Blue 42 (Hail Mary Duet Book 1)

by C. A. Rene

  I start the shower and step inside, letting the water cascade down over my head. I feel out of sorts and my body is beginning to protest this lifestyle. The covered-up injuries, concussions swept under the rug, and the people paid to care for you, seeing you as a huge motherfucking dollar sign instead. I get it, it’s a business, and I am an asset, worked over until I am of no use. That’s why I don’t give them everything, I live the life I want, and I suck just as much out of this industry.

  Once I’m done showering, I head downstairs; leaving the mess for when the maid comes by later and throw myself on the couch to watch TV. I order in some food and then scroll through my phone, trying to see what the hell happened last night. Nothing hurts, so I know I didn’t fight, except that hit I took from Rookie, but he’s a bitch and I hardly felt it. No videos, no pictures, and no text messages. All good signs that I still had my head somewhat together through the drunken haze but doesn’t explain where the hell my boys were.

  I send them both texts telling them to get the fuck to my house when they get up. I need to find out every little thing. After I came out of that bathroom last night, North was gone, and Zeal and his crew left soon after. The rest of the night is a blackened blur.

  With nothing else to do, I lie on my couch, and think over all the shit I want to do to mess with North. I’d never admit to anyone, but the fucker’s stats are good, and yes, he’s also an asset. But that doesn’t mean I have to make his life easy, seems like the little bitch has had too much easy, and for the money he’ll be pulling, he could stand to have a bit of trouble. I could turn some more of the guys on him, making him feel unwanted, and the locker room would be his personal hell. I could get him tackled hard on the field and have him looking like the weak bitch he is. I could also corner him in that shower stall again.

  My dick hardens at the memory and I curse with how it pulses with the images in my mind. How he felt excessively tight and how badly I wanted to shoot my load up his ass. I slip my hand under my track pants and groan when my cock jerks in my palm. I remember the feel of him struggling and his asshole squeezing my dick as I forced my way inside. I begin to slowly jerk myself off to the thought of fucking North into that shower stall, pounding into him, and both of our moans loud over the spray of the water. I cum long and hard all over my lower belly, shock coursing through my body. It doesn’t really mean anything, it was a tight hole, and I’m not a fucking fag.

  I get up and clean myself off, just as the doorbell rings announcing the delivery. My stomach rumbles with the thought of food and I shove down everything I was feeling about what I did to North. It all just means I need to get laid and I need to do it soon. With camp and training, I haven’t had time to do shit. Last night was our first night out and no wonder I latched onto the first chick that noticed me.

  I pay for my pizza and wings, giving the guy a tip that makes him smile wide. I love doing that stuff, helping people who are in mundane everyday jobs, and somehow making it worth their while. It’s not easy dealing with customers, most of the time they tip you so little you want to spit in their food, and other times they’re complaining about you being a minute late, making you still want to spit in their food. When I was a young teen, I tried my hand at the food delivery position, and using my bike, I went all over Rochester. It was especially stressful, people yell at you when the food is bad, and they blame you for everything. None of them ever understood I was just the delivery kid and I quickly learned that my temperament wasn’t suitable for customer service.

  As soon as I’m sitting on the couch, my doorbell rings again. I get up, expecting to see the delivery guy again; but when I open the door, I am faced with a scowling Jameson, and Ortiz who’s sporting a black eye. Neither look very happy.

  “What happened to you two?” I ask and Jameson pushes himself inside.

  “You.” He snarls and Ortiz is right behind him, “you happened to us.”

  “What?” I look at them with a raised brow, “what are you talking about?”

  I shut the door and follow them as they stalk into my house. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but I’m about to lose it and then they’ll regret pissing me off today. My head is not in the right mind space to deal with them like a normal person would.

  “I need you to start talking.” I can hear the threat in my tone, the underlying anger laced in, and my body becomes rigid. “I’m about to shoot you both in the fucking head and worry about the consequences later.”

