Roughing the Player (Chicago Outlaws Book 2)

by Magda Alexander

I wipe my feet on the welcome rug and turn to Butch. He’s a pure breed pit bull, so he can appear a little intimidating. But I’ve trained him well. “Wipe your paws, bud.”

  Tongue hanging out, Butch swipes at the welcome mat. “Good boy.”

  Ellie smiles and Ruth outright laughs. “What a well-mannered dog.”

  “Thanks. He’s very gentle.” I reassure them. I don’t want them thinking Butch is a threat of any kind.

  “I can see that,” Ruth says. “I made something for him. It contains eggs, peanut butter, and whole wheat. Is it okay if I give it to him?”

  The tension I’d been holding eases out of me. If she’s gone through the trouble of cooking for Butch, he’s going to be all right. “He loves peanut butter.”

  She retreats to the kitchen and returns with a bone-shaped treat. As soon as he sees it, Butch’s eyes light up.

  “Sit,” I command. When he does, I praise him. “Good boy.”

  She extends her hand with the treat. As if he knows he must be on his very best behavior, he very gingerly takes it from her fingers. But once it’s in his mouth, two bites and it’s gone.

  “He loves it, thank you.”

  “We baked some apple pie. Would you like some?” Ellie says smiling.

  All this time she’s hung back, quietly observing Butch. Can’t blame her. She has a young daughter. Before she lets Butch into her house, she has to make sure he’s well behaved. But seemingly he’s passed the test. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be putting out the welcome mat.

  “We can eat on the back porch while Butch checks out the yard.”

  “Yes, please.” I’m not about to turn down that offer. The food at the Outlaws’ facility is great, but nothing beats the taste of home cooking.

  As soon as Ellie opens the door to the back porch, Butch makes a beeline for the huge oak tree in the back of the yard to baptize it.

  “Just marking his territory,” I say.

  “Boys will be boys,” she says with a grin.

  “I have yet to lift my leg and pee on a woman.” Standing in the screened-in porch with the sun dappling her face, she’s breathtakingly beautiful. I ache to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin, but I can’t do that. Not when she wants to keep things professional. She’s made that perfectly clear this week at the condo.

  “And thank God for that.” Her smile reminds me of past happy times. Before I marked her and ruined our friendship forever. I want to return to those carefree days when we joked around. Well, I joked around. She was all business then, just as she was a week ago. Maybe it’s not too late to be friends again. I can only hope.

  “This is amazing,” I say, glancing around.

  With its white wicker love seat, two rocking chairs and chimes tinkling with the breeze, the wraparound porch reminds me of many southern homes. So do the white stools, the containers overflowing with pansies, and a fern that sits in a golden pot in the corner. The backyard itself is beyond spectacular. An array of blue, yellow and pink flowers grows wild next to the fence that separates their yard from the one next door. But the main attraction is definitely the oak tree from which a rope swing hangs.

  “We like it,” Ellie says, taking a seat on one of the chairs, while I park myself on the roomy two-seater.

  Behind us, the door swings open and Ruth emerges with two slices of pie.

  Ellie taps the rocker next to hers. “Join us, Mama.”

  “Can’t. I have to keep my eye on the food, honey. Would you like some coffee, Brock?”

  “Yes, please. I take it black.”

  “How about you, Eleanor?”

  “No, thanks, Mama.”

  After Ruth brings my coffee, Ellie and I watch Butch who’s busy exploring the yard. When a squirrel scurries across the grass, Butch races after it, hoping to catch him. But it’s faster than him, and soon it’s scampering up the majestic oak, leaving him literally barking up the tree.

  “He’s in heaven.” I relax into the love seat. Butch’s exactly where he should be, and so am I.

  Ellie side glances me. “You were worried, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I have to admit I was. I didn’t know if he’d like the place, or if you would be okay with him. Butch is the closest thing I have to family.”

  “What about your father?”

