Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver Page 15

  “Can you please take this away?” Emmy asked the bellman, who nodded and wheeled it out into the hall. “You couldn’t clean up for me?” She cocked an eyebrow at Stash.

  “You’re home a fuckin’ thirty seconds and bitchin’ already?” Stash picked up the soda bottles and cans and dropped them in the garbage.

  Emmy jumped at the crash of breaking glass. “Nice, Stash.”

  “No kiss? Didn’t you miss me?”

  She considered slapping the smirk off his face. “Don’t start with me. I wrote a new song.”

  “Better be good. We need something. Attendance is slipping.”

  “We’re not sold out?”

  “Yeah, we are here. But not in L.A. That’s our biggest market.”

  “Stash, that concert is a month away.” She plopped down on the sofa. “Don’t you want to hear it?” She opened her guitar case, which had traveled with Stash.

  “Sure, sure. Play it for me. Girls. Put the movie on hold, will ya?”

  Lani made a face, but Paula stopped the TV. Emmy hummed the tune as she strummed the chords. Then, she played it through and sang it.

  “Great! Love it. We’ll make a mint on that one. What’s it called?” Stash walked over to the bar and opened a bottle of beer.

  “Love on the Wing.”

  “You wrote it while you were with that asshole?” A flush of anger stole up his neck.

  “Relax, Stash. It’s not about Buddy,” she lied. Emmy went back to running her fingers over the strings. She jumped at the crash of a bottle breaking against the wall.

  “Don’t fuck with me! Of course it is!”

  Her mouth hung open as she stared at the beer dripping down then at Stash’s furiously red face. “What have you done? Clean it up!” She stood, placing her hands on her hips.

  “That’s what they have maids for.”

  “Stash! Don’t be ugly. Come on.”

  “Beg me, baby. Beg me to clean it up. Beg me to kiss you.” He sneered.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Stash stormed into one bedroom and slammed the door. Emmy retrieved a hand towel and wet washcloth from the bathroom. She wiped down the wall then dried it, muttering curses to herself. Paula got up and helped, but Lani simply switched channels and started another movie.

  Stash came out, dressed in a suit and tie. “I’m going out.”

  “What? After all that crap about me coming back, now you’re going out?”

  “Order room service and go to bed early. You have a performance tomorrow. I don’t.”

  “That’s right, Stash. And don’t you forget it. They come to hear me, not you.”

  Stash’s face reddened again. He stepped up close, his chest brushing hers. “I made you what you are. Not the bitch part. The star part. It was me telling you what to sing, what to wear, make up, hairstyle. Who came up with your name? And the green streak?” He flipped her hair.

  Sensing maybe she had stepped over the line, she moved back. “I know, Stash. You’ve done a lot for me. The name, yeah. Buddy used to call me ‘emerald eyes.’ You’ve arranged everything. You taught me how to dress and do my hair and makeup…”

  “And who got you booked? Who made you millions?”

  “You did all those things. And I’m grateful. I’ve always been grateful. But you didn’t teach me how to sing or what to sing. The music is mine. And without the music, none of the rest would’ve, could’ve happened.”

  His eyes flashed. “Are you saying what I did was nothing?”

  “Not at all. I’m saying that it was a team effort. Emerald was created by a team. A team that includes you and me. But my talent got us started.”

  He went to the bar, dropped a couple of ice cubes in a glass, and opened a small bottle of whiskey. He turned and raised his drink. “To Emmy Meacham, star, most talented.” He took a healthy swig. “And here’s to Stash, the man who made her the woman she is today.” He finished the drink and put it down.

  The room was silent. The women stared at him. Stash swaggered over to Emmy, put his arm around her waist, and pulled her roughly to him. She struggled as he kissed her, hard. Afterward, she glared at him and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Was a time when you couldn’t wait for me to kiss you. Fuck you. Make you scream. We were golden. We were winners.”

  “What do you mean ‘were’? We’re still at the top.”

