Smashed Steel: A Steamy Stand Alone Sports Romance (Steel Crew Book 7)

by Mj Fields

  Out of habit, I pull my cards out. One is missing.

  Who the fuck would take one card? And why the hell wouldn’t they have taken the ones worth the most?

  Also, who the fuck cares? I basically tote them around like some sort of lucky rabbit’s foot, or a portal to the big leagues. Obviously, shit happens.

  “Enjoy it, douchebag.”

  Home

  I put my place on the market two days after I got out of the hospital. Dad tried to talk me out of it, but I told him the only time I would go to the place I spent a major part of my youth would be when I walked in there as a visitor and smashed one of the Indestructible bats. Oh yeah, my contract with them? Canceled. They tried to tell me I had to repay the signing bonus. The attorney that Dad hired told them to stick it up their asses. My pad sold less than a week later.

  I came home feeling all my age and a bit like I had failed, because I basically moved into my parents’ basement. Not a goal or a dream, but on the upswing, I didn’t get fucked on the sale of my place and, as the boys all reminded me when we did a Zoom thing—which, by the way, is kind of cool, but I can’t imagine having to deal with that shit daily—I’m not in Indi-fucking-ana. They also pointed out I wasn’t done. I was the youngest of all of them and everything would heal.

  From your lips to God’s ear.

  I would heal. That was my focus. That and getting the fucking tattoo off my damn shoulder. Dad talked me into getting healed first.

  Max, though …

  Kiki, his sister, came over the first day that Dad and Mom went to work after I moved home. She told me that Max had been taking something he had bought on the internet to ‘get big’ at the gym. Something his folks told him he couldn’t take because; A, the internet isn’t a reliable place to buy shit; and B, they have a history of heart issues on Aunt Carly’s side of the family. She said they were looking into it to see if that’s why he pissed hot. She also told me that he stays in his room most of the time. Then she immediately apologized for making it about Max.

  The fact that I believe that’s exactly what happened, some may laugh at, but those some aren’t family, and those some don’t matter any more than any of the assholes online talking shit about Max and me being underage, privileged pieces of shit. And the ones who said the Yankees dodged a bullet with me, can suck my dick.

  After she left, I messaged him and asked him to come over to talk this shit through. He reminded me that he didn’t have a license anymore and that he was at school.

  I immediately signed into the Seashore Sound, a student run app that basically ran the school, and saw that tons of the little fucks were talking shit about him. Then I messaged Kiki and told her I was going to pick Max up from school for the next few days and to let Jase and Carly know. She asked if I was supposed to be driving, and if I was sure I could handle emo Max.

  My reply was, I got it.

  I watch Max walk out of school, his head hung low, looking at his phone. Then I watch Marcello Efisto walk by and elbow-check him, and Max’s phone flies out of his hand and onto the ground.

  Fuck. That.

  I open the door to my X5 and remind myself to hold the door and not just put weight on my leg. Then I grab the crutch, steady myself, and yell, “Marc!”

  He looks up, and so does Max.

  “You better learn to watch where you’re going.”

  “Probably should have told Maxie the same thing when he crossed three lanes and ruined your career. But, on a positive note, I’m thinking now that you’re donning a patch, you can still stay in the majors. The Pittsburgh Pirates may be looking for a new mascot.”

  The kids around him snicker. Kids who sat in the bleachers and cheered me on, kids who all asked for autographs on the bullshit baseball cards that Seashore sold at games, kids … one grade below me when I was here.

  “You might want to remember who the fuck you’re talking to!” I snap.

  “I know exactly who I’m talking to, Minor League.”

  My blood doesn’t simmer, it fucking boils immediately. I swing my glance at Max, who closes his eyes and shakes his head.

  Whipped. My boy is whipped.

  I hop my ass toward Marc. “You need a fucking reminder of who you’re talking to, bitch-ass punk?”

  He holds up his phone to snap a picture. Without thinking, I jack up my crutch and swiftly bat it out of his hand.

