Red Flag (FSCU Pitbulls Book 2)

by Stella Marie Alden

  “I’m just so happy. I love you so much.”

  “I do too. I promise, I will buy you a diamond so huge, your eyes will pop out.” My mouth crashes down on hers and when we come up for air, she laughs and sobs simultaneously.

  “It can be from a gumball machine, for all I care. I only want to be with you.”

  “Me too, luv, me too.” I want her to promise to follow me wherever I end up but she needs more time.

  On the trip home, Star shared some stories of her growing up with an alcoholic Mom. How can she not know going back to Vermont is a bad idea?

  Inch by inch. I’ll reel her in. This was the first step.

  Like every Christmas I can recall, we open presents before anything else. I had Kira send my mom a list of things Star likes and my Mom went overboard.

  Now caffeinated and with our blood sugar sky high, we all go to church. There’s comfort in the bible story and carols sung by the choir. When Star softly croons Silent Night, I grab her fingers, tuck them close to my outer thigh, and picture a blond baby with thick lashes.

  I swear to God I’m witnessing my future and just like that, believe in miracles.

  My face must look stunned because Star tilts her head in a question mark while she finishes her last sleep in heavenly peace.

  I squeeze her hand and shrug. Maybe, someday I’ll tell her.

  After church, there’s dinner at Aunt Jane’s, then me and Star give our goodbyes because we’re due in Atlanta before midnight.

  “Good luck, son.” My dad embraces me. “You know we love you, no matter what. I’m real proud of you, son. What you did for Egan? Those are the things that count.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” We shake hands, there’s hugs aplenty, then Star and I have to go.

  We drop the rental car at the airport, wait at the gate, and she shyly opens her purse.

  “I never gave you my present.”

  I hold her hands and stare into her beautiful eyes, now mine forever. “You said yes. That’s all the gift I need.”

  She hands me a little present and I tear into it, hoping she didn’t spend too much money. I know she’s got some big trust fund but I don’t want her spending it on me.

  I open the cover to a fuzzy box and lift out a USB drive. “What’s this?”

  She grins. “Promise you’ll only open when alone.”

  My eyes go wide. “Whaaa?”

  “You got some long, lonely nights ahead. I don’t want you jacking off to any woman but me.”

  “Damn.” I look around the other seats to make sure no one else heard. Satisfied, I smile and kiss her, my cock cramming against my jeans, thinking all sorts of nasty thoughts.

  “Best present ever.” On the plane, we sit close, and lock arms until a family gets onboard.

  I give away my seat so a Dad can sit next to his kid and I sit in the row behind Star. I reach through the crack by the window and hold her hand.

  The plane takes off and she sleeps but I’m buzzed. I open the Pitbull’s playbook and envision the ball floating into my arms, every time it’s passed. The crowd cheers and my teammates pound my back as I set my knee onto the goal line with a prayer of thanks.

  By the time the plane sets down, I’m in the zone and will stay there until we win. Star and I share an Uber to the hotel and at the front desk, part ways.

  I kiss her and if she senses I’m somewhere else, doesn’t mention it. Instead, her hand cups my cheek and she smiles. “You go out there and fucking win. Got me?”

  “No problem-o.”

  Her pretty ass bounces in the direction of the band check in and I report to Chris.

  “All good?” When he looks up at me, I have another vision of the future.

  We’re in the sidelines, staring up at a scoreboard, ahead by six.

  “Couldn’t be better.” I sign in and grab my room key.

  “Dinner is at five. Don’t be late. We got some local scouts who want to meet with draftees. Suits and ties required. No exceptions.”

  “Understood.” My tunnel vision expands to include tonight, where guys shake my hand and want to know personal shit about me and I wow them.

  Maybe dinner doesn’t go exactly as planned. The quarterback gets most of the attention but it’s cool. The semi-finals are what matters.

  We get to the field early where Coach goes over our plays one last time. Ohio State is the best and we need to beat them to get to the championship.

