by Jessie Cooke
Rusty looked at the smug face of the dark-haired boy Isaac was touching. Then he looked at the kid who had just run thirty yards and almost caught a ball thrown by a three-time Super Bowl champ. He didn't look happy with himself...but, he should. “What's your name?” Rusty asked him.
“Brett,” the kid said. Rusty held up his hands and Brett threw him the ball. “That was great, you almost had it.” A small smile crept onto the kid's face as Rusty's praise set in. Rusty let him revel in it for a few seconds and then he said, “You'll just have to learn how to factor in the weather.” The kid nodded, looking eager to learn, so Rusty said, “Okay, Brett, Phillip, both of you go out about twenty yards, but give each other plenty of space. Isaac, come here.” Isaac walked over next to Rusty and the other two boys went out where he told them to go. Rusty looked at the rougher group of boys and said, “Who's your quarterback?”
“Hey! You're supposed to be...” Isaac started. Rusty looked down at him and said,
“If I'm teaching, I'm teaching you all. You have a problem with that?”
“They're ranch kids. I'm not supposed to play with ranch kids.”
Rusty didn't have to ask him what “ranch kids” were. Other than his time in living and playing football in Philadelphia, the Southside had been his home. Anyone from the Southside of Boston knew it was Skulls territory, and the Skulls clubhouse was on a big piece of property that everyone simply referred to as “The Ranch.” Rusty didn't know any of them personally, but he'd seen them around town a lot. There was a time when violence and murder stained their entire neighborhood thanks to the biker gang and their rivals. But from what Rusty knew of the past few years, their president, Dax Marshall had turned a lot of that around. For the most part they were business owners and farmers...albeit the crops they grew weren't always things that could be sold in the grocery store. The thing that resonated with him the most though, was something he remembered his father telling him not long before he got injured and came home. Dax Marshall had built a home on the ranch for teens who were victims of abuse and sex-trafficking. He'd gone through the proper channels, thanks to his old lady who was a former cop and now a lawyer, and he'd gotten all the proper permits. The kids were well taken care of, fed, warm and educated...and most importantly of all, protected from further abuse or exploitation. Rusty's dad did the church services at the teen center for a while before his retirement, and he'd been impressed. His Dad's judgment was always spot on too. The fact that Isaac said, “ranch kids” like it was a dirty word only made Rusty that much more determined to include them all.
“I can keep a secret,” Rusty said with a wink. Isaac seemed to understand what that meant even before Rusty went on to say, “You're gonna take turns throwing passes. Your guy can catch yours and his guy can catch his if you want, but if we're doing this, we're doing it my way.” Isaac nodded, albeit reluctantly and Rusty handed him the football. “Show me how you hold it.”
“Like this?” Isaac asked, with his hand on the ball. His hands were small and they didn't cover as much of the ball as Rusty's did, giving him less control...but, he had a good idea of what he was doing all the same.
“Move your thumb over here like this,” Rusty showed him where to put his thumb and then said, “How does that feel?”
“Awkward,” Isaac told him.
“Big word for an eleven-year-old,” Rusty said with a chuckle.
Isaac made a face. “I'll be thirteen in two months. My dad said he grew late.” It was obvious that Rusty touched on a nerve.
“Dude, I grew four inches in my senior year,” Rusty told him. He was exaggerating, but it looked like it made the kid feel better. Rusty stepped back and said, “Okay, throw it.”
“Go longer!” Isaac yelled at his partner. The kid took a few steps back and Isaac launched the ball. It fell a few feet short and while they argued about whose fault it was, Rusty got the other quarterback...the “ranch kid” set up. When he threw the ball, Rusty tried to control his facial expression. His pass was so perfect that his partner would have had to have been completely inept if he hadn't caught it, but he did. Isaac didn't look happy about that, but it seemed to make him work harder, having some competition. For the next two hours, Rusty gave the boys tips and they listened. He threw quite a few passes and even caught and ran with some. By the time Isaac said he had to get home for lunch, Rusty was exhausted, his body hurt all over, and he couldn't stop smiling. The endorphins he'd been lacking for over a year had suddenly flooded his system, and it felt great.
Isaac and his little “crew” were almost out of sight before Rusty realized the other kids were still there. “Hey, don't you guys have to get home for lunch too?”
“Nah,” Brett said. “It's too far out to the ranch, we brought some sandwiches.”
“Well then, you better get to eating them, I plan on working your as—butts off when those other bums get back.”
Rusty lay down underneath one of the trees while the boys ate. His hands were still shaking slightly and his headache hadn't gone away, but he felt...alive. He closed his eyes for a while and when he opened them he found one of the kids standing there looking down at him. “What's up?”
“You want a sandwich?” the kid asked in a soft voice. Rusty had noticed this kid was quite a bit thinner than the rest of them and somewhat effeminate in the way he threw and caught the ball. But despite all that, he'd also noticed that the kid was faster and seemed more determined to prove himself than the others.
