Chapter 2 Grey
GREY
The only reason I know I’m still alive is because my pulse thunders in my ears.
I don’t feel the strain on my muscles as I pound up the stadium stairs.
The sweat pouring off me doesn’t sting my eyes.
The ache in my joints, I know should be there isn’t even dull or distant as I take two at a time on the last stretch before I reach the top.
I feel nothing.
And I haven’t for what seems like a hundred years. A hundred years without my best friend, my brother, my hero. And no, I’m not a vampire, zombie, or some other monster, though the guys on the team say I’m a beast.
In reality, it’s been almost seven months since my world changed, but reality is a foggy thing these days.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve run the steps, but I know that if I don’t stop soon, one of my teammates is bound to come out here and tell me to take it easy. For anyone else, they’d demand one more set.
I don’t want pity or to be treated with kid gloves, thank you very much.
But I’m the senior statesman on the team and after they heard about what happened to Bran, they started treating me differently, more gently.
No surprise when half the time I don’t feel like myself. The problem is, I don’t feel anything.
After another set on the stairs, I find the familiar row up in the nose-bleed section. Years ago, Dad took Bran and me to a Bruisers game while we were visiting Mom’s cousin here in Boston. The ladies went for lunch and shopping while my life changed forever.
The game started with a flyover by the quarterback’s brother, a pilot in the Air Force.
I’ll never forget Bran’s expression as he watched the plane zoom overhead.
We were riveted, shocked at something so powerful—we were used to small seaplanes and the family station wagon.
Then the response of the crowd cheering was sheer awe.
He told us he wanted to be an Air Force pilot. When Dad explained what that would require and the danger it could pose, he was undeterred.
An hour into the game, I watched my future play before my eyes. I decided I wanted to become a football player. Seeing the guys rush up and down the field, playing real-life chess moves to bring the ball from one spot to another. It’s strategy, geometry, and a healthy expression of ferocity.
Those two goals were achieved, but I never expected what the risks Bran took would cost me.
My elbows rest on my knees as I hold my head in my hands.
Early on in our respective careers, Bran would cruise overhead during the season opener—carrying on the tradition of that game Dad took us to all those years ago.
Later, Bran shifted into special operations.
Suffice it to say, he won’t put on an aerial show this year.
I’m not even sure why I’m still playing, other than the fact that I don’t know what else to do. I was planning on retiring last season, but if I give up football, I’ll have nothing. No one.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. As usual, I consider ignoring it. I’ve never been much for pointless talking, especially not lately.
However, I check in case it’s my mother. Instantly wishing I hadn’t, my lawyer’s name scrolls across the screen. I let it go to voicemail, but instead of the telltale ping of a message, it rings again.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Hi, Greyson. It’s Nancy, Mr. Brown’s assistant, from Michaelson and Brown,” she says formally with my full name as if we still use wall-mounted phones without caller ID.
“Hey, Nancy.” My voice is scratchy from disuse.
“I have some news regarding the matter that was brought to your attention several months ago. The one you requested Mr. Brown look into. We are still waiting for a final sign-off from the judge, but it looks like it’s a solid claim and is going forward.”
Her words come at me slowly, as if through a fog. People describe clouds as soft. Sure, they look like cotton fluff. But there’s no substance. It’s just vapor. I’m in the clouds. Surrounded by them and not in a good way.
“Okay. Well, whatever needs to be done. I’m in the offseason and plan to go back to Michigan, so my mother will be there to help.”
“How nice. I’m sure she’s excited about this development.”
She would be if she had any idea how much our lives are about to change. I manage a grunt in response.
“Listen, there’s just one little matter. Because your residence is in Michigan and we’re working with Massachusetts courts as well as the custodian’s home State of New Jersey—”
I lose track of what she says next, distracted by how something like this could’ve happened. How I let it. I’ve spent hours and long nights trying to understand, beating myself up, and struggling with guilt. The only saving grace is that I’m trying to make it right.
“We’re looking at about another ten days, two weeks, max. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, of course,” I reply, not having any idea what I’m supposed to understand because the day Ted Brown called me personally to explain the complicated situation is still catching up to me.
