A text drew his attention. It was from his lawyer.
Court appearance waived. Papers filed and approved by judge. You’re a free man. Congratulations.
A sense of relief mixed with sadness in his blood. Al Mahoney was single again. Was he ready to take up the dating life? He shook his head. This time, he’d do it differently. If he could only be sure his “problem” wouldn’t stand in the way of his finding true love…
Stealing the ball, winning the game, hardened his resolve. He was going to find the love he needed, he deserved, and that he’d never had. It was going to be his time for triumph, for happiness. No one was going to stand in his way. He hoped Carla was the answer to his prayers, but if she couldn’t deal with his situation, he’d find someone else.
“Fantastic guys! Great game. Now, let’s get those frozen butts on the bus and go home. Time to celebrate,” Coach Bass said.
A deafening cheer was evidence his men agreed.
Chapter Nine
On the bus, palms high-fived Trunk, patted his back, or slapped his butt as he made it up the aisle. Bull had saved him a seat. He slept on the plane ride and awoke, groggy, in the airport in New York City.
Trunk texted Carla he’d be home real late. Then, he was out again as the long vehicle rolled out of Kennedy Airport, heading for Monroe.
The men were dropped at the stadium. Some had wives waiting in idling cars, others jumped into their own and drove home. Trunk blasted the heat as he pulled out of the lot. The drive was quiet. The streets were empty at one-thirty in the morning. As he turned the corner, he spied lights lit on either side of the front door of The Beast. It warmed his heart. Carla had left them on for him. No one had ever done that before.
He whipped out his key and turned the lock.
“Well, Jesus Christ, it’s about time!” was the greeting from his favorite woman.
“You still up?”
“Hell yes. Aren’t you hungry?”
He looked at her.
“I’ve got a burger stayin’ warm on the grill. Some fries too.”
She disappeared in the kitchen. Five minutes later, she emerged with a plate brimming with his favorite food. He sat down at the table, his appetite suddenly out of control.
“And I saved a piece of that new cheesecake. You know the great stuff we got from Patina’s? There’s one piece left. It has your name on it.”
He stopped. She’d saved him cheesecake. His eyes watered. For a moment, he was back at his aunt’s house, in high school.
When he got home after football practice, dinner was over. His aunt had saved a small plate of leftovers. It sat on the table, turning stone cold, covered with a paper napkin. He wolfed it down then spied the empty pie tin.
“Sorry, Al. The pie went real fast. You know how everybody is. And you were so late. We didn’t even know if you’d have eaten. Martha bet you’d stopped at a friend’s for dinner. So they finished it.”
He was so hungry he’d have eaten wallpaper paste, if he’d had any. Anger mixed with sadness in his heart. He wasn’t even a blip on their radar. His aunt made up the story. He knew they never even considered him. They simply sat down at the table and devoured what was there.
It wasn’t like they had a lot of money, but they did get paid by the state for taking care of him. He was a foster child until he was eighteen, even though he was a relative. He ate what little there was then retired to his room. He pulled out a small wallet he kept hidden. He stored money there he’d made from raking leaves, mowing lawns, and doing odd jobs. He took out all that was left. Three dollars.
He had no car, so he borrowed his cousin’s bike and headed toward the nearest fast food place. He hadn’t counted on his coach’s wife pulling up next to him at the red light.
“Al Mahoney. What are you doing out this time of night?”
“Heading to Frosty Freeze for a burger.”
“Frosty Freeze? Why, I’ve got a peach pie I made this afternoon and chili we had for dinner. Why don’t you save your money and follow me home.”
“Wouldn’t want to put you out, Mrs. Lawrence.”
“It’s nothing. You’re our star linebacker. It’s the least we can do. Come, Al. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
He followed her home on the bike. He liked Mrs. Lawrence. Though he was sure she knew how bad his life was, she never let on. She and the Coach had invited him into their home often to share a meal. The coach greeted him, offering him a soda, while his wife heated him a bowl of chili and cut him a generous slice of pie. No pie ever tasted as good as Mrs. Lawrence’s peach pie. Coach talked football with Trunk as he ate.
Coach and his wife had been like parents to him, except they had their own three kids to worry about. But when they’d included Al in the mix, it was family for him, even if only for an evening. Sadly, he’d lost touch with Coach Lawrence and his family after college.
Now, here was Carla, cooking food, just for him, saving that delicacy for him, instead of eating it herself. He didn’t know how to react. Words froze in his throat. Emotion constricted his chest. He couldn’t breathe. She’d knocked the wind out of him with her kindness.
“What’s the matter? Something wrong with the burger?”
He shook his head, struggling to move air in and out of his lungs without crying.
“Eat then.”
She went to the bar and took down two clean glasses, filling each with some ice. She popped a soda can and divided it up. Then, she topped the drinks off with lemonade from a carton in the bar fridge. She took a sip, smiled, and carted them to the table.
“This is wonderful, Carla. Thank you,” he said, picking up the burger.
“Try this. You can have one with me, instead of whiskey.”
He tasted the beverage. “That’s damn good.”
“See. Don’t need booze.”