  “Yeah, sounds exactly like what you said to us last night, only you pointed the fucking gun at our heads.” Jameson snarls and I try to wrack my brain for that instance, trying to remember it. Regardless, it is something I would say and something I would do. That’s just facts.

  “What did you do to deserve it?” I ask and Ortiz scoffs.

  “I was trying to get you into a cab with me,” he points to his blackened eye, “you hit me for it.”

  “Then when I pulled on your arm to get you away from the girl, you pulled a gun on me.” Jameson adds, “right there in the middle of the parking lot, you pulled a gun and pointed it in my fucking face.”

  I breathe through the want to pound their disrespect back down their throats and I try harder to remember anything of last night. It’s not that I don’t believe them, these are most definitely things I would do, and only when provoked. I can sense that these things did happen, I just don’t know why, and I’m having a hard time believing I’m the only one to blame.

  “All because you were trying to get me in a cab and away from some bitch?” I give them a disbelieving look.

  “You told us we were jealous you were getting pussy and we were to either hop in your Hummer with your bottle of Grey Goose or leave. When I tried to pull you away, you pulled the gun, and I was staring down that barrel.” Jameson looks at me with disappointment.

  Again, all these things sound like me but I can’t understand why I went to those extremes and I can’t see how them trying to make me see reason had me threatening them with my piece. Speaking of, if I had my gun on me last night, where the fuck is it now? I run my fingers along my short, shaved hair and try to remember, my head thumping harder in the process.

  “You got into the car with it,” Ortiz reads my thoughts, “and the bitch, with the vodka.”

  I turn on my heel and even though I have no shirt on, I head outside. My neighbors can be the nosy type but I pay enough for my house to warrant me the much needed privacy and if I want to walk to my vehicle with my dick swinging in my track pants, I fucking will. I open the door and look into the front seat, my heart pounding thinking about having a chick in here as I was swinging a gun around. I open the glove compartment and the center console and find nothing, my heart now jammed up into my throat. Did the bitch take it with her? She couldn’t have because after the shit I pulled on her this morning, I’d bet she’d want to kill me, and I’d be bled out by now.

  Just as I begin to back out, I see the glint of metal on the passenger side floor, and I groan as I reach in. Why would I just toss it to the floor like that? Was I really that crazy reckless? If I were pulled over and the cop saw alcohol, it would be a search. This piece has the serial number removed and that alone is jail time. I grip the gun in my hand, the cool, smooth surface a contrast to the hot skin of my palm, and I look behind me to the street. It’s quiet so I take the chance and tuck it into my waistband, closing the vehicle door. I sprint to the house and hurry inside, once again face to face with Ortiz and Jameson.

  I feel bad for the shit that I pulled, I don’t like that I threatened them in such a way, and I wish it were possible to apologize. But I can’t do that. It’s not something I will ever do, apologizing admits you were wrong, and I can never be wrong. I sound like a piece of shit but that’s just the way it is when you’re a leader. Apologies are weaknesses.

  “Listen,” I begin, “I appreciate you having my back last night.”

  They look at each other and then back at me wearily, I know it’s hard to
determine where I’m going sometimes. That’s life though, you never know how the people around you are going to be in the future, how the relationships you make will weather storms, and what their true personalities are until it’s too late.

  “I ordered food after I kicked the bitch out of my bed this morning,” I chuckle and they join in with a few shakes of their heads.

  “I can’t believe you let her stay that long.” Jameson says and I grin at him.

  “I apparently had too much to drink because my dick refused to work, probably a good thing.” I muse.

  “Yeah, considering you were nearly fucking her in the club.” Ortiz snorts.

  “Nah, that was just my fingers.” I wiggle them and they both laugh. “Let’s go eat.”

  As I follow them through the house, my mind wanders back to last night, having that girl’s legs spread on my lap, and watching North watching us. I can’t explain how primal my reaction was, like my body disconnected from my mind, and I was consumed with giving him a show. I wanted to see if he was just as into it because it was me or if he wanted a piece of the pussy I had on display for him.

