Chapter 6 Declan
DECLAN
None of us Boston Bruiser players lose sleep over what some have dubbed the “Moon-gate” incident, as the actual full moon hangs high in the sky over the city.
Well, I lose a little, but I’ve become a night owl. My phone pings with messages about our prank that others have dubbed “Bruiser Butt,” and I don’t doubt that the papers and press will churn out headlines, images, and articles by sunup.
So, it comes as no surprise when, the next day, Coach Hammer summons us to his office. From the other end of the hallway, Wolf, Chase, and Grey shuffle in my direction. Each of them wears varying expressions of dismay. Likely, they’ve already gotten an earful from family and friends.
We enter the room with the hardwood bookshelves and dark green rug. Hammer’s two-yard square window doesn’t provide a view of the city, but rather the practice field. It’s austere and demands respect. I almost feel like Mom sent the kids to Dad for discipline. Not that I’d know.
Hammer is on a call and gives us the one-minute signal with his pointer finger, along with the hairy eyeball.
Grey grumbles.
“Don’t you dare say, ‘I told you so,’” Wolf warns.
“Come on, we’ve done worse.” I shrug.
“Guys, Elyse was there.” Chase refers to Starkowsky’s daughter, who is a grown woman and has certainly seen her share of football players in various stages of dress, having been around the team her entire life.
In fact, she’s a reporter and spends a lot of time in the locker rooms pre- and post-game.
“Doesn’t seem like a big deal,” I say.
“It’s the principle. Would you want your daughter to see our backsides?” Chase asks.
“He has a point,” Grey says.
“We don’t have daughters,” Wolf says.
“You know what I mean,” Chase hisses.
I laugh because the idea of us settling down and having kids is preposterous. About as likely as me ever eating mayonnaise again. We’re all so far from that stage of our lives, it’s laughable.
Though Chase and Grey eye me like I ought to rethink my priorities. I suppose French fries with gravy, or even ketchup, isn’t a bad combination.
Coach Hammer gets off the phone. By the way we all lean in, we each prepare to apologize, but Hammer holds up his massive hand, indicating we save it.
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.”
“We totally should’ve just glued Brandon’s hands together,” I whisper.
Chase elbows me in the ribs, which is no joke because the guy’s arm is meant for gunslinging a football. Come to think of it, he’s probably the one who accidentally jacked up my nose yesterday.
Wolf lifts and lowers his shoulders. “Oh, come on. We were having fun. We thought it was just going to be Brandon, not the commish.”
“Elyse was mortified.”
“More like the commish was mortified,” Wolf says.
Hammer tilts his head at a shut up and quit while you’re ahead angle. “Connor.” All he needs to do is use Wolf’s given name to quiet him down.
Wolf steps back and clasps his right hand over his left, standing at respectful attention. Coach Hammer is the only one who seems slightly capable of taming the wild in him.
“I need you to understand what is appropriate and what goes over the line,” Hammer says.
Chase nods like the good little choir boy he is.
“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?
Inconvenient and unnecessary.” Hammer winces.
“But mooning the commissioner, his daughter, our newest player, and a bunch of officials?”
“Hilarious,” Wolf says loud enough so only we can hear.
“Boys, there are consequences.”
“A fine?” Wolf asks, reaching for his wallet even though it would get docked from his pay. “I’ll pay for it. Whatever the amount.”
Hammer shakes his head.
“Penalty?” I ask.
“Community service?” Chase suggests.
This time, I elbow him because I don’t want him to give the coach any bright ideas.
Grey remains quiet, as though he knows the punishment will be worse.
“No, none of the above. You’re going to finishing school,” Hammer says.
All at once, there is a flurry of questions and confusion, namely that it’s a joke. One of the guys barks a laugh.
“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 plops into his seat and then tosses a newspaper down on the desk between us so we can read the headline.
Full moon over Boston.
“Catchy and fitting.” I chuckle.
Wolf joins me. Chase cracks a smile. Grey is as stony as ever.