  He grabs the end of the crutch and gives me a malicious smile. “I don’t need a reminder. I’ve known you my entire life. I’m the guy your nasty little sister whispered her fucked-up fantasies to since we were little kids. Touched her every place she asked me to. I’m the guy who pounded your twisted little sister’s twat after I’d had enough of her begging for years, and we were only twelve. I’m the guy who fucked both of your cousins when she—”

  “Max,” I hiss, unable to do a fucking thing because one move and I’m on my ass, injuring myself further, and the devil himself has the end of my crutch and won’t let it go.

  “Marc, leave him—”

  “You think you have the right to speak my name?” he snaps at Max. “You think after making me the villain since I started attending here and pretending to be better than me, you get to speak my motherfucking name!”

  “Now, Max.”

  “Right.” He nods.

  Max turns on him and punches him in the jaw before he even sees it coming. He falls to the ground, taking my crutch with him. I almost bust my ass, but Max is quick to grab me before I fall and gets me to the car even quicker.

  “Get in.”

  Max hurries around the car as Marc swings my crutch at him. He jumps to the side, and Marc ends up smashing my headlight.

  “You’ll pay for that, you psycho!”

  He swings again, and Max catches it in his hand.

  “Let go of the crutch and get the fuck out of my face.”

  “You talking to me again, you lanky little junkie?”

  A fist flies, the sound of a bone breaking crackles through the air, and Max grabs my crutch.

  “Don’t fuck with me again. And you talk about Tris like that, I’ll beat your ass down so you won’t get up ever.” Max kicks snow into his face. “I fucked up, but I am a nice guy. You don’t get a pass on villain status because I fucked up. Own it, you piece of shit.”

  Marc staggers as he gets up, and I see campus security running out of the building.

  “Get in, Max.”

  He points the crutch at Marcello. “Not only am I a nice guy, but I’m a better man than you’ll ever be.”

  Marc wipes the blood from his nose and, in an eerily calm tone, says, “Your entire family is going down.”

  “Save your bullshit.” Max opens the passenger door and slides in.

  I shut the driver’s door, put the vehicle in reverse, backing up because he isn’t moving, and yell out the window, “I’ll send you the bill for the repairs!”

  “Fuck you!” Marc roars. “Fuck every last one of you!”

  Once out of the parking lot and on the road, I glance over at Max. “You good?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “Feeling a little better now.”

  “You gotta break shit.” I laugh to myself.

  “Come again?” he asks.

  “Brisa pointed out it’s kind of my thing. She’s not wrong. To feel better, you need to break shit. Pretty sure you just broke his nose and proved her point in just one swing. So, I’m gonna ask you again: you good?”

  He leans back, looks out the window, and nods once. “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  After a few minutes of silence, he clears his throat. “Amias, I’m sorry I fucked shit up for you. I swear to you, I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I would never put our lives—”

  “You put yours at risk ordering shit off the internet.”

  “I get that, but I took it for a couple weeks and never once got dizzy, let alone blacked out.”

  “I believe you, man, and I’m good.”

  “I fucked up your�
�”

  “I could sit here and feel sorry for myself, be pissed at you and ruin not only our family bond, but our friendship, but I won’t. Not ever. And I’m telling you, Max, you sitting here, wallowing in your shit, you letting that fuck Marcello push you, talk to you the way he did, that’s unacceptable. You don’t get to wallow when I’m busting my ass to get better. That’s not how we’re built, and that’s not how we roll.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Fuck sorry. Get better.”

  After a few seconds, Max nods. “I broke shit.”

  “You broke shit.”

  “I see him tomorrow, and I’m gonna want to break more shit. The things he said about T, not okay. Not okay at all.”

  “Gonna have to advise it doesn’t happen on Seashore property, and if it does, if he steps, you let him swing first.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You mind if we just chill for a bit? I’m going crazy sitting in the house.”

  “Definitely like the sound of that.”

  I head to the public beach where he and I used to hang before we all moved to Mantoloking, where Max and I snuck out during family vacations and tried to pick up chicks.

  I pull in and park. “The good old days, yeah?”

  “Before we could drive.” He shakes his head.

  “Thinking we were gonna get laid and our balls hadn’t even dropped.” I adjust my sling and wince.

