by B. B. Hamel
Owen was back to work too soon. Worse than that, Coach had him in the backup position, which meant he had been downgraded.
This was bad, and I could only guess how Owen was feeling about it. I wished I could go out on the field and talk to him.
Instead, I had to stand on the sidelines, powerless all over again, as he went through practice, living out his worst nightmare.
28
Owen
I hadn’t expected to practice. But when I finally got into the locker room, one of the assistant coaches was there, waiting for me. He told me to get dressed, that I was expected out on the field.
I didn’t know that I’d been medically cleared, but I was ready. I got my clothes on and headed out, late but not horribly late. I joined up with the running backs and headed to my usual position as the starter.
“Rack,” the running back coach called out. “You’re number two. Kennings is number one. Got it?”
I stood still and didn’t respond at first. Finally, I said, “Got it.”
He nodded, and we got to work.
I’d been downgraded to the backup. I was furious as we went through our warm-up reps. Nobody was looking at me, but I wasn’t avoiding their stares. I didn’t need their fucking pity or their awkwardness. Kennings, to his credit, wasn’t pretending like I wasn’t around, and we talked like we normally did.
But I was fucking pissed. Not at Kennings, since he was just playing his game. I was pissed at Coach for bringing me back early only to stick me into the backup position.
If they didn’t want to play me, why not let me get more rest and heal up? My knee felt good, it was true, but there was still some stiffness. I could have used another day or two off my feet to really get back to one hundred percent.
Instead, they had decided to fucking humiliate me.
I didn’t understand what was going on or what Coach was thinking, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t say a single word about it. I didn’t even let my furious anger show on my face. I just went through practice and did as I was told. If anything, I worked harder, pushing past whatever discomfort I was feeling.
It still felt damn good to be back on the field. I had nearly forgotten how fucking good it felt to get back out here and be physical, pushing through my exhaustion, pushing past my body’s limits. I loved making my body work and finding out what my limits were, but more than that, I loved finding other people’s limits.
Even in the backup spot, I still felt good as I ran down the turf, my body pumping, lungs pulling air, legs burning. I could feel that wall deep inside me, the one that held me back, but I kept going anyway. I wanted to set every inch of myself on fire, pure and clean burning fire. I’d push hard in practice and come through feeling good, backup or not.
I kept my head down and worked through practice. I wasn’t about to make a scene or act like I was upset. Soon enough, the other guys got the message and we went through practice like nothing was going on.
Back in the shower after we were finished, I rinsed off. Kennings and I joked around, and for a second I forgot that we were rivals.
Until Coach appeared in the doorway to the showers.
“Rack,” he called out. “My office.”
I poked my head out of my stall. “Okay, Coach.”
“Dry the fuck off first.” He left.
“You should go dripping wet,” Kennings said. “Sit down on his nice chair.”
“He’d cut me,” I said, laughing.
“No way. You’re the golden child. You’re up and coming.”
“He doesn’t care about that. If I disobeyed him and got his chairs wet, he’d cut me.”
Kennings laughed as I finished my shower and toweled off. I wrapped it around my waist and hurried out to my locker. I got dressed as fast as I could and then headed over to Coach’s office.
I knocked twice. He called for me to come in. I opened the door and stepped inside.
It was a nice office. He had a large wooden desk with two nice leather chairs sitting out in front of it. His trophies and accomplishments were lined up in rows on the filing cabinets behind him, and his desk was covered in papers. A small TV sat in the corner and was playing some game from 2003 on mute.
“Sit,” he said.
I sat down in front of him. Coach Kelly was a pale man, not in the best shape, but he had intense eyes and was known as a brilliant tactician. He had been a hugely respected coach in college, and now he was in the pros. He ran teams the way he saw fit, and nobody could question him on that.
“You were number two today,” he said.
I nodded. “Yes, Coach.”
“How’d that feel?”
“Shitty.”
He smiled. “Yeah. I figured.”
“But that won’t stop me. I’m just happy to be playing.”
“Is that true?”
I paused. “No,” I admitted. “I want to be the fucking starter. I’m the best running back on this team.”
Coach smiled. “Yeah. You are.”
That surprised me. He wasn’t usually the kind of man to give praise, so when he did, it felt like a special occasion.
“So why was I number two?”
“Because Kennings had a good day and you’re still injured.”
“I’m not.”
“You telling me you’re perfectly ready to hit the field tomorrow if you had to?”
I paused and then shook my head. “No. Not tomorrow. But this weekend.”
“Kennings is fit. You’re getting more rest before we start using you to full capacity. You’ll get some touches this weekend and then we’ll go from there.”
I nodded. “Fine.”
“This is just because you’re injured, Owen. Heal up and play hard. You’ll overtake Kennings.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
He nodded. “Now get out. I’m busy.”
