As my teammates file out of their limos, Paxton, my linebacker, comes over to me. “Dude, can we stretch this wedding shit out for another season or two?”
Since Ari and I announced our engagement, businesses keep sending things to me via the team. Cookies, brownies, champagne, wine, scotch, fully catered meals. I haven’t seen anything that works for us, but I know several of the guys have placed orders for various things.
I clap him on the back. “I don’t think so. But there’s nothing that says you can’t be next. All you have to do is put a ring on one of the chicks you’re banging, and they’ll come after you.”
He snorts. “No barbeque is worth that noise. I’ll just mooch off of you as long as I can.” He takes a whiff as we file into the restaurant. “Damn. If it tastes half as good as it smells, it might be worth a ring.” He elbows me. “That’s what divorce is for, right?”
Ari hooks her arm through his. “Don’t be a douche, Pax. And don’t you dare marry any of those skanks! You’re such a great guy, and you waste your time with those trashy women who are only after your money.”
“There are two kinds of women in the world: Arianna and not Arianna. Since you’re marrying this jackass, everyone else is lumped together in a mass of nameless, faceless pussy.” He takes Ari’s hand and kisses it. “Now if you want to dump this loser and find out what it’s like to be with a real man…”
“Hold up, Ari’s dumping B-man?” Weston, my corner, pulls Ari out of Pax’s arms and into his. “I know she’s not leaving him for you. She’s coming to me, aren’t you, sweetness?”
She kisses his cheek. “Sorry, boys. I’m a one-man woman. I just sent in our deposit check for the wedding, so it’s happening. Mark your calendars. And, Pax, no skanks allowed, so let’s work on finding you a nice girl to bring to my wedding.”
I should be bothered by the fact that any of the guys on my team would happily snap my spine and toss me into a pool of piranhas if they thought they had a chance with Ari, but I’m not. I’m used to it by now. With the exception of my first few years in the league when we were broken up, every team I’ve played on, going all the way back to Pop Warner, she’s completely captivated everyone. It was tough when I was at Stanford because my teammates had no idea she was my girl. They all thought they had a chance with her, and I had to just sit there and listen to it.
She’s grown especially close to this year’s team. Jeb keeps finding reasons to bring her down to the stadium. I swear he’s grooming her to take over one day. He’ll ask her for help with some problem, and once it’s solved, the two of them will join us for the team meal. So she’s gotten to know the team fairly well. Then they’re running to her with girl problems, or agent problems, or even football problems. Wives and girlfriends aren’t typically included when we do anything as a team, but Ari’s always been welcome. They treat her like one of the guys. And most importantly, they respect the hell out of her. If she were ever in a situation where she needed help, any one of these guys would jump in. We’re not just a bunch of co-workers—we’re a family. It’s a good feeling.
“All right, you jackals, you can take your hands off my wife now.”
Burns, my strong safety, comes out of nowhere, picks up Ari, throws her over his shoulder, and runs into the restaurant with her. “She’s not your wife yet. I still have a chance!”
I race after him and catch up when he’s getting lectured by my mother. “You will behave yourself, Michael Burns. Your mother would be ashamed of you acting like a hooligan.”
“Yes, Mama Brennan,” he mutters.
I take Ari’s hand. “Yeah, Michael, behave yourself.”
Mom winks at me as I walk by. The hostess leads us to four long farmer’s tables.
“Bryan, I like that this place is rustic,” I say. Bryan has sent us to a number of five-star restaurants where the food was over-priced, on over-sized plates, and the meals were bite-sized. Ari despises places like that. This time I think Bryan may have gotten it right.
A round of servers comes out and pours wine for the table, so Ari hands Charlie her glass. Charlie’s been joking that she has to catch up on the nine months she couldn’t drink. At the other table, Mom tells some story, and the whole table erupts into a roar of laughter. Charlie and I both glare at her as it was probably an embarrassing story about us. As promised, Calder is passed out on Spencer’s shoulder, never flinching from the noise. Moments later, appetizers of pork belly, grit fritters, and fried green tomatoes are brought to the table.
