Backfield in Motion (5 page)

As soon as he walked off the elevator, Mary,
the charge nurse, pulled him aside. “We have a patient we’d like
you to work your magic on. He needs a little TLC.”

“Giving you guys hell, is he?” They often
steered him toward kids who were tough to handle.

Mary nodded and raised her gaze to the
heavens. “Beyond hell. He’s severely burned from a head-on car
crash, which killed his mother and father. The firemen on the scene
estimated he was trapped in the car for almost a minute before they
could get to him. The only thing that saved him was his mother’s
body on top of his. The poor kid had second and third-degree burns
over a majority of his body. He just turned eleven, and he’s spent
the last several months here in the hospital.”

“Oh, man, that has to be tough for the kid.”
Stories like that reminded Bruiser that no matter how bad someone
might think their life was, someone else always had it worse.

“His mother and father were professors at
the UW. No brothers and sisters. His only living relatives are on a
church mission in South America or somewhere. They won’t return for
another month or so.”

Bruiser nodded. “So he’s all alone?”

“He had some visitors at first, friends,
teachers, but lately no one has come by. It’s pretty tragic. We do
what we can, and he tries, but it’s really hard for him.”

“Where is he?”

“Zero-four at the end of the hall. His
name’s Elliot.”

“Got it.” Bruiser leaned closer to her. “So,
Mary, when are you going to leave your husband and run away with
me?” He grinned, enjoying their usual banter, and winked at her,
even though she was old enough to be his mother.

“I’ll let you know.” She winked back.

With a chuckle, Bruiser made his way to the
end of the hall, stopping to talk to kids on the way before
entering Elliot’s room.

Lying on the bed was a small, scrawny little
guy with thick glasses and a stubborn set to his jaw. A book was
propped in a stand on his table, and he appeared to be lost in it.
Bruiser hesitated for a moment, not because the kid’s face set him
back on his heels, but because something about this kid struck a
chord deep inside him, sliding past carefully constructed walls
into that place marked with an “Enter at your own risk” sign.

Bruiser adored every one of these brave kids
with a fierce protectiveness. He often rented a suite at the ball
park and took them to baseball games. As they healed, he helped
them acclimate to a world that often couldn’t help staring at them.
He never once looked at these kids with repulsion like his parents
once had. Never.

Stepping into the room, Bruiser plastered a
smile on his face. He loved
his
kids, as he liked to think
of them, loved how they put on such a courageous face to the world,
how they opened up to him when they realized their outside
appearance meant nothing to him but their internal beauty was
everything. The kids understood him better than his closest
friends—hell, better than he understood himself. But they saw a
side of him no one else saw. The therapy worked both ways.

The kid glanced at him, his face wrinkled
and red from the skin grafts, one eye partially closed, and only
the remnants of a nose and ears.

“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” Bruiser walked
over to the bed.

The kid squinted at him through the thickest
pair of glasses Bruiser had ever seen. “I’m not your buddy.” No
animosity behind his words, just a factual statement.

Bruiser tried not to smile. “You could be if
you gave me a chance.”

“Who are you?” Elliot gripped the remote as
if it were a weapon he could wield at any second.

“Not into sports, are you?”

Elliot shook his head. “Nope. I’d rather
read than watch a bunch of men chase a ball around.” He pointed to
the pile of books on the table next to the bed.

Bruiser picked up one. Shakespeare. Damn. He
looked at the stack. Classics, every one of them: Twain, Scott,
Dickens, and Poe. At the same age, Bruiser was smuggling Playboy
magazines into his bedroom. Elliot turned the page with a bandaged
hand on a dog-eared Tom Sawyer hardcover—at least it was a kid’s
book.

“I’m Bruiser Mackey, running back for the
Seattle Lumberjacks.” Bruiser patted Elliot on the shoulder. “And
you’re Elliot.”

The kid blinked a few times then nodded.
“Yeah.” He stared at his book. “I don’t watch football. Mom said it
was barbaric, and Dad said it was boring.”

“It can be both at times.” Bruiser grinned
and sat on the edge of the bed.

Elliot met his gaze, his forehead wrinkled
with worry. “Don’t I bother you?”

Bruiser narrowed his eyes and made a show of
studying the kid, looking past the angry red splotches on his face,
missing right ear, and bare, scarred head. “Bother me? Hey, just
because you’re a bigger fan of Tom Sawyer than Tom Brady?”

“Who’s Tom Brady?” The kid stared up at him
with a quizzical expression. He really didn’t know.

“Uh, Super Bowl-winning quarterback for the
New England Patriots. Not my favorite team, but it is what it
is.”

Elliot gave him his full attention now. “Not
mine either, but then, none of them are. I don’t like
football.”

Bruiser held his hands over his heart in a
dramatic display that would’ve made the Kardashians proud. “You’re
breakin’ my heart here, Elliot.”

“I am not.” Elliot stared at him like he’d
gone nuts.

“We’re just gonna have to turn you into a
football fan. I’ll consider that my personal quest. I’ll get you to
some games.” Bruiser leaned toward the kid, still smiling, daring
Elliot to smile back.

Elliot’s mouth turned down into a bigger
frown. “I can’t go to a game. Not like this. My face scares
people.”

“I think you’re unique.” Bruiser sobered and
put on his serious face. “It’s what’s inside that matters, Elliot.
Don’t ever forget that.”

Elliot swallowed and stared at his hands
gripping the sheets.

Needing to lighten the mood, Bruiser spotted
a checkers game sitting on a chair. “How about a game?”

Elliot perked up. Kids were like that,
incredibly resilient. “I’m pretty awesome at checkers.”

“More awesome than me? I’m the awesomest
checker player around.”

“Awesomest is not a word.” Elliot stared at
him through those thick glasses, so very serious. Too serious for
an eleven-year-old.

“According to who?” