by C. A. Rene
After grabbing everything I need from my locker, I shut it and pull on my jacket.
“You’re a pussy, North.” Avando calls out and I bite my tongue. “You’re about to be crushed on the fucking field.”
I don’t bother to give him the attention he is so obviously craving and bend to pick up my bag. The locker room has fallen quiet and I know everyone is waiting with bated breath for my reaction.
“See you guys tomorrow.” I call out over my shoulder and head out the door.
As soon as it shuts behind me, the noise picks back up and I hear a few riotous laughs. That’s fine, this is one situation I know I’ll get the final laugh.
I head to my rented car and throw my bag in the back. I know I can win them all over, even Sebastian Avando.
Chapter four
Sebastian
This rookie needs his head checked and I will gladly be the one to do it. Since the first day he got here, striding onto the field like his shit didn’t stink and his nose so far in the air; I fucking hated him. Rookies aren’t supposed to act privileged and they sure as fuck don’t start mid ladder.
Back home in Rochester, guys like that get capped, and then we send pieces of them back home to their families, reminding everyone of their places. I think I need to teach this bitch his place.
“Avando.” Zeal’s voice grates on my last nerve and I give him a cursory glance over my shoulder. “Lay off the rookie.”
“Pardon?” I turn around to fully face him. His lean body tense with frustration and his blue eyes hard.
“I don’t want tension on the team,” his face hardens and I clench my teeth, holding my fists firmly at my sides. “I want the Super Bowl this year.”
“And what? You think the pussy rookie is going to get it for us?”
A few snickers circle the room and I snort when Zeal’s eyes flash with irritation.
“He’s an asset and if we work as a team, we can all get there.” He drags a hand through his light brown hair.
“You heard him,” Jameson sneers, a sheen of sweat shining along his porcelain skin, “if we all get on our knees in a line and suck the rookie’s dick, we’ll win the Super Bowl.”
Ostin Jameson is a big motherfucker and almost everyone on the team stays out of his way. He’s as tall as me, but where I’m cut and stacked, he’s at least two times my size in width, most of it fat. Not that that’s a bad thing, we need the power that comes with his big body.
“Maybe Coach needs to hear about this shit.” Zeal threatens and once again my teeth crack as I grind them.
“Go for it,” I grit through my teeth, “I think it’s time our second string QB had some field time.”
Coach Meyers is firmly against bitching of any kind. If he hears it, he drops whoever is bringing it to his table, and he expects his QB to keep us all in check.
“Maybe Flaherty needs a vacation,” Ortiz announces, “maybe a little bit of homegrown loving from his mommy back in Alabama.”
Ortiz Fernando rubs on his dick through his shorts and the locker room breaks out into laughter. He’s not fucking wrong, maybe Flaherty needs to take his ass home. I have ways to ensure that happens.
“Try to behave.” Zeal mutters, his face red from embarrassment.
“Yes, Daddy.” Jameson snorts and the room is once again in an uproar.
Zeal and I stare into each other’s eyes and I smirk when he’s the first to drop his gaze, little pussy. He turns and heads for the showers as I look around the room.
“I think we need to welcome the rookie properly.” I see a few nervous swallows and some sideways glances. They know what the hell I mean.
“Yeah, whichever of you don’t want to, then turn your ass cheek.” Ortiz grins maliciously.
“That’s not how the saying…” Jameson begins.
“Shut up.” Ortiz cuts him off with a shove to the shoulder.
They’re fucking dumb as shit but they’re loyal and if I say to jump, these fuckers ask how high.
I drop the white powder onto the glass tabletop and cut out the thin lines with my limitless black AMEX. I drag my right nostril along the clear cold surface and then my left back down to where I started. Both nostrils filled with the brain numbing elixir.
“We have a piss test in three days.” Jameson mumbles as he sniffs his line.
“Well, make sure we get our piss.” I look at him with my brow raised.
“I think Coach is onto us.” Ortiz states, his pupils the size of pin pricks.
“As long as our piss is clean and we get the fucking ball into the end zone, Coach will leave us the fuck alone.” I growl, “if you’re afraid then get the fuck out of here.”
Ortiz nods, his face void of emotion and his eyes glazed. He and I didn’t get off to a good start in the beginning either, not only did the fucker have my position, but he had a shitty attitude, too. Being a rookie at the time, I let it slide, until I couldn’t ignore it any longer and slammed him into place.
Ortiz Fernando grew up in Corpus Christi, Texas, to a poor but religious Mexican household. Him and I are the same age at Twenty-four and he’s the oldest of four brothers and two sisters; his parents have been married for thirty years. All the good shit you see with those sitcom families, full of love, and prayers to Jesus, his family is a carbon copy. Until he started rolling with me, I hardened him and made him a fucking man.
I pick up the gun that’s sitting beside the discarded bag of blow and rub the barrel against my temple. My .22 is always close by because no matter how safe you feel, you’re never actually safe.
Ortiz has his dark brown eyes on the gun and he shrinks back into the couch, he knows I don’t tolerate fear well. Doesn’t mean I don’t like to see it in the eyes of the person I’m staring down and I think that’s what has my insides so twisted; Rookie has no fear. It’s driving me to want to do things to entice that fear out of him, it’s my addiction.