“We’re working hard to obtain an exception to the clause that you have to be married and will be in touch in the next couple of days. I hope you enjoy the rest of the afternoon, Grey. Thank you for your time.” Nancy hangs up.
The line goes dead. And that’s mostly how I feel, except for one major detail that I can’t connect to the rest of the situation that prompted the call.
I belatedly whisper, “I am married.”
A faint ringing sounds in my ears and follows me down the stadium steps, through the tunnel, and into the Bruisers’ locker room, where I shower.
I cannot fathom life if this doesn’t work out favorably.
But my hands are tied at the moment, and I know my lawyer and his team are doing all they can to make it right.
In a haze, I wander through the hall and find Chase saying goodbye to three Bruiser Babes. I have a vague conversation with him about bachelorhood and a reality show while he talks to his sister on the phone.
Between Bran being declared MIA and my ex royally messing up and then taking off, I’ve detached, rendering me empty, checked out.
And that’s how I find myself in the team lounge, trying to figure out how I got here. Not literally, because I’m not that far gone, but preoccupied with the fact that I’m about to take full custody of my son if all goes favorably with the court.
“We could glue his hands together while he’s sleeping,” Declan’s mischievous voice breaks into my thoughts and I snap to attention.
With these guys, you can never be too careful or let your guard down. I taught them well, even though I can no longer muster my inner rascal.
Chase, our quarterback, sits down near me and I eye the rest of the guys carefully, well aware they’re conspiring.
Declan is the wide receiver and the mastermind of whatever misdeed they’re hatching.
Connor “Wolf” Wolfe earned that name on and off the field, where he plays safety—fathers look after your daughters because they are not safe around him.
Rylen, the running back, is on his honeymoon. As far as they know, he’s the first among us to get hitched.
Then there’s me, the linebacker ghost with secrets, brooding over here in the corner—at least I hear Declan mutter some version of that about me.
All the same, I pick up on what they’re putting down about pranking the newbie on our team.
“Dude, he’s our new center. We kind of need him to have use of his hands,” I say in a flat tone, but mean it to be practical.
“Yeah. Coach Hammer says his hands are gold.” Wolf grumbles because he’s a show-don’t-tell guy like me.
“The commish says he’s like the rising sun and any team would be lucky to have him.” Chase shrugs like he wants to make it clear he isn’t taking sides.
“Luck has little to do with it. I say he’s in it for the paycheck.” Wolf flashes Chase a look that should get him punched, but the QB is a nice guy and lets it go.
I sniff, because if Wolf had said that to me when I was Chase’s age, furniture and a nose would be broken.
I didn’t join the Boston Bruisers by accident. It’s not that I’m violent, but I don’t suffer fools or snide remarks unless they come out of Declan’s mouth because he’s a jokester and can take it as well as he can give it.
“Now, now. Let’s give him a chance,” Chase says. “You felt the same about me.” He lifts an eyebrow, referring to his start on the team as a legacy player.
“You proved yourself.” Elbows on knees, I clap my hands together, eager to move on from this conversation.
“So will Brandon,” Chase says.
“Brandon Nash will have to do more than prove himself. He’ll have to endure our killer practices and show that he’s a team player, not a showboating—” Wolf finishes with what Coach Hammer refers to as locker room words.
We all know what’s coming. Yes, Brandon Nash, the newest player for the Boston Bruisers, will have to prove himself, but he’ll also have to survive team initiation.
“How about we replace his toothpaste with mayonnaise?” Declan wrinkles his nose as though having instant second thoughts.
Chase tilts his head from side to side. “We could always use the old standby.”
Wolf slashes the air with his hand in a downward motion. “No. We’re not covering the toilet seats with plastic wrap. Coach Hammer made me clean it up last time. Never again, man.”
“Doughnuts filled with mayo? Mayo in Oreos?” Declan suggests. His slight Irish accent reminds me of his roots, which bring to mind family and my own.
“What’s with you and mayo?” Chase asks.
Wolf’s eyes darken and his lip curls. “I know what we’re going to do.”
“Oh, boy. He has that look.” I shake my head. “Whatever it is, I’m not sure I want to take part.”
