Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Page 9

  Across town—Bull Brodsky’s home

  “It’s just that you used the “L” word. We haven’t been seeing each other very long. Aren’t you rushing things?”

  “Yeah, it’s early. But I know what I want. And it seems to me that you’re pretty damn close to my ideal. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying that. Maybe a magazine might tell me to shut the fuck up, don’t be honest. Maybe I shouldn’t use the word “love”. Is it too soon? Probably. I know what I feel. And you feel right.”

  “I, I, I don’t know. It’s too early for me. I don’t know what I feel. Don’t know if I trust you,” she said. Her hand shook for a second, and her breath caught in her throat. Don’t lose him. What if he is the one?

  “I get it. Devon’s filled you full of crap about me. You’re still sorting shit out. I understand. I just wanted you to know where I stand. I’ve been down this road before, but this time, it’s different.”

  Words she’d longed to hear brought the sting of tears to the back of her eyes. She blinked and turned away. Afraid to be too happy, afraid to believe him, her body didn’t follow her lead. Happiness sprang from her heart, forcing a smile to reluctant lips. Her heartbeat quickened. Samantha wanted Sly to be the one, wanted it so bad she could taste it.

  Bull stood up. “Time for a shower.”

  Samantha’s feet wouldn’t move.

  “You coming?” His heated stare went right to her core. She nodded. Sly held out his hand. The warmth of his tender grasp and his sweet grin urged her forward. “How hot do you like it?” he asked.

  She giggled. “With you? As hot as possible.”

  After making love under the steamy spray, they dressed.

  Glancing at his watch, Sly grabbed his jacket. “Crap, it’s eleven. I gotta get to practice.”

  “Hope you win,” Sam said, when he dropped her at her apartment.

  Watching him drive away, the coolness of his absence penetrated her thin jacket. She hugged herself as she headed for her door. Sly had raised questions she had been avoiding. Was she willing to stand up to her brother to keep the linebacker in her life? She chewed her lip as she changed clothes.

  Driving over to the shelter, she contemplated his words. “In it for the long haul.” Was she? Probably. Hadn’t she wanted marriage and a family of her own all her life? Now, here was Sly Brodsky, successful athlete, almost ready to offer it to her on a silver platter. What’s the problem? I’m being a baby. She decided to be thankful for what she had and not question where their relationship was going.

  She’d let Sly take the lead. Even with Tiffany possibly back in the picture, Samantha wanted him. She hung up her coat, checked to see who was in and who was out then settled down to answer email before turning on the game.

  The waiting room was equipped with a mid-sized television for visitors. The director used it for long stretches when she was alone and advised Sam to do the same. At four, she opened the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she had brought and a ginger ale and got comfortable. While she loved football, her nerves kicked up watching Bull play. Fear of injury was top of mind with her. Yet every week, the linebacker managed to do an extraordinary job of defending the quarterback without getting hurt.

  She marveled at the mangle of bodies that ended up with all men getting to their feet and walking away. It’s a brutal sport. Still, she admired Sly’s dedication and hard work. He never missed a practice or a game. With Stormy’s help, he ate the right diet and kept his weight in check. Of course, he was still a guy, with some annoying habits, like leaving empty beer cans everywhere and never turning off lights, but there was much more to respect about Bullhorn Brodsky than those petty things. Pride filled her as he ran out on the field.

  With fingers crossed, she called Stormy.

  “I’m here, watching.”

  “Good. Weather is okay. It’s overcast, but no rain or snow.”

  “Thank God.”

  The two women stayed on the phone for the entire first half. Then, they had to recharge. Sharing the game with Stormy brought it home, as if she too was in the skybox watching with the owner and the V.I.P. wives.

  * * * *

  They walked into The Savage Beast at nine fifteen. The place was hopping, every small table was full, but there were empty chairs at a long one, comprised of smaller ones pushed together, where the Kings sat. Bull’s gaze met Devon’s. The cornerback gave a slight nod, granting permission to sit. The offensive lineman held out a chair for Samantha then sat himself. Trunk Mahoney slouched in the seat across from Bull and took a gulp of beer.

  “Where you been? Banging?” Trunk’s stare hopped from Bull to Samantha and back.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter, Trunk.”