  “But you’ve moved on. I don’t mean anything to you anymore. I’m just an employee.”

  She stepped closer to him, her voice softened, and she rubbed his arm. “That’s not true, Stash. I need you. You’re my partner. I listen to you, and you’re always spot on. I rely on you.”

  “But you don’t love me, not the way you used to.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes because what he said was true. She couldn’t deny it. I’m stupid to love Buddy. He can’t do a thing for me. I need Stash. He runs everything. I must be crazy. She pushed up against him, snaking her arms around his middle. Stash put his hands on her. Emmy rested her cheek on his chest, blinking rapidly. “I’ll always love you, Stash,” she whispered.

  “Not the way I want you to,” he replied.

  She looked up at him, and he eased her away. She swore she spied moisture in his eyes. Their gazes met.

  “If you can’t love me, you can’t ask me to stay.”

  She nodded and moved back, clearing his path to the door. Without a word, Stash moved quickly and was gone. Emmy sighed and slumped against the round table, sinking into a chair.

  “What are we gonna order for dinner?” Lani asked.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Come on, you gotta eat. You’re performing tomorrow,” Paula said.

  Emmy shook her head and disappeared into the bedroom. She stripped down to nothing but an extra-large, football T-shirt with the number fifteen on it, Buddy’s number, and stretched out on the bed. She pulled up the covers and slipped her hands under the pillow.

  She faced the big window looking out over Chicago. I’m just a meal ticket to Lani and Paula. Stash, too. Loneliness engulfed her. She squelched a sudden desire to speak to her stepmother, because all that would await her there would be a request for money. The widow Meacham was well-fixed since Emmy’s father’s death. Still, she asked Emmy for more whenever they talked. They hadn’t spoken in two years.

  Her heart ached. There was no place to turn.

  Her cell rang. She brushed the tears off her cheeks and took a deep breath. Buddy’s name showed on the screen.

  “Hi, babe.”

  “Hi.” She tried with everything she had to keep her voice steady, but she didn’t fool him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just a spat with Stash.”

  “You okay?”

  “Fine,” she lied.

  “I just wanted to tell you that asshole Robert Carson showed up here today. Shot out my living room window.”

  “He what?” She bolted upright.

  “Yep. Thought you might like to know he’s been arrested. I’m pressing charges, and he’s in jail. So, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Oh, Buddy. Are you okay? Did you get shot?”

  “Nope. Stupid coward ran. But I got him. My first tackle, but it was a good one.” He chuckled.

  Emmy smiled. “You’re something, you know that?”

  “So, you can relax. That jerk won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I miss you.”

  “Miss you, too, honey.”

  “I’m gonna sing my new song tomorrow night.”

  “Wish I could be there to hear it.”

  “I’m singing it for you, baby.”

  “I love you, Emmy.”

  “Love you too.”

  A knock on the door and Paula’s voice called in, “Food’s here.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Wish I could kiss you goodnight.”

&n
bsp; “Me too.”

  “’Night.”

  She clicked her phone off. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she pushed up and sighed. At least I have Buddy. A smile graced her lips. “Coming!” she called out.

  When she opened the door, Lani was pouring drinks. “You’re lucky to have Stash. Then, you throw him away. You’re not as smart as you think.”

  “It’s none of your business, Lani.”

  “As long as I’m here, it is my business. You fighting. There are a ton of women who’d trade places with you,” Lani said, sitting down at the table.

  “Are you one of them?” Emmy glared at her and placed her hands on her hips.

  “And what if I was?”

  Emmy wanted to smack the arrogant look off her face. “You’re welcome to him. If you think you can handle him.”

  “At least I’d appreciate him.”

  “And I don’t?”

  “You said it.” Lani took a bite of her fried chicken and lowered her gaze.

  * * * *

  Concussion protocol made Buddy wait three weeks before he could even travel with the team. He remained home with only Blitz and his mother for company. He paced, he ran, he walked, as restless as a caged lion until he was given the green light to get on the plane.