  I scrub my hand down my face and growl into it, I need to really stop with these thoughts. I don’t want anything to do with the rookie bitch and it’s back to regular programming next week. I won’t stop until I’ve broken him and then he can suck my long dick to make it up to me. You don’t become a part of my team and act like you actually own it, my dick needs a good deep throating.

  “Rookie left really early last night,” Ortiz snickers, “he’s such a little bitch.”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle as we all settle in and turn on the TV, “he really fucking is.”

  We get halfway through the movie we’re watching, when my phone rings and startles me out of my food induced coma. I let out a pained groan when I see the name that’s flashing on the screen.

  “Fuck,” I get up and hold up my phone, “I gotta take this.”

  Both snicker like the assholes they are.

  “Tell her I say sup,” Jameson calls out and then laughs when I flip him the finger. I swipe open the call and huff as I bring the phone to my ear.

  “Hey you.”

  Chapter ten

  Dixon

  “You sound sick, Dixon.” Mom’s voice floods my ear and I cringe, “are you pushing yourself too hard?”

  “I’m fine, Ma.” I try to placate her, “I’m just waking up.”

  “Just waking up?” she squeaks and I cringe once again. “It’s noon!”

  “It’s my first day off in a long while,” I groan and hold the phone away from my ear, “I have been trying to rest.”

  “Oh, I see.” She sounds better but I can’t help but hear her slight tone of disappointment.

  That used to really set me on edge growing up because I had the drive and worked my ass off, while Danny was a troublemaker. I would be reprimanded for enjoying my downtimes but he would be coddled when the police brought him home by the scruff of his neck. It’s always been this way and even though I’m used to it, I still feel the resentment I’ve kept hidden away.

  “Well, what time do you plan on getting up?” She huffs, “it’s Sunday, do they not have a church near you?”

  She knows there’s a church near me and she also knows I won’t ever be stepping inside. No matter how often I tell her I don’t believe, she lets it go in one ear and out the other, hoping one day I’ll repent. I take a deep breath and exhale into the phone, my frustration with her evident.

  “Where’s Danny?” I ask, knowing he’s probably not home and hasn’t been all weekend.

  “He went out with some friends last night.” She answers quietly.

  “Then maybe he’s the one you should be calling and asking what it is he’ll be doing today, hmmm?” I know it’s harsh but now that I’ve hit my life goals, I think her attention should be on the son that’s struggling.

  “He rarely picks up his phone to me.” She sighs and I roll my eyes.

  “Because you let him get away with too much.” I roll out of bed and grab my wallet from the side table. “Ma, I gotta go, I’ll call you later.”

  I hang up and open my wallet. I grabbed Danny’s old bus pass before coming here, it shows him on the cusp of changing from a troublesome boy into a dangerous teenager, and I keep it as a reminder to get my family out of the streets of Baltimore. I scan through the cards and when I reach the end, my heart begins to pound. It’s not here.

  I look on the floor by the bed, underneath the bed, and open the drawers in the table, nothing. It wouldn’t fall out of my wallet, I know that because it’s been in there for almost a year, and it was tucked into the tight sleeve in the back. I don’t remember pulling it out since I’ve moved into this house because life has been busy as hell and I don’t have time to sit here and reminisce. It should be in my fucking wallet.

  I wrack my brain and still come up with nothing, there’s no way it’s missing. I try to think of all the places my wallet has been and I come up with here and the camp. My locker there locks though and I’ve been locking it because I don’t have any trust for a few of my teammates. That leaves this house. I don’t always lock it when I go jogging but really, I don’t have much importance in here and besides, why go through a man’s wallet to steal an old bus pass. It makes no sense. No, I must have dropped it somewhere, maybe when I was paying for something or in my car. It’s not like it’s the end of the world, I just wanted to have something that reminded me of where I came from, and what I must work towards.

