Draw Play: The Originals (Seattle Steelheads Book 4)

by Jami Davenport

  Mac clutched the quilt to herself and glared at him. “Are you telling me to give up on Will? Would you quit looking if you’d lost your brother? Wouldn’t you have to know what happened to him? Could you just walk away?”

  Bruiser’s face fell as if she’d physically hurt him. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

  “Because you won’t share your life with me. Well, you don’t know a damn thing about me either. We were nothing but sex partners. So no regrets. Just get out.” Mac pointed toward the door.

  The cat stood in the doorway, twitching his tail and regarding them both with equal disdain, as if they were too stupid to see the truth. Maybe Bart knew more than they did.

  “Mac, I—” Bruiser held out his hands, palms up.

  Mac ignored him and stomped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She sank down to the floor and huddled in the corner until she heard him drive off.

  Chapter 16—Out of Downs

  One week into training camp, Bruiser slumped on a bench in the empty locker room and stared at nothing, contemplating another lonely Friday night. The rookies scattered like geese being chased by a retriever when he hit them up to join him for a drink, while the cagey veterans left the locker room before he could track them down. What the fuck? Maybe he hadn’t been good company lately.

  “You gonna sit here all evening like some pathetic pansy-ass?” Brett walked out of the showers, a towel around his waist. He hadn’t spoken to Bruiser except for one-syllable words since he’d learned about Bruiser and Mac.

  Bruiser straightened and looked up at his once best buddy. “Haven’t got anything better to do.” Damn, he hated it when he felt sorry for himself.

  “You look like you could use a friend.” Brett walked to his locker, tossed his towel aside, and started dressing.

  “I could. You know of anyone interested in the job?”

  Brett chuckled. “Being friends with you is a job, all right.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m a total ass.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Harris has that title all sewn up.”

  “I’m next in line then.” Bruiser had to laugh. One thing they could always agree on was Tyler Harris was an awesome quarterback and a master asshole.

  “Harris teaches classes on the twelve steps to being an unrepentant asshole.”

  “I might have to sign up.”

  Brett smiled at him. “I’m heading out in the boat, doing a little fishing before dusk, you in?”

  Despite his crappy mood, Bruiser couldn’t say no to Brett and to fishing. “Hell yeah.”

  Within an hour, Bruiser and Brett were sitting in Brett’s boat on Lake Washington, fishing lines dangling in the water. They’d run through their usual talk about football—the upcoming season, promising rookies, and how training camp was going.

  Then they talked about Elliot and his progress. He was adjusting pretty well to his foster home, going out in public, managing to deal somewhat with the stares and whispers. He’d made some new friends at a summer camp for young burn victims, which Bruiser sponsored every year.

  After exhausting those subjects, they sat in a companionable silence for a while. Bruiser relaxed and enjoyed the warm evening. He’d missed Brett. Maybe this day wasn’t a total wash.

  Finally, he cleared his throat and broke the silence. “You’ll be happy to hear that I’m not seeing Mac anymore.”

  “No shit?” Brett grunted and stared at the blue-black water lapping against the boat.

  “No shit.” Bruiser tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He felt like crap, couldn’t sleep, and had no appetite. The only woman who’d ever made him feel this crappy had been CeCe. He hated feeling like this, hated the regrets and the heartache.

  “Well, that makes sense now. You look like shit. It’s our first week of training camp, and you haven’t been worth a damn. I’ve seen Girl Scouts tougher than you are.”

  “I’m a dumb ass. A wimpy idiot.”

  “And an asshole-in-training.”

  “Damn right.” Bruiser laughed. Hell, it felt good to laugh. It’d been a long week.

  Brett angled his head and squinted into the sun. “You miss her?”

  Bruiser clutched the pole and stared at the tip as if it were a Magic 8-Ball with all the answers to his questions. Only it wasn’t. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “When did you split?”

  “Last week.”

  “What’d you do to screw that up?”

  “I just didn’t want to hurt her.” It sounded like the lamest excuse ever.

  “Yeah, whatever. What really happened?”

