“Bruiser, Veronica thinks you’re God’s gift to the fucking NFL. It’d be a big advantage to Mac if you took her.” Brett had read Mac’s mind. Oh, lord, not Bruiser. No, no, no.
“Yeah, Bruise, that’s perfect. Veronica salivates every time you get near her just thinking about the different ways she can use you to promote the team.” Derek winked at Mac, but she didn’t wink back. She was too busy resurrecting her pride, yet none of these assholes seemed to give a shit about her discomfort.
“Yeah, like the Men of the NFL Calendar. What were you, Mr. July?”
“August,” Bruiser growled, as if irritated that he even remembered the month. “Just for the record, my relationship with Veronica is purely business.”
“Nobody’s saying it isn’t,” Zach pointed out.
“So it’s a done deal. You’ll take Mac.” Tyler lifted his beer in a toast.
Bruiser hesitated for a brief moment, just long enough to telegraph to Mac that he didn’t really want to take her. “I’d love to take you, honey.” His mouth tipped up in that sexy smile of his. This was no big deal to him, while it was everything to Mac, on so many levels.
Mac slipped her hands under the table and clenched them together to cover up the shaking. Invisible fingers wrapped around her throat, rendering her unable to speak. Hell, breathing was a big enough chore.
Her and Bruiser? On a date? Even if it was a fake one. A pity date. She knew her mouth was opening and closing like a newscaster with a broken teleprompter. Tyler’s mouth kicked up in a knowing smile. When the jerk nudged his cousin, she kicked her vocal cords into operation. “I—I don’t think—”
“It’s settled.” Tyler smirked at her, as if she weren’t fooling him one damn bit, and reached for the pitcher of beer, draining it. “Who’s buying the next round?”
Mac sat back in her chair and resisted the urge to bite off what was left of her fingernails. Everything was far from settled, especially her wildly beating heart. She shot a glance at Bruiser, who wasn’t even paying any attention to her. Taking her to the barbecue was the equivalent of a mercy date. Bruiser could flirt with her, but she didn’t even register on his radar as a woman. Unless Kelsie and company could work a major miracle.
But did she want to register on his radar? Where the hell would that get her?
Most likely nowhere good.
* * * * *
Bruiser hated being played, and the guys had just played him. Big time. He waited until Mac and the rest of his jerk-off teammates left the bar then he turned on his former—as of a few minutes ago—best friend. “Why the fuck did you suggest I take Mac?”
“You didn’t have to say yes.”
“Yeah, you pricks backed me into a corner. I couldn’t turn her down without hurting her feelings.”
“Do you care? About her feelings, that is?”
“Yeah, I do. Surprised? I like Mac.” Bruiser was pissed and out of sorts, which probably had something to do with his recurrent fantasies about Mac riding him for all he was worth into one mind-altering orgasm after another. Shit, he’d been trying to squelch those particular visions for the past week by dating a different woman every night. And each night, instead of taking Ms. Anonymous home and banging her brains out, he dropped them off and left. Visions of Mac’s pretty brown eyes and toned, athletic body moving underneath his had driven away his desire for anyone else.
God, he needed to get a grip. Bruiser rubbed his eyes with his fists.
“Everyone likes Mac.” Brett ground his teeth together, obviously misinterpreting Bruiser’s attitude as not wanting to take Mac out.
Feeling oddly weary, Bruiser leaned his elbows on the table, rested his chin in his palms, and looked up. “Not as much as you do. Why don’t you ask her out?” Maybe that’d solve his current preoccupation. He didn’t mess with another man’s woman. Ever. If he could get these two damaged souls together, he could go back to his normal life of meaningless, recreational sex and superficial friendships.
“I don’t know. She probably wouldn’t go.” Brett took a big gulp of his beer.
“How the hell do you know? You’ve never asked her.”
“I might.”
Bruiser stared at his friend and shook his head. “You’re a piece of work, Brett, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Sure does,” Bruiser chuckled.