Buffalo has been my on-season home for three years now and I hope I’m never traded. Yeah, we struggle to win games but at least I’m close to home and I can go back to see my boys whenever I want. Off seasons, I live in New York with my family and I prefer it this way. They don’t come here to live with me so I just rent this house while I’m here. That’s how most of the guys do it and the on season begins to feel a bit like vacation, or a break from the nagging of family.
“I need to get going,” Jameson stands and holds his fist out to me. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
I give it a quick bump with my own and nod to him, “Yeah, bro.”
Ortiz runs his hand through his black hair and stands as well, “it’s an early day tomorrow.”
I nod again and watch them leave, letting themselves out of my front door, and hearing Jameson’s car start up. They live in the same gated community so they carpool like housewives going to book clubs or some shit.
I lay back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, watching my ceiling fan rotate in circles. It reminds me of the one room apartment me and Ma lived in back in Rochester and how the summer nights were brutal, our ceiling fan doing absolutely nothing to ease the discomfort. I remember how my stomach would growl from not eating for a whole day and anticipating the next day school funded breakfast. How most nights I was left alone in that apartment while Ma was off turning her next trick and grabbing what drugs she could with the money.
My father could’ve been any drug dealer or random guy that picked her up for a few hours. But she learned her lesson after me and abortions became a form of birth control, until they weren’t needed. I’m guessing she made herself infertile. Not that she was upset by it, no, that meant more sex without the worry.
My first year of college, I came home from class and found her dead in a puddle of her own puke. Looked like she overdosed and drowned in her own vomit. I wish I could say I felt sad or traumatised but that would be a fucking lie. I was relieved she was finally gone and I could pursue this football career without having to give her a cent. Because that’s
exactly what she was banking on; her son to look after her when she never looked after him.
I was running the streets from eight years old and selling drugs by ten. It was only a small hop from that to joining the local gang and holding down our turf. From twelve onward I had finally found the family I had always been craving and they made sure I was good. When Ma got us evicted for the fifth time, I went and lived with one of the guys, when Ma didn’t feed me, my boys always had a hot meal ready for me; and that’s why I will always do everything I can for them. I wouldn’t be where I am today if they didn’t take me in.
They taught me that I am my own person, I need to watch my back and always be prepared for something to pop off. I grew a tough exterior before them, but with them, that shit became impenetrable, and no one gets inside. No one. That’s why Rookie is pissing me off, he’s getting to me and I fucking hate that. He looks like he’s entitled and I can bet my left nut that the fucker grew up feeling loved and safe, most pussies did.
I’m ready to find out exactly what the little bitch is made of.
Chapter five
Dixon
Buffalo is quiet compared to Baltimore. No sirens and no gunshots waking you up all hours of the night. I miss my mom and even though he’s been pissing me off, I miss Danny too. I’m lonely here and I had hoped I would’ve befriended some teammates by now. Instead, I’m here sounding like a bitch inside my own head.
I roll off my bed and head to the kitchen. I rented a smaller townhome because I don’t plan on buying until I can get Mom and Danny out of Maryland. Danny is giving Mom a hard time about it, saying he doesn’t want to leave behind his friends and the girl he’s seeing. As soon as I have time, I’m heading home and convincing him to leave.
In the meantime, I bought Mom a house and even though it’s a quaint two-bedroom bungalow, it’s still an upgrade from the one-bedroom apartment we were all living in at one point. She’s happy to be out of the hood but we both know Danny is still very much in it, no matter how much we try to ignore it. I know all too well the lure of the streets, the promises of loyalty, and the rush of adrenaline. How holding that metal piece in your hands makes you feel invincible and then the fear when you watch someone bleed because of it. I know all of it and I fought the allure, I scraped myself out of the gutter.
Danny is not so strong, he won’t be able to fight it, and as the months tick by, he gets closer to an initiation. If that happens, there’s no getting him out, and all of this will have been for nothing. If I can’t save my brother from himself and if I can't give him what he’s searching for, I might as well go down with him.
I’ve rested for twelve hours straight, soaked in hot baths, and even had a deep tissue massage, but now I feel agitated. I want to move; I want to run. My muscles feel the best they’ve felt in a long time and I feel the pull to the field, a place to run out the energy I feel coiling inside of me. I bounce on the balls of my feet and breathe deep, just a few more hours and I can show Coach just what the Bills acquired with me.
Just a few more hours.
“Today will be the first string against the second string.” Coach calls out. “Line up!”
This is my chance to show I’m not second-string material, I belong on that first string, and my legs are buzzing with the need to pound my feet into the field. I jog towards the second-string group and our QB Allan Samuels gives me a wide smile.
“How’re you feeling, Rookie?”
“I feel like my legs are gearing up to set this fucking field ablaze.”
“Yes!” He growls and a few hoots go up from the others, “let’s hand these first stringers their asses.”
Again, hoots and hollers go up and I revel in the sound of the comradery. This is what I’ve been needing since I arrived here, a purpose to run my ass off, and a team worthy of winning. I want to win with this team.
