“I’ll let you know.” She winked back.
With a chuckle, Bruiser made his way to the end of the hall, stopping to talk to kids on the way before entering Elliot’s room.
Lying on the bed was a small, scrawny little guy with thick glasses and a stubborn set to his jaw. A book was propped in a stand on his table, and he appeared to be lost in it. Bruiser hesitated for a moment, not because the kid’s face set him back on his heels, but because something about this kid struck a chord deep inside him, sliding past carefully constructed walls into that place marked with an “Enter at your own risk” sign.
Bruiser adored every one of these brave kids with a fierce protectiveness. He often rented a suite at the ball park and took them to baseball games. As they healed, he helped them acclimate to a world that often couldn’t help staring at them. He never once looked at these kids with repulsion like his parents once had. Never.
Stepping into the room, Bruiser plastered a smile on his face. He loved his kids, as he liked to think of them, loved how they put on such a courageous face to the world, how they opened up to him when they realized their outside appearance meant nothing to him but their internal beauty was everything. The kids understood him better than his closest friends—hell, better than he understood himself. But they saw a side of him no one else saw. The therapy worked both ways.
The kid glanced at him, his face wrinkled and red from the skin grafts, one eye partially closed, and only the remnants of a nose and ears.
“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” Bruiser walked over to the bed.
The kid squinted at him through the thickest pair of glasses Bruiser had ever seen. “I’m not your buddy.” No animosity behind his words, just a factual statement.
Bruiser tried not to smile. “You could be if you gave me a chance.”
“Who are you?” Elliot gripped the remote as if it were a weapon he could wield at any second.
“Not into sports, are you?”
Elliot shook his head. “Nope. I’d rather read than watch a bunch of men chase a ball around.” He pointed to the pile of books on the table next to the bed.
Bruiser picked up one. Shakespeare. Damn. He looked at the stack. Classics, every one of them: Twain, Scott, Dickens, and Poe. At the same age, Bruiser was smuggling Playboy magazines into his bedroom. Elliot turned the page with a bandaged hand on a dog-eared Tom Sawyer hardcover—at least it was a kid’s book.
“I’m Bruiser Mackey, running back for the Seattle Lumberjacks.” Bruiser patted Elliot on the shoulder. “And you’re Elliot.”
The kid blinked a few times then nodded. “Yeah.” He stared at his book. “I don’t watch football. Mom said it was barbaric, and Dad said it was boring.”
“It can be both at times.” Bruiser grinned and sat on the edge of the bed.
Elliot met his gaze, his forehead wrinkled with worry. “Don’t I bother you?”
Bruiser narrowed his eyes and made a show of studying the kid, looking past the angry red splotches on his face, missing right ear, and bare, scarred head. “Bother me? Hey, just because you’re a bigger fan of Tom Sawyer than Tom Brady?”
“Who’s Tom Brady?” The kid stared up at him with a quizzical expression. He really didn’t know.
“Uh, Super Bowl-winning quarterback for the New England Patriots. Not my favorite team, but it is what it is.”
Elliot gave him his full attention now. “Not mine either, but then, none of them are. I don’t like football.”
Bruiser held his hands over his heart in a dramatic display that would’ve made the Kardashians proud. “You’re breakin’ my heart here, Elliot.”
“I am not.” Elliot stared at him like he’d gone nuts.
“We’re just gonna have to turn you into a football fan. I’ll consider that my personal quest. I’ll get you to some games.” Bruiser leaned toward the kid, still smiling, daring Elliot to smile back.
Elliot’s mouth turned down into a bigger frown. “I can’t go to a game. Not like this. My face scares people.”
“I think you’re unique.” Bruiser sobered and put on his serious face. “It’s what’s inside that matters, Elliot. Don’t ever forget that.”
Elliot swallowed and stared at his hands gripping the sheets.
Needing to lighten the mood, Bruiser spotted a checkers game sitting on a chair. “How about a game?”
Elliot perked up. Kids were like that, incredibly resilient. “I’m pretty awesome at checkers.”
“More awesome than me? I’m the awesomest checker player around.”