  Color rose to Devon’s face. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

  Bull leaned over to speak directly in Trunk’s ear, “Come on, Trunk. Sober up. You’re embarrassing yourself and everyone else.”

  The defensive lineman looked at his teammates. “You guys are lucky. You’re gettin’ it.”

  “That’s enough. Come on, Trunk. Let me take you home.” Bull rose from his seat. He looked over at Sam. “That okay? I’ll come right back.”

  “Sure. Go ahead.” Samantha motioned with her hand.

  Carla, the pretty waitress with the black hair, peaches-and-cream complexion, and a sardonic smile ambled over. “Trouble?”

  “Nah. He just needs to go home. I’ll take him.”

  “Need a hand?” she asked.

  “He’s pretty big, but I can handle him.”

  “I don’t mind,” Carla replied.

  “Get up, Trunk.”

  The footballer obeyed. He stood and swayed a little. Bull caught him, slinging one of his buddy’s arms around his neck. He snaked his around Trunk’s waist.

  “Carla! Carla, baby. Come home with me. Keep me company. Warm me up,” Trunk said.

  “Sure, sure, buddy. In your dreams.”

  “How did you know? Yeah, I dream about you every night.”

  The barkeep laughed. “You’re somethin’ else, Mahoney. Drunk as a skunk and still comin’ on to me.” She shook her head as she chuckled.

  Bull guided the big man to the door, which Carla held open.

  “Please, Carla. I love you. Come on. I’ll buy you another bar,” Trunk said, his words sloppy.

  “Sleep it off, buster.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Only if you’re sober,” she said, as the door was closing.

  “For you –anything.” He pasted a shit-eating grin on his face.

  When Bull drove up to Trunk’s house, there was no other car there. He figured the guy’s wife, Mary, must be out. Why doesn’t she ever come out with him? She doesn’t come to the games either. Where the hell is she? For better or worse…I don’t think so.

  “Where are your keys, buddy?” Bull half-carried, half-dragged Trunk to the front door.

  “On my dick,” Trunk said, and then giggled.

  “Hey, enough with the asshole jokes. Come on. I left my girl to take you home. Don’t be a dickwad.” Bull felt around Trunk’s pockets until he found them. Propping up his teammate against the house, he swiftly undid both locks. Mahoney was just beginning to slide down. Bull pulled him inside. “Upstairs?” he asked.

  Trunk shook his head. “Bathroom,” he said, pointing. Brodsky dragged his friend into the powder room, where the defenseman fell to his knees and blew lunch in the toilet. Bull flushed. Trunk did it again. And again. Then laid his head down on the porcelain.

  “Go back to your chick, Bull. Thanks for bringing me home. I’m okay now.”

  “You sure? You don’t look okay.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Been here before.”

  “Just don’t pass out in the toilet and drown, okay?”

  Trunk managed a smile. “Got it.” He pushed to his feet with great effort. Bull handed him a towel and watched as the big man wiped his face. He wet the fabric and washed. Then, he scooped water into his mouth.<
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  “I think maybe you’re gonna live.”

  “Damn straight, I am.”

  “Where’s Mary?”

  “Who the fuck knows?”

  Bull dropped that topic like a burning coal. He rubbed his neck and glanced at his friend. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Peachy. Go. Go back. Thanks for bringing me home.”

  “I’ll give you a ride to pick up your car tomorrow.”

  “Sure, sure. Have fun. She seems like a nice girl.”

  “How the fuck would you know? You’ve never even had a sober conversation with her.”

  “If you’re dating her, she must be all right.”

  Bull laughed. “Right. Take care. See you at practice.”

  Trunk held his hand over his face. “Oh, shit. Fuck. I forgot about that. What time?”

  “Nine.”

  “Double fuck,” he spat.

  “I’m going. Take it easy.”

  The men gave a quick shoulder-knock then Bull headed for his car. His mind raced as he drove back to The Savage Beast. He chewed on a cuticle as he maneuvered his vehicle along the dark road. Trunk’s in trouble.

