Code word: affordable. Say something, Matt, anything. This should work. “I’m fucking sorry, Logan.”
“Thanks, Nelli. Divorce is bad enough but what the hell, you’ve got it ten times worse, maybe more.”
Right, at least Ted still had a dad.
At White Castle they met up with Parker Elliot who considered himself Pegasi’s best defender. Matt considered him the mouthiest, regardless of the position—midfield, forward, back, sweep, you name it. Whatever the shortcoming, Matt was willing to overlook it because only a fucking dumbass could afford enemies on this team.
“Where’s Baxter?” Ian asked.
Park flipped his blond shag, which fell back into place on its own, the sign of a good haircut. “He’s studying for a calculus exam.”
“What?” Logan said. “I thought Baxter made straight A’s.”
“He does, but only because his mom’s always on his case.”
“Gotcha, the scholarship thing,” Logan said. “There’s only room for so many goalies.”
The same could be said for forwards, or any position, just more wannabes scrambling for a handful of scholarships to Division I universities. By the time Matt was ready for college applications, his soccer days could be history if things didn’t work out with Pegasi. More to the point, that bastard coach.
“Can we order now?” Ian asked. “There’s a hole in my stomach bigger than Park’s potty mouth.”
“Get out,” Park said with a laugh. “You’re just jealous.”
They bellied up to the counter and for less than six dollars Matt took away six sliders, large fries, and a chocolate shake. Not a bad deal and it sure as hell beat another one of Mom’s surprises. God, would she ever find her old self again. The guys gathered around two tables pushed together, bent over their food, and began a serious pig out. Like hogs at a trough, Dad used to say. Matt stuffed the square burgers into his mouth one at a time, alternating with salty fries and gulps from his shake. Grilled onions, ketchup, and grease seeping onto his chin were quickly wiped away with the back of his hand. Forget about the gutsy combo later playing hell with his stomach, just as long as he recovered in time for tomorrow night’s game. He hadn’t eaten this good since the last of the funeral casseroles and was working on his sixth burger when he noticed everybody else had already finished and judging from the eye contact, must’ve been texting each other.
Logan leaned back, his eyes on Matt, as if waiting for the right moment to speak. “We—I mean Ian and me—saw your mother in here last night.”
Matt stopped chewing but didn’t bother to swallow before he spoke. “My mom, you have got to be kidding. She can’t even stand the smell of belly bombers.”
Ian nodded. “It was your mom all right. She was on her way out the door and didn’t see us. At least I don’t think she did. She had her coat bunched up around her face.”
Ian stopped there but Matt got the message: she didn’t want to be seen. Last night, last night, he could hardly remember this morning. Oh yeah, Mom went out while he was studying, something about an errand that couldn’t wait until the next day. He fell asleep before she came home. For all he knew, she might not have been in bed when he knocked this morning. But if there was a problem, if she went missing or worse, he would’ve known by now. Damn, he spent more time worrying about her than himself, another reason for missing his dad. Dad kept her under control, at least that’s how Matt saw the picture. He felt a finger jabbing his ribs, one bringing him back to the moment.
“Wake up,” Ian said. “Park’s talking to you.”
Park repeated his question. “So, Matt, how do you fucking like playing for Pegasi?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I get the fucking ball.”
They all laughed, Matt too, even though he didn’t think the comment all that funny.
“Maybe we’ll see Coach in here before practice,” Park said. “The Castle’s one of his piss-favorite hang-outs.”
“No kidding,” Matt said. “I figured him for steak and potatoes.”
“Sure, when someone else is buying.”
This from Logan, not only did he start for Pegasi but was one of the few players who stayed in the entire game. So much for loyalty, although in the case of Meredith it made perfect sense. Matt had been on top before, having enjoyed his share of playing time with Thunderbolt. Coach’s son or not, he always busted his balls. So did Payton, Coach Meredith’s son, a stand-up guy who actually spoke to Matt before he even made the team, which made a huge difference and one Matt would not forget. He considered Payton to be Pegasi’s second best player, the first being Angel, who hardly spoke to anyone, which didn’t matter, because on the pitch where it really counted, Payton and Angel could make a fucking sweet connection.
