Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Page 4

  “Don’t let that asshole trip you up, Kid. We get it. New season, new habits,” Griff Montgomery, the Kings’ quarterback, said.

  “That’s right. New season.”

  “Don’t you get any pussy, Breaker?” Trunk persisted.

  “I have a girlfriend,” the young player muttered.

  “She hot?” Bull asked, suppressing a smile.

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Buddy Carruthers cracked up as he toweled off. “Kid, take a cold shower.”

  “You banging her, Kid?” Trunk stepped under the warm spray.

  “None of your business,” the offensive lineman answered. He grabbed the soap.

  “He needs to give another part of his anatomy a workout,” Bull chimed in.

  The men laughed while Breaker blushed as red as a Mexican sunset.

  When they boarded the bus, Bull watched Griff approach the youngest team member. The quarterback patted him on the back.

  “Don’t worry about it, Kid. They do that because they like you.”

  “Shit, can’t imagine what they’d say if they hated me.”

  Griff chuckled. “You’re part of the team. We’ve all got your back.”

  Lawson smiled at the QB and boarded the bus.

  Bull thought back to his first year. They’d given him a hard time at every opportunity. He laughed to himself, remembering how awkward and shy he had been off the field. The teasing had stopped the first time he’d gotten injured. Each man had come by to check on him while he had been on the table getting his forearm sewn up.

  Moving down the aisle to take the space next to Mahoney, Bull stopped at Breaker’s seat. He patted the young man on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kid. You’ll be fine.”

  * * * *

  Before they took the field, Coach Bass called the team together. “Look, we wiped the floor with the Sidewinders. We can beat the Bobcats without breaking a sweat.”

  “What about Horse Jackson?” a player piped up.

  “That fucking monster? We’re gonna double team the bastard. Stop him cold. I’ve got Brodsky, Maguire, and Breaker. We’re gonna rotate you guys until we tire the dickwad out.”

  A low rumble of agreement made the coach grin. Bull said a silent prayer. Put Breaker with me, Coach, not with Maguire.

  “Trunk, you’re gonna lead the line in shutting down Sean Murphy. He’s good. Don’t let him get a shot off. Drake, you’ll have your hands full with Gallagher. He and Murphy are tough to beat.”

  “Got it, Coach,” Devon replied.

  “You can do this. We need to grind them into the ground if we’re gonna make the Super Bowl. With this team, nothing less will do. You can do it. You’re stars, all of you. So, get out there and win this game.”

  The players did their team yell with hands in the circle then trotted out to the field. Since the game was an away one for the Kings, there weren’t a ton of fans, but they still got a good cheer when they hit the gridiron.

  Griff Montgomery lost the toss. Coach Bass popped a wad of gum and began chewing. The Kings would be receiving the ball. Bullhorn took his position with his teammates. Horse Jackson was snorting like a bull waiting at the gate, eager to throw his rider.

  “I’m gonna fuck you up, Brodsky.”

  “Go fuck yourself, dickhead,” Bull responded.

  Buddy Carruthers received the kick-off on the fifteen yard line and took off. Trunk Mahoney ran slightly in front of him, fending off Bobcats. The wide receiver went down on the twenty-seven yard line.

  For the first play, Mahoney left the field, as he was part of the receiving team, but otherwise played defense. Nate Maguire and Bullhorn were the men charged with shutting down Jackson. When the ball was snapped, they moved ahead, but Bull kept his eyes on Horse. The big man was circling around Maguire when Bull cut across in front of his own man and headed him off. Brodsky blocked him, knocking them both down. No penalty was called. Griff connected a long pass with Buddy for a first down on the thirty-nine.

  Jackson spit in Brodsky’s direction. Bull saw red and charged the defenseman. Maguire grabbed his jersey as Montgomery and Carruthers joined in, restraining their teammate.

  “He’s not worth it,” Griff said.

  Jackson wore a shit-eating grin, goading Brodsky to step out of line and get a penalty.

  “We’re gonna beat your sorry ass, dickhead,” Bull said between gritted teeth.

  He smiled when the nasty grin fell off Jackson’s face. Calling him that was like dropping a lit match into a can of gasoline. The word made Horse crazy. Bull swore steam came from his opponent’s nose.