  It was painful to watch his friend’s life unravel. He said a quick prayer before returning to Samantha and the team. Trunk Mahoney was a good man. He needed some guidance and a little TLC from his loving wife. Bull sighed. Maybe marriage is a bad idea.

  When he opened the door, he spied Samantha dancing slow with Robbie Anthony.

  * * * *

  Samantha hated alcoholics. She could spot one a mile away. Her uncle Ralph, her mom’s older brother, had been one. He’d get rip-roaring drunk at every family gathering, every holiday. Then, he’d misbehave. Usually, he’d tell dirty jokes or curse until he’d passed out. Her father and mother would get Ralph home, somehow. His behavior had made Samantha and everyone in the room uncomfortable.

  When she’d become a curvaceous teen, Ralph’s jokes and pointed comments about her body made her run and hide. At that point, she’d beg to stay home rather than be subjected to Uncle Ralph’s nasty mouth. When she’d turned sixteen, her parents had relented. She’d stayed home, with Devon for company, while the rest of the family went.

  Devon had volunteered to stay with Samantha. She suspected he hadn’t liked Uncle Ralph’s shenanigans either. They’d started their own holiday traditions. Two years later, Uncle Ralph had killed himself in a drunken car accident. Relief had mixed with guilt in Sam’s mind. At that point, the whole family had come to her house to celebrate.

  “Reminds me of Uncle Ralph,” Sam whispered to her brother.

  Devon squeezed her fingers. “He’s not Ralph. He’s really a nice guy. Honest.”

  “You can keep him. He’s lucky Sly took pity on him.”

  “Just because a guy ties one on sometimes, doesn’t mean he’s a drunk, Sam.”

  “The slurred words, the weaving, reminds me of Uncle Ralph. He gave me the creeps. I’m sorry, but this guy triggers bad memories.” She picked up her glass.

  Devon placed his hand on Samantha’s arm. “Trunk and I are on the field together. He’s a great guy, goes the extra mile for me. He’s the one defending me, making sure assholes don’t take me out. So, don’t go dissing him, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, Dev, but obviously that guy’s got a problem.”

  “So do most people, one kind or another. He’s my buddy, and I’m sticking by him,” Devon said, raising his beer bottle.

  After Samantha’s second Cosmo, someone put a slow song on the jukebox. Robbie Anthony, the Kings’ kicker, asked her to dance.

  Stormy leaned over. “You’re not going to dance with him, are you?”

  “Why not? Sly’s not here. He won’t mind. I feel like dancing. Just one dance.”

  “I wouldn’t do it.”

  “It’s just a dance, and this is my favorite song.”

  “You’re asking for trouble.” Stormy clamped her fingers down over Sam’s wrist.

  “I don’t have a thing for this guy. I just feel like dancing.”

  After sloughing off her friend, she took Robbie’s hand and stepped onto the dance floor. “By the way, I’m Sly’s girl,” she said, stepping closer.

  “Who?”

  “Bullhorn?” She eased into his embrace.

  “Oh?” He raised his eyebrows. “Hell, no.” He dropped his arms.

  “It’s just a dance.”

  The breeze from the open door drew their attention. Bullhorn Brodsky filled the frame. He was glaring at Robbie. The song wound down. Samantha pushed away from the kicker and returned to the Kings’ table.

  “Didn’t you see her come in with me?” Bull asked Anthony.

  “I didn’t. Sorry, Bull. If I did, I never would’ve asked her to dance.”

  Samantha put her hand on Sly’s forearm. “It’s okay. It was only a dance. That’s my favorite song. You weren’t here, and he asked. I didn’t see the harm in it.”

  Sly pulled out her chair while continuing to stare at her. “You came in with me.”

  “Of course. One dance doesn’t change that. Come on, Bull. You’re back. Save me the next.”

  “Don’t be a dickwad, Brodsky. Sam was only dancing with Anthony,” Dev put in.

  “When she told me she was your girl, I stopped,” Robbie said.

  Samantha nodded. Bull sat down next to her. He switched his gaze to Sam. “You told him you were my girl?” Sly kept his voice low.

  “Yep.” She took a sip of her drink.

  He grinned, leaned over, and brushed her lips with his. “That’s great.”

  Devon interrupted the warm stare the lovers exchanged, “How’s Trunk?”