Two guys who looked familiar to Matt stopped by the table and sat down without being invited. One had short blond hair and skin smoother than the son of a zit doc; the other, had a bobble head of Orphan Annie curls, dark brown instead of Annie red. This dude was the type girls went bonkers over. He could’ve posed for a Nike ad campaign.
“Matt, you remember Zach Stilworth and Oliver Billings from last year,” Park said, “former Pegasi who didn’t return.” He ruffled Oliver’s curls, so perfect they didn’t even budge. “Miss us, Bills?”
“More than flies on a lawn fairy’s ass,” Bills said. “What’s the word?”
“Rex is still pouting,” Ian said.
“He’ll get over it,” Zack replied, then quickly directed a question to Matt. “So, new guy, is Coach giving you any trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Don’t be so sure, Nelli,” Park said. “He likes sticking it to pretty boys.”
Matt was thinking of a clever comeback when he noticed Bills’ eyebrows shoot up.
“Meaning what?” Bills said.
“Meaning I know a shitload more than you think,” Parker replied with a shitty grin matching his shitty attitude. “Don’t make me go there, dude.”
“Right, grass kicker,” Bills said. “How ‘bout I make you go to hell instead.”
Just like that, Bills zit-free skin turned into that of pizza boy, all blotchy and bumpy and red. Then he reared back and plowed his face into Park’s face. Blood spurted out of Park’s nose, sending droplets across the table where they settled over the ketchup covering Matt’s remaining fries. What a super colossal waste. Matt nearly gagged. Whatever appetite he had left went south along with the desire to ever eat ketchup again.
“Sonofabitch,” Park said through a low moan. He snapped his fingers until Logan grabbed Matt’s half-full shake and shoved it in Park’s hand. Damn, just when Matt was getting to the good part. Park held the shake to his nose, which was now taking on a new dimension.
“Way to go, Bills,” Zach said but not meaning it in a positive way. He jumped up, stumbled on his way to the counter but made a quick recovery. “Ice, ice, we need immediate ice. My friend just bumped his nose.”
The clerk gave Zach her as-if-I-care look, handed him a giant cup, and pointed to the soda station. “Help yourself and don’t leave a disgusting mess for me to clean up.”
Zach came back with the ice, plus a fistful of napkins. By then, Park had pointed his nose to the ceiling, blood seeping along the side of his face and into his not-so-perfect-anymore hair. Bills hovered over him with this bare-assed look on his face and kept repeating, “I am so motherfucking sorry, dude, really sorry.”
“Forget it,” Park finally said in a voice that sounded nothing like the one he had before. “I was out of line.”
For Park to admit this took guts and in Matt’s opinion elevated him to the status of fucking okay. It also seemed like a good time for Matt to take charge since no one else had. “That nose looks broke to me. Maybe you should go to the Emergency Room, get it popped back into place.”
Park gave him a sideway glance, with eyes watering out of control. “And maybe miss tomorrow’s game, are you out of your piss-fucking mind?”
&
nbsp; “Get real. You can’t run in your condition,” Matt said. “You might choke on your own blood, or worse.”
“The pros run without choking.”
Five voices came back with two words. “Fuck them.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll get my dad to take me after he closes the shop.”
“What you are going to tell him?” Ian asked.
“The truth: I ran into a door, right?”
After Park’s nose stopped bleeding, Bills apologized one more time before slinking out the door with Zach, which was just as well because at this point their presence made a piss awkward situation even worse. When Park’s face turned pea-green, he headed for the john. While he was supposedly tossing his sliders into the can, Ian and Logan were tossing two fresh orders of onion rings into their mouths. Matt passed on more food, having lost all desire to ever eat again, or, until he could heat up a frozen pizza at home.
“What’s the story with Bills?” he asked, any excuse to stay in the loop.
“Beats me,” said Ian while shoving a ketchup-slathered ring in his mouth. “Usually Bills is pretty laid back. On the other hand, Parker can be a real shit at times.”