Once everyone digs in, Ari says, “I have amazing news.”
“Is this what you were talking to your agent about?” I ask.
She cuts into one of the tomatoes the chef made especially for her. “Yes. When I was in New York last week, I attended this Women in Business awards dinner, and I presented an award to Tory Burch. I was seated next to Barbara Falkner, who is big time old money and an avid supporter of female entrepreneurs. Anyway, my meal came out, and I had to send it back because it wasn’t vegan. She and I started talking about the growing number of vegan consumers and the impact they have on commerce.”
The servers drop off another platter of pork and sausages and place it right in front of Ari. I take the platter and move it in front of my father.
“I love that you’re vegan, Ari. More for me,” he says as he drops a heaping serving on his plate.
“Anyway,” Ari continues, “one thing leads to another, and I tell her about my struggle finding purses and shoes. We ended up chatting for the rest of the night about all sorts of things. So my agent calls me tonight—Falkner’s lawyers have reached out. She wants to give me seed money to start my own line. That would obviously violate my contract with Ralph Lauren, so now they’re in a bidding war over me. A bidding war!”
“Remember you promised you’re not moving to New York,” Charlie jokes. “I’m just kidding, honey. This is the best news. Congrats!”
I pull her to her feet and give her a huge hug. “That’s so amazing, Blondie. I’m so proud of you.” I pull away so I can look in her eyes. “Are you happy? Is this what you want?”
She nods. “This is totally unexpected. I never even considered it, but now that the idea is in front of me… I’m ecstatic. My brain is racing with a million possibilities. I’m so excited to try to make something vegan that doesn’t look like it should be sold at a flea market. Couture and vegan have yet to walk hand-in-hand successfully, and I’d love to be the first to do it.”
“So this vegan thing is sticking around, huh?” Spencer asks, rubbing circles on Calder’s back.
Ari walks over and takes Calder from him so he can eat. “The vegan thing is sticking around.”
The head chef comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, then he slings it over his shoulder. “Welcome to Brown Suga’. I’m Marquis Lafarge, owner and head chef. First, let me say congratulations to the Niners on winning four—”
“Whoa!” Every player in the room covers his ears.
“What did I say?”
“Chef,” Charlie says, “have you ever noticed if you’re having a really smooth night, when someone says, ‘Hey, we’re really killing it tonight’, then the next thing you know, a server drops a full tray of food, you have a small kitchen fire, and your fridge dies?”
“Ah.” He nods in understanding. “Well, scrap that. Screw you guys. I’m an Atlanta fan. That game sucked ass.”
Charlie gives him a thumbs-up.
“Your entrées will be right out. If you need anything, let us know,” he says before walking back toward the kitchen. He spins on his heel before he hits the door. “Oh, one more thing. It seems the press has caught wind that you’re here. There’s a group of photographers out front. I’m giving away complementary Brown Suga’ T-shirts and ribs for life to anyone who says this was the best meal of your life on the way out.” He gets a few laughs, then he returns to the kitchen.
Servers refill glasses as everyone returns to their conversations. Out of the corner o
f my eye, I notice Coach pick up his phone and walk to a quiet corner of the restaurant just as the entrees are brought to the table.
Charlie peppers Ari with questions until Coach returns to the table. He whistles loudly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to do this, but all of my players need to leave now. Wheels up in thirty.”
“I thought we weren’t leaving until ten,” Paxton says.
“Change of plans,” Coach replies. “Team emergency. We have to leave now. The limos are waiting. No one say a word to the press as we’re leaving. No matter what they say, do not respond.”
Ari leans toward me. “Do you know what is going on?”
I shrug. “No idea. But it must be serious if they’re making us leave early.”
Pop looks at the plate of short ribs in front of him. “We don’t have to go, do we?”