  They lined up again. Marquel Johnson was back on the field after his long recovery from a broken leg. Coach Bass had moved him to running back. Griff handed the ball off to Marquel, whose swift legs and seesaw motion carried him into Bobcat territory and another first down.

  The Kings scored a touchdown, frustrating Horse Jackson to the point where he ripped off his helmet, threw it on the ground, and took off after Bull. The ref gave the Bobcats a team foul and penalty for Horse’s unsportsmanlike conduct. Brodsky grinned, and Coach Bass danced as Robbie Anthony kicked for the extra point, taking the score to seven-zip, Kings’ favor.

  The first half continued in the same vein. Horse got smarter, forcing Griff to slide or be taken down by the rough defenseman. At the halftime break, the score was fourteen to ten, still in the Kings’ favor.

  In the locker room, Coach praised Brodsky and Maguire. “No one will ever shut him down completely. But you boys came damn close. Well done.”

  Devon Drake had broken up seventy-five percent of the passes from Sean Murphy to Tom Gallagher. Coach patted him on the back. “Good work, Drake. Keep it up.”

  The men drank juice and took a breather.

  “I’m putting Breaker in. Giving you a rest, Bull. Jackson’s getting tired. So are you. Time for the Kid to lose his virginity!”

  The team shouted a cheer, and Lawson Breaker blushed and grinned.

  Bull frowned as he put his helmet back on and joined Trunk for the lope back to the field. “I hope Coach knows what he’s doing. Not sure Breaker is ready for Jackson.”

  “Time for him to enter the big leagues, Bull. He’ll be okay. Maguire’ll watch out for him.”

  Robbie Anthony did the kick off to start the second half. Trunk took down their receiver on the eighteen yard line. It was a good omen. A fumble returned the ball to the Kings.

  As he ran off field, Trunk made an obscene gesture in front of Breaker, who was coming on. The rookie laughed and joined Nate Maguire on the line for the snap. Bull held his breath when the ball was hiked. Maguire ran around one side of Jackson and Breaker the other. They worked like a well-oiled machine, as if they had been playing together for years. Brodsky exhaled when Caleb Turner caught Griff’s pass for another first down.

  The air was nippy as fall deepened, heading toward winter, but Jackson looked like he was on fire. Bull walked up and down the sidelines as the team lined up for the next play. Horse moved forward and offsides was called. The five yard penalty put the Kings into the red zone.

  Jackson paced on the field. He was edgy and appeared unable to stand still. Then, the ball was snapped, and the huge defenseman charged. He ran straight for Breaker. For a large man, Horse was fast. With his head down, he made contact with The Kid’s midriff, forcing him backward. Maguire raced forward to push Jackson off, but too late. Horse grabbed the young man’s arm and yanked, hard. Breaker flipped around, his helmet crashing into Maguire’s at lightning speed.

  The young player flopped to the ground like a rag doll. The whistle was blown. An unnecessary roughness penalty was called, putting the Kings almost on the goal line. Bull halted. Breaker was lying on the ground, not moving.

  Brodsky sucked in air and held it as the Kings’ doctor and Hank Montgomery, Griff’s dad and a Kings’ trainer, ran out on the field. The crowd was hushed as Hank slowly removed the Kid’s helmet. Still, he didn’t move. Maguire, also on the
ground, sat up. He shook his head. Griff offered him a hand up. The lineman staggered to his feet. Buddy helped him off the field. Breaker remained motionless.

  Bull glanced at the coach, who was chewing his gum a mile a minute and pacing. The medics worked on The Kid, but he didn’t move a muscle. Hank stood and waved the stretcher in. The crowd was silent. Gooseflesh ran the length of Bull’s body. His eyes watered.

  Hank and the doctor picked up Lawson and loaded him on the stretcher. It was wheeled into the waiting cart. The spectators stood and cheered. The team cleared a path to the locker room. Bull stared at the pale face of his young teammate, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow as he passed by. Rage lit in the lineman’s chest. When Breaker was out of sight, Brodsky turned his focus on Jackson.

