Chapter 4
CHASE
The guys would crush me if I ever admitted this, but I lose sleep over what the press quickly dubbed moon-gate and tagged #BruiserButt online as the actual full moon hangs high in the sky over the city.
The papers and gossip sites churn out headlines, images, and articles, which means I’ll be receiving a phone call from my parents sometime after sunup.
I go for a predawn run, trying to escape the growing nerves and the fact that I woke up craving pizza for breakfast—it’s really good the next day.
I’m a grown man and the quarterback for the greatest team in the pro league, so I should be able to deal with whatever life throws my way, including a newspaper headline that features the wrong side of four star players for that same team.
I also ought to be able to have a more harmonious relationship with my father, with us on equal footing, but I fail on that account, too.
It’s complicated and likely about to become more so, what with his pressure to get married or he’ll reveal family secrets I’d rather keep from the public.
Sweaty, I jump in the shower where I do my best thinking. Poring over the situation with my grandfather, the inheritance, and my father’s ultimatum, I rehash the situation, if only to put off having to think about the one I’m likely to face in a matter of hours.
Cap Collins passed away, leaving me most of his fortune.
This means he passed over his son, Rhett Collins—my father.
But access to it comes with the stipulation that I get married.
Not that I need the dough (I could still go for pizza, though).
But I also want to honor his memory. My father doesn’t need the money either, but that doesn’t explain why he’s been pressuring me to get married, or else he’ll expose ancient history that ought to remain in the past.
I lean against the shower tile as a dark thought slithers down my spine. This is revenge. My father is punishing me for disobeying his wishes and going into football. And for being named the heir to Cap’s fortune.
Still, something doesn’t sit right. There’s more, but I haven’t figured out what.
To my surprise, before I get an angry earful from Rhett Collins, Coach Hammer orders us to meet in his office.
The shower didn’t quite help wash away my ever-present nerves.
They accompany me when I meet Declan, Wolf, and Grey in the austere room with polished wood, shelves filled with books and awards lining one wall, and a blustering coach on a call who gives us the hairy eyeball along with the one-minute finger when we shuffle in.
It reminds me a lot of my father’s den.
Grey grumbles.
“Don’t you dare say, ‘I told you so,’” Wolf warns.
“Come on, we’ve done worse.” Declan shrugs.
“Guys, Elyse was there,” I say, referring to Starkowsky’s daughter.
She’s a grown woman and a reporter. She’s spent a lot of time in the locker room pre- and post-game and has certainly seen her share of football players in various stages of dress, having been around the team her entire life. However, she’s still someone’s daughter.
“It’s the principle. Would you want your daughter to see our backsides?” I ask.
“He has a point,” Grey says.
“We don’t have daughters,” Wolf says.
“You know what I mean,” I hiss.
Unlike the other guys, I’d like to settle down, get married, and have daughters and sons someday. Someday soon, if I have any say in the matter.
The duration of a football player’s career isn’t all that long—Grey being an exception. After our next Super Bowl win, when reporters ask me to look into the crystal ball and predict the future, I’d like to answer that I’m retiring because I’m starting a family.
Declan’s laugh reminds me that at this rate, I’ll surpass Grey in seasons played.
Coach Hammer gets off the phone. We each have our apologies at the ready, but Hammer holds up his massive hand, indicating we save it for someone who’ll tolerate excuses.
He gets to his feet and starts pacing along the bank of windows overlooking the practice field.
“I understand the pranks are part of the game, the camaraderie, and the glue that holds the team together in some ways. But you went too far. I’ve had a lot of heat coming down from up high lately about your—” He turns his hand in a circle. “About your antics.”
Wolf lifts and lowers his shoulders. “Oh, come on, we were just having fun. We thought it was just going to be Brandon, not the commish.”
“Elyse was mortified.” Coach practically growls.
“More like the commish was mortified,” Wolf says.
Hammer tilts his head at a shut up angle. “Connor.” Given his tone, I’m surprised he doesn’t add Wolf’s middle name to his given one.
Wolf instantly stands down. Coach Hammer is the only person I’ve ever seen who is slightly capable of taming the wild in him.
“I need you to understand what is appropriate and what goes over the line,” Hammer says.
I nod, nerves zipping.
“Filling someone’s car with balloons? Harmless. Coating the inside of a locker with molasses? Amusing. Stealing all the toilet paper rolls and removing them from the building?” Hammer winces. “Mooning the commissioner, his daughter, our newest player, and a bunch of officials?”