  For over two hours both teams are so evenly matched, no one makes a goal. Coach calls a timeout, Quest kicks and we put a point on the board. Damn. As we exit the field, Ryan shares a worried glance with me.

  In the locker room, I get my shoulder iced down then trot back out. Ohio smells blood and scores a touchdown to put them ahead. Damn.

  In the huddle, my pal shouts the play. “585, F-stop, pass on one.”

  Holy shit. It’s a hail-Mary play but I got this.

  The ball snaps, the other two receivers bolt along their routes, and I take the eight. My move takes their defense by surprise and while they recover, the ball sails above my head. With my neck craning in the opposite direction, I leap into the air breaking one of the straps on my shoulder pads. My fingertips touch the football’s laces and for a moment I think it may fly out of my hands. With sheer prayer-power, I latch on. As I fall back to the ground, I pull the leather more into my hands. By the time I roll on the ground, it’s clutched to my chest.

  So near the goal line, Ohio is pissed. Despite the whistle, guys pile on top of me and someone punches me in the kidney.

  It hurts like a motherfucker but I’m so goddamned angry I grind down on my mouthpiece and hold on tighter.

  “Red Flag. Penalty!” The referee’s muffled shouts order the players off my back.

  Damn right it is.

  The heavy load lifts one body at a time until it’s just me and my laced, leather baby, cradled to my body.

  When I stand, the crowd goes fucking wild. Holy, shit. I caught the ball at the ten yard line. I lift onto my hands and knees not quite able to stand. Like a night of too much tequila, the bleachers spin.

  “Jacks, you good?” Our team’s doctor holds a few fingers in front of my face and I guess. “Two?”

  “Fine. That’s my boy!” I grab his hand and he pulls me to my feet.

  Coach is close by and says into my ear, “Wave at the crowd. Give them a big smile like it doesn’t hurt.”

  It’s like grinning after a car crash but I do and take one baby step. When nothing gives out, I take another. Maybe I’m hearing things but I’m pretty sure Star is crying out my name.

  Then, her drum starts, the band plays something for the cheerleaders to sing, and I trot off the field trying like hell not to limp.

  My teammates push on my helmet and give me high fives but we haven’t won yet. Ryan grins as I pull out my mouth guard. “You better fucking win this.”

  “You got it, bro.”

  Standing by CJ on the sidelines, I watch the next play on the big screen. Ryan grows some kind of fucking angel wings, puts his cleats on the backs of their defensive line and falls into the sweet, sweet green behind the goal line. He can’t help but pump one fist into the air as the final horn blares.

  Pitbull fans go wild and Star’s drum pounds. It’s mayhem as a blue wave rushes onto the field. Deliriously happy, I talk to a reporter who asks what I was thinking while Ohio State almost killed me.

  I grin. “I was praying to God they’d get off me.”

  I answer about a hundred similar questions, then Chris ushers me to the locker room. Reporters follow me in, even a lady. She eyes me while the doc checks me out and tries to follow me into the ice bath.

  “Out!” I shove her from the room and CJ takes her from there.

  Shit. My teeth chatter as I try to answer a few more questions from a couple scouts. Thankfully, Coach shoos them all out.

  My head falls back, I close my eyes and Ryan enters. “Pussy.”

  “Asshole.’

 
; We clasp forearms and I picture his winning play. “I can’t believe you walked on their backs.”

  “Piece of cake.” Ryan eases into a tub beside me but his bruises are far less than mine.

  Still, he looks troubled so I ask, “So, how was your Christmas?”

  My pal shakes his head. “Oh my God. My family is a fucking nightmare. You?”

  “Awesome. Next holiday, you should come to my house.”

  He stretches his shoulder. “I might take you up on it… Did you ask her?”

  “Yup.” I grin.

  Ryan sits up, eyes wide. “Don’t leave me hangin’. What did she say?”

  “She’s smart. What do y’all think she said?”

  “No way. She said yes to no ring, no money, and no job. You got balls, dude!” He high fives me.

  “How’re you and Kira doing?”