Brett stared at his beer as if it held the answers to world peace. “I wish I could take her.”
“I wish you could, too. Cancel your plans.”
“I can’t. I’m in Portland judging a pet parade fundraiser to benefit to an animal shelter. Remember? I asked you, and you said no. Said you had commitments.”
“Uh, yeah, that. My plans got cancelled.” Bruiser had been outed. “I’m not good with animals.” Pets reminded him too much of his own crappy upbringing with his barfly mother and crazy-wild sister and their unattended menagerie of dogs and cats. “Hey, I gave you a big check to help with expenses.”
“You think money replaces people, Bruce?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. His ex-wife, CeCe, would say money solved everything. She took half of his rookie-year signing bonus and hooked up with a New York quarterback so she could bask in the limelight of the Big Apple. Bruiser had really loved that woman. Adored her, actually. They’d been together since high school, dated all through college, and married as soon as the Jacks drafted him in the first round. Less than a year later, she left him with a broken heart and empty bank account. She’d been one in a handful of people in his life who’d deserted him, and after that Bruiser tore a page from his family’s playbook and kept his relationships superficial. A guy didn’t get fucked over that way.
He had one simple rule when it came to women: His one-week rule. Most didn’t last one entire night, but none of them lasted a week. Not since CeCe. At least he hadn’t confided his secret guilt to her. If she’d known the depth of his private pain, she’d have used it and turned it back around on him.
She’d been his biggest fucking mistake. Being betrayed by someone you loved and trusted sucked worse than losing the Super Bowl in the last second of the game.
He kept his relationships so superficial, he didn’t even know much about Brett, his best friend, and he didn’t ask, even though he suspected his buddy had similar scars from his own past. Brett had interrupted his college education to become a paratrooper. Sometimes Bruiser caught the tragic sadness in Brett’s eyes and worried like hell about his friend, but he kept his concerns to himself, holding the world at arm’s length and concentrating on football and his foundation.
Except lately he’d been concentrating on Mac, which was fucking weird. Hell, he didn’t even know if she cleaned up well—or cleaned up at all. A new image crashed into his brain: Mac wrestling with him in a pit of warm, thick, gooey mud. Her body covered with wet, soft dirt and her nipples standing out against the material of a thin T-shirt and nothing else.
Oh, hell. He smacked the flat of his palm against his forehead.
“What is wrong with you?” Brett narrowed his eyes and studied Bruiser with a gaze that pierced way too deep.
“Nothing, just got a headache. I’ll flip you for the next round of drinks.”
“Nah, I’m done for the night. Gotta get back to the kids.” Brett’s kids consisted of a shitload of animal rejects, which was why Bruiser never went to Brett’s place.
“Catch ya later then.”
Brett sketched a salute and headed for the door, stiffing Bruiser for the bill. With a sigh, he took out his wallet and paid up. Across the room, an athletic, blonde woman chatted with her friends. She caught his eye and waved. She reminded him a lot of Mac. Bruiser got up from the table and made his way to her. Maybe he just needed a change in type.
Or maybe he needed something more, something he wouldn’t get from a one-night stand with a stranger he picked up in a bar.
Smiling at the ladies, he walked past their table and out the door.
Chapter 3
The Play Fake
Mac plopped down in a plastic lawn chair on the concrete patio of her little house and kept her back to the house next door. Two years ago she’d planted arborvitae next to the fence dividing the two properties in hopes they’d block any view of the neighbors, but the shrubs weren’t growing fast enough for her taste.
The old craftsman-style cottage had been her home for about four years. Previously, her grandmother had lived there. This property had been in her family for four generations.
After Mac made the decision to move into the long-vacant house, she’d worked side-by-side with her brother Will to make it livable. Since he’d lived next door, it’d been easy for him to drop by and work on stuff, even though it pissed off his selfish wife, Sonja. No one in the family ever understood why Will married the woman. Well, other than the obvious. She had big boobs and wasn’t afraid to show them off. But a wedding ring hadn’t guaranteed Will exclusive rights to that show.