  They flew to Los Angeles. Buddy had been practicing all week, but didn’t know if Coach Bass was going to put him in the game. He’d started slow, but had worked up to his top speed again. His body had welcomed the rest and was now ready to perform.

  They were scheduled to play The L.A. Tigers on Sunday and fly out the same evening. Emmy was singing that night. Buddy wanted to go to the concert, but the team plans were set in stone. Being in the same city without being able to see her was torture.

  At least they could talk on the phone.

  “You’re here? In L.A.?”

  “We play tomorrow, then we’re flying out, right after the game.”

  “Damn. You could come to my concert.”

  “I know. I’d be there if I could. You know that.”

  “I’ll leave a couple of tickets at the box office. Bring Griff and some of your teammates.”

  “Don’t bother. We’re on a schedule, and the Coach doesn’t like to deviate.”

  “They’re free to me anyway. Just in case.”

  They chatted for a while. A longing to touch her, kiss her, welled up in his heart. Buddy pushed it down and hit the gym with Griff.

  Coach Bass joined them. “How you feeling, Buddy?”

  “Fine, Coach.” He adjusted the speed on the treadmill.

  “Ready to play?”

  “Yep.” He started with a slow run.

  “Doc says you’ve checked out. You’re okay. I’m putting you in. We need to win, and you can help. Did Griff go over that new play with you?”

  “The seesaw?”

  Coach nodded.

  “He did. We did that one and the spiral on the plane.”

  “Fine. The Tigers are good. We need these sneak attacks to keep ’em guessing.”

  “We’ll win. I feel it.”

  “Hope you’re right, son.” The coach wasn’t old enough to be the wide receiver’s father, but he treated all the team members as if they were his boys. Since his dad was gone, Buddy warmed to the Coach’s protective attitude.

  The next day, in the locker room, the team was tense, as they always were, especially before away games. Nothing was familiar. Coach gave an inspirational talk and slapped each one on the shoulder as they lined up to hit the gridiron.

  “Carruthers, you back?” asked Bullhorn Brodsky.

  “Yeah.”

  “Got your head on straight?”

  “His big head, or the little one?” Trunk snickered.

  “I bet the little one had the biggest workout,” Brodsky said.

  The team laughed.

  “Shut the fuck up, Brodsky.”

  “They’re jealous,” Griff put in. “Probably can’t even find his little head anymore.”

  Buddy laughed.

  “Lucky you saw her first,” Tony Hastings added.

  “In your wildest dreams, dickwad, Emerald wouldn’t spit on you,” Buddy responded.

  “Okay, guys. Take that attitude to the field,” Coach Bass said, motioning the men to leave the safety of the locker room.

  Griff and Buddy did their lucky handshake before they left. Some of the crowd booed as the Kings came out. Buddy gritted his teeth. “Bite me,” he whispered, nodding and smiling.

  They held their helmets in their left hands and covered their hearts with their right as the National Anthem was played. Wish Emmy was singing today. He thought about her only for a split second because the Kings lost the toss and had to receive. Buddy trotted out to his spot, awaiting the ball.

  The kickoff defensive special team didn’t look too big to him, except for one guy, who seemed to be pushing three hundred pounds. Buddy said a quick prayer that monster was on the other side of the field.

  The whistle was blown, and the pigskin flew through the air. It bounced to the other side then took a wild hop, heading for Buddy. He snatched it up and took off, just as the huge guy headed his way. The massive man could run, but the wide receiver was faster. With his teammates throwing a couple of blocks, Buddy was able to find a hole just wide enough to squeeze through and end up on the thirty yard line before he was taken down.

  Coach motioned Buddy to the sidelines as Homer Calloway took the field. “That’s enough for a bit, Buddy. Good job.”

  Although he was anxious to get in the game, Buddy didn’t argue. He didn’t want to get hurt again and going back in slowly was a wise move.

