UNSPORTSMANLIKE CONDUCT (Gods of the Gridiron Book 1)

by Shanna Swenson

  Travis had taken the helicopter along with Agent Mathers to be with his brother. Once Tuck was deemed stable, Trav had called their mother, Fiona, in San Antonio, and Mathers had coordinated her travel to get to Atlanta. She’d arrived the next morning and together they’d waited for Tuck, who was intubated and being fed nutrients through a nasogastric tube, to awaken from his emaciated and beaten state.

  Mathers had questioned him about the entire ordeal that had started months back while Trav was still playing for the Stallions. Travis had explained his involvement and terms of the agreement with Geraci, how Tucker had been threatened if he didn’t comply to throw the games in San Antonio. When he’d been traded to Atlanta, Geraci had expected the same from him; and so it had gone until he’d gotten suspended for taunting. Mathers took all the information down, told him not to worry, and explained that—if asked—he’d been involved in the FBI investigation from the beginning. His record had been immediately expunged, and from what Travis had gathered, Geraci was being indicted for a list of charges longer than the ink-sleeve that ran down Travis’s arm.

  Travis had gone back to Atlanta, to the Gladiators complex, labeled a hero once Tucker had woken from his medically-induced coma last week. Tuck, too, had been questioned and his record was also being cleared. Travis wasn’t sure how she’d done it or why, but Skyla had set them both free. If Tucker’s demeanor was any indication, this had been a life-changing event for him. He’d lost a toe and came very close to dying. Perhaps that had finally been enough to open his eyes once and for all. He was enrolling in a local college once he was fully healed, much to Travis and his mother’s shock. He wanted to work in forensics.

  Travis had been happy to see his teammates, his friends, and fellow football players, but his heart was still broken and continued to be despite that his suspension had been lifted and he’d started practicing right away when he’d returned. He hadn’t heard from Skyla and, last he’d seen, she’d been on the news speaking about Geraci’s arrest along with other members of his organization. She planned to shut the entire ring down, claiming it was just a matter of time before the other crime bosses were discovered, called out, and charged for the crimes they’d been getting away with for far too long. “We will clean up Atlanta,” she’d promised, getting a standing ovation from the crowd.

  She looked healthy, determined, and more beautiful than ever, he thought as he watched her make her proclamation. She’d been seen with the mayor, much to Travis’s disappointment. He couldn’t believe she would go back to that bastard after what he’d done to her. Travis was devastated, heartbroken, and felt taken advantage of—not for the first time in his life. He knew that Sky hadn’t intentionally used him, quite the contrary. It had been an affair of convenience, high emotions, and overwhelming curiosity. A fling with intensity and passion unlike he’d ever known and he was reeling. And had been reeling since she’d chosen that asshole Samson Steinberger over him.

  “I swear I didn’t throw the game,” Travis admitted finally, feeling Madi’s eyes evaluating him.

  “I know,” she answered.

  “The guys probably think I did,” he muttered and kicked his feet out, grateful for the ice that numbed his body.

  “No, they don’t. I know them, better than you do.”

  Trav opened his eyes and scowled at her. She grinned. Fuck, she was stunning. Not Skyla stunning but equally as radiant in her own right. Hunter was a damn lucky man.

  Travis huffed again and looked down. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You ran for almost two-hundred fifty yards. That’s incredible! And you had three touchdowns. No one is mad at you. I promise.”

  He did have a stellar game tonight. He’d been proud to come back and serve his team until he got tackled in the fourth quarter and hurt his thigh pretty badly. He’d been pissed about having to leave the game, but, after attempting to walk it off, it was evident the injury was more severe than he’d originally thought.

  Madi patted his hand. “Travis, this goes deeper than the injury though. You’ve not been yourself since you came back.”

  “Well, Mad, not to be a smart-ass or anything, but I was running for my life from a mafia crime boss and all.” Travis shrugged and watched Madison’s face lift in triumph. Fuck! He’d walked right into that one. He pulled his lips in.

  “That’s right. You were…and with a very attractive woman named Skyla Larson, the assistant district attorney. I heard you were in a cabin with her for a few days.” Madi’s blonde brow lifted in implication.