“Awesomest is not a word.” Elliot stared at him through those thick glasses, so very serious. Too serious for an eleven-year-old.
“According to who?” Bruiser challenged, playing the dumb blond jock to the hilt.
“Merriam-Webster,” Elliot shot right back. The kid had spunk after all he’d been through.
“Never met the guy.”
“What do I get if I win?”
“What do you want?”
“To watch all the old Star Trek reruns, like a marathon.” Elliot almost appeared excited.
Bruiser gagged as if the thought were making him sick. “Ah, man, anything but Star Trek. How about Star Wars or Robocop?” He actually liked Star Trek, but the kid seemed to be enjoying their banter.
“Star Trek was ahead of its time. Did you know that space warp is possible?”
“Uh, no, actually I never thought about it. Sure I can’t talk you into a classic like Planet of the Apes?”
Elliot shook his head pretty vigorously. “Nope, that’s my prize. I won’t settle for less than Kirk and Spock. You’d like it. The women have really short, tight uniforms.” Elliot actually laughed, a rusty, hoarse sound as if it’d been a long time since he’d used it.
“Well, now that you mention that, you’re on, because I never lose a bet.” Bruiser grinned and got a smile in return.
“Neither do I, not at checkers,” Elliot shot back. “Don’t you want something if you win?” Elliot scooted his little body higher up in the bed.
“Uh, sure, you have to watch a football game with me.”
“Only one quarter. I’m too young for more with that level of violence.” Elliot stared at him with no expression on his face.
It took Bruiser a full minute to realize the kid was jerking his chain. “A full half.”
Elliot shook his head. “One quarter. That’s my final offer.”
“Okay, fine, but I get to call you buddy. Deal?”
“Deal—buddy.” Elliot smiled at him, really smiled this time. Bruiser grinned back.
They setup the board game on Elliot’s lap tray, and the kid thoroughly enjoyed kicking Bruiser’s ass. Bruiser promised to come back over the weekend with a full DVD set of the original Star Trek series. Elliot gave him a hug when he left, as witnessed by a grateful set of nurses.
For all his Super Bowl rings and awards, nothing beat the satisfaction Bruiser got out of seeing these kids smile and hearing them laugh, ass-whooping or not.
Chapter 4
Sisters in Crime
Mac sat on a stool positioned in the middle of Zach and Kelsie’s huge kitchen while three women circled her like she-wolves prowling around a wounded fawn. Kelsie Murphy rubbed her chin and stood back, as if she were a painter studying a blank canvas.
Lavender, Tyler’s girlfriend, took a sip of her wine and hiccupped. Rachel, Derek’s wife and an assistant football scout for the Lumberjacks, grabbed the counter to steady her very unsteady feet. She had a hard enough time with gravity without adding alcohol to the equation.
Mac was putting her future in the she-wolves’ hands, and she was still sober. What did that say about her?
“Where do we start?” Lavender hiccupped again and topped off her glass, tossing the empty wine bottle in the garbage. With a clink, it nestled among the other wine bottles.
“Bruiser’s sister volunteered to do her hair, add some highlights, take the dirty out of the dirty blonde. I’ll teach her
to do makeup.” Kelsie wobbled around her, taking a big gulp from her wine glass.
Mac marveled at how someone could be so drunk and so graceful at the same time. When Mac drank too much, she got loud and lurched about like a three-legged hound dog.
Lavender leaned against the counter. “I have just the dress. I suspect we’re about the same size. It’s sexy as hell.”
“She needs sexy. Who would have guessed you were hiding that figure under all those baggy clothes?” Kelsie said.
Rachel dropped into a chair. “I’ve worked quite a bit with Veronica. I’ll give you the scoop on her so you can make small talk and impress her with your knowledge of things not related to plants.”
“I don’t have any knowledge other than plants and sports.”
“You will,” Rachel cackled with an evil laugh and her sisters in crime joined in.
“So,” Kelsie ticked off on her ruby red fingertips, “clothes, hair, makeup, small talk. What else? What are we missing?”
“Wine. We’re missing wine.” Lavender snapped her fingers. “More wine, garçon.”