  “Fuck if I know. I guess I got scared. But she never had enough time for me anyway. She spends all her spare time looking for her brother. Besides, she doesn’t understand me.” God, he sounded like a whiny ass to his own ears.

  “Did you ever give her a chance to understand you?”

  Bruiser doubted that he had. “Probably not. She keeps pushing to know about my brother.”

  “Maybe you should tell her.”

  Bruiser didn’t know how he felt about that, but what if Brett was right?

  * * * * *

  Training camp started, and Mac worked long hours keeping the grass practice field in perfect shape. One hidden hole or too much water in one spot could make a slippery surface and cause injury to a player and ruin his season, maybe even his career. Mac and the rest of the grounds crew took great pride in the field’s durability and appearance.

  Her day started after the team left the field, making for late nights. But no matter how many hours she spent at work and how exhausted she was when she came home, Bruiser snuck into her thoughts and her dreams, even though he didn’t sneak into her house.

  With his absence from her life, she rededicated herself to the search for Will, going after it with single-minded purpose of an alcoholic pursuing his next drink, reminding herself a bit of her father.

  Mac caught glimpses of Bruiser on the field with his glistening, tanned, shirtless body and blond hair. On Monday night, he showed up at O’Malley’s for the team’s night out and sat at the opposite end of the table from Mac, teasing her as usual, like nothing ever happened between them. Maybe to him nothing had. Another day, another woman.

  Then she caught him staring at her, and the sadness and regret in his blue-gray eyes haunted her ever since.

  Tonight—the first Friday of training camp—she worked until dusk, tired but satisfied with how the turf was holding up. As she walked toward her car, Brett caught up with her. The guy usually studied game film until late at night. Only Zach and Tyler stayed later.

  “I’m glad I caught you. Got a few minutes?” Brett asked.

  “Sure, I was just heading home.”

  “How about a drink?”

  Mac hesitated, wondering how much Brett knew about her and Bruiser and whether he hoped for a second chance now that Bruiser was out of the picture.

  “Hey, just friends, right?” Good thing he was a mind reader.

  “Okay, sure.” She didn’t feel like going home alone tonight, looking across the yard as Will’s widow and her new husband had yet another party.

  Mac followed Brett to O’Malley’s and sat across from him, making small talk about which rookies and free agents had a chance of making the team. Brett’s eyes lit up whenever he talked football. It was a damn shame he wasn’t with a team where he’d have a chance of starting, but Harris tied up that job for the foreseeable future.

  “I went fishing with Bruiser a few days ago.” The sudden change of subject caught Mac off guard. Brett’s blue eyes watched her, as if gauging her reaction, not missing a thing.

  “Oh, did you catch anything?” she asked, wondering where Brett was going with this.

  “Uh.” He scratched his head as if he didn’t want to answer that.

  “Guess not. Do you ever catch any fish?”

  “It’s the journey, not the destination.” Brett smiled at her.

  “If you say so. I’ll
have to take your word for it. Fishing seems like an excuse for guys to laze around on a boat, drink beer, and swap tall tales all day.”

  Brett’s half smile said it all. He looked over her shoulder for a moment then back at her. His expression sobered. “Bruiser misses you, Mac.”

  Mac shook her head, trying to clear it. Surely she didn’t hear him correctly. “I thought you didn’t like us together.”

  He shrugged and stared down at the table. “I didn’t, but I was wrong. You two were good for each other. Bruiser’s been a bigger asshole than Harris for the past several days. He’s got the rookies shaking in their cleats whenever he comes near. And you—you’ve been a real bitch too. All the guys have noticed. They’re giving you a wide berth.”

  “Well, thanks for the compliment.” Mac resorted to sarcasm; it was her go-to defense when the shit got too deep to handle. “The team doesn’t know about Bruiser and me, do they?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, only me, but they sure as hell suspect something’s fucked up.”

  Mac shrugged and raised her hand to order another beer.

  “Give him another chance, Mac.” Brett finally got to the heart of the matter, and Mac wished she’d gone home instead of accepting his offer for a drink.