  “Puking his guts out. He’ll be fine tomorrow. He bounces back pretty fast.”

  “What the fuck’s up with his wife?”

  “I don’t know. No idea.” Bull shook his head slowly before taking a slug of beer.

  “I’m starved,” Sam said.

  “Carla! Can we order some food?” Bull called out, clearly able to be heard above the music and the noise.

  She nodded and grabbed her pad off the counter. They ordered blue cheese burgers, the specialty of The Beast, and another round.

  “So, Drake. You gonna bury the hatchet with me or what?” Bull asked.

  Devon stared at his hands. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Don’t be annoying, Dev. Bull and I are dating. Get over it,” Sam put in.

  “Okay, okay. If you break her heart, I’ll rip yours out and hang it up to dry,” Devon said, through clenched teeth.

  “It’s more like she’ll be breaking mine.”

  “Guys! Come on. Lighten up. Who’s gonna dance with me?” Sam stood.

  “Me.” Bull pushed up to his feet and took her hand.

  * * * *

  The Kings and their women looked up when the door opened. In walked Coach Bass and his wife, Jo. The guys let out a whoop. The couple joined the team as Buddy Carruthers, wide receiver, and his wife, Emmy, moved down to make room.

  Before sitting down, Coach raised his arms. “I want to make an announcement.”

  His wife tugged on his shirt and shook her head.

  “Come on, Jo. The guys’ll love it.”

  She continued to pull on him. He shooed her away. “Jo’s pregnant! Yep, we’re gonna have a little coach bouncing around our house in a couple of months.” He grinned as wide as the Atlantic Ocean.

  “A boy?” Buddy asked.

  “Yep. After twin girls, this time, it’s a boy. My first. And a future King!”

  “What position?” Devon Drake piped up.

  “Hell, I don’t know. He’s not even born yet. But I’ll be bucking for quarterback.”

  The men and women clapped. Jo Sebastian’s face turned pink as she cast her eyes to her hands, fidgeting on the table.

  Carla sauntered over. “What’ll it be, Coach?”

  “One on me for everyone here. I’ll have whatever’s on tap. Jo?”

  “Gin
ger ale. Oh, can I have a blue cheese burger and fries? I’m starved.”

  “Honey, you can have whatever your heart desires,” Coach said. “I’ll take one too.”

  “Sure thing. Congratulations, Mrs. Coach.” Carla wrote down their order.

  It wasn’t long before talk turned to the recent game. The Coach deconstructed the action, explaining where they’d made their mistakes, and the other team too. Soon, he was drawing plays on a napkin while he wolfed down his food. The men were quiet, watching and listening.

  “Big game coming up,” Pete Sebastian said, as Carla placed another beer in front of him.

  “The Nevada Gamblers? We always cream them,” Buddy said.

  “I heard Darvin Sweetwater’s been injured,” Bull put in.

  “I heard the same thing,” Coach agreed. “But I also heard they got a new hotshot, backup quarterback.”

  “Who?” Devon asked.

  “Tim Demson.”

  “Any relation to Tuffer?” Bull asked.

  “His little brother,” Coach replied.

  “Shit. Are you gonna play Tuffer against his own brother?” Devon asked.

  “Hey, if Manning can play against Manning, Demson can play against Demson.” Coach took another slug of beer.

  “But the Manning brothers are both quarterbacks. They’re never on the field at the same time. Tuffer’s defense. You expect him to go after his own brother?” Bull sat back.

  “Now that you mention it, no. I can’t put him in. Trunk’ll have to take the lead. Say, where is he? He said he was coming.”

  “He wasn’t feeling well. He went home,” Devon answered.

  Coach nodded. “Got it. Maybe Sweetwater’ll be ready to play. Then, we can give Tuffer a workout.”

  The other teammates agreed. Bullhorn changed the topic to politics. A heated discussion of who should be elected mayor of Monroe got player mouthing off against player. Coach Bass cooled things down when he pumped a fistful of quarters into the jukebox.

  “Where’s Betty?” Bullhorn called to Carla.

  She glanced at her watch. “She’s coming at eleven. She’s counting on you to be ready to sing some song. I don’t remember the title.”