Backfield in Motion (24 page)

Her day started after the team left the
field, making for late nights. But no matter how many hours she
spent at work and how exhausted she was when she came home, Bruiser
snuck into her thoughts and her dreams, even though he didn’t sneak
into her house.

With his absence from her life, she
rededicated herself to the search for Will, going after it with
single-minded purpose of an alcoholic pursuing his next drink,
reminding herself a bit of her father.

Mac caught glimpses of Bruiser on the field
with his glistening, tanned, shirtless body and blond hair. On
Monday night, he showed up at O’Malley’s for the team’s night out
and sat at the opposite end of the table from Mac, teasing her as
usual, like nothing ever happened between them. Maybe to him
nothing had. Another day, another woman.

Then she caught him staring at her, and the
sadness and regret in his blue-gray eyes haunted her ever
since.

Tonight—the first Friday of training
camp—she worked until dusk, tired but satisfied with how the turf
was holding up. As she walked toward her car, Brett caught up with
her. The guy usually studied game film until late at night. Only
Zach and Tyler stayed later.

“I’m glad I caught you. Got a few minutes?”
Brett asked.

“Sure, I was just heading home.”

“How about a drink?”

Mac hesitated, wondering how much Brett knew
about her and Bruiser and whether he hoped for a second chance now
that Bruiser was out of the picture.

“Hey, just friends, right?” Good thing he
was a mind reader.

“Okay, sure.” She didn’t feel like going
home alone tonight, looking across the yard as Will’s widow and her
new husband had yet another party while her father watched their
every move through binoculars.

Mac followed Brett to O’Malley’s and sat
across from him, making small talk about which rookies and free
agents had a chance of making the team. Brett’s eyes lit up
whenever he talked football. It was a damn shame he wasn’t with a
team where he’d have a chance of starting, but Harris tied up that
job for the foreseeable future.

“I went fishing with Bruiser last week.” The
sudden change of subject caught Mac off guard. Brett’s blue eyes
watched her, as if gauging her reaction, not missing a thing.

“Oh, did you catch anything?” She asked,
wondering where Brett was going with this.

“Uh.” He scratched his head as if he didn’t
want to answer that.

“Guess not. Do you ever catch any fish?”

“It’s the journey, not the destination.”
Brett smiled at her.

“If you say so. I’ll have to take your word
for it. Fishing seems like an excuse for guys to laze around on a
boat, drink beer and swap tall tales all day.”

Brett’s half smile said it all. He looked
over her shoulder for a moment then back at her. His expression
sobered. “Bruiser misses you, Mac.”

Mac shook her head, trying to clear it.
Surely she didn’t hear him correctly. “I thought you didn’t like us
together.”

He shrugged and stared down at the table. “I
didn’t, but I was wrong. You too were good for each other.
Bruiser’s been a bigger asshole than Harris for the past two weeks.
He’s got the rookies shaking in their cleats whenever he comes
near. And you—you’ve been a real bitch, too. All the guys have
noticed. They’re giving you a wide berth.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment.” Mac
resorted to sarcasm; it was her go-to defense when the shit got too
deep to handle. “The team doesn’t know about Bruiser and me, do
they?”

He shook his head. “Nope, only me, but they
sure as hell suspect something’s fucked up.”

Mac shrugged and raised her hand to order
another beer.

“Give him another chance, Mac.” Brett
finally got to the heart of the matter, and Mac wished she’d gone
home instead of accepting his offer for a drink.

“He’s the one who walked out, the one who
chose to stay away.”

“You might need to make the first move.”

“Are you kidding? Why would I put myself
through that grief again?”

“Because you care about him. He cares about
you.”

“Did some linebacker slam your head into the
ground today or what? Bruiser would never say that.”

“Not in words, but I know him.”

Mac sighed. Typical Brett. Always putting
everyone’s feelings ahead of his own. Bruiser and she could learn a
thing or three from the unselfish backup quarterback. “I know him,
too. It’s all about Bruiser. He’s an attention slut. Everything he
does is carefully calculated to net the most press.”

“You don’t honestly believe that.”