  “He’s the one who walked out, the one who chose to stay away.”

  “You might need to make the first move.”

  “Are you kidding? Why would I put myself through that grief again?”

  “Because you care about him. He cares about you.”

  “Did some linebacker slam your head into the ground today or what? Bruiser would never say that.”

  “Not in words, but I know him.”

  Mac sighed. Typical Brett. Always putting everyone’s feelings ahead of his own. Bruiser and she could learn a thing or three from the unselfish backup quarterback. “I know him too. It’s all about Bruiser. He’s an attention slut. Everything he does is carefully calculated to net the most press.”

  “You don’t honestly believe that.”

  She nodded. She wanted to, oh, how she wanted to. A selfish, egotistical Bruiser was much easier to dislike than the glimpses she’d seen of a completely generous, kind Bruiser. “For example, his work with the burn foundation. He’s their sponsor, but you can bet if it didn’t net him good press, he’d never do it.” She cringed at her own feeble justifications. Bruiser wasn’t that guy, and she knew it.

  Brett gave her a look that seemed to insinuate that she’d missed the mark. “If you really believe that, you truly don’t deserve to be with a good guy like him.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Now she felt even more like a bitch because Brett spoke the truth.

  “Did you know that Bruiser works with child burn victims because of his twin brother?”

  “No, I had no idea.” Mac’s bitch status just upgraded to beyond bitch. She hugged herself tight and stared at her beer as if it held the answers to her problems.

  “His twin brother, Brice, was badly burned in an accident.”

  Mac’s hands flew to her mouth. Forget bitch—that was too kind of a term for her.

  “Brice couldn’t deal with his horrendous burns and quality of life, so he shot himself in the head a year later at fourteen years old. Bruiser found him.”

  “I didn’t know.” That explained the sadness lurking in Bruiser’s eyes and the nightmares—the horrible, horrible nightmares.

  “Yeah, well, you of all people should never judge a book by its cover.”

  She deserved that and more. “Why does he keep his twin a secret?”

  “Because he feels responsible for what happened.”

  “How could he be responsible?”

  “Survivor’s guilt, maybe. It’s not my place to tell you the details. I’ve said more than I should.” Brett looked away, and Mac was certain the Army vet knew a thing or two about survivor’s guilt.

  “Yeah, I can understand that. I just never imagined Bruiser—”

  “No one does. Why do you think he’s so good with those kids? Especially Elliot. He’s been working with burn victims since college.”

  Bruiser? Since college? Sure, he’d been great with Elliot, and he’d mentioned others and that he tried not to get involved. She’d never guessed the extent of his special mission. Why did he work so hard to play the part of a shallow pretty boy? It had to have something to do with the pain he lived with every day.

  And if anyone understood the pain of losing a sibling, Mac did.

  * * * * *

  Saturday, Bruiser rushed to Elliot’s foster home in response to a frantic phone call from Elliot. No one answered the door at the foster home, but Elliot said he’d be there. Panic rose inside Bruiser as he tried the doorknob and found the door unlocked. Oh, God, no, not again.

  The cold hand of fear clutched at his throat, robbing him of oxygen. He froze for a split second, gathered his courage, and prayed to any god who would listen to him.

  Bruiser ran to the small bedroom Elliot shared with another kid, fearing the worst as his heart pounded in his ears. The kid sat on the bed, very much alive. Bruiser leaned against the doorway, waiting for his heart rate to slow and his head to stop pounding. Elliot didn’t look up, just fiddled with a loose thread on the worn quilt.

  Finally trusting himself to speak, Bruiser struggled to keep his voice even and casual. “Hey, buddy. Going somewhere?” He pointed at the duffle bag on Elliot’s bed.

  The kid stood up, still not looking at him. “My aunt and uncle are back from their mission in South America. She’s coming to get me.”

  “Today?”

  “Any minute.”

  “That’s good. You’ll be with family.” Bruiser hoped like hell they’d give Elliot the love and attention he so desperately needed and at least partially fill the hole left by the death of his parents. Surely, the type of people who spent a year in a third-world country helping those less fortunate could love a physically and emotionally damaged little boy.