  “Bro, I am so sor—”

  “Don’t start that shit. Let’s talk about the good old days.”

  “All right.” He leans back and crosses his arms.

  “Get your head out of wherever it is and—”

  “Just thinking, if we’re calling five years ago good old days, what the hell are we gonna call them in twenty?”

  I laugh. “Prehistoric?”

  “No, seriously, before the accident, where did you see yourself in twenty years?”

  “Same place I still see myself—sitting in some air-conditioned box, watching a game, drinking a beer, and talking about my days in the majors, calling them the good old days.”

  He sighs out, “The good old days.”

  “Yeah.” I smile. “Yeah, I do. How about you?”

  “Hopefully sitting next to you.”

  “Definitely sitting next to me.”

  “You’ll have a wife and four kids by—”

  “Wife?” I huff. “Bite your tongue.”

  “You know, that night, I was just fucking with you when I said I thought you were gay.”

  “You what?” I laugh.

  “Yeah, I was fucking with you, and that’s the last thing I remember. Then I woke up, and they were …” He stops and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t wake up. So fucking scared, man. You wouldn’t wake the fuck up.” Max’s voice … haunted. I’ve heard the term before, but never experienced it.

  “I woke up. Now let’s hit the backspace. I don’t remember that night at all.”

  He reaches in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and taps the screen. “You messaged, asking if I could come get you. I messaged back, hell yes.” He shows me the screen then scrolls. “I messaged you a bunch of times when I got there.” He hits the screen and shows me the call log. “I called several times. You didn’t answer. I went into the hotel, rode up to the floor the bar is on, had to show the bouncer a dozen pictures of you and me together and the messages proving I was your ride. I chilled with your boys, and they told me you all stripped for a bachelorette—”

  “Come again?”

  “Yeah, Magic Mike shit.” He acts like it’s no big deal, like I just take my clothes off at public bars all the time. “They said you and the bride disappeared. The girls next to them confirmed. We finally connected on a call, and you told me you missed my messages and calls because you were looking at the ‘finest ass east of Fresno’.”

  “Bro, no way.”

  He nods. “I told you to bring her down so I could give it the Steel of approval. You told me it was not happening.”

  “This makes no sense. I don’t pump up women’s egos or give false hope that a fuck is anything more.”

  “You also don’t talk about how you don’t think she could move after what you gave her—”

  “Fuck.” I cringe. “Really?”

  He nods. “You came down, I got a message from Cribs—”

  “Bayside Cribs?”

  He nods. “He was working valet. I was double-parked; he recognized my ride. Saved my ass from getting towed.”

  Max has no reason to lie, but I straight up have no recollection of that night.

  I scratch my head. “That was cool of him.”

  He nods. “Then we left.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Shit went bad.”

  “We’re alive, Max.”

  He nods. “We’re alive.” Then he shakes his head and frowns.

  I lift my chin at him. “What?”

  “You fucked a chick that you actually liked enough to talk about, and you can’t remember one bit of it. Gonna have to say it again, My, I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “Shut up already with the sorrys. We’re good.”

  “We busted shit.” He nods.

  “Yeah, we did. Now we get to fixing.”

  When we get closer to Max’s place, I see my dad’s vehicle in the driveway and glance at Max. “I’m guessing the school called or maybe Marc’s parents?”

  “Never got caught doing shit when we were kids; one fight at that damn school and this? I would give my left nut to turn back the clock a year and a half.”

  “You ever hear the saying: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”

  He exhales. “Yeah.”

  I pull in and throw the vehicle in park. Then I look back at Max and have no idea why, but I start laughing, and then he does, too. We both laugh our asses off and laugh even harder watching our fathers look at us like we’ve lost our fucking minds. Hell, maybe we have, but at least we’re laughing.

  I swing open my door, and Max does the same. Then I look up at Uncle Jase. “Brought Maxie home from school.”

  His face is near purple. “My, I’m glad you two have mended fences, but, Max, what the fuck are you thinking? You were already on thin ice at that school. We were doing what we could to keep you on the surf team. You fucked that up.”