“Got it.” I stood, turned, and left.
I had to admit, that did make me feel better. I had assumed he had benched me because Kennings had played well and they thought he was the better choice, but if it was because of my injury, well, that made sense. I could still get touches while I worked my way back to perfect health.
As I headed down the hallway, I spotted Raylon coming toward me.
“Yo, Rack,” he said. “What up, man?”
“Nothing. Just talked to Coach.”
“You still benched?”
“For now. He said he’d get me some touches this weekend.”
“Shit, man, sounds pretty bad.”
“I don’t know. He said it was just until I got better.”
Raylon laughed. “I’ve seen this shit before, man. The main guy goes down and the backup steps up, plays well. The main guy never plays again, not like he used to.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it is.”
“What am I supposed to do about it?”
“For starters, you can do what Tony asked you to do.”
I stared at him and felt like someone had punched me in the gut.
He smiled at me. “What? You’re looking at me like I just grew a second head.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was like the entire world had just shifted around me, and I didn’t know what to think.
“You know?” I managed to say.
“Tony told me. He said you’d need more convincing.”
“You talk to Tony?” I could barely comprehend this fucking insanity.
“You think you’re the only player they got on their side?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Shit, man, half this league is owned by the fucking mafia.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Nope. We’re not even the only ones on this team.”
“Fuck.” That explained how Tony was able to move around the clubhouse so easily. He owned way more than I had realized.
“Just do what Tony asked, okay? Kennings will come around. Shit, they might even really let you go.”
“No, they won’t,” I said.
“Nah, probably not.” He shrugged. “Suck it up, though. Working with them can be a big fucking benefit if you’re not stupid.” Raylon patted my shoulder as he walked on past, heading back the other way.
I wanted to ask him a million questions, but I was still processing that conversation.
Tony had told Raylon to convince me to follow orders, which meant that Raylon and Tony were close. Not only that, but the mob owned a bunch of players.
I turned back toward the locker room and practically floated back, not able to think straight.
As I walked in, I kept seeing more mafia guys all over. Any one of my teammates could have been owned by the mob, and I’d never know.
Shit was so fucked up, I could barely understand it.
29
Taylor
As soon as I got home, I was greeted by a text from Owen.
“Come over. I’m sending a car.”
I frowned at my phone. “I’m about to eat some dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Come over. It’s important.”
I sighed, staring at my phone. All I wanted was to shower and to eat something, but seeing Owen again was too tempting.
“Okay,” I said. “Give me a half hour.”
“Fine. See you soon.”
I didn’t know what was happening, but I figured it was about his conversation with Coach after practice. Everyone had heard about that. Whenever the coach called someone in alone, word spread like wildfire. That always meant someone was getting bumped up or down in the roster, or some other huge change was looming. Coach Kelly usually sent the assistant coaches out for less important things.
I wasn’t letting myself speculate. It could have been the worst, or it could have just been Coach giving Owen a pep talk. Sure, that wasn’t normal for Kelly, but I just wasn’t letting myself play the speculation game. It could have been anything, and I was going to wait for Owen to tell me about it.
It was probably a bad sign that he was summoning me to his apartment. Still, I was going to go of course, because he needed me. I quickly ate something and got changed. I put on a cute dress and did my hair just in time to get downstairs and meet the car out front.
We drove over to Owen’s apartment building. I got out and headed inside. The doorman let me right up, probably because he recognized me from before. I knocked on Owen’s door, and he let me in a minute later.
He smiled as I walked in. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and cut-off jean shorts, plus an ice pack taped to his knee.
“You look good,” he said.
“You do too.” I laughed. “Jorts? Really?”
“They’re my fucking lounge clothes.”
“Still, come on.”
“You’re just jealous I can pull them off.”
“Not exactly.”
He motioned for me to follow. I sat down at the kitchen table. “Want anything to drink?”
I shrugged. “Wine?”
“Coming right up.” He pulled a bottle of white from his refrigerator, opened it, and poured me a glass. He got a bottle of whisky from a cabinet and poured himself a drink.
“So, Owen, am I just here to drink, or did you want to talk?”
He laughed. “Drink first.” We clinked glasses and drank. He sat down across from me.
“You said it was important,” I pressed.
“I had a weird talk earlier today.”
“I heard.”
He cocked his head. “You heard?”
“Everyone was talking about it.”
He looked horrified. “You’re joking.”
“No, I mean, it’s okay. Everyone knows all about it. Nobody seemed to really care, though. This sort of thing is common in the league.”
He looked like I had just punched a baby in the face. “People were just talking about it out in the open?”
I was confused. “Sure. It’s nothing to be upset about. He calls people back to his office all the time.”
Owen blinked. “Wait. What are you talking about?”
I stared at him, confused as hell. “What are you talking about?”
“Raylon.”