The other two draped themselves across the stools and poured another drink. This time they coerced Mac into joining them. A few hours and way too many wine glasses and tequila shots later, Mac was certifiably drunk, having a great time, and refusing to be the first of the group to end the night, probably a bad move on her part.
Lavender leaned her elbows on the counter and grinned a wicked grin, obviously up to no fucking good. “Okay, ladies, truth or dare. If you were single, and you could sleep with any man in the world, who would it be?”
Mac rolled her eyes. Couldn’t they just enjoy a good drunk without playing stupid games?
“Zach,” Kelsie hiccupped and giggled.
“Derek,” Rachel grinned, her eyes all glassy and unfocused.
“No, no, no,” Lavender groaned and pounded her forehead with her fist. “Pretend Derek, Tyler, and Zach are out of the picture. Give me a name.”
“It’s your idea, Vin, you give us a name.”
“Channing Tatum, but I still think Ty’s hotter. Rachel, you’re next.”
“Christian Olsen. Kelsie?”
Kelsie giggled, scratched her head as if she’d forgotten the question, and finally answered. “Matt Bomer.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to Mac. She belched, a very unladylike sound, but then no one had ever accused her of being a lady. Not one bit. Squinting, she tried to focus on the blurry faces swimming in front of her. At least she still had enough of her wits about her to keep her mouth shut, even as she felt her face getting redder. This was not the time for honesty.
Lavender narrowed her eyes and raised one eyebrow. “It’s one of the guys, isn’t it?”
“One of our guys?” Rachel held her hand up to her mouth and ripped off a hunk of fingernail.
“No. No.” Mac shook her head. Big mistake, as it made the room spin. Or maybe her body was spinning and the room was stationary.
Lavender wasn’t about to let her off easy, drunk or not. She narrowed her eyes and studied Mac. “Wait a minute.” She started to smile. “It’s Bruiser.”
Wallowing in embarrassment and speechless with horror, Mac knew her face revealed her most carefully guarded secret.
“It is Bruiser.” Lavender clapped her hands together, reveling in her discovery way too damn much.
“As in our Bruiser with the eight-pack abs,” Lavender hiccupped again and giggled.
“Bruiser with the great hair,” Kelsie smiled dreamily.
“Bruiser with those smoky blue eyes.” Rachel leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles, and sighed a deep sigh.
“Well, I mean, you know, who wouldn’t think he was hot?” Mac backpedaled, but even in their inebriated state the women weren’t buying it.
“You have a crush on Bruiser.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
“I —I don’t feel that way, I really don’t.”
“Bullshit.” Lavender obviously knew crap when she heard it, which probably came from living with Tyler for the past year.
“Wait till we’re done with you; we’re gonna knock his cleats off. You’ll have him begging for mercy.” Kelsie eyed her with the certainty of the beauty pageant star she’d once been.
“I don’t want him begging. So I think he’s hot. That doesn’t mean I want to screw his brains out.”
“Of course, you do. What single woman wouldn’t want a big bite of what he’s selling?”
On that note, the women ignored her. Lavender raised her wine glass. “Hey, girls, now we’re really on a mission, not just to help Mac’s career but to cast a line and get that big fish to bite.” The she-wolves clinked their glasses together.
Mac didn’t know whether to be horrified or encouraged.
* * * * *
Bruiser dried off his wet body and wrapped the towel around his waist. He dropped down on the bench in front of his locker and checked his messages. Nothing unexpected. He was meeting Chelsea and Sondra for drinks and entertainment tonight. A slow smile spread across his face at the thought of the two BFFs and the fun they’d had together last time. Those crazy-assed women just about sent him to an early grave with a big smile on his face. And here he’d thought he’d been in shape. After they’d finished with him, he’d slept for twelve hours.
Bruiser stared in the mirror hanging in his locker and ran a comb through his blond hair, wishing he had dark hair like Harris, or a mean look like Zach, or even a guy-next-door face like Derek. Hell no, he looked like a fucking movie star, and he fucking hated it.
Well, mostly. He did appreciate the perks, especially the female ones.
