Al Trunk Mahoney, Defensive Line Page 17

  When he turned off the tap, he grabbed a towel. The wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the flesh was still raw and tender. He patted his leg dry around the area then fastened the towel about his waist. Rummaging through the medicine cabinet, he located some antibiotic cream, but couldn’t find any gauze pads. There was a knock on the door. Can only be Carla.

  “Come in,” he growled, slamming the cabinet door shut.

  “That’s a friendly hello,” Carla said, moving to the sink. “Let me look at that leg.”

  Trunk scowled at her and moved away. “I can handle it.”

  “Never said you couldn’t. Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the toilet.

  The top was down, so Al sat. His dark expression didn’t change until she plucked the ointment from his hand, bent down to open a drawer, and pulled out gauze pads. He stood up, but she placed a hand on his bare shoulder and pushed him back down.

  “Behave. Do as I say.” Her tone was gruff. It was clearly not a good idea to argue with her.

  “What do you care?” he spit at her.

  Carla stepped back as if he’d slapped her. “I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch. Someone’s got attitude this morning. What’s your problem? You’re going to the Super Bowl. Don’t be a jackass.” She sat on a stool and yanked up his leg, resting his heel on her crotch. She ripped open the gauze. Then, she repeated the action of the night before. “You gotta keep this dry.”

  “No kidding. Can’t do that in the shower.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Snapping at me? What the hell?”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “No one said you were.”

  “You implied it.”

  “I’m just trying to help. I’ve got a shitload of stuff to do downstairs, so if you’re gonna be nasty and obnoxious, dress your leg yourself!” Eyes blazing, she pushed to her feet.

  One look at her face snapped him out of his mood. “I know. I’m sorry. Just that when I woke up, you weren’t there, and I—”

  “Hell, some of us have to work.”

  “Why didn’t you get me up?”

  “You were sound asleep.”

  “I hate waking up alone,” he mumbled, casting his gaze to the ground.

  Carla leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Temper tantrums don’t stop, even when a guy hits thirty, I guess. Now, shut up and let me finish this.” She sank back down.

  He looked up, relieved to see her smile.

  “You’re gonna play in the Super Bowl. Win a boatload of money. Try to stay positive, okay? I’m wrestling with all kinds of crap. I can’t be holding your hand twenty-four seven.”

  Her words released the snorting bronco in him. “Then don’t! Who asked you?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m stressed out.”

  “What do you have to be stressed about? It’s not like you’re playing the biggest game of the year? Not like you could make an asshole out of yourself in front of fifty million people.”

  “Thanks for the sympathy and understanding,” she said, putting the last piece of tape in place. The edge of her tone cut right into him.

  “Hey. Okay. I’ll shut up. What’s going on downstairs?” He closed his long fingers around her forearm.

  “I’ve got to get ready for the Super Bowl crowd. I thought this year, I’d have a special party. Charge one admission and make it all you can eat and drink.”

  “That sounds risky to me.”

  “Hell, the ones who would be eating and drinking me out of house and home are you guys, and you’re gonna be in Florida.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I need to make some big money. It’s the last big night for a while. St. Paddy’s Day is strong, and July fourth brings in a crowd for my barbecue, but business is gonna dry up, and I need to be ready.”

  He noticed tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. Her lips clamped into a straight line, and her forehead wrinkled slightly.

  “People stop coming after football is over?”

  “You guys are my biggest draw. Off season, guys stay home with their wives and kids, they go away. And the folks in town who want to hang with y’all do something else. I have regulars who come once a week, but it’s nothing like during the season.”

  “How do you pay the rent then?”

  “I don’t have rent. I have a mortgage. I own the building.”

  “That’s even worse, right? I mean, with a landlord, if you’re late with the money, he can be a little patient. But a bank. Forget it. Mary used to talk about that shit all the time. Foreclosing. Kicking people to the curb. It sucks.”

  “Yep. It does. Hasn’t happened to me yet, and I don’t intend to let it.”

