Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Read online

  “Of course, of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought—never mind.”

  “You thought what? This better be good.”

  “Nothing, nothing. Do you want your eggs fried or scrambled?”

  “Forget the eggs, Sly. What were you thinking? Why were you upset about the magazine? Do you think I’m plotting to marry you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly!” She shot up from the table. “Then what, exactly?”

  “It’s the wedding. The whole thing. The people, the clothes, the flowers, the whole shitload. I’m not doing that again. Ever.”

  “You’re never getting married?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “I didn’t say that. I said I’m never having a wedding again. Being humiliated at my own wedding once is enough for me. Never putting myself in that position again.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Never been more serious in my life. I made a promise to myself, that I’d never do that again.”

  “But you want to get married?”

  “I sure do. Oh, yes. Marriage is definitely for me. With the right woman.” He shot a warm glance her way.

  “But you expect her to go to City Hall?”

  “If she loves me, giving up a stupid wedding won’t matter.”

  “And if you loved her, you’d understand that a girl dreams of her wedding all her life.”

  Bull swallowed. This information was news to him. “That can’t be true.”

  “It is. Ask any girl.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me.”

  “So, this magazine was for you…your wedding too?”

  “Not specifically. But I did look through it and dream a little.”

  “That was before we started dating?”

  “It was. You expect a woman to give up a lot to marry you. I hope you find this super woman who’s completely selfless.” She drained her mug and left the room.

  Superwoman is you, Sam. “Wait!” He jumped up and followed her.

  She stopped on the stairs. “What? What do you want?”

  “You. I want you. You’re the Superwoman.”

  “We haven’t been seeing each other that long, Sly. Are you proposing to me?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Would you give up a fancy wedding for the man you love?”

  “Don’t ask me. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. I’m not ready to marry anyone. I have a big Thanksgiving dinner to think about now.”

  “That means ‘no’ in my book.”

  “Maybe it does.”

  He quieted down, only staring at her with longing in his heart. “Sam,” he muttered.

  She blinked rapidly then looked away.

  “Say it isn’t so,” he whispered.

  Casting one quick glance back at him, she ran up the steps and slammed the door.

  As if it were glass smacked by a hammer, Sly could hear his heart shattering into smithereens and the pieces hitting the floor. Sam had said she wouldn’t marry him. And he hadn’t even asked. Well, not really. Maybe. Still, her answer was ‘no’. What could he do now? She was on his mind twenty-four seven.

  Tears he hadn’t shed unless injured watered his eyes. He’d lost her before he even had her. Dumping the rest of his coffee in the sink, he climbed the stairs slowly. He opened the door then hesitated before entering the bedroom, as Samantha was there pulling on her jeans.

  “Don’t rush. I’ll get a shower at the stadium.”

  “Sly, I didn’t mean—”

  “What? You didn’t mean that you couldn’t give up a wedding? What does it matter? We’re not engaged or anything.”

  If he had slapped her, she couldn’t have had a more hurt look.

  “Samantha, I don’t mean that.”

  “You’re right. We’re not engaged. We’re not anything.” Anger flared in her pretty eyes.

  “I thought we were dating? Exclusive? Committed?” Hope in his heart wouldn’t die.

  “We were.” She turned toward the bed and slipped her T-shirt over her head.

  “Were? Can’t we still be dating?”

  When she turned around, her eyes were damp, her lashes clumped together. He stepped toward her, but she held out her arm to fend him off.

  “No hug. I’m fine. Maybe we can still date. But a man who’s too scared his fiancée is going to run off and humiliate him to have a wedding gives me second thoughts.”

  “It happened. It’s no joke.”

  “I know. It must have been terrible. But I’m not like that.”

  “What if you changed your mind at the last minute?”

  “And you’d rather marry me in secret, if I had doubts, than have me cancel a wedding?”

  “I’m dead no matter what I say here. Maybe we should let it rest for a day or two.”

  She nodded once. “Maybe.”