  Not that the news had covered the ordeal in great detail, other than to state that Travis and ADA Larson had been working together in conjunction when the shooting occurred outside the bar in San Anton, went into hiding in Colorado, and Geraci had been apprehended following a raid in an Atlanta furniture warehouse. Travis knew Madi wasn’t the gossip type and wouldn’t overstep, despite that he’d only known her such a short time.

  “Not like it matters…” Travis grumbled. “She’s apparently back with the fuck she was engaged to who cheated on her.”

  “The mayor cheated on her?”

  “Yup! And what the hell does a woman her age want with an old fart like him, anyway?” Trav huffed.

  “You fell in love with her, didn’t you?”

  Travis looked up at Madi’s surprised face. “I knew her back in high school. We never dated but…”

  “You rekindled the old flame?” The sophisticated blonde grinned again.

  “Something like that.” Travis looked off, not really understanding why he was telling his CEO all this. But she had a way about her that made it easy to talk about this kinda stuff. She had the girl next door vibe going on. Beautiful, fuckable, but easy for a man to be himself around. She was like one of the guys—she loved football, horror movies, and poker—only with tits and an affinity for sexy shoes. And she reminded Travis of Skyla; she had no idea how enticing she was.

  “Have you tried calling her?”

  Travis shook his head. He’d spent the better part of a week at the hospital waiting for Tucker to wake up and when he hadn’t been there, he’d been on the phone with his lawyer, Vernon Carnegie, or at the complex at practice. His exoneration came two days following the raid. Madi herself had gotten the call from ADA Larson personally explaining Travis’s involvement in the case and pardoning him for his behaviors and reactions during that time frame, stating it had all been an FBI operation and he’d simply been playing his part to capture Geraci. The NFL hadn’t known what to do with this situation, as nothing had ever occurred like it before. Travis had publicly apologized to Pollux Reed, he’d been fined by the NFL for his unsportsmanlike conduct, and was allowed to return to his team, his suspension lifted immediately. Travis also had his lawyer track down the trucker’s family and donate money into a fund for his kids; he wanted to make sure they’d be taken care of.

  “Look, I don’t know what happened, and it’s none of my business, but I’ve seen a change in you. If she was the one who did it, then maybe you should go after her. True love doesn’t come around often, you know?”

  Ah, what did she know? She was happily married to the goofiest, most reckless asshole around. Hunter was the most likeable guy on the team, a true class clown, and Travis had officially titled him Hermes. “Easy for you to say, Mrs. Thomas.”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t let it slip past you. She obviously wasn’t in love with Steinberger or whatever happened in the cabin wouldn’t have happened.”

  Madi had a point, but it would appear that Skyla was still planning to marry the S.O.B—or at least, they had the media believing it to be so. “Hey, Mad, tell me somethin’. Would you marry a man you weren’t in love with simply because you considered him ‘safe’?”

  Madi’s brows went up again. “Safe?”

  “Yeah like stable, steady…”

  “Oh, you mean boring?” Madi giggled. “No. no, I wouldn’t.”

  “I’m not husband material, I get that. Maybe that
’s what she thinks.”

  “A man who cheats isn’t husband material either.” She shrugged. “Or safe.”

  “I said the same freakin’ thing.” Travis let his head fall back hard onto the bunched-up towel behind him. “The sex we had though. Gah, it was fucking incredible. I mean, I haven’t fucked that much since…” he trailed off, realizing Madison was blushing. “Shit, sorry. I just—”

  “No, it’s alright. Amazing sex, who doesn’t want that?” She looked like she might be swooning. Damn, all women were such romantics.

  “Right? And I know that she’d never experienced those things before. It felt different, you know? You’re right, something like that doesn’t come along every day. It was special. It was—”

  “Hey,” a deep voice interrupted. “Good game tonight, Ares. I’m headed home to crash. See you tomorrow. Take it easy on those tree trunks of yours.” Brett “Brickhouse” McFadden came up and gave Travis a fist bump and a wink. Travis thanked him. “Call me later, Madi.” He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and gripped her shoulder before heading out.