“Raylon? I’m talking about Coach Kelly.”
“What? Who the fuck cares about Coach Kelly?”
“You were called into his office,” I said, exasperated. “He only does that when it’s something important.”
“Shit,” he said. “I totally forgot about that.”
“What about Raylon?”
“Wait. The conversation with Coach—it was fine. He just told me that he’s resting me while I heal up.”
“Okay, good. I hoped it was something like that.” I shook my head, laughing softly. “But what were you talking about with Raylon?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“Just say it.”
“Raylon knows about the mob shit.”
I stared at him for a second and then took a long drink. “You’re right. I kind of don’t believe you.”
“It’s real,” he said. “I left Coach’s office and Raylon came toward me. He told me to do what Tony wants me to do, and that plenty of guys are owned by the mob. He’s one of them.”
I shook my head, completely shocked. Raylon had such a good reputation in the league. I couldn’t imagine him being owned by the mafia. He was considered to be one of the best backs of all time, plus a really solid guy.
And here he was, owned by the mob.
“What else did he say?” I asked.
“Just that lots of guys have mob connections. He said Kennings will come around. Wanted me to go along with what Tony said.”
“Wow.” I shook my head, at a loss.
“That’s how I felt.”
“He’s such a good guy.”
“Thanks,” Owen said, sarcastic.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. I had the same reaction.” He shook his head, finishing his drink. “Fucking Raylon.”
“Who else does the mob have?”
“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. I want out, not further in.”
“That’s fair.”
“But this makes me wonder just how much power they have. I mean, could I even get away if I wanted to?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “This just keeps getting crazier.”
“Imagine how I feel.” He topped off his drink and sipped it. “Maybe I should just do it. Maybe to get ahead in this fucked-up league, you need mafia connections.”
“Owen,” I said, reaching my hands out, “stop. If you want out, get out.”
He looked back at me. “It’s not easy.”
“I know it isn’t.”
He sighed and leaned forward, taking my hands.
“What should I do?”
“Get out,” I said. “I can tell it’s what you want. You hate these guys. You hate being owned by them. It’s not who you are. Get out, Owen.”
“Even if the whole league is corrupt and the mafia owns them all?”
“Especially for that reason. Owen, if you want to be above it all, be above it.”
He stared into my eyes, intense and expressive. “I don’t know how to be above shit. I’ve been down with the rest of the world my whole life.”
“Not anymore. You’re a professional athlete, one of the best in the world. You don’t need to hold yourself back anymore.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’m not going to do it. Someone else will just be sent after Kennings, but it won’t be me.”
“What are you going to do instead?”
He released my hands and stood up. “I don’t know, but I do know something.”
“What?”
He walked around the table and knelt down in front of me. He stared into my eyes, put his hand on the back of my neck, and then kissed me hard.
I kissed him back, desire flooding my body.
This was wh
at I wanted, what I always wanted. He kissed me hard, pulling me against him, and I fell forward. He dropped backward, and I landed on top of him, smiling and laughing as we kissed on his kitchen floor. I felt his hands slide up my dress and grab my ass as I ground my hips down into him.
This was joy. This was what it meant to be happy. I didn’t know how he was going to get out of his situation, and neither did he, but I felt like celebrating anyway. Just deciding that he was going to do something about it was a huge step, and in the right direction, too.
It was true. He didn’t owe anyone anything, and he didn’t have to keep holding himself back. He didn’t deserve to be owned by the mob just because of some stupid mistake he made when he was a young man. It was all so messed up and frustrating, but I felt good finally kissing him again and knowing that he was going to get out of it.
I believed in him. Somehow, he was going to get out of it.
I kissed him harder, our mouths working together as he rolled over, putting my back on the floor. He pinned my hands down above my head, a smirk on his face.
“Is this why you wanted to come over?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
His other hand moved down my body and roughly pulled my panties down my hips. I gasped as he found my pussy with his fingers, rubbing my clit and slowly sliding them inside me.
I groaned as he fucked me with his fingers, pinning me down to the floor. He was big, so damn big, and he easily kept me pressed and immobile. I moaned as his body held me there and he worked my pussy. I knew he could do anything he wanted to do, and I would let him.
He loosened his grip on my wrists and I worked them free. I quickly moved my hands down and found his hard cock, pulling his shorts down. He grunted as I grasped him, stroking him. My legs were spread wide as he continued to work my soaking, slick pussy with his fingers, fucking me and teasing my clit.
He pulled his fingers back and slid himself up. I opened my mouth and took his cock between my lips as he held my head by my hair. He pressed his cock deep into my throat, making me gag.
“Fuck, Taylor, you’re so fucking sexy with my cock between your lips.” I moaned as he pressed himself in and out, fucking my mouth. “You dirty fucking girl. Suck that cock.”