  “He passed away during my last year in college.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  It’s no wonder she doesn’t. I didn’t make a big deal about it. When his lawyer called to tell me he’d died, I went home to bury him and came right back to school the next day. “Don’t be. I hardly noticed. We were never close.” I fork off another piece of the scrumptious dessert and savor the taste. “Your mother always made the best apple pies.”

  Taking the hint I want to drop the subject, she bites into her slice.

  The scent of something delicious wafts in the air. Not apples. At least not anymore. “Whatever your mom is cooking, it smells great.”

  “Chicken pot pie. Most Sundays, she comes over with enough dinners to feed Kaylee and me for the entire week.”

  “She comes here and cooks?”

  “Usually she brings home-made meals she’s frozen for us. But this weekend Steve’s at a convention in Boston. Since she needed to meet Butch, plus, of course, she wanted to see you again, she decided to fix the food here.”

  “That’s nice. She’s nice.” I never once saw my mother in the kitchen. Heck, I barely saw her at all. She had staff who cooked, cleaned, and took care of me. When my nanny told me she’d passed away, I shrugged and continued playing with my toys. You can’t grieve over what you’ve never known.

  I polish off the rest of the pie and drink the last of the coffee while Butch runs around the yard, acquainting himself with the place. It suddenly occurs to me that sitting here next to Ellie is as close to heaven as I’ll ever be. I swallow past the lump in my throat.

  Her head turns in my direction, concern clear in her gaze. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just a crumb.”

  Seeming to accept my explanation, her gaze swerves back to Butch. “You don’t have to worry about the plants. None of them are poisonous.”

  “He won’t eat them. He just likes to smell them.” Now that I’ve gotten my emotions back under control, I go back to reassuring her about Butch. “In case you haven’t picked up on it, he’s pretty tame.”

  “I can see that.” Her brown-eyed gaze glows with contentment. She’s happy in her home, with her life. Much as I’d like to get closer, the last thing she needs is the bad boy who time and time again screwed up.

  Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I come to my feet and grab our empty plates and my cup. “I better go.”

  “Already?”

  Is that a wistful tone I hear? No. It can’t be. She’s just being polite, that’s all. “I want to take Butch for a run in the park. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

  “Of course.” In one fluid move, she unfolds from the chair and stands. It’s only now I notice she’s not wearing any shoes. My imagination runs wild with images of Ellie naked on my bed while I bury myself inside her. I’ve never forgotten that one stormy night. Never forgotten the cinnamon scent of her throat, the sweet taste of her skin. Predictably, I get a hard-on.

  “There’s one close by with a dog run. Turner Park. Just up the street.”

  “Right.” I gotta get out fast before she notices my erection. Or worse, her mother does. I walk to the kitchen, where Ruth is up to her elbows in dough, rest the plates and cup in the sink. “Thanks for the pie and coffee.”

  “You’re welcome,” Ruth says, rinsing her hands.

  I push open the back porch door and yell, “Butch, come here, boy.” When he reaches me, I snap the leash on him. He doesn’t fight it. He knows the leash will lead to a walk.

  With Ellie and Ruth trailing behind us, we head toward the front.

  “I bought this dog food he likes. It’s in the SUV. I’ll drop it off when I bring him back. If that’s al
l right.”

  Ellie nods. “Of course.”

  “We’ll be here,” Ruth adds.

  I don’t know how to bring up the subject, so I just come right out with it. “I’d like to pay you for the dog sitting.”

  Ellie jumps in with, “You don’t have to.”

  Ruth’s response is much stronger, “Absolutely not.”

  “Please. You’re going through so much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all,” Ruth says. “I love dogs. We had a Labrador Retriever back home, but he passed away shortly before our move to Chicago. For one reason or another, we haven’t adopted another one. It’ll be fun to watch over Butch.”

  I have no doubt I’m leaving Butch in good hands. Not that I expected any less from Ellie or her mom. They were class acts then and are still so now. “Thank you. Nice seeing you again, Ruth. Thanks for the pie and coffee.”

  “Anytime.” Something buzzes in the kitchen, and Ruth excuses herself to go attend to whatever it is.