He sighed and pushed a wayward lock of hair off his forehead, making sure his hair was perfect. He couldn’t help it; he did care how he looked. He had a brand to maintain.
He glanced around to find Brett staring at him. Last year they’d accidentally discovered a mutual love of fishing after which they spent hours together on Puget Sound and area lakes fishing for whatever happened to be biting. As a result, Bruiser became close friends with the quiet backup quarterback, and Bruiser didn’t have many close friends by his own choice. Neither did Brett.
Brett had the locker next to him and sat down, pulling on his shoes. “Looking forward to the barbecue?”
“What do you think?” Bruiser shrugged it off.
“You’re a prick, Mackey. You wouldn’t know a good woman if she landed in your lap.”
“Hey, I’m not looking for a good woman—just the opposite. Good women expect commitments, and I’m not that guy.”
Brett ran his fingers though his wet hair. “I wish I were taking her.”
“So do I. Remind me again how I got roped into this?”
Brett ignored the question. “I bet she’ll look great.”
“Hope so.” Bruiser frowned. “My future depends on my ability to market myself, and Mac isn’t, well, exactly my normal date.” He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Think she’s gay?”
“No more than you are.”
“You have a point.” Bruiser had battled that label himself, just because he took care of his appearance and dressed in the most expensive of clothes. Truthfully, he hated shopping, but it was all part of his persona. He played the part. The ladies loved how he looked, and men wanted to be him, which put money in his endorsers’ pockets and in turn in Bruiser’s pockets.
“Besides, you got the hots for her, not me.” Well, except for some recurring erotic fantasies, and he didn’t have a clue where they were coming from. Maybe he’d grown as weary of his Barbie doll dates as he had of modeling.
Brett cleared his throat, suddenly looking nervous. “I have to warn you.”
“Warn me? About Mac?” Bruiser snorted out a laugh.
“Uh. Not exactly. I saw your mom a few days ago.”
Bruiser stiffened. “Did you get your hair cut?” Brett was the only teammate who’d ever met his family. Bruiser’s mother and sister owned
a hair salon on the peninsula. Brett had been going there for a year. Bruiser wouldn’t let them touch his hair. He preferred to get it cut at a trendy salon in Bellevue rather than in his mother’s pink and purple monument to poor taste.
“Yup. Eunice and Shanna said they haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I know,” Bruiser swallowed back the guilt. He sent them money once a month to help pay for the salon expenses rather than visiting them, as if that replaced him. His mother, Eunice, had left five messages on his phone this week. Instead of calling her, he’d sent a text message.
Yeah, he was a crappy son, one who pretended he didn’t have a family, which made him a crappy person, too.
Bruiser hated dishonesty for a multitude of reasons. His father had figured truth was useless when you can spin a whole web of lies. And Bruiser’s ex-wife had used lies and guilt in equal doses to get what she wanted. Then his last three girlfriends hadn’t been an improvement, except he hadn’t been stupid enough to marry any of them. Forget that Bruiser practiced his own brand of deception every waking hour of his day, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, rather than embracing who he was. But at least he was only hurting himself. This thing with keeping his family hidden was another thing altogether.
“Then why don’t you go see them?”
“Why don’t you go see your family?” Bruiser shot back.
Brett almost smiled. “Touché.” He looked down at his watch. “Uh, but that’s not exactly what I’m warning you about.”
“What is it then?”
“You know how you told me your mother and sister like to chat?”
“Uh, yeah.” Brett was the only person he ever talked to about Eunice and Shanna.
“Well, I told them about Mac and the barbecue. They volunteered to style her hair, do all that beauty stuff, the whole works on the house.”
“Oh, no. No way.”
“She doesn’t have much money. They’d do it for free.” Brett seemed to be trying hard not to smile, the dumbass.
“No. I don’t want my mother and sister filling her full of embarrassing stories about my childhood.” Or even worse, telling her the entire tragic truth of his childhood, a truth he fought tooth and nail to hide. Embarrassment he could handle, pity and blame he couldn’t.
Backfield in Motion Page 4