When he finished, he moved the big plate away and slid the small one with the dessert on it toward him. His eyes widened as he looked at the moist confection. Al loved cheesecake. But who didn’t? “Want some?” he asked, hoping she’d turn him down.
“I had mine. This is all yours.”
The words were music to his ears, ones he’d never heard growing up. Although his appetite wasn’t sated, and he could gobble up the dessert in about three bites, he took small forkfuls to make it last. He rolled it around his tongue, tasting the flavors, savoring the richness.
“This is incredible.” He took her face in his large hands and kissed her. “You’re one in a million, Carla.”
“It’s just cheesecake, Al. Their desserts are gonna boost my business. Now, tell me about the game. I thought you were a goner there for a moment.”
“When I stole the ball?”
“Yeah. That was a pretty hard fall.”
“I’ve got the bruises to show for it too. I’ll soak at the stadium tomorrow.”
“You were a hero. I’m proud of you.”
He cast his gaze to his food. Pleasure mixed with embarrassment at her compliment. “It’s my job.”
“You were great. What a game!”
Between bites of the sweet, Al deconstructed the game for Carla. She sat, sipping her special drink and listening. It was two thirty before the weary pair trudged up the stairs.
“I’m too tired to fool around tonight, but can I sleep in your bed anyway?” Trunk asked.
She chuckled. “Of course.”
He peeled off his clothes, turning when he heard a gasp.
Carla was staring at his back.
“What?”
“Damn, you’ve got some big splotches.”
“It’s nothing. They’ll be gone before the next game.”
“When’s the next game?”
“Not for ten days.”
“You need the rest.”
He watched Carla strip and pull down the covers. He studied her body, mentally comparing her to the girls at the strip club. She had a soft, warm, sexy quality about her whereas the other girls had looked hard, th
eir faces brittle and mask-like. There was nothing gentle about them.
He joined her, sliding closer until he could wrap his arms around her.
She shivered. “It’s freezing,” she said, plastering herself against his chest.
“I’ll warm you up.”
“You always do.” She snickered.
Trunk drank in her lovely scent and the faint remnants of her perfume. She smelled good. He nuzzled her neck, tightening his arm around her, then pulled up the covers. A small sigh from her, then a deep breath, and she relaxed against him.
“I missed you, baby,” he whispered.
“Welcome home.”
* * * *
Exhaustion and injury kept Trunk in bed until eleven the next morning. Carla was already gone when he opened his eyes. The empty bed depressed him, reminding him of his married life.
Carla is not Mary.
He sat up, scratching his stubbly face when the barkeep entered. She was wearing her fluffy robe and toweling her hair.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because you looked so cute, and I figured you needed the rest. Yesterday was a long day.”
He smiled. “You’re right, on all counts.”
She threw a pillow at him. “How do you know you’re cute?”
He whipped his arm out before she could blink, snaking it around her middle and pulling her across the bed. She picked up another pillow and bashed him in the face. He laughed, yanking it out of her hands and tossing it aside. Then, he trapped her hands and lowered his mouth.
The kiss was sweet. He freed one hand to slip under her robe and squeeze her breast. She arched into him. Blood pumped between his legs until the sound of the bell downstairs interrupted them.
“Crap!” Carla sat up. She swung her legs over, pushed to her feet, and peered out the window. “Damn it. Delivery.”
“Shit.” Trunk fell back against the headboard.
“Bar business never ends.” She slipped on leggings and a tunic and headed for the door as the bell rang again. “Keep your pants on!” she yelled.
Trunk swung the covers back and eased himself out of bed. His bones were stiff. He peered in the full length mirror, checking out his body, and discovered several bruises on his shoulder and side. A quiet day of healing was on his agenda. He padded down to the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the spray warmed him, he sang a dirty, little ditty from college.
When he came down the stairs, the bar was a hotbed of activity. Monday was delivery day. Carla was bustling from the kitchen to the bar, from the front door to the back door, holding a clipboard and barking orders. Doodles had arrived, looking sleepy. Following the delicious aroma of hot coffee, Trunk squeezed between them into the kitchen.
He filled a mug from the full pot then plopped down at an out-of-the-way table. The rush got his blood pumping. He had an appointment with Dr. McMillan that afternoon. But first, a soak at the stadium.
Carla, brandishing a cup of coffee, took a breath and joined him.
“You give great coffee, babe,” he said, his eyes on hers.
She grinned. “Monday is paper goods, replacement dishes, laundry, and glasses delivery day. Meat, cheese, fries, and stuff come on Thursday. Gotta be fresh to be the best.”
“You have a reputation to live up to.”
“Damn right.”
“By the way, yesterday, my lawyer told me that I’m a free man. All the paperwork has gone through. The divorce is final.”
“Congratulations. At least that part is over.”
“Now, I have to get a new life.”
“You will.” She patted his arm as she rose to her feet.
Trunk kissed her goodbye, grabbed a quick breakfast at the diner, and then headed for the stadium locker room.
The soaking tub had just been vacated by Tuffer Demson. It was almost drained and ready to be refilled. Trunk undressed quickly. Tuffer stood, a towel around his waist.
“How bad?” Trunk asked his teammate.