  I try to shake off the feeling that something is wrong, like someone has come into my space, and changed just enough to be noticeable but not enough to cause panic. Luckily, all my financial records and personal documents are locked away in a safety deposit box at the bank. I was raised to never trust a lock and that if someone wants into your space, they can do it. That’s why I live minimally and I don’t care if this place was broken into.

  It’s just extremely weird that they steal an old, expired bus pass when my brand-new black AMEX card is sitting in the same wallet. Something just doesn’t feel right. The only explanation is that I’ve misplaced it.

  I pull up to the Buffalo Bills home stadium and beam, I’m finally here. This week we’ll be practicing on the field then our first NFL game will be on Sunday. I am so fucking psyched to be running out on that field as a part of the first string. I feel stronger than I’ve ever been and my body is in top form, I’m ready to work some magic. I’m ready to start racking up those wins and to shove it into a certain someone’s face.

  Just thinking about the man that took advantage of me, brings back the flurry of emotions I try to keep buried. Sebastian Avando has created this reaction inside of me and I fucking hate it. It’s not so much the fear that flickers there because I know that’s normal after everything he’s done, it’s not the anger because I know that’s warranted, and it’s not the lingering shame because I’m intelligent to know that comes with being a victim. No, it’s none of those feelings that worry me, it’s the confusion when I see him.

  The hatred is the most prevalent and it burns exceedingly hot, the force of it sometimes scorching my insides when I see him. The fear mixed in just makes me angrier and that stokes the burn further. But then when I’m alone and the fire burns out, the confusion seeps in. Why is Avando like this with me? Why does he go out of his way to attack me personally? How the fuck did I appear on his radar and why am I still there? I’ve proven myself and I’ve shown I am worthy of being a Bill. So why is it he’s still so quick to knock me down? Another cause for my confusion is how often I think about the man. I know it’s due to the fact that he took advantage of me and he made me a victim in a place I should be comfortable in, like a second home.

  He just seems to worm his way into my mind and I need it to stop. I want to be able to play the sport I love without having all this contention connected to it. I drop my head to the steering wheel and let my mind ease, drawing in a deep breath. I hold onto it
and will my heart to slow down, then let the air out of my lungs in a quick rush. I give myself a quick nod, pull all my doubts and fears back deep inside me, and push open my door. I don’t want my first day here to be clouded with thoughts of him.

  I jog across the parking lot and hit the steps, taking two at a time, and then throw open the door. This place is huge with multiple vendors and a circular walkway to take you around the stadium to the appropriate seats. I remember being a kid and begging my mom to take me to a game, any game really. I would’ve watched hockey or basketball, as long as I got to experience the hype. Of course, it was never something we could afford and the first time I saw a live game was watching college football. I was eleven and I knew after that, I wanted to be a player.

  “Mr. North?” A lady appears from a side door and smiles. “This way to the locker room.”

  I was told someone would meet me at the front and even though I’m excited to get down below to the locker room, I really wanted to look around. She must see the flash of disappointment on my face because she chuckles.

  “Not everyone is here yet, you have about fifteen minutes before Coach arrives. Did you want to meet me back here then?”

  “Yes!” I answer quickly and she chuckles again. I don’t care how I look right now; this is the epitome of my dreams all coming together, and I don’t want to forget a single thing.

  I take an immediate left and head down the center walkway, scanning the different vendors and imagining what it would smell like in here on a game day. Popcorn, corn dogs, and beer most likely. As disgusting as that combination sounds, I can’t wait to fucking smell it for myself, and watch as fathers hold their little son’s hands, guiding them towards their seats. That’s all I ever wanted for myself, to have a father that would show me those things and praise me as a man when I succeeded. Our father passed away when Danny was three and I was eight. He had a heart attack and died on our kitchen floor. My mother never remarried and Danny and I grew up without a man around us. It’s water under the bridge now but being here brings those longings back. My only consolation is that I’ll one day be able to do that for my own child.