  The big man stood on the sidelines, grinning. Bull wanted to kill him with his bare hands. After a signal from the coach, Brodsky ran out onto the field as play resumed. When the ball was snapped, Bull lowered his head and ran straight for Horse Jackson’s belly. He hit as hard as he could, knocking the wind out of the Bobcat player. After faking to his left, then his right, Griff Montgomery tucked the ball safely into his abdomen and ran for a touchdown.

  With Jackson out of the way, the quarterback sneak play worked perfectly. Griff scored. Jackson writhed around on the field, gasping for breath. Brodsky stared at his handiwork. Score one for The Kid.

  A teammate offered Horse a hand, and the big man stood up. He glared at Bull, who slyly shot him the finger.

  “Stay away from Breaker, asshole, or I’ll fuck you up worse,” Bull hissed to the big man when he got closer.

  “Shove it up your ass, dickhead,” Jackson returned, barely breathing regularly.

  Someone tugged on the offensive lineman’s arm. Bull turned to see that Nate Maguire had returned to the game.

  “Leave the fucker alone, Bull. We need you. Come on. We’re beating their sorry asses anyway. Fucking losers,” Maguire said.

  Bull shot a nasty grin at Jackson. “Loser,” he spat at his opponent.

  Jackson’s eyes widened. “Those’ll be your last words, Brodsky.”

  “Bring it on, fucker.”

  The ref got between the men just before their teammates pulled them back. The battle broke Jackson’s concentration. He received a warning about roughness and a smaller penalty. But without his full focus on the game, he wasn’t able to keep the Kings from scoring another touchdown and a field goal.

  The Kings’ defense team, led by Trunk Mahoney and Devon Drake, shut down Murphy and Gallagher. Unable to score anything more than three field goals, the Bobcats went down to the Kings, twenty-four to nine. The Kings hadn’t beaten the Bobcats by so much in years.

  After the final whistle, Bull was the first man in the locker room. He dumped his helmet in his locker and immediately went to the first aid room. Lawson Breaker was sitting up, sipping apple juice from a straw.

  “You okay?” Bull asked, taking a seat near the bed.

  “Yeah. Just a concussion and dislocated shoulder.”

  “Shit! Did they pop it back in?”

  “Yeah.” The Kid nodded.

  “Hurts like bloody hell.”

  “Fuck. Thought I’d died.”

  Bull laughed. “You lost your concussion virginity today too, Kid.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You can’t do anything, even get laid, for about three weeks.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Fuck. Angela’s not gonna like that.”

  “She your girl?”

  “Yep.” Breaker nodded again then squinted in pain.

  “Easy, easy. You can’t do anything. No sex, no reading, no dancing, no walking, no working out, and no football. No nothing, for at least three weeks. Maybe longer.”

  The Kid lay back and closed his eyes.

  “Everyone’ll have to wait on you.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “How’s the shoulder?” Bull touched it gently.

  “Sore.”

  “I’ll bet. You were an animal out there.”

  “I was?” The Kid sat up slowly and opened his eyes again.

  “We got Jackson.”

  “You did? Hurt him bad?”

  “You bet. We beat them into the ground. Twenty-four to nine.” Bull laughed. “Jackson’ll never live that down. He took you out and still got creamed.”

  The Kid smiled.

  “Okay, Brodsky, let the patient rest,” the doctor said.

  Bullhorn pushed to his feet and patted Lawson on the shoulder. As he turned to leave, he saw the line behind him. Every player had stopped by to check on The Kid. Bull smiled. Being part of a team warmed his heart. Relief that the Kid was okay and happiness at beating the Bobcats made him grin like an ape.

  On the bus with Trunk, the men compared notes.

  “I can’t believe you shut down Jackson,” Trunk said, opening a bottle of water.

  “Me, neither. The guy’s a fucking gorilla.”

  “A vicious, fucking gorilla.”

  “Nobody does that to the Kid.”

  “Nope.”

  They rode in silence. The victory over their arch rivals was sweet.

  “Were you there when Mary called last night?” Bull asked.

  “She didn’t call. I called her. Yeah. I was there. She said something about it being so quiet.”

  “You think she appreciates you’re a changed man?”

  Trunk looked down at his hands. “I don’t know. Might be too late.”

  “Hope not, buddy,” Bull said, punching his friend lightly in the shoulder.