“Both Zach and Bills seem like okay guys. Did they tick off Coach, or what?”
“Probably the other way around but I’m just guessing.”
“Look, Nelli, about Coach, just play it cool,” Logan said with a full mouth. “In other words, don’t make any deals with him or you will be so fucking sorry. It’s like bargaining with the devil.”
“Hey, dude, I just want to play soccer, that’s all.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Ian said. “The team can use somebody with your skills. No offense, Logan.”
“None taken, this may be my last year.”
“What?” Ian said. “I thought you were working on a scholarship to Creighton.”
“Get real. I’m good but not good enough for a full ride and without that ride I am dead meat, SOL—shit out of luck. You know what divorce means to me: no extra money for a Division I school.”
CHAPTER 12
Tuesday evening, the first game since Francesca struck a bargain with Rex. She ventured into Show Me’s main bleachers, this time prepared for Matt to show his stuff since she already showed hers to Rex. She cringed at the thought of that hour with him, his hands all over her, the rest of him too. Her head ached from too much wine the night before. Damn, Italian wines with the D.O.C. labels weren’t supposed to cause headaches. Nor were they meant to be consumed alone and without food to temper the alcohol content. God was punishing her, and rightfully so. Someday she’d make it up to Him. And Matt, especially Matt because he trusted her and God knew better. What’s that? A tug on her sleeve, Ria being Ria about to offer another bit of sage advice.
“Do not, not sit on your hands, Mom,” Ria said. “You’re supposed to clap, even when Matt’s sitting on the bench. It shows you’re here for the whole team.”
She nodded to Ria’s back as the child hurried off to her usual rounds, garnering sympathy for her arm while trying to pick up the latest scuttlebutt. Francesca’s comfort level lasted all of two minutes. She saw Sunny before Sunny saw her, confirming the wife’s return from her mini-vacation, the three-day pass which had spurred Rex into action. Francesca shook her head, another feeble attempt to toss out a memory she’d tried to erase without success. Turning to check on Ria, she caught a glimpse of Sunny’s too-sunny smile and her gloved-finger wave, a gesture Francesca returned but didn’t bother with a smile she couldn’t fake. Instead, she shifted her weight, pulled the knit cap over her ears, and focused her attention to the pitch.
Matt did start, just as Rex had promised, but not one player passed him the ball. After the first quarter, he was riding the bench again, along with Parker Elliot, who usually started but on this night didn’t appear up to the physical challenge. She’d seen him up close before the game, two black eyes and a metal guard covered his bandaged nose. Now he sat with his head leaning back, popping it forward every so often to show he cared about the team, just as she clapped for the other boys. Oh the sacrifices these kids make in the name of soccer, their parents too. Two seasons ago Matt had played for weeks with the stress fracture before he finally told Ben. He sat out for another three weeks for the injury to heal. And now Francesca’s soul had been fractured, an injury she expected would take longer than three weeks to heal, if ever.
She lifted the edge of her jacket sleeve and was checking her watch when from behind, she felt a gentle squeeze to both shoulders. For one precious moment her first thought was of Ben, that somehow he might be comforting her. No such luck, this was no tearjerker movie. Still, her disappointment did vanish when she turned to see a head of wavy, white hair contrasting against the tanned, chiseled profile of Vince Valente. He wore his seventy-four years as if they were a mere sixty, and still moved with the grace of an accomplished athlete as he stepped down one row of bleachers to park his lean hips beside her.
“Patience, Francesca. And quit wearing those dejected feelings all over your face. Matt’s gonna play, just give it some time.”
God bless Vince, the eternal optimist. “He can’t show his stuff if he’s not on the field, she said. “Can’t you offer some advice?”
“Where the coach is concerned, forget it, at least for now. Although I did make a few inquires about Rex Meredith and so far, what I’m hearing does not impress me.”
“Such as?” As if she didn’t already know.
“Unconfirmed rumors I don’t wish to discuss as yet but definitely will check them out. As for Matt, I’ll give him a call tomorrow.” He wrapped his arm over her shoulder and squeezed. “Now what about you?”