  “I don’t know. We finally said the three dreaded words.”

  “And?”

  “Not sure but I think my timing was bad.” He closes his eyes like in pain.

  “Sorry, man but don’t let her go. You wait too long and some guy will swoop in and steal her away.”

  He shakes his head. “We’ll talk more, later. I got to go, coach is calling.” He turns on the monitor overhead. “Guess you’ll need to watch from in here.”

  The swelling near my kidney is beginning to go down but my knee still looks about twice the size it should be. Hopefully, nothing is too badly damaged. I need to shine in the championship game.

  Much later, with everyone gone, I jump out of the ice, open my locker, and grab my new burner phone.

  Star: You hurt?

  Star: Worried

  Star: Text me when you can

  Star: Love you

  Star: Band is leaving

  Star: Miss you

  I call her but get no answer. So I text.

  Me: Nothing serious. A few bruises. Luv U 2

  We have exactly one week of practice before New Orleans and I’m raring to go but the doc shakes his head and insists on x-raying my knee before he’ll allow me back on the green.

  Back in Freedham, I pace in his office, waiting for the results. If I tore my meniscus, I’m fucked.

  Chapter 29

  Star

  After band plays for the semifinals, we’re rushed to the Tournament of Roses parade. In past years, the trip to Pasadena has been my favorite trip.

  Today, all I want to do is be near Jacks.

  We stop for a twenty minute break, I put down my drum, and head toward the ice bucket full of water bottles. Even with number thirty suntan cream and a wide brimmed hat, I worry about getting burned and poke at my arm.

  “Do you think I’m burning?” I lower onto the grass and sit cross-legged.

  Kira joins me. “Maybe. Can I borrow some lotion?”

  I hand her my super-hypoallergenic white goo and glance at her sad face. “Man troubles?”

  She shakes her head back and forth. “Ryan. He’s hot, then cold. I can’t keep up. What about you and Jackson?”

  I don’t want to make her feel any worse so shrug. “It’s a high stress time for them but I think we’re good.”

  “Did he stop gambling?” She puts a dab of goo on her hand and covers her nose.

  “I was wrong. He never had an addiction. He was trying to earn money so he could buy insulin for his cousin. Coach found out and fixed everything.”

  “CJ and his wife are really something. Did you know Melanie runs a self-help group for abused women?”

  “I had no idea. Do you go?” We’ve both been so busy, I realize we haven’t had time to connect much this semester.

  “Yeah. I realize I’m pretty lucky Ryan found me. If not… I still can’t believe I was roofied.”

  I squeeze her shoulder. “But you’re going to blog about it, so it never happens again. I am so proud of you.”

  “And me of you. What about graduate school. Decided yet?” She sips on her water bottle, eyeing me. Someday she’ll make an incredible journalist because I swear she’s a human lie-detector.

  “I got accepted with early admission to UVM’s Master’s program. There’s also a program not too far from home in New Hampshire. I really want to go to Stanford or maybe U of C in Los Angeles. Those are a stretch.”

  I sigh. “Four more years of school, maybe five. Not sure I can do it.”

  She hugs me. “Of course you can. Your gram left you money. You can’t let her down.”

  “But what about Jackson? Will he wait for me? He’s a healthy guy with needs. You know what I mean?” I brush an ant off my ankle and watch it scurry away across a forest of grass.

  “He loves you, Star. You guys are tight. He’s wanted you since freshman year.”

  I snort. “He wanted every girl his freshman year. That was the problem. I can laugh about it now, but back then, I was pretty devastated.”

  “Water under the bridge. You’re the one he wants.” She finishes her water, stands, and I follow.

  “As long as he makes it into the NFL. If not, I’m not so sure what will happen. He doesn’t have a backup plan.” Mr. Miller blows his whistle, I slip my drum over my shoulder, and grab my sticks.

  Kira puts the point of her glockenspiel into her leather holster and we trudge back to rehearse. By evening, we’re toast.

  I text Jacks and am surprised he calls me right back. “Hi beautiful.”

  “Hey. How was your day?”

  “Grueling. You?”

  “The same.”

  “You alone?”

  “No. Sharing a room with Kira. She says hi and wants to know if Ryan is okay.”

  “He looked good in practice. I’ll tell him she was asking.”

  “Wait, how come you got a phone?”

  “I always have a few burners laying around. Just in case.”

  “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  “Maybe. Not really. Coach asked for our cell phones and I gave him a couple. He never said anything about spares.”

  He chuckles. “But I’ll make it fast. I only wanted to hear your voice. Fucking hurts to not be near you, you know?”

  “I do. Same here.”

  “We probably won’t see each other until after the championship. Come down onto the field when we win, okay?”

  I picture my conductor with his disapproving face and chuckle at the thought of this once, breaking the rules. “I’ll be there. When I bang the drum three single times, it means I love you.”

  “When I wave into the bleachers, I’m saying it back. Got to go.” Someone knocks in the background. “Lights out, Farnsworth.”

  “Sure thing, Chris. I’m saying my prayers.”

  I can’t hear what he responds but it must be good because Jackson bursts out laughing and swears back.

  He whispers to me. “Nite, luv.”

  “Nite.”

  Sleep comes quick but brings strange dreams. I wander about campus all night long, trying to find my new dorm room. At first, the modern twenty-story building is locked. Then, I can’t find anyone to give me a key. Outside, it grows dark, and everyone else seems to know where they’re going, walking in pairs or groups.

  I tap on a guy’s shoulder. “Hey, do you know where I can find someone to assign me my room?” I show him my phone where I stored my address.

  Like all the others, he shakes his head.

  I continue asking people until one says, “You’re at the wrong campus. There’s another building by the same name on the north side.”

  I groan and try to dial an Uber but my phone has no bars. I wait for a shuttle bus and when one comes, I get on, only to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere.

  Thank God my alarm goes off because I’m exhausted as I get into the shower. It doesn’t take a genius to understand I’m conflicted about my future.

  After breakfast, we’re bussed to the parade. We’re supposed to march behind a giant teddy bear covered in reddish brown blossoms. He’s got a guitar-playing bird friend with a colorful be
ak. All around us, TV crews scramble and people dressed in bright costumes rush to their stations.

  Before we march, we stand and play for an outside recording session. Live broadcasts will dub in our music while we march live in the parade.

  Mid-morning, Mr. Miller blows his whistle and we line up with flag girls and cheerleaders in front. I’m used to playing for hours but by the end of the trek I’m glad to hand my drum up onto the bus and sit.

  “Don’t you want to see the floats?” Kira grabs my hand and I moan but follow.

  “Not really. All I want to do is sleep for about a week.”

  “The parade was really awesome this year. Maybe the best ever.”

  I can’t help but marvel as we wander through the exhibits, the winners proudly displaying giant blue ribbons.

  I grab a green vial that has fallen off a float and bring the red flower to my nose. The air is cloying with so many different smells, it’s hard to single this one out, even though it’s a rose.

  Exhausted, we climb back onto the busses with our instruments and bags safely stored underneath. We stand in line with a b’zillion other people at airport security and again at the gate. When I sink into the airplane’s seat, my eyes close and don’t open again until we land in Atlanta.

  Only six days until the championship game in the Mercedes Benz stadium.

  Me: Just landed

  A few minutes later, my phone pings.

  Jackson: We’re supposed to leave day after tomorrow.

  Me: Miss you.

  Jackson: Me too.

  My damn phone runs out of juice. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been listening to tunes for hours.

  Practice over, Kira and I, along with the other seniors in the band, grow restless. A bunch of us Uber into town and I grab my drum sticks, hoping someone will let me sit in. We toss a coin whether we go line dancing or booty bouncing. Dancing asses win.

  I start out thinking I’ll have a couple beers but sometime during the night, a few more seems like a great idea. There’s another percussionist who brought his sticks, as well. We start a battle of cadences on the wooden table which works its way onto the stage.