“No, our flight isn’t until later tonight,” Ari says. “But let me see if we can get this boxed up to go. You can eat it on the plane.” Still holding Calder, she walks to the hostess stand. A few minutes later, the servers bring out bags upon bags of food.
“Time to go, guys,” Coach says.
I kiss Calder’s head, then give Ari a kiss. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on. Apologize to Marquis for me. I love you.”
Thirty minutes later, the whole team is on the plane, scarfing down their dinner from Brown Suga’.
“Dude, you have to hire this place,” Pax says. “It’s fucking phenomenal.” He points his fork at my smashed potatoes. “You going to finish those?”
I elbow him. “Yes, and back off.”
Burns leans in close. “Anyone know what this is about?”
I shrug. “They haven’t said a word to me. But for Coach to be pulled away from barbeque, you know it must be serious.”
Holding up his phone, Watson looks over the back of his chair. “They turned off the WiFi!”
A flight attendant rushes over. “Sir, I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to use the internet or make calls or texts during the duration of the flight. Team orders.”
“Man, that’s jacked! I need to call my girl.”
The flight attendant smiles. “And you’ll be able to as soon as we land.”
Pax steals a piece of cornbread off of Burns’s plate. “Fuck, this is not good.”
The coaching staff doesn’t say a word the entire flight. Not one word. That’s never happened. The plane is full of awkward tension, like a group of kids sent to the principal’s office and waiting to hear what they’re in trouble for.
When the pilot announces we’re about to make our final descent into SFO, Coach stands up at the front of the plane. “We are in a media lock-down until you hear otherwise. No Twitter, no Facebook, no social media of any sort. If someone from the press calls you, I don’t care if they ask you about the weather, say no comment and hang up. If you violate the media lock-down, there will be fines. Big ones.”
This of course creates more questions than answers. Everyone’s curiosity is piqued.
When we land, Coach pulls me aside and asks me to meet him at the stadium, but to keep it on the DL. When I get to his office a little while later, he gestures for me to sit.
“What’s going on, Coach?”
He presses Play on the remote. “Just watch.”
A grainy video of what appears to be Billy Tate walking into a kid’s birthday party pops up on the screen. There’s no sound, but from the way he’s stumbling around and knocking into things, it’s pretty obvious he’s drunk. He trips into a bunch of balloons, turns around, and punches them like a boxer going after a heavy bag. A woman walks up to him and puts her hand on his shoulder.
“That’s one of his baby mamas,” Coach says.
Billy slaps her so hard my face stings.
“The footage is too blurry to tell. Is that the stripper from Chicago or the bartender from Dallas?” I ask. Billy’s the type to have a girl in every town. After six years in the league, he now has several girls—and several kids—in every town. Usually they’re waitresses, strippers, maybe even a hooker or two. Now they’re all on his payroll.
“Neither. She’s a local girl. They hooked up in college. The kid is eleven or so. We never heard about this one. She works at Facebook.”
“Facebook?”
“I know. She’s not like all the others. She’s a mid-tier programmer or something, real career oriented. Even supports her brother—he’s got a disability of some sort. By all accounts, she seems like a good woman. How she got wrapped up with Billy, I’ll never understand.”
A little boy runs toward the woman.
“That’s his son,” Coach explains.
The little boy sobs over his mother, who appears to be passed out. Billy picks up the little boy by the neck, then slaps him. He keeps slapping him until the little boy goes limp. Another woman runs up behind Tate and pulls on his arm. He backhands her, and she crouches, holding her nose. He drops the boy like a sack of potatoes and stumbles out of the room, tripping a few times on his own feet, as the other party-goers rush to the boy’s side. The video goes dark.
Bile creeps up my throat. I can’t believe what I’ve just watched. Who could do that to a child? My fists clench as I try to control the burning desire to drive to Billy’s house and beat him into submission.
“Tell me the boy’s alive,” I say through gritted teeth.
Coach turns off the projector. “Jeb has someone checking in on him now. We have no idea when the video was taken.”