  Now, there was another story in and of itself. Those two had known each other since they were like seven. They’d gone to grade school together, then college, and now they worked together. Although Brett—aka Zeus—was a gunslinger of a quarterback, he’d been hand-selected by Madi and her dad, Travis was sure. He was their golden child. Despite that he and Madi stated that they were like brother and sister, Travis was sure he’d never looked at his sister like that before…well, if he had a sister, he wouldn’t. It was obvious that Brett was the victim of major unrequited love. It made his colossal, tough outer exterior even more understandable. Brett was the epitome of serious. Sure, he laughed at jokes, but he was their leader; a bigger Captain America with more frown. Which was why he’d been deemed Zeus, king of the gods, by Linc—plus Brett had a knack for throwing “thunderbolts” with ridiculous speed and accuracy.

  Speaking of Linc, he and Paxton popped their heads in to check on Travis too. “There’s our Ares. You hanging in, my man?” Linc smiled and Travis nodded. “You killed that record tonight, brother. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You too, bro, kiss Val for me…and the twins.” Trav waved.

  Linc scolded him with a pointing finger, laughed and nodded. Pax gave him a shaka sign—his signature hand gesture—then followed after Lincoln, leaving Travis and Madi alone again.

  They’d named their linebacker, Paxton Guthrie, Poseidon, for the guy was a California boy; a former surfer with long blonde hair and a flair for “releasing the Kraken” when it came to taking down the opposing teams QBs. He’d even gone as far as to slam down his invisible “trident” and cross his arms over his chest following a QB sack—a gesture that the fans utterly ate up.

  “Trav, call her. Ok? At least get some closure. I don’t feel you got it. Or, at least, from an unbiased observer you didn’t seem to.” She gave him another big grin, and he returned it.

  “Hey thanks, Mad, for sitting with me.”

  “Any time, Ares. After the way you played tonight, you deserve some accolades.”

  “And a good rub down,” the trainer, Kit, said with a smile. “Shower and I’ll get you in bay 2.”

  “Thanks.” Travis said as Kit walked past to check on their offensive lineman TJ Rawlins, who’d also been injured pretty badly tonight. Travis motioned to rise from the tub, still clothed in a pair of shorts and socks. He moved to a towel rack and stepped behind a curtain to undress just as Hunter rounded the corner.

  “Jeez, everyone is always wanting to get naked around my wife,” Hunter joked when Travis stepped out in a robe, towel draped over his arm.

  “Can you blame us?” Trav cajoled and slugged at Hunter’s half-naked middle.

  Hunter shrugged and grabbed a laughing Madi, pulling her to his freshly showered frame, clad in only a towel. “No, I can’t. She’s gorgeous.” He wrapped Madi tightly in his arms and kissed her passionately, dipped her, and pulled her back up, giving her a sound smack on her bottom.

  “Hunt,” she protested bashfully and apologetically over at Travis.

  “What? I can’t resist. Besides the game’s over, time to finish the 3 day no-sex streak.” Hunter’s brows went up.

  Travis rolled his eyes. “Dude, you seriously do that?”

  Madi scoffed and ran her fingers through her husband’s hair. “He has since college.”

  “Science has proven that it only pertains to a couple hours before a game, you know?”

  “Don’t care. Not changing it now.”

  Travis didn’t need to respond; he understood how superstitious his fellow players could be, himself included. His game-day ritual consisted of a hearty breakfast of ham and eggs and always putting his left sock on before the right.

  He watched Hunter and Madi, feeling envy and want fill his chest. He wanted to have that with Skyla. He missed her so much. The feel of her body against his, the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair.

  Madi was right. He had to call her. He had to get closure. If she preferred Sampson over him then he needed to know, but the not knowing was what was killing him. And there was a part of him that was too afraid to find out the truth.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Another two days passed before Travis worked up the courage to pick up the phone to call Skyla—his off day, which he spent the better part of binge-watching sappy shit on Netflix and napping, followed by a rigorous practice day. He didn’t have her direct number, but he had connections and his lawyer always came through, good ol’ Vern.