“Sure,” he said, sitting up. He was kind of hungry, but not looking forward to more peanut butter when he got home. He really had to get to the grocery store. The skinny kid went over to where the others were and came back with what looked like a sub sandwich and a soda. Rusty took it and was surprised to see that it was indeed a sub sandwich with meat, cheese and fresh vegetables. “Wow, this looks great. Your mom make it?” As soon as he said it, Rusty wished he could take it back. He forgot for a second that this was one of the “ranch kids.” What if he was one of the Dax Marshall's rescues? Luckily, the kid didn't look fazed by his question.
“Nah, one of the club girls made us lunch today.”
Rusty took a bite and washed it down with a drink of the soda. “That's good,” he said, honestly. It was the best thing he'd had to eat in days.
“Yeah, they take good care of us.”
“You lived on the ranch long?”
The kid nodded. “My whole life. I'll be twelve next week.”
“Cool. What's your name, kid?”
“Everybody just calls me Blue.”
“Blue huh?” The kid had dark eyes and the hair Rusty could see poking through the ball cap was dark too. Rusty got his nickname thanks to the color of his hair, when he was a kid. “Where'd that name come from?”
The kid shrugged and said, “When I was little, my dad used to call me Bonnie Blue.”
Rusty almost choked on the bite he'd just taken. “Bonnie? You're a...”
The kid smiled and pulled off her hat. Dark, messy hair spilled out down her back. “A girl, yeah.”
“Oh shit...I mean, shoot...” She laughed.
“Don't worry about it, everybody thinks I'm a boy at first. And we hear lots worse than ‘shit’ around the clubhouse, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess you do,” Rusty said. “I'll try to keep it in check anyways.”
“I like your bike,” she said, and then added nervously, “I just saw it yesterday.”
“Thanks.” Rusty felt his face go hot. She'd seen it fly across the grass when he dumped it too, undoubtedly. She proved that was the case when she said, “My uncle could probably get that dent outta the tank for you pretty easily.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, he's the best there is. Nobody touches Dax's bike except my uncle.”
“Cool. Maybe you can introduce me.”
“Okay,” she said, looking up towards the main road. “The jerks are back.” Rusty looked over to see Isaac and his friends coming toward the
m on their skateboards and hoverboards.
“Why do you call them jerks?”
“Cause they are. They think they're better than us.”
Rusty didn't say anything to Bonnie, but before they started their afternoon session, he gave them all a little speech about being a part of a team and how, once you walked out on the field, everyone was equal. He wasn't sure if it would stick, but it seemed to work for the rest of the day. By the time the sun started going down, Rusty was exhausted, but it was a good tired. For the first time in a long time he was looking forward to a shower, a decent meal and his bed...and not drinking until he passed out and starting over again in the morning.
A black van came to pick up the ranch kids and the guy driving it got out and stood next to the door and looked at him suspiciously as they loaded up. He was wearing a leather kutte. Rusty couldn't see any patches on the front of it, which he thought probably meant the guy was a prospect. Bonnie stopped next to him before getting in and said something which seemed to lighten his expression somewhat. Before he got back in the van he gave Rusty a chin-tilt and Rusty tipped his head back at him. He had a feeling that if the kids showed up again the next day, and he hoped that they would, they wouldn't be alone. The MC was protective of their own, and Rusty thought that was a good thing. He just hoped he measured up to their standards of someone they trusted to teach their kids...because he'd had a lot of fun doing it.
4
The kids all showed back up, and even multiplied by the end of the week. Rusty spent every day from nine in the morning until sundown with them, finding out that it was, in fact, Spring Break. He realized that meant Sunday would be Easter, and also, that he wasn't looking forward to it.
Rusty was raised in the church by a preacher and his devout wife. They never missed a Sunday worship and holy days were even more important. It had been months since Rusty was in church, but that had been easy, because he'd mostly been drunk, and when he drank, he didn't give a shit about anything. The guilt only hit him when he was sober...and it was suddenly hitting him hard right then. He fingered the cross around his neck and wondered if God really forgives people who have a tendency to keep screwing up, every chance they get. He also wondered if you do good things, if that eventually cancels out the shit you've put people through in the meantime.
That entire week while he'd been helping out the kids, he hadn't drunk...at least not until he was home alone at night. He knew it wasn't a good idea, medically, to just stop. But, he had cut way down, limiting himself to only a beer...or two...and maybe a shot. He had given up the prescription pain killers too...washing them down the garbage disposal. He found a bottle of over the counter pain medicine in the cabinet in his parent's bathroom, and he'd been taking those when he needed them. What he had discovered was that the endorphins his body was making seemed to be taking care of most of the pain. He'd been eating good all week too, real food that he cooked himself. He forgot how much he liked to cook, and how much exercise, fresh air and a full belly could lead to the type of sleep at night that he'd been missing. Overall, he was feeling great by the end of the week and he was sad to think it was coming to an end when the kids went back to school.
Saturday afternoon was bittersweet for him as their football session began breaking up. They all said they'd be back the following weekend for more lessons...but it was going to be a long week. Isaac and his crew had just left when Rusty heard the sounds of motorcycle engines. He watched as a group of Harley Davidson's pulling up next to the black van that the prospect had delivered the ranch kids in. When the handful of men in leather, and on the backs of some of the nicest Harleys he'd ever seen, parked, a few of the kids ran over to talk to them. Rusty's eyes were on their leader, however. He'd always been curious about Dax Marshall and it looked like he was about to have the opportunity to meet him.