“Hanging in there.”
“Your ma’s worried, need I say more.”
“Ria talks too much. We’re fine.” She looked into his eyes, dark as coal and sunk into their sockets, giving him a look of deprivation that didn’t match his lifestyle. “Under no circumstances do I want my mother back before Easter. Do you capice, Vince?”
“Sh-h, dear girl, and chin up. I have to concentrate now ‘cause Matt’s back in the game.”
On the pitch, yes, but no one passed him the ball so he wasn’t really in the game. It ended with Pegasi winning four to zip, which didn’t end the game between Francesca and Rex. She walked towards Sybil without looking in the direction of Rex’s SUV. But she did sense his eyes on her.
Then he called out to Matt. “Don’t forget tomorrow’s practice.”
Matt grumbled under his breath and waved in response, that’s all.
*****
The Canelli family endured another miserable ride home, another miserable evening. Francesca’s evening ended early she went upstairs at nine o’clock. Too early to attempt sleep but perfect for time alone with Ben’s pillow. When her phone rang she threw the damn thing against the wall. It didn’t stop ringing so she flipped it open but instead of the perfunctory hello, she answered with a curt yes.
“Br-r-r, somebody didn’t get her hot chocolate yet,” Rex said.
“It’s late. What now.”
“Just business, nothing more. We need another meeting. Matt’s not showing me what I want to see.”
“How can he? He’s either warming the bench or waiting for somebody to pass him the ball.”
“Yeah, that is a problem. Speaking of the ball, let’s raise the odds and make it two. Mine could use a warm massage, are you game?”
“I’m through playing. Remember our agreement.”
“Yeah, but I’m thinking Matt needs an extended warranty. Same place, shall we say, forty-five minutes.”
“Bastard!” She slammed the lid on her cell and vowed to report him to the soccer commission. Farewell Coach Meredith, Francesca Canelli knows the drill. She still had the soiled panties from Sunday. She stepped out of her clothes, photographed the bruises he’d inflicted—close up and further back to record the full impact.
Ten minutes later and dressed again, Francesca hurried
down the stairs, against her better judgment but then she hadn’t been very good at following her instincts in the past. Another Wal-Mart emergency, she told Ria on her way out the door. But this time there would be no sex in the back seat. This time she had something substantial to hang over the head of Rex Meredith.
*****
As soon as Francesca pulled into Show Me’s lower parking area, the flash of headlights from Rex’s Navigator greeted her. Naturally, he wouldn’t have driven the sedan. Did he have it detailed before Sunny came home, make sure every trace of their romp had been scrubbed away? He stepped out, waited as she parked twenty feet away, an act of defiance if nothing else. He sauntered over and opened Sybil’s door.
“Madame,” he said, sweeping into a low bow. He took her hand, not that she’d offered it, and helped her out. She pulled her hand away, tucked it into her pocket.
That scent, Eternity for Men, she hated it now.
“You’re early, that’s good. I wore my Italian flag sweats just for you.” Smiling, he motioned to his SUV. “Shall we?”
She shook her head. “We’ll talk out here.”
The smile evaporated; he licked his lips. “Whatever you say, my delectable Soccer Whore.”
Oh Francesca had plenty to say, but before she could, he backed her against the rear fender, squeezed her jaw with one hand and unzipped her jacket with the other.
“Instead of soccer, let’s play sock her,” he said, “my version of hardball.”
What came next, she didn’t expect but maybe she should have. Without taking his eyes off hers, he drove a solid punch below her rib cage. She slipped from his grasp and doubled over, gasping for breath. She tried to speak but no sound came from her mouth.
“Kind of nippy out here, don’t you think?” He bent over and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Of course, I’m accustomed to playing in cold weather but not playing with cold bitches. Them, I will not abide, not even a pathetic one such as yourself. We both know how capable you are of warming my blood. So, what’s it going to be, Canelli—your fat ass freezing against this hard metal or bouncing in the back seat of my toasty vehicle?”
Lethal Play Page 7