  I tell myself to get out fast. But a curl has fallen across Ellie’s face. And the need to touch her is more than I can stand. Unable to help myself, I reach over and tuck it behind her ear. My hand languishes at the feel of her soft skin.

  “Where’s your daughter?” I ask. My voice is pure gravel.

  “Computer camp.” She sounds breathless again.

  “She’s smart, isn’t she?”

  She smiles from ear to ear. “Oh, yes.” Clearly, she takes great pride in her child.

  I search around the living room for a photo of her kid, but there isn’t one. “How old is she again?”

  “Tw-ten.” Her face flushes as my fingers drift down her throat. Before I have time to pull her to me and kiss her the way I’m aching to, her phone rings. She retrieves it from her apron pocket. “It’s her. I have to take it.”

  That’s my cue to leave. “Thanks again. I’ll bring him back in a couple of hours.”

  She clutches the cell to her chest as if she’s trying to hold her daughter close. “Enjoy your afternoon with him.”

  “I will.”

  Once the door has closed, I don’t leave right away, but stand on her front porch, gazing at her house, wishing for something that can never be.

  Chapter 10

  Eleanor

  MAMA EMERGES FROM THE KITCHEN, wiping her hands on her apron. The look on her face tells me it’s not cooking she has in mind. “Honey, you have to tell him about Kaylee.”

  “That’s not happening, Mama.”

  “She’s his daughter. He has a right to know.”

  “He doesn’t want a daughter, or a son, for that matter.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me at the Outlaws’ banquet. He said how glad he was he hadn’t gotten me pregnant. That it would have been a disaster.” My heart aches from that memory.

  “Well, of course, he would have felt that way at the time. He was seventeen, only a kid. But he’s a grown man now. He probably feels different about a child.”

  “No. He doesn’t. He lives, breathes, and eats football. He barely has enough time for Butch, and you saw how much he loves his dog. How much time do you think he’d have for a kid he never wanted and didn’t know he had?”

  “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

  Yeah, I know. The point is he is Kaylee’s father, and he needs to know. But how can I bring myself to tell him? He still craves his party lifestyle. What if he got visitation rights? Where exactly would he take her? To a place where his orgy room reigned front and center? I shudder to think of Kaylee wandering around his house and finding that bed, those “toys.” Such a thing might scar her for life. I can’t tell Mama about that room, so voicing those reasons is not happening. I take another approach.

  “How am I supposed to explain him to Kaylee, Mama?” When Kaylee turned four, she asked me about her father. I told her he wasn’t around. Four years later, when she’d been old enough to understand, I’d explained her father hadn’t been interested in being a daddy, but that she had a mommy, a grandma, and grandpa who loved her dearly. She’d felt bad for a time, but eventually she’d rebounded. It had helped that her best friend didn’t have a father in the picture either.

  Many of her friends here in Chicago have single mothers as well, so being a kid with a missing father’s no big deal. And she has had a father figure in Steve, Mama’s husband. He’s always been there for her—birthday parties, family celebrations, holidays. Just this year, he’d gone to a father-daughter dance with her. I don’t think she’s minded the lack of a dad. But I honestly don’t know how she feels deep down inside. It’s something we don’t talk about.

  With Brock back in my life, though, I can no longer ignore the reality of him. But the thought of explaining him to Kaylee is more than I can deal with. So the easy answer is I don’t. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

  “She’s smart, Eleanor. If you sit her down and explain your reasoning, yes, she’ll be angry at first. But eventually, she will forgive you. She loves you too much to resent you for long. You need to tell him first, though. You want to know exactly where he stands before you talk to Kaylee.”

  “Mama, you’re the wisest woman I know, but this time you’re wrong.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re plumb scared, that’s what you are.”

  I hitch up my chin. “Scared of what?”

  “Scared you’ll lose your daughter. Most of all, you’re petrified you’ll lose Kaylee to him.”

  “Why would I? She hates football.”

  “Football has nothing to do with it. He’s her father. She needs to know, and so does he.”

  “No.”