  He grabbed sweats out of his drawer. Pain seared through him as he watched her. Desire to touch her, hold her, overwhelmed him. He pulled on pants and approached her. “Sam… I.” Words failed him. He combed his fingers through her long hair.

  She looked up at him, her eyes filled with questions. He eased her closer, but she resisted, flattening her palms against his chest. “We shouldn’t. Wait.”

  Sadness made his body heavy. “Can I call you, or are you gonna call me?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Either way.”

  “I guess it’s better if I don’t come to dinner tomorrow then.”

  She closed her hand over his forearm. “Oh, no. Please do. Come. It’s Thanksgiving. I don’t want to shut you out. That would be terrible.”

  He nodded, having already made up his mind not to go. You’ve already shut me out. Picking up his gym bag, he headed for the door. “Lock up on your way out,” he called over his shoulder.

  ****

  At the stadium, Bull chowed down on grilled chicken and pasta. He was silent, listening to his teammates talk about their holiday plans. He didn’t have any. Let the pity party begin. He went to the track and jogged for a bit, knowing too much after eating could cause cramps. Still, he needed to move. Being physical had always been part of his makeup, the way he dealt with stress, good and bad.

  As he ran, he tried to find a solution to his problem. He’d promised himself, swore a thousand times, no fancy wedding. Elopement, City Hall, anything but a formal affair with a big crowd waiting to witness his heartbreak. He snorted. Who’d want to marry him anyway? Sure, he had money, but one injury would end that, and he’d have to watch his pennies.

  A big lug, that’s what some of his classmates had called him in high school. One of the titles under his name in the yearbook had been lug. Although he danced passably, he’d never been graceful, except on the gridiron. What would any beautiful woman want with me, anyway? He slowed to do his cool-down walking.

  When he returned to the locker room, Buddy Carruthers piped up. “Thank God you’re back. Where the fuck have you been?”

  “Your phone’s been ringing nonstop,” Devon said. “It’s driving everyone nuts.”

  “Some chick wanting to screw your brains out?” Trunk snickered.

  His heart lifted. Samantha! A smile formed as he walked to his locker, trying not to look to eager in front of the team. That would only make them ask embarrassing questions, or poke fun at their own imagined scenarios. With his heart in his mouth, he opened the door. The display read—Tiffany.

  As if someone had tied an anvil to his heart, it sank to the floor. Damn. Shit. Fuck. He wrapped a towel around his neck and headed for the parking lot. No way was he going to talk to her within earshot of the men. He hit “call back.”

  “What’s up?” He paced.

  “Today’s Thanksgiving.”

  “Yeah. I know that. Is that what you called to tell me?”

  Then, he heard it, the familiar tremble in her voice. Shit. Waterworks.

  “I’m all alone today, Bull. Do you know what it feels like to be alone on Thanksgiving?”
r />   Yeah. I do. “What do you want me to do about it? I have a game today. I’m not exactly stuffing myself with turkey.”

  “A game? Shit.”

  “Yeah. At four.”

  “You’re not going to a big, Thanksgiving dinner?” The hope in her words made him glad he had decided not to go. The thought of taking her to Samantha’s celebration made him queasy.

  “I’m not. Have a nice holiday. I gotta go.”

  “What about after?” The desperation in her voice touched him. Hell, he had no plans for after. He could do worse than break a little bread with her. It was like doing a good deed.

  “I won’t be done ’til nine. Maybe later, if there’s overtime.” But he knew there wouldn’t be any overtime. They were going to slaughter the Miners.

  “So? Isn’t there some place we could go then. Grab a bite or something?”

  “There’s that diner on the corner. Near the shelter?”

  “Oh, that place.”

  “They’re open twenty-four seven.”

  “But are they going to have turkey?”

  “I’d guess they are. And if they don’t, so what? It’s not a law you have to eat turkey.”

  “No, but I like turkey.”

  “Do you want to go or not?”