Samuels give us our play and he points his finger at me, “Rookie, run that shit home for us.”
I give a quick nod and we break the huddle, fanning out across the field. Jameson lines himself up across from me and I watch as his lips form a grin around his mouth guard, then he winks at me. He won’t catch me and the thought has me grinning right back at him. I look down their line and my gaze catches on a hostile pair of golden eyes, the hatred in them clear. Avando will never accept me and the thought has me feeling a bit defeated. Then I hear my Clemson Coach’s voice in my head, “you can’t please them all, son.”
I can’t please them all and I will have to live with that, but I won’t let him take this from me. I’d much rather leave him in my fucking dust. Samuels calls out our play and as soon as that whistle is blown, I’m dancing my way around Jameson. He dives to catch my legs but I skip to the side and watch as his body hits the grass, then I sail over him. My toes dig into the field as I run and I quickly look back to see the ball soaring for me. My hands reach up and just like fucking magic, it lands in their grasp.
I don’t break my speed, I don’t falter, and I keep that end zone firmly in my sights. I hear them at my back, the screams of triumph and of frustration, but I keep going. The burn running up my legs is like an extra jolt of energy and I take off faster, the last twenty yards swimming in my peripheral. I sail over that line and dig my heels in to stop, the divots of grass unearthed behind me.
I drop the ball and throw my head back, screaming into the early morning sky. Finally, I’m back to myself. I turn around to see both strings standing there watching me, looking shocked, and one face in particular looking angry as hell.
“Rookie!” Coach calls out, “is that you, Rookie?” His smile is huge across his face and he scrubs a hand over his bald head.
I can’t answer him because my lungs are fighting to suck in as much air as possible, but my smile is wide around my mouthguard.
“Do that a few more times today and I’ll have you on the first string when the season starts.” He calls out and my heart soars. A rookie on the first string his starting year, it doesn’t get any better than that.
I jog back to the second string and pass by a glaring Avando, “you’ll suck my dick before getting the first string, pussy.”
“Sounds like you’d like that.” I retort and continue by. I won’t let him destroy my career.
The hot water hits my chest and the steam gathers around my head. I’m still riding the high of running that ball into the end zone five more times. Coach was right, my body needed a reset and now I feel like I’m on fire. He’s promised me a first-string start for the first two games and if I continue to prove myself, he’ll keep giving me the following games. I take the bodywash and ooze it out onto my sponge, rubbing it into the skin of my chest and stomach. The smell is musky and earthy, really masculine.
“Rookie did real well today, boys.” I hear Avando’s loud voice behind me.
I turn to see him and standing at his flanks are Jameson and Ortiz, no surprise. They’re all naked, save for the white towels around their waists, and all three stand there ominously with their arms crossed over their chests. They wouldn’t try anything, right?
“He sure did.” Ortiz nods, but it’s Jameson that looks the most pissed off. I get it, it was him I ran circles around all day.
“We should celebrate.” Avando claps his hands together.
What?
I go to open my mouth and ask what he means when both Jameson and Ortiz rush inside the stall, flip me around and push my face into the tile. I try to fight, I’m exceptionally strong, but there’s two of them and they’re huge.
“Did you think your little remark on the field would go unanswered? Huh, pussy?” Avando sneers from behind me. “Do you know what I do to pussies?”
I’m struggling against Jameson and Ortiz’s hold and my body is on fire with anger. I can’t help but let fear mingle with the anger, I grew up in the hood and we’re taught to never turn your back on anyone. What is he going to do? Stab me? He’d never get away with it. Give me a beating? He better hope it’s enough to keep me dow
n or else I will easily turn on him.
Sudden shock tears through me and halts my struggles at the feel of his fingers brushing down my right ass cheek. It’s so light that I can’t be sure if I’m feeling it right, and my body tenses.
Do you know what I do to pussies?
No.
No fucking way.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I snarl into the tile wall, my cheek pressed firmly into it making my mouth awkward for speech.
His cold chuckle sends ice down my spine regardless of the hot steam around us and my stomach drops as bile rushes upward, stinging my throat. Those fingers grab my ass in their clutches and squeeze tight, the nails cutting into my skin. The other hand grabs on and then he’s spreading them apart.
“Looks like a nice wet pussy to me.” He whistles.
Then I feel the head of his dick slip between my spread cheeks and I scream, kicking out with my legs. Ortiz and Jameson clamp my legs against the wall and then Sebastian is stuffing the wet white towel into my mouth. I struggle but it’s no fucking use and I’m about to be raped. I’ve heard about this happening in jail and yes, I’ve heard about some university scandals involving rape but I never thought in the NFL. How many others did he do this to?
“She’s pretty,” he coos as he goes back to stroking his cock along my asshole, never penetrating, just gliding over it.
My screams are muffled around the towel and when I feel him start to push inside, shame, sudden and hot flies through me. How did I let this happen? I should’ve fucking known better than to be without my guard up. Tears break past my lash line as he continues pushing inside of me and the pain is like a hot poker, searing me with each inch.