“Where did you get this?”
“A contact at ESPN. They’re going live with it tomorrow. They gave it to us early as a courtesy, to let us get a jump on it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Jeb and I are meeting with Tate in an hour to let him go. I’m sure he’ll have a story explaining it all away, but the bottom line is, this is not the kind of man we want in our organization. I know all of our players aren’t saints, and I turn a blind eye to a lot of bullshit. Kids with too much money, not enough maturity, and zero accountability. But this is where I draw the line. I’ll tell you, if Jeb hadn’t fired him, I would have walked. I will not work with a man who hits a child, no matter how good he is on the football field.” Coach opens his desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of bourbon, then he pours some into a glass. “You have no idea how hard it was to be on the plane with him and not beat the ever-loving shit out of him.” He pushes the bottle toward me. “You want some?”
I shake my head. Still nauseated by what I just watched, I don’t want to put anything into my stomach.
He takes another sip. “I need you to help keep the team in line. The press is going to be all over us. It’ll be a feeding frenzy. The tiniest comment will turn into fodder for a news cycle. We can’t put any blood in the water. No comments, no interviews. We need to stay focused on football. We have jobs to do, and we need to let the team, the league, and the authorities do theirs.”
“You got it. I’ll do everything I can.”
Coach tosses back the rest of his drink. “Thank you. Now get out of here. I need to get upstairs and meet with Jeb and the cops before Tate gets here.”
Still stunned, I walk to the door. Before I leave, I turn around. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for the kid, okay? Living through something like that has to be bad enough. Now it’s going to be all over the news for the world to see. This won’t be easy for him or his mom.”
“You know Jeb’s a family man. Even though we’re kicking that good-for-nothing piece of shit off our team, that kid’s family for life. We’ll do everything we can for him.” He lowers his head. “I just wish we would have been able to help him sooner.”
******
After driving home in a daze, I open the door to an empty house. Man, I wish Ari were here. After dropping my bags in the entranceway, I walk to the bar, pour a scotch, then plop on the couch.
I can’t believe what I just saw. The person I saw on that film was a monster. I don’t care if
he was drunk out of his mind or not; it takes a certain kind of evil to do that to a child. I can’t believe I gave my praise and friendship to someone who could do this. How far up my ass has my head been that I couldn’t see him for who he really is?
Two scotches in, and I can’t shake the images from my mind. I’m so riled up, I want to punch something. What I really want is to hunt Tate down and show him what it feels like to be knocked around.
The more I think about it, the more pissed and sickened I become. That poor kid. Your father is supposed to be one of the only people you can count on to protect you, to keep you safe. That kid’s probably never going to feel safe again. What happened to him will change him irrevocably, leaving emotional scars that have no chance of going away. Fucking Tate just beat the innocence out of him, and the kid’ll never get that back.
Unable to sit still, I pace the room. Instead of numbing my mind, I think the scotch is just making my head worse. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I do the math and realize it’s really late in Atlanta, but I pick up my phone and FaceTime Ari anyway.
Her face comes onto the screen after a few rings. She yawns then wipes her sleep swollen eyes. “You okay?”
“No.” I tell her about Tate and the video. By the time I’m done, she’s wide awake. “We’ve been on the same team for five years,” I continue. “I should have been able to pick up something, right? Maybe if I had, I could have said something. Got him help or …”
Concern wrinkles her forehead as Ari presses her lips together. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to watch that video. I can see it’s tearing you up, but babe, you’ve got to realize there’s nothing you could have done. You aren’t close enough with Tate to really know what he’s like outside of the team. He was only a co-worker. There’s no way you could have known or been in the position to do anything.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Someone should have protected that kid, and it makes me sick that no one did.”
She pulls her knees up to her chest then hugs her legs. “I agree. I can’t believe all those people at the party just stood there and let it happen. That’s just inconceivable to me. I don’t know how they can live with themselves. Do you know what’s going to happen to the boy now?”
Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3) Page 7