  “Is this a date?” Her question was laced with flirtation.

  “No. It’s two people sharing food.” He bit his lip. He didn’t intend to sound so harsh, but he didn’t want to give her false hope. They were done. Period. For good. Forever. He’d rather never get married than end up with her.

  “Oh. Okay. What time?”

  “I’ll call you when I get in the car. You can meet me there.”

  “All right. Thanks, Bull. I know you have that girlfriend—”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “Thanks, anyway.”

  “You’re welcome. See you later.”

  “See ya.”

  If he had solved his problem of being alone on Thanksgiving, then why didn’t he feel better? The sadness didn’t lift, and the anger didn’t go away. He put on his uniform, listening to his teammates rag on their opponents.

  “The Miners suck,” Griff said.

  “Yeah, your pug, Spike, could run through their line,” Trunk agreed.

  “Blindfolded,” Griff put in.

  “And backwards,” said Buddy.

  “I heard their quarterback hasn’t gotten laid since 2010,” Devon added.

  “That recently?” put in Bull.

  “I heard he doesn’t have a dick,” said Trunk.

  “That would explain it then,” Griff piped up.

  By the time the men were ready for words of wisdom from the coach, they were laughing hysterically.

  “You guys crack each other up. You could do standup if you leave football,” Coach Bass said, shaking his head. They gathered around. The coach went over a couple of new plays, drawing diagrams on a white board. “Rumor has it the Miners are having a bad year.”

  “Rumor and their won/loss record,” Buddy said.

  “Right, right. But don’t let that fool you. These guys are all pros. They played in college, were drafted into the league, just like you. If you let down your guard, even for a moment, they are sharp enough to take advantage. So, don’t give them a God damn, fucking inch!”

  There was a round of applause. They did the team cheer with hands in the middle then ran out onto the field. Bull shoved his bad mood and sadness aside. He had a game to play, a quarterback to defend, and nothing could interfere with that. This wasn’t about him, it was about the team, the fans, and football.

  ****

  When the final whistle blew, Bull loped off the field. The Kings had won, twenty-seven to seven. Bull begrudged the Miners their lone touchdown. He was ready to give Trunk hell over it, until he opened his locker. His cell was ringing. Hoping it was Samantha, he feared it was Tiffany. The second thought was correct. Again, he took it outside. This time, he noticed the glances of his teammates. The Kings didn’t like secrets.

  “Where you been?”

  “Playing football. I said I’d call you when I got in the car. And that’s what I’ll do.”

  God, he hated the way she checked up on him. Impatient, controlling—it all came back to him what a pain in the ass Tiffany had been. Samantha never did stuff like that. He sighed, mouthing a little prayer that Sam wouldn’t end up a distant memory.

  He needed a hot shower. The weather had turned nasty, with dampness in the air and a sharp, biting wind. He was chilled to the bone. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he returned to his locker. His phone rang. Tiffany again! He hit “ignore” and turned it off.

  Trunk opened his mouth. “Mystery date, Brodsky?”

  “None of your fuckin’ business, Mahoney.”

  Devon glanced at Bull briefly before he continued on his way to the showers. I wonder if he knows. Sam probably called him.

  “Great game, guys. Happy Thanksgiving. See you Monday for practice,” Coach Bass called, with a wave of his hand.

  Bull pulled on his jacket, slammed his locker shut, and headed for the door. His teammates murmured a few words about happy holiday and such, but Brodsky didn’t hear them. He was already regretting his moment of weakness with Tiffany. And now, he’d pay the price, sitting through an entire meal with her before having the privilege of picking up the check.

  The engine roared to life, and he picked up his cell before putting it in gear. After the call, he turned onto the street and pointed the car in the direction of the diner. As he walked up, turning his collar to the chill wind that had picked up, he saw her sitting in a booth. She no longer wore the sling. He slid in across from her.

  She raised her glass. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

  “Don’t call me that. You’re a married woman. And I’m not your baby.”