Mac rubbed her eyes with her fists and let out a shuddering sigh. She glanced around her carefully landscaped yard with its flower gardens erupting in a riot of summer colors. Birds splashed in the birdbath and flitted to and from various birdfeeders. She loved her little house and was immensely proud of all the improvements she’d made over the years.
Shifting in her lawn chair, Mac’s gaze swung toward her house. Beyond the open French doors on the opposite wall, an ornate, antique mantle surrounded the old brick fireplace. Will had found it on CraigsList and sanded, stained, and installed it as a surprise for her birthday.
God, she missed her brother with his dancing, mischievous eyes and zest for life. His absence left a huge hole in her heart that time didn’t seem to heal.
Bart rubbed his black head against her leg, and she bent down to pick him up. The crotchety, old black cat with one good eye and a ripped ear purred his approval. He’d showed up at her back door one day and demanded in no uncertain terms that he upgrade his status to a house cat. She’d relented and been his loyal servant ever since. Mac hugged him close, burying her face in his soft fur, while his purring gave her a sliver of comfort.
“Mac? I thought I’d find you out here.”
Mac turned and smiled as her father, Craig Hernandez, sank his lanky body into the chair next to her. “Hi, Dad.”
He looked weary and old with his bloodshot eyes and rumpled shirt he’d most likely slept in, if he got any sleep. So much for a relaxing retirement.
“Hey, honey. I got a lead via the website yesterday. Someone thinks they may have spotted your brother in Port Townsend last weekend. What time do you want to head up there on Saturday?”
Try not at all. Mac cringed inwardly at her traitorous thoughts. “Dad, I can’t go Saturday. I have plans.”
Her father frowned. Nothing deterred him from his mission. “What could be more important than finding your brother?”
“What’s the point, Dad? We aren’t going to find him in Port Townsend because he’s not there.” She fought to keep the exasperation from her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was spend the three-hour drive cooped up in a car with her father as he went over all the evidence he’d collected for the trillionth time.
Guilt and duty tore her in half. He had no one else. After Will disappeared her dad had driven away his golfing and bowling buddies with his obsession to find his son. He’d alienated the only woman he’d dated since Mac’s mother died when Mac was only three.
Only Mac remained. She couldn’t abandon him. Or Will. Lately, she’d begun to fear her father might be losing it, on the verge of a breakdown or something.
“We can’t pass up any leads. You never know which will be the one. What’s wrong with you, Mac? We always reserve the weekends for Will.”
“I know. I just need this Saturday for something else. How about Sunday?”
He brightened up, and she mentally kicked herself for caving once again. “Sunday’s a deal.” He stood, bent down to stroke the cat on her lap, and turned to leave.
“Want to stay for dinner?” She longed for just one normal dinner with her father where they’d talk about sports, fertilizer, and last’s week’s pool game. Only she knew they wouldn’t.
“Can’t. I’m meeting with Trudy.”
Not Trudy again. “Dad, there’s nothing more Trudy can tell you. She’s milking you for a free dinner.”
“There has to be something. She’s Sonja’s best friend and the last known person to see Will. She’s hiding something.” Her father’s eyes gleamed with his rabid obsession, which unfortunately had become his norm.
Mac glanced at the seventies-style house next door, at one time her parents’ house, then Will’s, now Sonja’s home with her second husband, Ben.
Resentment and anger over the injustice of it all flooded through her. Once part of the same family property, that house was where Mac grew up with her brothers, Will and Clint. It should still belong to her family, not to that woman.
“Eventually I’ll wear her down. I have to.” Craig’s voice steered her attention back to him.
“I think she’s wearing you down.” She couldn’t count how many times they’d had a similar conversation.
Craig shrugged. “He’s my firstborn. I can’t give up on him.”