Hammer stabs the paper with his thick finger. “You guys are terrible with the press.”
I frown. “They say any kind of press is good press.”
“The problem is we’re lacking in actual good press lately. You’re all cocky. Not at all humble.” A mite of disappointment enters Hammer’s voice.
“Oh, come on, it’s all hype,” Chase says.
“The fans love to see us getting rowdy,” I add.
“That’s a load of malarky,” Coach mutters. “They love the Bruisers because you’re the toughest team on the field, but you also have heart. Do good. Do the right thing—when I started, seventy-five percent of the guys on the team were married. Family men. Now...”
“We’re the Bruisers. We have a reputation to uphold,” Wolf says, gesturing to Grey, who has been on the team the longest. “Tell him.”
The coach’s lip slants in an I-don’t-want-to-hear-it snarl. “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’d ever heard.
Coach adds, “Team players.”
Affronted, I straighten. “We demonstrate that weekly on the field.”
“Think of it like a reform camp. Charm school. Etiquette lessons. You’ll be there a month.” Hammer’s lips press together in a slim line.
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.”
A long moment of 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 hit the field in August.” Hammer, ever the picture of calm, grits his teeth as if he’s about to growl at us.
He doesn’t need to say we’d better pass this program with flying colors or we’ll get sacked.
“So, if we want to go to training camp, first we have to attend this camp?” Chase asks.
“That’s right. Your midpoint and final reviews will determine whether you join the rest of the team before the season starts.” Coach’s nostrils flare as if it pains him to say this, but he has to answer to the team commissioner.
All at once, we voice objections and try to talk him out of it—all except Grey, who remains stoically quiet as always.
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 slaps the newspaper, which features the photo, blurred in select areas.
One of the officials must’ve snapped it with their phone.
“Hey, my rear end is not pasty. It’s muscular and tan,” I say, unable to hide my gloating smile. What can I say? I take care of the goods.
“For an Irishman,” Grey mutters.
“Listen, my hands are tied. It’s this or walk, boys.” Hammer starts shuffling folders around on his desk, indicating the meeting is over because he has more important things to do than scolding his star players.
“This team is my life,” Grey says softly.
“All of our lives,” I echo because, for all my bravado, it’s true.
“Consider this probation.” Hammer grunts.
“Did you mean walk, as in leaving the team?” Chase asks. “Considering the only thing I know how to do is play football, I’ll go to finishing school or whatever.”
“Can’t you have your father talk to the commissioner?” Wolf asks Chase.
“You know the answer to that.” Grey sighs.
“Which is—?” Wolf asks.
Chase lets out a long sigh. “If he did, whatever the deal Starky offered, his would be worse, much worse.”
I gaze toward the ceiling as though asking for help.
“You’ll each be assigned a personal etiquette coach. If you screw up, you’re off the team.” Hammer cocks an eyebrow.
We experience a group case of whiplash at that command.
“All of you,” Hammer says with finality.
“What do you mean? If one of us screws up, we’ll all be let go?”
“Starky’s rules. He wants to see you all cleaned up and revamp your reputations. You can settle down and make honest men of yourselves, but no fooling around, if you catch my meaning.” He clears his throat.
Most of the guys on the team have a reputation for being players—off the field as well as on.
“You mean we can settle down, as in get married?” Chase asks.
“If you’re not planning to meet her at the end of the aisle, don’t bother.”
“The grocery aisle?” I shrug.
Coach glares.
“What? You didn’t specify which aisle.”
“The Bruisers used to be more family-oriented. Time we return to our values.”
Grey stiffens.
Wolf glares.
Chase wears a private smile.
Hammer grips the edge of his desk. “I’m not telling you that you have to get married, but Marsha was the best thing that ever happened to me.
She taught me what matters in life. And look at one of our own—Rylen learned that lesson, too.
There’s something powerful about finding that special someone instead of playing the field.
There’s security, comfort, fun, love...”