  He cocked his head.

  “I save. During the season. I put away as much as I can. So far, knock on wood, it’s worked. I’ve always had the money to slide through the slow patch. But every year, it’s a struggle. I never know until I’ve made it through if I have enough to last.”

  “I’ll help you, if you need it.”

  She patted his face. “That’s sweet. But I’d rather do it on my own. Worked so far.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ve got to get back. Will you take a look at what I was planning and tell me what you think?”

  “Sure, but I’m no businessman.”

  “You’re a customer. Give me your opinion as a customer.”

  Carla left. Trunk pulled on his clothes and ambled downstairs to put on shoes.

  “So, what do you think of fifty bucks for all you can eat and drink? For well drinks, beer and wine only. Nothing fancy. Tons of finger food and burgers. Maybe a sheet cake with ‘Go, Kings!’ on it? What do you think?” Carla asked.

  “I’d do it in a heartbeat. Can you make money that way?”

  “I hope so.”

  Trunk checked his watch. “Gotta go. Meetings.”

  She nodded, absorbed in her own thoughts.

  * * * *

  Trunk put his car in gear and headed to his lawyer’s office. After an hour consultation, signing papers, and writing checks, Al stopped at the diner for a quick lunch.

  Feeling kind of broke after spending a bundle for the new house, he ordered the lunch special—meatloaf platter. Tuffer Demson strolled in and looked around. Trunk motioned him over. The linebacker slid in, across from Trunk.

  “That looks good. What is it?”

  “Meatloaf. It’s on special.”

  Tuffer ordered the same from the waitress and a Coke. Trunk got his coffee refilled.

  “So, getting any before the game?” Trunk asked.

  “You guys ask all kinds of personal questions you shouldn’t. That’s none of your business,” Tuffer shot back.

  “Just showing an interest in a fellow teammate. I always like to get laid before a big game.” Al chuckled. “Well, before any game, I guess.”

  Demson joined him in a laugh.

  “So?” Mahoney cocked an eyebrow.

  “I have a double date tonight.”

  “Double date. Sounds like high school.”

  “Robbie Anthony and I are taking out Alyssa and Alexis Sebastian.”

  Truck choked on his food and put a napkin in front of his mouth.

  Tuffer jumped up and pounded his friend on the back. “What’s wrong?” The young man looked at his mentor.

  “You’re taking out the Coach’s daughters?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Holy shit. Coach tells all the players to stay away from his girls.”

  “Never told me that. We’re only grabbing dinner and a movie. No biggie.”

  “That’s what you think. Robbie Anthony is one of the biggest movers on the team.”

  “I thought that was Brodsky.”

  “Used to be. Now, he’s married.”

  “So, it’s Robbie? News to me.”

  “You’re a great guy, but everything is news to you. Get your head out of your ass. Would you want a mover like Anthony circling your kid?”

  “I’m not a mover.”

 
; Trunk laughed. “I think everyone knows that.”

  “So, what’s the big deal?”

  “Anthony will maneuver the girls back to his place. Then, he’ll move in.”

  “I don’t play those games.”

  “I know. You’re a decent kid. But Anthony’s in a different league.”

  “I won’t let him take Lexie there.”

  “She’s your date?”

  Tuffer nodded. Conversation stopped as the waitress placed the platter in front of him.

  “One girl isn’t going without the other one. Trust me.” Trunk ate the last bite of his meal.

  “This is only his second date with Lyssa.”

  “Doesn’t matter. As long as she’s got a pussy, Anthony’s gonna be hound-doggin’ her.”

  Tuffer made a face then took a forkful of food.

  “Why don’t you call The Kid? He’s been seeing his girl for a while. Chances are he’s getting laid, so he’s not desperate to hook up in a spare room at Anthony’s house.”

  “He’s going to expect me to have sex with Lexie in his spare room? Not happening. Who’s The Kid?”

  “Lawson. Lawson Breaker.”

  “Oh, him. Yeah. I could do that.”