  By halftime, the game was tied, ten to ten. Each team had scored a touchdown and a field goal. Griff had been sacked twice. Buddy could tell by the way the quarterback moved that he was going to be sore that night. Watching Griff get crunched under some big defenders had made Buddy wince. He had breathed a sigh of relief when his friend had gotten up unharmed.

  At the break, Coach made some switches. “I thought I could rest you second half, Buddy, but I’m sending you in. The Tigers are good. We need our big guns.”

  “I’m a big gun at five ten?”

  “You are. Do your thing. We need to score.”

  The Kings kicked off the second half and kept the Tigers to a field goal. Buddy was ready, keeping one eye on the ball and the other on that hulk across the field. This time the punt went to Caleb Turner. Buddy blocked as best he could, but when the bruiser headed in his direction, he took off, running alongside Turner, stiff-arming and elbowing defenders out of the way.

  Griff threw a good pass to Buddy for a gain of twenty-five yards. The next one was tipped by a defender and almost intercepted. It was time for a fake. Buddy followed along, downfield, parallel to Griff, who faked a pass to the right. He threw a lateral to the wide receiver on the left. Buddy had a wide open field. Bullhorn Brodsky broke away from protecting Griff and ran up next to the wide receiver, knocking away three defensemen, creating a clear path for Buddy, who ran like the Devil himself was chasing him.

  Just as one Tiger made a flying leap for the wide receiver’s legs, Buddy launched himself through the air and over the goal line for a touchdown. The Kings were ahead by four points.

  Now, it was the Kings defensemen’s job to hold the Tigers back. It was hard, as the Tigers were aggressive and big. A couple of times, small skirmishes broke out. But Trunk Mahoney and the referees broke things up before it escalated into a fight.

  By four thirty, it was all over. The Kings had squeaked out a victory, seventeen to fourteen.

  Griff took a long shower and soaked in a cold bath in the locker room. Buddy was tired but happy. His legs were as good as ever. His mind was clear, and his memory sharp again. He’d made a complete recovery. The men got on the bus to head to the airport. Spirits were high.

  When they arrived, the Coach was notified of a delay. “Storm in New York. All airports are closed.”

  “We�
��re staying in L.A.?” Buddy asked, hope in his voice.

  “Might have to.”

  “We’re not going to hang around here all night, are we?”

  “I’ll let you know what the plan is as soon as I know.”

  “My girl’s here.”

  “I get it. Okay, okay. I’ll let you know.”

  The team cooled their heels in a private lounge at the airport. Trunk broke out a deck of cards. Some players read. Others texted family.

  Two hours later, Coach Bass reappeared. “Back on the bus. We’re going back to the hotel. New York is shut down for tonight. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. No curfew tonight, but take it easy, okay?”

  A cheer went up.

  “I’ve got tickets to Emerald’s concert. Who wants to go?” Buddy was mobbed.

  “I’ll give you the bus,” Coach said to Buddy.

  The team ate in a private dining room at the hotel then twenty teammates dressed and boarded the bus. At the ticket window, there were only five tickets waiting.

  “She’s your girl, Carruthers, you pay,” Trunk piped up.

  “Okay, okay,” Buddy said, whipping out his credit card. The men patted him on the back.

  They towered over the other fans when they filled most of the second row. Stash came out to warm up the crowd. The Kings booed him, until Buddy motioned them to simmer down.

  Stash got the audience clapping and chanting. The Kings were louder than anyone else. Buddy cringed at the raucous behavior of his teammates. Emmy still has a good sense of humor, I hope.

  The lights went down, and a hush fell. The spotlight came on, and Emmy stepped out of the wings. She glowed like a fine gem in an emerald green, sequined sheath that clung to her like a second skin. It was strapless, showing off her generous breasts. The dress was short, baring smooth, sleek legs. She wore five-inch spiked, black patent leather heels with ankle straps. A diamond collar glittered in the light. She held a microphone.