  He studied her face. Most of the bruises were gone. A few shadows remained under her eyes. Tiffany had regained her original beauty. He smiled inwardly. What had seemed so pretty to him before looked cheap and loud now. Samantha’s classic good looks and tasteful wardrobe impressed the hell out of him. Nothing less than her style would do now. He wouldn’t take Tiffany on a platter. Still, he had to feel sorry for her. She’d lost her home and job. She was up shit’s creek without a paddle. Bull considered giving her some money to get back on her feet.

  “I know. Just for old time’s sake.”

  “Tiffany, you need to think about getting a divorce and a fresh start. Maybe you should go back home.”

  The waitress came by and dropped off two menus. Bull ordered coffee.

  “I don’t want to go home. There’s nothing there.”

  “There’s your parents’ house. A place to live. Away from Clyde.”

  She opened the menu the same time he did. “There it is! Roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry sauce. That’s what I’m having.”

  The waitress returned. “Having the Thanksgiving special?”

  Tiffany nodded.

  “Stuffing with that too?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “And you?” She turned to Bull.

  “I’ll have a burger and fries. Throw in a chocolate milkshake.”

  Tiffany made a face as the waitress wrote it down. “You’re not having Thanksgiving with me.”

  “Look, I’m here. I’m picking up the check. Don’t push it. I don’t feel like eating that now.”

  “Having it tomorrow with your girl?”

  He dropped his gaze to his fingers.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay. She’s pretty nice. Been nice to me.”

  “She has?”

  “Yeah. Helped me get my meds for free, find stuff. She’s okay. I can see why you like her.”

  “She’s amazing.” But we’re through now, because I’m an asshole. Probably.

  Tiffany slowly shredded her napkin. “Bull, I don’t know what to do. Help me.”

  “Yes, you do. You need to go home. Be safe away from that n
ut job. Then, you need to get a new job, a new place to live, and a new boyfriend. You know the drill. You’re not stupid, Tiff.”

  “I was stupid to lose you.”

  “Maybe. Maybe we weren’t meant to be.”

  The server arrived with their food. Bull was glad to be eating so he didn’t have to talk. It was surprising that after all their time together, being engaged and all, he had nothing to say to her. It was like they lived on different planets. Their connection had been broken years ago.

  “Say,” she said, chewing on turkey, “You ever run across that asshole, Horse Jackson?”

  “Yeah. The douchebag is still playing for the Bobcats.”

  “He mess you up?”

  “Nah, not anymore. I know how to deal with him.”

  And suddenly, as frosty as the air between them had been, they fell into old habits, talking about players and games past. Bull lightened up. The burger tasted good. The chocolate milkshake was a treat he’d have to atone for later. And Tiffany’s interest in football eased the conversation. He told her a few new stories. She laughed in all the right places.

  She finished with a piece of pumpkin pie while he sucked down another cup of coffee. He remembered some of what he had seen in her. She could be empathetic and a good listener when she wasn’t so focused on herself. He had enjoyed the dinner. Didn’t mean there was anything between them but a year of shared history and a tenuous friendship. But it beat eating alone.

  He paid the check and left a twenty on the table for the waitress. Tiffany thanked him. He opened the door and walked her back to the shelter. He thought Sam would have been long gone, but she was still there. His good feeling went south immediately. When he saw her, he started to sweat. How the hell am I going to explain being here with Tiffany?

  “Hi, Samantha,” Tiffany said, a mean gleam in her eye at the startled look in Sam’s.

  “Tiffany. Sly? What are you doing here?”

  “She calls you Sly. That’s cute.”

  Samantha stiffened. Her expression was cloudy, pain in her eyes as her gaze connected with his. Suddenly, the room got very warm.

  Tiffany looked from one to the other and back again. “Time for me to turn in. ’Night, Bull. Thanks for the meal.” She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He pushed her away and didn’t respond to her words. She shrugged, pulled out her key, and entered the main building.