Declan cuffs me. “No, you’re not backing out. With Rylen off on his honeymoon, we need all the manpower we can get.”
Wolf gestures for us to gather around. I reluctantly get to my feet and join the guys. Little do they know, this might be the last time. I didn’t announce my retirement, but given the changes coming to my life, I might have to. However, I’m not ready to let this go.
After Wolf relays the plan, I frown. “Brandon Nash is not going to be impressed.”
“Sure, he will,” Wolf says with a wink. “Let’s see. Macy, Stacy, Allison, Keisha... They all seemed impressed by my—”
I hold up my hand for him to stop right there. “We do not need to hear about your latest conquests.”
Chase shifts uncomfortably.
“I think Rylen would approve,” Declan says.
Only Wolf laughs because, given the delicate details of the prank and Rylen’s newlywed status, I find it hard to believe. Or at least, I imagine he’d have second thoughts.
Do I? Not especially. I’m not even wearing a ring.
We hash out the finer details of the plan to prank the newest member of the team, stack our hands into the center of the tight-knit circle, and holler, “Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’”—the team slogan.
Wolf convinces Chase, the most amiable of the crew, to send Brandon a text, inviting him to hang out in the team lounge, where we’ll lie in wait.
Chase’s phone pings with a reply a moment later. “Brandon said that he’s on his way.”
Wolf grins, showing his teeth. “Perfect.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know why I let you guys talk me into this.”
Wolf stops short and shoots me a glare. To an outsider, they’d think we’re about to throw punches—I won’t lie, it crosses my mind. We’ve all brawled, then made up like brothers.
As the oldest on the team, at times, they’d underestimate me.
Now, they call my fists Lightning and Thunder.
I’m fast and hit hard—on the field and off.
Little do they know that when my brother and I were kids, that’s what people in our neighborhood and kids at school would call the pair of us.
He was Lightning. I was Thunder. But all I am now is stormy.
Sometimes, Wolf needs a mouthful of humble pie, though I’d try not to break any teeth.
But in this instance, he’s being a football brother because he recognizes the clouds that drifted into my life several months ago, stuck around, and then turned downright dark last month when I hadn’t heard from my ex for weeks and discovered she dumped our kid with her mother.
“Who started the newbie initiation, Grey?” he asks.
Nearing forty, I’m the oldest member of the team and it’s the only one in the league I’ve ever played for—I’m well aware that it’s rare not to be traded at some point. Even Coach Hammer jokes that I run the show and seeks my input for plays and team business.
“Who was the original mastermind behind all the pranks?” Wolf asks.
My lips form a thin line because I know what he’s getting at.
“Don’t forget who you are. Don’t let it get you. He wouldn’t want that.” Wolf turns back to the room.
My nostrils flare on my exhale, but I get his meaning. No more needs to be said, except the news that balances on the tip of my tongue. In addition to Bran being MIA, presumed KIA, I should tell them what’s coming my way, but footsteps echo from down the hall.
Wolf signals that we get into position for the prank on Brandon.
In Rylen’s absence, Declan leads us in what would be the classic start of a game and says, to the tune of Hut, hut, hike, “On the count of three...”
I have second thoughts. I’m getting too old for this, but the door swings open.
Wolf says, “Now.”
At that moment, whoever stands there gets an eyeful of the Boston Bruisers’ star players’ backsides.
“It’s a full moon in Boston,” Declan shouts.
Wolf howls.
Someone gasps.
A camera flashes.
I groan because as we turn around, it’s clear Brandon isn’t alone in the doorway. Pro league Commissioner Starkowsky and his daughter Elyse, along with several other team officials, wear various expressions of surprise and disgust.
The commish, shielding his daughter’s eyes, starts yelling.
We make fast apologies. Well, except Wolf. He’s never one to say sorry.
Elyse wiggles out of her father’s grasp. “Dad, I’ve been in and out of locker rooms for almost thirty years. I’ve seen—”
Starky’s face looks like an overripe grape. “You are excused,” he blusters.
It all happens in a split second, but we flee from the lounge, dispersing like kids caught ringing the neighbor’s doorbell and running.
All that does is remind me of Thunder and Lightning. But where there should be a swell of emotion, there’s nothing but emptiness.