“Dad, at some point, you need to face facts and live your life. Will wouldn’t want you dedicating every spare moment to finding him.”
“What you’re really saying is that you want to abandon your big brother, too?” The sadness in his eyes pierced right to her heart.
“No, Dad, I don’t. I loved Will, but he’s gone.”
Her father sighed and stood up. “Bye, hon. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Bye, Dad.” Mac watched her father walk out the gate, his shoulders slumped, his gait shuffling.
Maybe if he thought she was seriously dating someone he’d cut her some slack like he did Clint. Only that deception didn’t sit well with her any more than abandoning her father did. Besides, she’d need a guy to play along, and what guy would volunteer for that duty?
Her mind quickly detoured to Bruiser, with those blue-gray eyes, perfect face, golden hair, and deep tan. Not to mention that ripped body. Oh, God, especially that body.
She shook her head and had to laugh. What an outrageous thought. Just because Bruiser had been backed into a corner with no way out and graciously accepted his fate didn’t mean they had anything going other than a casual friendship and Mac’s late-night, secret fantasies with a vibrator named Bruce.
* * * * *
The next morning, Bruiser walked into the Regional Burn Center in Seattle. He was a regular fixture at the center and showed up like clockwork every Tuesday morning when he was in the area, sometimes more often. The center served the entire Pacific Northwest. Burn patients came from all over to receive the critically acclaimed care and surgical procedures pioneered here. He’d seen it all as far as physical damage done by burns, but the mental and emotional scars were far worse.
Bruiser lived an illusion, one he’d perpetuated so long that the real Bruiser rarely came out to play. He was the team’s poster boy, always saying the right thing, making news with his daredevil escapades, and being a damn good football player. Veronica Simms loved him, but not like that. Hell, no. Bruiser avoided women who emasculated men, and Veronica avoided men she couldn’t pussy whip. Instead, they’d developed a business relationship. She did more for him than his agent when it came to finding lucrative endorsements, and he supported her favorite charities as she did his.
People claimed Bruiser had become the face of the Evergreen Burn Foundation because he was a publicity whore and liked the added attention that came from doing charity work with kids. They didn’t realize he was the foundation, at least in part—a large part. His secret charity, The Brice Fund, made a generous donation every year to the foundation. In fact, pretty much everything Bruiser earned from modeling and endorsements went to that cause.
He owed Brice t
hat much.
What people didn’t know and Bruiser wouldn’t tell them was that beyond the publicity photos taken of him visiting the hospital, there were countless more visits that were never documented. This morning was one such visit.
As soon as he walked off the elevator, Mary, the charge nurse, pulled him aside. “We have a patient we’d like you to work your magic on. He needs a little TLC.”
“Giving you guys hell, is he?” They often steered him toward kids who were tough to handle.
Mary nodded and raised her gaze to the heavens. “Beyond hell. He’s severely burned from a head-on car crash, which killed his mother and father. The firemen on the scene estimated he was trapped in the car for almost a minute before they could get to him. The only thing that saved him was his mother’s body on top of his. The poor kid had second and third-degree burns over a majority of his body. He just turned eleven, and he’s spent the last several months here in the hospital.”
“Oh, man, that has to be tough for the kid.” Stories like that reminded Bruiser that no matter how bad someone might think their life was, someone else always had it worse.
“His mother and father were professors at the UW. No brothers and sisters. His only living relatives are on a church mission in South America or somewhere. They won’t return for another month or so.”
Bruiser nodded. “So he’s all alone?”
“He had some visitors at first, friends, teachers, but lately no one has come by. It’s pretty tragic. We do what we can, and he tries, but it’s really hard for him.”
“Where is he?”
“Zero-four at the end of the hall. His name’s Elliot.”
“Got it.” Bruiser leaned closer to her. “So, Mary, when are you going to leave your husband and run away with me?” He grinned, enjoying their usual banter, and winked at her, even though she was old enough to be his mother.
Backfield in Motion Page 3