  “Three will squash Robbie’s plans.”

  “I’ll call him right after lunch.”

  “I thought Anthony was hanging with a couple of cheerleaders,” Trunk said, draining his coffee cup.

  “He was or is. I don’t know. I think he goes out with a different girl every night.” Tuffer scooped up some mashed potatoes with his fork.

  “He’s a player. Biggest one on the team now, since everyone else is married or paired up.”

  “Except Harley Brennan.”

  “Forgot about him.”

  “Brennan’s smooth. He’s got those cheerleaders eating out of his hand.”

  “He’s probably got them eating something else too.” Trunk snickered.

  Tuffer chuckled along with Al. The waitress stopped by with the check.

  Trunk picked up his. “They’re looking for rich husbands. Beware, Demson.”

  “Oh, they’re not interested in me.”

  “Not until we win the Super Bowl. Then, they’ll show up to help you spend that winner’s bonus. Coach’s daughters seem real nice. Treat ’em good, or the Coach will whip your ass.”

  “I like Lexie. She’s hot. Smart too.”

  “Be careful. Coach doesn’t want them dating the players.”

  “I know. It’s only dinner and a movie. Nothing special.”

  “Keep it in your pants, Tuff.”

  “I will. It’s our first date.”

  “Bark up another tree.”

  “She’s got a right to date whoever she wants. She’s twenty-one. He can’t stop her.” Tuffer’s chin jutted out a bit.

  “No, but he can make your life miserable. Even trade you.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. The trade part, I mean.”

  “I’d hate to see you go.” Trunk slapped his buddy on the back and headed for his car.

  Tuffer gave him a hesitant smile.

  As he drove to Griff Montgomery’s house, Al pondered how Tuffer Demson dating Lexie Sebastian would go. If he fucks her, and Coach finds out, Coach’ll kill him. He shook his head as he pulled into the quarterback’s driveway. He zipped up his jacket and made his way to the door.

  A hand-made sign reading “do not ring” was hung on the outside. He tapped lightly. In a few minutes, a stocking-footed Griff answered.

  “Come on in. Be quiet ’cause Gracie is sleeping.” Just as he said that, Chip raced through the foyer, making as much noise as possible.

  Griff yelled at his son, who promptly burst into tears, crying loudly. A shriek emanated from a room upstairs.

  “Shit. He woke the baby. Don’t cry, Chip. It’s okay. She has to get up some time.” Griff picked up the toddler, carrying him into the living room. “Come on in, Trunk. Welcome to the insane asylum.”

  Trunk got nervous. Maybe not being able to have kids isn’t so bad.

  Lauren was wearing a robe, lying on the sofa, propped up against a pillow. Al swallowed.

  “Nice talk, Griff,” she said. “Welcome, Trunk. Yes, we have a bit of a circus at the moment. I hope you understand. Griff, will you please get Gracie?”

  “On my way,” the tall man said, handing off his son to his wife then heading for the stairs.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt you. I can come back,” Al replied, turning to the door.

  “I’m afraid it’s going to be like this for a couple of years, at least. So, please stay.” She turned her attention to the boy. “Chip, can you build something for me?” He nodded, as his mother wiped his face with a tissue.

  In a few minutes, the quarterback returned with a tiny, beautiful baby in his arms. He handed her off to his wife, who sat up. “Feeding time,” Griff said.

  “Look, I’ll come back.” Trunk took steps toward the foyer.

  “Please stay. I cover up well. And if you’re not too uncomfortable, this may be the best time, the most quiet time, we have. So, what’s up?” Lauren exposed her breast, and Trunk turned away. The baby latched on then Griff helped her cover up with a pink baby blanket.

  “All safe now,” she said. “You can turn around. Please sit down.”

  Al did as he was told.

  “What’s up? What can I do for you?” Lauren asked.

  He wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief. “I’m buying a house. And I need help decorating it.”

  “How wonderful. Congratulations. A bachelor pad?”