  “They’re not really family. I don’t know them. Aunt Ruth was married to my mom’s brother. After he died in a logging accident when I was a baby, she married Uncle John. Mom never liked her. Mom said that people like Aunt Ruth and Uncle John are the reason she quit going to church. She called them hypnotists.”

  “Hypnotists? Oh, you mean, hypocrites.”

  “Whatever.” Elliot looked up, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

  “There’s nobody else in your family that could take custody?” Bruiser couldn’t shake the sick feeling nesting in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to protect Elliot like he hadn’t Brice, yet he felt helpless to do so.

  “No one.” Elliot shook his head and sniffed, looking every bit like he was going to cry. “I want my mom and dad.”

  Bruiser crossed the room and put his arm around the boy, pulling him tight against his side. He’d give anything to take away Elliot’s pain, if only he could. “This will be a good thing. You wait and see.”

  They both looked up as a scowling fat woman waddled into the room. Her polyester pants squeaked as her thighs rubbed together. The woman did a double take when she saw Bruiser, her gaze full of suspicion as if she’d caught him stealing family heirlooms. He tried to smile, but his smile stuck somewhere between his heart and his lips. One look at her and dread rose inside him. Elliot wrapped his arms around Bruiser’s waist and clung to him.

  This woman didn’t exactly give off warm and fuzzy vibes. She didn’t rush to her nephew and throw her arms around him to comfort, didn’t even seem to notice him at first.

  When her gaze dropped to the little boy plastered to Bruiser’s side, she staggered back a few steps at the sight of Elliot’s face and stared, open-mouthed. Her hand went to her heart as if she might faint. Elliot ducked his head and pulled his Steelheads ball cap down tight over his face.

  The woman looked away and covered her mouth, as if she were going to retch. “Are you ready to go?” She couldn’t even look at the kid. Bruiser wanted to grab her and s
hake her, make her see the scared, lonely kid hiding in this hurt body.

  Bruiser stood, tucking Elliot next to him in a purely instinctual protective gesture. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m a friend. Name’s Bruce.”

  “I’m Ruth Jones, and I’m a very busy woman. I don’t have time to stand around here and make small talk with you.” She turned her back on them both and headed to the door. “Elliot, let’s go.”

  Elliot glanced at Bruiser, his eyes pleading to be saved. Bruiser faked a smile he sure as hell didn’t feel. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m sure your aunt’s home will be a wonderful one for you.” Bullshit and they both knew it. He turned to Ruth. “I’d like to visit.”

  The fat woman half turned and heaved a put-upon sigh. She dug into her monstrous purse and produced a coffee-stained business card. “Fine. Call me. We’ll arrange something as long as you don’t expect me to be a taxi service.” She still avoided looking at Elliot. “Let’s go.”

  Panic crossed Elliot’s face, and he gripped Bruiser’s arm. “Can’t I stay with you? I won’t be any trouble. I’ll make my bed, do my homework, and stay out from underfoot.”

  Bruiser looked down at him and shook his head, feeling like an asshole of the worst kind. “I wish you could, Elliot. I really do.”

  “Then why can’t I?”

  Bruiser glanced at the woman tapping her foot near the door. He had a million responses to Elliot’s questions and every one of them was selfish. Why couldn’t he adopt Elliot? Why couldn’t he give a kid a better life than he’d get with this unpleasant witch?

  “Please,” Elliot begged.

  “Look, I’ll see what I can do. For now, you’ll need to go with your aunt Ruth.”

  Elliot’s shoulders slumped and his entire body sagged. “Okay.” He looked toward the door, his aunt already out of sight, hesitated, and shot an accusing glare at Bruiser. “You said everything would be all right.”

  “It will.” Bruiser put his hands on Elliot’s shoulders and squeezed, feeling as if he might cry himself.

  “Promise?” Elliot stared up at him with earnest, trusting eyes, as if he truly believed Bruiser could fix this fucking mess.