  “With all due respect, Uncle Jase, that son of a bitch had it coming. He pushed Max. I got out of my vehicle and confronted him. Then he talked shit about Tris. Max swung on him because I told him to. He had my crutch, or I would’ve done it myself.”

  “Yeah, about that. How the fuck did he get your crutch?” Dad asks.

  “He grabbed it after I used it to hit his phone out of his hand. That little bastard doesn’t get to take a picture of me.”

  Dad looks at Jase and shrugs. “See? I told you there was a perfectly good explanation.”

  “Z, this shit’s not a joke. I got a kid hanging on by a thread. You know what that’s like.”

  Dad nods and says serious as shit, “It’s the new norm.”

  “Z, what the fuck? Nothing is normal about—”

  “Expect the unexpected.” Dad fights a smirk. “Like we’re on a reality show, Survivor, the parental edition.”

  “I know damn well about surviving parenthood. I’m a fucking pro at the game.”

  I look up and see Mom and Aunt Carly shaking their heads from the front steps. Aunt Carly smiles and nods toward the door as Jase continues.

  Jase turns fully and looks at Dad. “Kid one, fought to get kid one for years. Kid two gets knocked up at seventeen and kicked out of school. Kid three got a DUI and wants to hide from—”

  “I’ll raise you one bipolar rock star, a Disney princess who waited until she’s eighteen to assert her independence, and a boy who lost a few months, but is gonna be a major league all-star one day,” Dad cuts him off as Max and I head toward the house, leaving them arguing over who’d win their make-believe game of Survivor, the parents’ edition.

  Sitting at th
e kitchen island of the house we all spent every summer vacation since I can remember, that Jase and Carly bought when we all moved, Max on one side of me, Mom on the other, Carly pushes the plate of cookies in front of us.

  She looks at Max and smiles. “So, how was your day?”

  He scrubs his hand over his face, and Mom giggles.

  “Got an A in AP Bio.” Max looks up at her and smiles.

  Aunt Carly is kind of like her cookies—always soft on the inside. I watch her get all sorts of gooey as she looks at him.

  “Oh, Maxie, I’m so proud of you.”

  He smiles real softly at her. “Also got an A in Calc.”

  “My STEM baby.” She grins and looks at Mom. “He’s going to be a scientist, just like his mom.”

  “C, how the fuck is he going to do that when he just got kicked out of school?”

  We all look back toward the stairs as Dad and Jase appear.

  Max looks at his mom, his eyes wide.

  She pushes the platter of cookies to him. “Have another cookie.” Then she looks at Jase. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be. He already has enough credits for his degree. He’ll be fine.”

  “He was already walking a line and knew they were considering kicking him off the surf team for getting the DUI. Kid’s first in state for surf and has no team. Not sure how that little equation equals fine.”

  Carly looks at Max, smiling as she pushes the platter closer. “Have two.”

  “Carly,” Jase says sternly.

  She swings her glance at him. “You listen to me, Jase Steel. Our son is going to be fine, just like Amias is going to be fine. Thank God above they both trait after their mothers from the neck up and aren’t just … just … oversexed, overprotective, alpha assholes … most of the time.” She looks at Dad. “Sorry.”

  “Hey.” Dad laughs. “I resemble that remark.”

  Jase growls, “Carly, this is serious shit.”

  “No, Jase, serious would have been if they died in that accident. Serious would have been if Amias never spoke to Max again. Serious would have been if Amias wasn’t healing or Max completely withdrew from life. It’s been a month, Jase. A month. Serious is not punching that little … fucker!” She clears her throat and looks at Max, Mom, and me. “Please excuse my language.” Then she swings her head back, scowls at Jase, and continues, “In the face for doing something you and I know was probably way, way wrong in order for Max, our Max, to actually hit him hard enough to break his nose. But knowing Max, our Max, Marcello definitely deserved it. Getting kicked out of school in February of his senior year when he already has enough credits to get his diploma isn’t serious.” She inhales a big breath then exhales and continues, “And seriously, Jase Steel, if you keep being a dick and aren’t able to see these two and get all warm and fuzzy, knowing it’s gonna be okay, I will withhold … cookies for a very, very long time.”