  Travis’s heart sped up as he dialed it, sitting nervously on his leather couch in the mansion that suddenly felt too big for one person. Then his heart stopped as a man answered the phone.

  “Larson residence.” At first, Travis thought it might be a butler, then reality kicked in… it was him. He recognized the voice. Her ex-fiancé now turned fiancé again.

  Travis’s heart plunged. It was fate. His answer to the unspoken question he’d asked. He wanted to be wrong. But now he had proof; proof that Skyla didn’t want him.

  “Uh, I’m sorry, I have the wrong number.”

  “Good day,” the older man said and the phone clicked.

  Well, it’d been fun, but now it was over, truly over.

  Only, Travis Redmond wasn’t sure how to move on. But he had to, indeed, move on.

  “Run it again,” Coach Haskins, their offensive coordinator, shouted from the sidelines as Travis attempted to catch his breath.

  Fuck, he was tired and running this play, trips right, toss right, for the fourth time in a row was getting old.

  He looked over at Brett and rolled his eyes, getting a crooked grin out of his mountain for a QB. Brett stood at six foot five inches and was two-fifty, one of the biggest in the league; but the man could run and hustle incredibly easily. He had a barrel chest and once more reminded Travis why they’d christened him Zeus after he did a chest bump with the man on the last play and he knocked Travis down. Linc had gotten tickled from the sidelines and pointed over at him, getting a finger from Travis.

  “Alright, let’s do this!” came Hunter’s exuberant voice. Where the man got his energy was unbeknownst to Travis; he had to have ADHD.

  Brett pulled them in for a quick huddle with a smirk on his face. “Trav, trips left, toss left.” Travis grinned, realizing Brett was having him run the exact same play, only to the opposite side this time. Haskins was gonna be pissed. He nodded and they all slammed their hands together when Brett said, “Break.”

  “Draco 80, Draco 80,” Brett chanted. “Set, hut.”

  Brett turned to the right, tossed the ball, and Travis caught it, tucking it into his chest with his right arm and ran to the left. He evaded two defenders and was wide open, running the ball thirty yards into the end zone for a touchdown.

  His teammates came in behind him and began clapping him on the back, excited for his quick moves and score. He smiled and pointed at Brett, even as Hask
ins threw his hat down and turned purple. Brett could deal with that shit. Trav was only doing as his QB told him to.

  Travis was walking back toward Brett as their head coach, Greg Cavanaugh said, “Hell, lighten up, Haskins. It’s Thanksgiving. Besides, our ram here scored so I don’t care if he didn’t run the exact play you wanted.”

  Coach Cavanaugh gave Trav’s helmet a smack and laughed. “Well done, Redmond.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Alright boys, let’s call it a day. Hit the showers and enjoy the rest of your day. Eat some dessert for me, alright?” Cavanaugh patted his belly and whined. After being recently diagnosed with type II diabetes, his wife had him on a strict diet. No pumpkin pie for him. Although, Travis liked pecan the best personally. “Just don’t get too stuffed that you can’t practice tomorrow.”

  Friday was gonna be brutal, he knew.

  He’d just moved into the locker room and pulled his pads off when Hunter came up behind him, grinning. “Hey man, you coming?”

  Hunter was referring to the invite Madi had extended to him and the other players, a Friends-giving she was having at their house. “Yeah, I’d like to. Thanks for inviting me, Hunt.”

  “Of course, buddy. We’re glad to have you.”

  Travis showered and moved back to his locker, where he’d hung a pair of khakis and a light sweater. He was eager to hang out with his teammates outside of the complex. They’d been practicing and working hard these last couple weeks and needed a day to let loose. Travis felt he had much to prove after all that had happened. He’d wanted to show he was an asset, and loyal, to this team he was starting to love being a part of.

  The Gladiators organization was different from the Stallions—different even than the team he’d played for before that, the Amarillo Renegades. The Gladiators were more family oriented it seemed, less about the money. Perhaps that was Jerry Taylor’s doing; he’d owned this team for the last thirty years. A lot of the money that the organization garnered went back into the community. Jerry encouraged the players to donate to charities, stating that just a portion as small as ten percent helped a lot.