably had to sell it on eBay to get a few bucks.

  I’m going to make it all up to her. I swear I will.

  That’s when I notice the pile of books on the end table next to the couch. They all got the word baby or pregnant in the title.

  What? What? Holy fuck. Why didn’t she say anything? I’m so happy I almost shit until it dawns on me how badly I messed up.

  “Mel, baby? You here?” I race down the hall, hoping to find her in the bedroom, then check the spare room.

  Oh shit. This is so not good. The room is piled high with everything I own, including a few expensive presents I gave to her when we started dating. I check all the closets, relieved that her clothes seem to be there. My stuff, however, is completely missing.

  Wherever she is, Kit knows something because he has her phone. I call him but it goes right to voice mail. Damn it all. My wife is pregnant and thinks I dumped her for another woman. This may be the worst moment of my life.

  Jack knows people who knows people and I don’t usually ask favors but this is an emergency.

  I phone him and explain what I know so far. “Can you find her?”

  “I don’t need to find her. I know exactly where she is.” Jack sounds pissed at me, joining the rest of the world.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you say something.”

  His voice is calm, cool, and too collected. “You can fire me for saying so, but you’ve been a complete ass.”

  “Because I wanted to keep her safe?”

  “No. Because you didn’t love her enough to let her love you. Now get in.” The limo pulls in into a space in front of a hydrant and I run down the street to meet it.

  After he peels away, tires squealing, I figure it’s safe to ask, “Where’re we going?”

  “JFK. Find the next flight to the Bahamas.”

  Chapter 10

  Mel

  I’m woken by a sliver of morning sun reflecting tiny waves onto the yellow walls of my bedroom. It’s hard to stay depressed when the ocean sounds right outside your window and the curtains flutter in a tropical breeze.

  Even though it’s early, I’m wide awake so might as well get up. It was really nice of Kit to let me stay at his beach home so I try not to wake him as I pad bare feet down the hall into the kitchen.

  Normally, I wouldn’t consider staying with a man in his home but he promised no funny business. And what of it? I’m about to be divorced. Besides, Kit is probably my best friend. A hockey player, he gets beat up too often and has spent a lot of time with me in rehab. Because of that, we’ve grown close over the past few months.

  When he called for more physical therapy, I broke down and told him my whole sad story. Then he insisted I come here with him for a few days. He swore on a stack of bibles he wouldn’t hit on me, so I said yes.

  Eventually, I’m going to have to learn to be more independent and not rely on men to bail me out. I’ve already started by filling my Kindle full of self-help books.

  My body seems to agree with my new outlook on life because I don’t feel so much like puking when I stick some bread in the toaster. I’ve officially weaned off caffeine and I actually enjoy mornings… almost.

  My heart? Well it’s beating. That’s about all I can say. I’ll never get over CJ or his betrayal but today, there’s a healthy bit of hate. How could he screw around on me? We’re still married and that should mean something.

  Before I left New York, I called a lawyer who insisted on a retainer before looking at my situation. Most of my money is tied up in investments handled by CJ’s brother, so I didn’t pursue it, not yet. I don’t want to talk to Andy either.

  It dawns on me that I’ve been so wrapped up in my career and CJ that I haven’t had much time to make friends. And family? God knows that’s all kinds of screwed up. I have to fix my personal life if I’m going to be a good Mom. I’m going to need a support system.

  Maybe not being able to tell CJ about the baby was God’s way of showing me that I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet, to be stronger. Yesterday, I researched online and signed up for a couple of single Mom groups in Manhattan. I’m sure I’ll meet some women like me. I also found a church that I might join in Brooklyn. I’m not a holy roller but a baby’s got to be baptized, right?

  As I walk out onto Kit’s private beach, I stretch and stare into the vastnes
s of the ocean. It’s amazing how the waves can calm me. Sea gulls squawk overhead and some exotic orange bird takes flight over my head from a nearby palm tree.

  One lone tear drips down my face and I wipe it away. I miss my man so bad. I guess I wasn’t enough woman for him. He has this insatiable appetite for sex but so do I. I can’t believe he left me for someone else. All I can fathom is that he needed eye-candy for his career. I’m not ugly, but I’m no super-model, either. And I like my job, so I can’t always be sitting in the stands with the wives and girlfriends. Maybe if I had, this wouldn’t have happened. I bet his new girlfriend is some hugely famous actress with giant boobs, Botox lips, and perfect teeth. I hope she’s a real bitch.

  These thoughts are getting me nowhere but depressed again which is not why I came down here. I came to the Bahamas to get my act together, make some lists, and get healthy. My baby needs me and I am going to be the best, damn mother ever.

  I picture a little girl with my blue eyes, CJ’s dark hair, and have to squish my lids to keep the waterworks in place. How am I ever going to do this without him?

  Eyes cast to the sand, I walk barefoot to the house. My city feet are not yet callused and the tiny pieces of shells are sharp so I take it slow. When I hear a commotion inside, my heart stops.

  “I’m only going to ask you one more time, where is she?” It’s CJ and he’s really pissed.

  “Get the fuck out of my house.” Kit sounds just as angry.

  “You fucking her? That it?”

  Oh man. I run up the stairs, over the cool tiles of the back patio, and into the large kitchen where two huge men are about to come to blows. The marble top island is the only thing separating them.

  Kit’s still in his boxer’s, mostly naked and probably just rolled out of bed. I could see where my husband might jump to the wrong conclusion. Good. Serves him right.

  The other part of me wants to jump into CJ’s arms and ask him if he wants me back. I don’t let that part take the lead. The new me has got to learn some pride.