  “You and me, both.”

  The bus turned into the airport then drove around to the special, private hangar where their plane awaited. The men boarded. The Kid walked on then stretched out on a bed. Trunk and Bull took seats near him.

  “Can you talk?” Trunk asked.

  “Yeah, but not too much.”

  “But you can listen, right?”

  Lawson nodded slowly.

  “Let me tell you about my first concussion.”

  “You’ve had more than one?”

  “Two. No biggie. The first one was in Los Angles. That was lucky.”

  “Lucky? How?”

  “Because this stewardess with the biggest tits I’d ever seen rode home with me. She was practically in the bed with me, letting me rest my head on her rack. Shit, man, I practically shot my wad every time we hit an air pocket.”

  The Kid laughed.

  The doctor stopped by. “Try to keep him quiet, okay?”

  “Sure, sure, doc. Quiet.” Trunk sat back and guzzled a bottle of water.

  “Her tits were bigger than his hands. Can you imagine?” Bull put in.

  Trunk held up his hand. The Kid looked. “No shit?”

  “Never seen ’em like that. They were glorious,” Trunk said, in a hushed voice.

  “Sure wish I’d been there to see that,” Breaker said.

  “Sure wish I’d been him,” Bull snickered.

  A stewardess stopped by. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Breaker?” She smiled warmly at him.

  The Kid shook his head. She gave a quick nod and headed for the galley.

  “Sorry, Kid. They can’t all be double D’s.” Trunk snickered.

  Chapter Four

  Bull helped The Kid’s parents get him home when they landed in New York. The trainer explained what they had to do.

  “Enjoy the rest. You’ll be playing again in a couple of weeks. No sweat, buddy.”

  He patted his friend on the back and headed for the bus. It was late when he got to his place. As sore as he was, he put off soaking until the morning. He had plans to see Samantha and needed sleep. Exhaustion set in, and he drifted off quickly.

  The next morning, instead of a shower, Bull drew a hot bath to soothe his aching muscles. While he lounged in the tub, he examined his body for bruises. This time, he had more than usual—a couple of small ones and
a doozy on his upper arm where it had collided with a helmet. After twenty minutes, he dried off and dressed in new, black jeans and a black, sleeveless T-shirt. He styled his short hair, shaved, and applied the expensive cologne Griff had convinced him to wear. He had to admit he, too, liked the scent.

  By eleven, he was more than ready for Samantha. He’d called The Greenery, and they were delivering breakfast. He’d ordered scrambled eggs, fresh brioche, homemade blackberry jam, and a melon boat. Bull had never eaten blackberry jam, but he’d decided it sounded more exotic than strawberry and might impress Samantha.

  A man of simple tastes, Sylvester Brodsky had been only one of a crowd growing up, until he had discovered football. The moment he’d become a star, he’d taken over a special place in his family. Now, his success wasn’t outstanding, as his siblings had become lawyers, carpenters, and musicians.

  He parents lived in a retirement home in Nevada, while his brothers and sisters were scattered around the globe. Christmas had become a half-hearted affair. He was the only member of his family without children of his own, so the holiday had ceased to hold much magic anymore.

  Sly vowed to change that. He wanted kids. Maybe not six, but a couple. And he dreamt of having them with Samantha. Lying back in the hot tub, he imagined how great their offspring would be—good-looking, smart, and athletic. Then, he sighed, realizing he had a long way to go before that would be happening.

  He put up a fresh pot of coffee as the doorbell rang. It was Sam. She wore black leggings and a red and black checked, scooped-neck sweater that fell below her butt. Her dark hair hung loose, falling in soft curls over her shoulders and down her back. She wore light makeup and light red lipstick. Bull thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  “You look great,” he said.

  “Thanks. So do you.” He noticed her glance take him in from head to toe.

  Chicks care what you wear. How you look.

  She walked over to him and ran her fingers along his cheek. “Shaved too. Very nice.”

  He closed his fingers around hers and brought them to his lips. She gazed into his eyes with a heated look. Sly took her chin in his hand and lowered his mouth to hers. As he was building up the heat, the bell rang again. Reluctantly, he moved back. Every nerve in his body prickled. He wanted her something awful, and he hated to break for food.