“Not terrible,” the linebacker said, turning his back to Trunk. There was one sizeable bruise in the center of his back.
“Not too bad. It was a rough game. That Husker gorilla. What a monster.” Trunk eased himself into the warm water. Damn, it felt good.
“Yeah. Thanks for the advice. I think we did pretty good.”
“We won. That’s what counts.”
The younger man put his clothes on and left. Trunk was alone.
“Now all I need is Carla to scrub my back,” he muttered.
Coach popped his head in. “I thought I heard voices in here. You should go home, Trunk. Relax. Take it easy. Recover.”
“I will, Coach.”
“Dr. McMillan was looking for you.”
“Fuck, it’s that time already?” He pushed up, pulled the plug, and grabbed a towel. Since there was no game, he didn’t have to dress up. He threw on sweats and his running shoes and took the stairs two at a time.
“Come in, Trunk. Right on time,” Dr. McMillan said.
“Good. Thought I was late.”
“How are you today?”
“Better than last time.”
“How so?” She sat on the sofa, two cushions down from him, and opened a small notebook.
“Well, let’s see. First, we won yesterday. And I made a key play, grabbing the ball from the quarterback. Second, my lawyer told me my divorce is final. The house is mine. Three, I’m sleeping with Carla, Four—”
“Wait, wait. Back up. Carla is number three?”
“Those were in no particular order.”
“Okay. So, let’s start with Carla. Congratulations on your divorce being final. Now, back to the lady barkeep.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How did you overcome your reluctance to start a relationship with her?”
“She was irresistible.”
“What do you mean? Chemistry? Sex?”
“All of the above. She’s beautiful. And nice. Nice to me. Nicer than anyone in my life has ever been, except maybe my high school coach and his wife. Oh, and Coach Bass and the missus.”
“Nicer than Mary?”
He made a noise with his mouth. “Mary? She can’t hold a candle to Carla.”
“Let’s talk about Mary. Well, maybe not about her, but about why you picked her.”
“I met her at the bank. She was nice. She’s pretty, and she didn’t think I was a dumb jock.”
“And other women did?”
“Hell yeah. I get that all the time. Pisses me off too. I didn’t get bad grades. I studied a lot. Didn’t have video games and shit to distract me. All I had was football and homework. I went to Kensington State. I got into their honor’s program.”
“You did?”
“See? Even you’re surprised.”
“I’m sorry, Al. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” She blushed under his stare.
“Yes, you did. Everybody does. I don’t care anymore. Carla doesn’t think that way.”
“She treats you with respect?”
“Damn right, she does. And she’s sexy as hell.”
Dr. McMillan hid a grin behind her hand.
“That’s okay, doc. You can smile. You can laugh too. But what guy wants a woman who isn’t sexy?”
“You’re a very loyal man, aren’t you?”
“That’s why I didn’t cheat on Mary. Okay, so a few lap dances on the road. Well, maybe more than a few. But I didn’t screw anyone.”
“It’s kind of a fine line, isn’t it?”
“Nah. The strip club girls are kinda faceless.”
“But they’re people, aren’t they?”
“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”
“I don’t mean to. I’m sorry. But you have to take responsibility for your actions. Are you going to frequent the strip clubs on the road if you have a relationship with Carla?”
“Cheat on Carla? Never.”
“Bu
t you just said lap dances don’t count. They aren’t cheating. Would she agree?”
He laughed. “No way. She’d kill me.”
“Okay then. Which is it? Carla or strip club lap dances?”
“Boy, doc. You sure know how to bust a guy’s balloon.”
“I want you to understand what you might be risking if you continue with those, those…practices.”
“I know. I went to one with Bull in Nebraska. Hell, the girls weren’t even nude.” He chuckled. “But they couldn’t compare to Carla. She’s…she’s got a…her…” He stopped speaking as blood rushed to his face.
“I get it. You find her more attractive than the strippers.”
“That’s it. Yeah. I do. She’s really pretty and warm. She’s different.”
“She likes you, right?”
“I think so. She even had food for me when I got home last night. And the cheesecake.” He stopped talking as emotion choked him. Unpleasant memories of his aunt’s house flooded back. Dr. McMillan placed the tissue box nearer to him. “I’ve never had anybody do that for me before. Never. Not since my parents died. And she did. On her own. ’Cause she wanted to.”
“She took care of you, didn’t she?”
He nodded as he wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“Mary didn’t do that?”
He shook his head and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“But Carla did.”
“Yep,” he croaked out.
“That’s a very loving thing to do, isn’t it? Feed you. Take care of you.”
“I was surprised. It’s been so long. I didn’t expect it. Mary wouldn’t even have been up when I got home. I’d have had to stop for food on the way, or dig out some leftovers.”
“Carla was up?”
“Yeah. And the food was keeping warm on the grill. And the cheesecake. She left the last piece for me. Nothing ever tasted so good.” He smacked his lips at the memory.
“Sounds like Carla has more to offer you than sex.”
He sighed, casting his gaze down. “She’s the best. Too good for me. And when she finds out about me, she’ll take off.”
“Maybe and maybe not.”
Al Trunk Mahoney, Defensive Line Page 11