Dax was a mountain, as tall as Rusty but even broader in the shoulders and with bigger arms. He wore a black leather Skulls kutte over a sleeveless white t-shirt, with jeans and boots. His blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail that hung down to the top of his collar in back, and before he even got close to Rusty, he could see that the guy had the most intensely blue eyes he'd ever seen. They were focused on Rusty's face as he said,
“Well, I'll be damned...it is you.” Dax had a big smile on his face as he held out his hand and Rusty took it.
“Rusty Daniels,” he said.
“I see that. Man, I watched every game you played. It was so cool to know you grew up right here on the Southside. You were fucking awesome too.”
“Well thank you. Can I assume you're Dax Marshall?”
“Oh fuck, yeah...sorry. I was star struck there for a second.”
Rusty chuckled. It had been quite some time since anyone was “star struck” by him. It felt good, especially coming from the famous in his own rite, Dax Marshall. “Well thanks,” he said.
“The kids and the prospects told me what you've been doing for them. I just wanted to come out and meet you myself, and tell you thanks, in person.”
“It's been my pleasure,” Rusty said. “I probably needed this more than they did.”
“Oh yeah? Why's that? I'm sorry, I would just think a retired NFL player would have all kinds of stuff going on.” Dax was completely cool, but Rusty got the feeling that he was still feeling him out, making sure he was legit and not some weirdo or pervert out to hurt the kids. Or maybe he had heard the same rumors everyone else had, and he already knew the answer.
“You know, I might think that myself, if I didn't know me,” Rusty said with a little laugh. He looked around to make sure none of the kids were within hearing range and then he said, “I've had some issues this past year, my family are all miles away and I left the bulk of my friends in Pennsylvania. So, things have gotten boring and lonely around here. It's been great, being out here with the kids. Although I wish they had a nicer place to play. This park has really gone to hell.”
Dax nodded. “Yeah. There's a community project going on right now, trying to get the city to put some money into it. It's actually why the kids are coming out here to play instead of staying on the ranch. One of the women in charge of the project set up some cameras to show the city council that the park is used for something other than the junkies and the homeless...are you okay?” Rusty had stopped listening when Dax said, “Cameras.” He suddenly pictured himself that day, passing out while he was riding his bike...wrecking, and God only knows, coming how close to mowing down a bunch of kids at play. He realized Dax must have seen the anxiety on his face and he cleared his throat and said,
“Um, yeah...I'm good. Cameras, huh? Is that even legal?”
Dax raised an eyebrow but said, “Well, yeah...I suppose. As long as it's posted and there are a couple of signs over near the pond.”
“Oh, okay, good.” He knew he sounded fake, and ridiculous. His mouth was suddenly completely dry and his body was shaking...all over.
“Well anyways,” Dax said, “we should be getting on, I just wanted to stop and say hello.”
“Well it was nice meeting you.”
“You too, and thanks again.” They shook hands once more and Dax started to head back to his bike. He was almost there when he turned back around and said,
“You mentioned your family was all out of town. We're having a big barbecue and Easter egg hunt out at the ranch this weekend. You're welcome to join us, if you don't have any other plans.”
“Um...wow, that's really nice of you...”
“Just think about it,” Dax said. “Oh, and Rusty...”
“Yeah?”
“If you come out we can watch the videos of you and the kids out here...it's a shame that the one from last Monday seems to be so scrambled you can't see a thing on it, but I think the rest of the week looks good. Might even sway the city council and get them to open up their tight pocketbooks.”
Rusty thought he could actually feel his guts shaking. Did Dax just tell him he destroyed the tape of him passing out drunk
while he was driving? Dax was still looking at him, waiting for him to respond. Rusty cleared his throat and in a shaky voice he said, “Good, that would be good. The kids need a nice place to play. I think I might just come out to the ranch for that barbecue tomorrow too. Thanks.” And maybe find out what it is that the Southside Skulls...and Dax Marshall in particular, wanted in exchange for their silence. So far, the deal Rusty made with Isaac had been nothing but a good idea...but making a deal with an MC, that would be a whole different ball game.
Rusty sat in the pew closest to the door, just in case he wanted to make a quick exit. He'd gotten there late, on purpose so that everyone would already be in their seats and he wouldn't have to make conversation on his way in. The preacher was giving the sermon and he was only half-listening as he watched the children in the choir fidget and whisper, waiting for it to be time to sing the song they'd probably been practicing all week. Their antics were met by exasperated, or stern looks from the older folks, but Rusty enjoyed it. He had been in that choir as a kid and he'd been the recipient of many of his mother's “stern” looks for acting silly in front of the entire congregation. But what he remembered the most about it all was that after the sermon was heard and the songs were sung, they all came together in the meeting hall out back to share food, laughs and stories, and everything that happened earlier in God's house had been forgiven. He touched his cross and he wondered despite everything he'd been taught his entire life...was there really such a thing as forgiveness and second chances, or had he already lived his “good life,” and there was nothing else to look forward to from here on out?