  “I’m hoping it won’t be. But for now, yeah. I want something nice. Homey. It’s a stone house. Real old.”

  “Oh, I know! The one on Shelter Road?”

  “Yeah. You know the place?”

  “The Riley’s owned it? Or they still do?”

  “Not for long. We’re going to contract next week. They said I could go in, take measurements, order stuff, start making plans. I want to move in as soon as possible.”

  “Did you sell the old place?” Griff asked.

  “Yeah. The broker was right. As soon as someone found out it belonged to a Kings’ player, they were ready to sign. I close on that right before we leave.”

  “Congratulations,” Griff said, extending his hand.

  Trunk took it, smiled, and then turned to Lauren. “I realize you’re not in shape to do anything right now. But maybe in a week or two? If you can give me the names and numbers of the contractors, I’ll make the calls. But I need help with colors and stuff. I’ll pay your fee. Just say the word.”

  “Of course I’ll help you. Might be a little hit or miss.” She eased the baby off her breast and onto her shoulder as she patted the infant to encourage a burp. Trunk turned away. Griff stepped over to cover one breast and uncover the other. Gracie gave a loud burp and was soon sucking contentedly at the other side.

  “You can turn around now,” Griff said.

  Trunk could feel the color rise to his face. They’re so relaxed.

  “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about the interior? I’ve seen the outside.” Lauren settled back into the sofa. She looked very comfortable, her facial muscles weren’t tense, and her arms cradled the little girl in a natural way.

  Al took a breath and let it out. “It’s a special place…”

  As he talked on, excitement pumped through his veins. He had Carla and now the house. Buoyed by Lauren’s enthusiasm, he smiled broadly. Soon, the baby was asleep. Griff took her upstairs.

  Chip had finished his building. “Look, Mama,” he said, tugging on his mother’s sleeve. “I built you a house too. Like this man’s house.”

  Trunk laughed. Lauren introduced him to her son, which signaled that his time had run out. He rose, thanked her, and shook her hand.

  “Good luck with the kids. They’re beauties,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She returned his smile and walked him to the door. Griff opened it, and then Trun
k was back in his car. Soon, the house would be fixed to his liking and he’d be the master of his little palace. The idea pleased him as he drove back to The Savage Beast.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When he entered, Carla’s voice boomed, the tone shrill and angry as she held the phone close. He looked at her and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged at him and kept on talking. He blew her a kiss. Trunk had no experience handling suppliers. He’d as soon bash their heads in as reason or even argue, but Carla maintained her cool most of the time and stood up for herself when necessary. So, he kept out of her business affairs, and she didn’t complain.

  Trunk grabbed his workout clothes and headed for the stadium. When he arrived, Trunk sensed tension in the air. The men were edgy. Even Coach Bass had lost his cool, friendly, low-key demeanor. Of course, his wife was pregnant too. He checked the weight room three times, making sure the guys weren’t going overboard and straining their muscles. Usually, that was the job of the trainer, but Coach Bass, propelled by nerves, appeared everywhere—on the track, in the weight room, the trainer room, massage room, and locker room.

  He had a stop watch he kept clicking. Deep lines etched his forehead, and his facial muscles appeared frozen in an eternal frown. Sweat gathered at his hairline, and he rubbed his neck frequently. The guys had seen it before. This would be their third time at the “big game,” as the coach called it. One win and one loss—this was to be the deciding duel. Pressure clamped down on everyone, making tempers short and exercise strenuous.

  Trunk grabbed a bottle of water and joined Bull on the track. They stretched their calves and started off slowly, careful not to injure themselves.

  “You got that house?”

  “Yep.”

  “When you movin’ in?”

  “Don’t know. It needs work. Might move in anyway. Can’t live with Carla forever.”

  “So, she’s just temporary? Didn’t look like it.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean, can’t go on mooching off her indefinitely.”

  “Thought you were paying rent?”

  “I am. But not much. Still. I’m hanging at her place. I need my own.”