She nodded. She wanted to, oh, how she
wanted to. A selfish, egotistical Bruiser was much easier to
dislike than the glimpses she’d seen of a completely generous, kind
Bruiser. “For example, his work with the burn foundation. He’s
their sponsor, but you can bet if it didn’t net him good press,
he’d never do it.” She cringed at her own feeble justifications.
Bruiser wasn’t that guy, and she knew it.

Brett gave her a look that seemed to
insinuate that she’d missed the mark. “If you really believe that,
you truly don’t deserve to be with a good guy like him.”

“What do you mean by that?” Now she felt
even more like a bitch because Brett spoke the truth.

“Did you know that Bruiser works with child
burn victims because of his twin brother?”

“No, I had no idea.” Mac’s bitch status just
upgraded to beyond bitch. She hugged herself tight and stared at
her beer as if it held the answers to her problems.

“His twin brother, Brice, was badly burned
in an accident.”

Mac’s hands flew to her mouth. Forget
bitch
—that was too kind of a term for her.

“Brice couldn’t deal with his horrendous
burns and quality of life, so he shot himself in the head a year
later at fourteen years old. Bruiser found him.”

“I didn’t know.” That explained the sadness
lurking in Bruiser’s eyes and the nightmares—the horrible, horrible
nightmares.

“Yeah, well, you of all people should never
judge a book by its cover.”

She deserved that and more. “Why does he
keep his twin a secret?”

“Because he feels responsible for what
happened.”

“How could he be responsible?”

“Survivor’s guilt, maybe. It’s not my place
to tell you the details. I’ve said more than I should.” Brett
looked away, and Mac was certain the Army vet knew a thing or two
about survivor’s guilt.

“Yeah, I can understand that. I just never
imagined Bruiser—”

“No one does. Why do you think he’s so good
with those kids? Especially Elliot. He’s been working with burn
victims since college.”

Bruiser? Since college? Sure he’d been great
with Elliot, and he’d mentioned others and that he tried not to get
involved. She’d never guessed the extent of his special mission.
Why did he work so hard to play the part of a shallow, pretty boy?
It had to have something to do with the pain he lived with every
day.

And if anyone understood the pain of losing
a sibling, Mac did.

* * * * *

Saturday, Bruiser rushed to Elliot’s foster
home in response to a frantic phone call from Elliot. No one
answered the door at the foster home, but Elliot said he’d be
there. Panic rose inside Bruiser as he tried the doorknob and found
the door unlocked. Oh, God, no, not again.

The cold hand of fear clutched at his
throat, robbing him of oxygen. He froze for a split second,
gathered his courage, and prayed to any god who would listen to
him.

Bruiser ran to the small bedroom Elliot
shared with another kid, fearing the worst as his heart pounded in
his ears. The kid sat on the bed, very much alive. Bruiser leaned
against the doorway, waiting for his heart rate to slow and his
head to stop pounding. Elliot didn’t look up, just fiddled with a
loose thread on the worn quilt.

Finally trusting himself to speak, Bruiser
struggled to keep his voice even and casual. “Hey, buddy. Going
somewhere?” He pointed at the duffle bag on Elliot’s bed.

The kid stood up, still not looking at him.
“My aunt and uncle are back from their mission in South America.
She’s coming to get me.”

“Today?”

“Any minute.”

“That’s good. You’ll be with family.”
Bruiser hoped like hell they’d give Elliot the love and attention
he so desperately needed and at least partially fill the hole left
by the death of his parents. Surely, the type of people who spent a
year in a third-world country helping those less fortunate could
love a physically and emotionally damaged little boy.

“They’re not really family. I don’t know
them. Aunt Ruth was married to my mom’s brother. After he died in a
logging accident when I was a baby, she married Uncle John. Mom
never liked her. Mom said that people like Aunt Ruth and Uncle John
are the reason she quit going to church. She called them
hypnotists.”

“Hypnotists? Oh, you mean, hypocrites.”

“Whatever.” Elliot looked up, his eyes
filled with unshed tears.

“There’s nobody else in your family that
could take custody?” Bruiser couldn’t shake the sick feeling
nesting in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to protect Elliot like
he hadn’t Brice, yet he felt helpless to do so.

“No one.” Elliot shook his head and sniffed,
looking every bit like he was going to cry. “I want my Mom and
Dad.”