  She whooshes out a hard breath. “You’ve always been stubborn. How are you going to manage when he picks up or drops off Butch and she’s here?”

  “She won’t be. First off, she’s at camp for two weeks. After she comes home, I’ll take her to the movies or the art museum or shopping for school clothes when he comes by.”

  She folds her hands in front of her. “And I guess it’ll be me waiting for him?”

  “You don’t mind, Mama, do you?” I hate to ask so much of her, when I’ve already done it so many times. But I’d do anything to keep Brock and Kaylee from ever meeting.

  “Of course not. But—”

  “Thank you.” I hug and kiss her before she can say something else. “It should only be for a couple of weekends. He’ll find a house soon enough, and then Butch will be gone.”

  She glances at me with sad eyes. “Eleanor, I know you mean well, but it’s not going to work, honey. Things have a way of coming out.”

  “I’ll make it work.” After all, I have an entire week to come up with a plan of action for Kaylee and me.

  But as it often happens, fate intervenes. What seemed challenging becomes downright daunting when I get a phone call from Kaylee’s summer camp. She’s seriously sprained an ankle and needs to come home.

  I rush to northwest Illinois where Camp Kikamoo is located. I’d specifically chosen the place because it was away from civilization. With Kaylee growing up in urban settings, I wanted her to experience the outdoors. She hadn’t been too gung-ho about it until I mentioned she’d also be learning computer programming. Then she’d been rarin’ to go.

  When I arrive, the camp director welcomes me. After apologizing profusely for Kaylee’s injury, he personally escorts me to the medical suite. When I spot Kaylee sitting on a bed with her ankle in an air cast, I almost lose it. She’s being a brave little soldier, but going by her quivering lip, she’s hurting.

  As carefully as I can, I hug her. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry this happened to you. How are you feeling?”

  She chokes back a sob. “It hurts, Mom.”

  The man standing next to us seems too young to be a doctor, but that’s exactly what he is.

  After the camp director introduces him, he pulls me aside, probably so Kaylee can’t overhear our conversation.

  “Is it serious? H
er injury?” I ask.

  “We took her to the clinic in town where we took an X-ray. As far as I can tell, it’s a simple sprain. But she may have strained a ligament. Her doctor will probably order an MRI to either confirm or rule it out.”

  “Why didn’t you perform that procedure?”

  “The clinic doesn’t have the equipment. It’s a small town.”

  “Mom. I want to go home.”

  A quick peek at her tells me the faster we get on the road the better, but not before I finish with the doctor. “In a moment, honey.” I turn back to the physician. “Has she been given anything for the pain?”

  “Ibuprofen. 200 milligrams.” He nods toward Kaylee. “We just gave her a dose, so she’ll be fine on the way home. She’ll need to take it three times a day for the next seventy-two hours or so, and she’ll also need to rest her ankle and keep it elevated at all times. I recommend you have her visit her doctor tomorrow or no later than the next day. He can treat her going forward.”

  The thought of keeping Kaylee in bed or the couch immobile is not going to be easy. But it’s got to be done. Hopefully, not for long. “How long will her foot remain in a cast?”

  “Her doctor would know the best time to remove it. It could be as little as a couple of days. But it could be longer as well.”

  No help there. “Okay. Thank you, doctor.”

  The camp director and the medic escort us back to my car while a camp counselor brings up the rear with Kaylee’s duffle bag. Before we head off, I call Mama to give her a status report. She’s been worried sick ever since I got the call.

  “Do you want to stop and get something to eat?” I ask Kaylee once we get on the road. The drive home is at least three hours, and she might be hungry. “We can go to a drive-through, if you wish.” I’m not a fan of fast food, but needs must.

  “No, Mama. I just want to go home.”

  “Okay, sweetheart.”

  “So other than the sprained ankle, did you get to enjoy camp?”

  Her head spins toward me. “It was horrible, Mom. I thought I was going to learn computer programming all the time. We did for two days, but then they dragged us out of bed at six. Six, mom! The birds weren’t even up yet. And they made us climb this humongous hill.”