“Hilarious,” Wolf says, only loud enough so we can hear.
“Boys, there are consequences.”
“A fine?” Wolf asks. “I’ll pay for it. Whatever.”
“Penalty?” Declan says.
“Community service?” I ask.
Grey’s silence suggests it’ll be worse. Much worse.
“No, you’re going to finishing school,” Hammer says.
All at once, there’s a flurry of questions and confusion, namely that it’s some kind of joke. Wolf barks a laugh. My mouth remains closed.
“I think Coach is saying that he has to make an example of us,” Grey says.
“Not me. This is coming directly from the commissioner.” Hammer drops heavily into his leather chair and then tosses a newspaper down on the desk between us so we can see the headline for ourselves.
Full moon over Boston.
It’s accompanied by a photograph, blurred in select places, and let’s just say it’s less than decent. My grandmother has probably rolled over in her grave—that’s one of Cap’s sayings. He was full of ‘em.
Declan and Wolf chuckle. Despite myself, I crack a smile because it is pretty epic, but I’ll be sure to hear from my father. Grey is as stony as ever.
“You guys are terrible with the press,” Hammer scolds.
“They say any kind of press is good press. And we were in a meeting recently, discussing the importance of getting our names out there.”
Hammer gives me a look that suggests I was better off keeping quiet. “The problem is we’re lacking in actual good press. You’re all cocky. Not at all humble.”
“Come on, it’s all hype,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation.
“The fans love to see us getting rowdy,” Declan adds.
“We’re the Bruisers. We have a reputation to uphold,” Wolf says, elbowing Grey, who’s been on the team the longest. “Tell him.”
Coach’s lips form a thin line. “Starky wants you to clean up, learn some manners, and prove that you’re well-behaved gentlemen.”
Grey snorts like that’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard.
“Think of it like reform camp. You’ll be there a month.”
The room falls silent.
Hammer clears his throat. “You’ll attend several classes for your betterment. I hope I’ve made my point and you’ve learned your lesson. No mooning the commissioner’s daughter, or anyone else for that matter.”
The silence erupts with protests.
“What about training camp?”
“OTAs?”
“The program you’ll be attending is the only organized team activity you’ll be completing if you want to go to training in August.” Hammer, ever the picture of calm, grits his teeth.
“So, if we want to go to training camp, first we have to attend this camp?” I ask.
“That’s right. Your midpoint and final reviews will determine whether you hit the field with the rest of the team before the season starts.”
All at once, we each voice objections and try to talk him out of it.
Hammer seems to only hear one word among the chatter. “Unfair? Poor Elyse cannot wipe the sight of four pasty rear ends from her mind—neither can the rest of the country.” Hammer points at the newspaper with the photo. One of the officials must’ve snapped it with their phone.
“Hey, my rear end is not pasty. It’s muscular and tan,” Declan says.
“For an Irishman,” Grey mutters.
“Listen, my hands are tied. It’s this or walk, boys.” Hammer shuffles paper and folders around on his desk, indicating he’s done with us.
“This team is my life,” Grey says softly.
“All of our lives,” Declan echoes.
“Consider this probation.”
If this were a comedy movie about a ragtag group of football upstarts who have to amend their ways and come together for a big win, or else, I’d jerk my head in a goofy way as the coach’s words catch up with me.
“Did you mean walk as in leave the team? Considering the only thing I know how to do is play football, I’ll go to the finishing school or whatever. ”
Hammer nods solemnly.
“Can’t you have your father talk to the commissioner?” Wolf asks me.
“You know the answer to that.” Grey sighs before I have a chance to utter the word no.
“Which is—?” Wolf asks.
“If he did, whatever the deal, would be worse, much worse.” Declan gazes toward the ceiling as though asking for help.
I could use some right now. No way can I talk to my father. The only talking will be him, reading me the riot act for being dumb and getting on the front page of the paper. Though I do have to admit, my butt looks good.
“You’ll each be assigned a personal etiquette coach. And if you, uh, screw up, you’re off the team.” Hammer cocks an eyebrow.
All four of us experience a group case of whiplash as Hammer reiterates the conditions.
“All of you,” he adds as though it’s final.
“What do you mean? If one of us screws up, we’ll all be let go?”