Bruiser crossed the room and put his arm
around the boy, pulling him tight against his side. He’d give
anything to take away Elliot’s pain, if only he could. “This will
be a good thing, you wait and see.”

They both looked up as a scowling fat woman
waddled into the room. Her polyester pants squeaked as her thighs
rubbed together. The woman did a double take when she saw Bruiser,
her gaze full of suspicion as if she’d caught him stealing family
heirlooms. He tried to smile, but his smile stuck somewhere between
his heart and his lips. One look at her and dread rose inside him.
Elliot wrapped his arms Bruiser’s waist and clung to him.

This woman didn’t exactly give off warm and
fuzzy vibes. She didn’t rush to her nephew and throw her arms
around him to comfort, didn’t even seem to notice him at first.

When her gaze dropped to the little boy
plastered to Bruiser’s side, she staggered back a few steps at the
sight of Elliot’s face and stared, open-mouthed. Her hand went to
her heart as if she might faint. Elliot ducked his head and pulled
his Jacks ball cap down tight over his face.

The woman looked away and covered her mouth,
as if she were going to retch. “Are you ready to go?” She couldn’t
even look at the kid. Bruiser wanted to grab her and shake her,
make her see the scared, lonely kid hiding in this hurt body.

Bruiser stood, tucking Elliot next to him in
a purely instinctual protective gesture. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m a
friend. Name’s Bruce.”

“I’m Ruth Jones, and I’m a very busy woman.
I don’t have time to stand around here and make small talk with
you.” She turned her back on them both and headed to the door.
“Elliot, let’s go.”

Elliot glanced at Bruiser, his eyes pleading
to be saved. Bruiser faked a smile he sure as hell didn’t feel.
“It’s okay, buddy. I’m sure your aunt’s home will be a wonderful
one for you.” Bullshit and they both knew it. He turned to Ruth.
“I’d like to visit.”

The fat woman half turned and heaved a
put-upon sigh. She dug into her monstrous purse and produced a
coffee-stained business card. “Fine. Call me. We’ll arrange
something as long as you don’t expect me to be a taxi service.” She
still avoided looking at Elliot. “Let’s go.”

Panic crossed Elliot’s face, and he gripped
Bruiser’s arm. “Can’t I stay with you? I won’t be any trouble. I’ll
make my bed, do my homework, and stay out from underfoot.”

Bruiser looked down at him and shook his
head, feeling like an asshole of the worst kind. “I wish you could,
Elliot. I really do.”

“Then why can’t I?”

Bruiser glanced at the woman tapping her
foot near the door. He had a million responses to Elliot’s
questions and every one of them was selfish. Why couldn’t he adopt
Elliot? Why couldn’t he give a kid a better life than he’d get with
this unpleasant witch?

“Please,” Elliot begged.

“Look, I’ll see what I can do. For now
you’ll need to go with your Aunt Ruth.”

Elliot’s shoulders slumped and his entire
body sagged. “Okay.” He looked toward the door, his aunt already
out of sight, hesitated, and shot an accusing glare at Bruiser.
“You said everything would be all right.”

“It will.” Bruiser put his hands on Elliot’s
shoulders and squeezed, feeling as if he might cry himself.

“Promise?” Elliot stared up at him with
earnest, trusting eyes, as if he truly believed Bruiser could fix
this fucking mess.

“Yeah, I promise. I do.”

Bruiser watched Elliot shuffle from the room
and wondered how the hell he would ever be able to keep a promise
like that.

Chapter 17

On a rare day off, Mac stared in the mirror
as Shanna trimmed her hair with confident precision. It’d been
almost a week since her talk with Brett, and she’d been torn
between ducking and hiding and facing Bruiser and his secrets head
on. First, she needed more info, and Shanna was the one to give it
to her.

“I didn’t know Bruce had a twin
brother.”

Shanna’s scissors stopped in mid-snip. Mac
caught her surprised expression in the mirror. “Bruce told you
about Brice?”

“No, a friend of his did.”

“Figures. I’ve never known him to talk about
it. None of us do. Our family is weird like that.” Shanna tugged on
the hair on both sides of Mac’s face to make sure it was even.

“Why is that?” Mac pushed it, having no
doubt Shanna would nail her if she stepped over the line.

Shanna shrugged and picked up the curling
iron. “We’re experts at denial.”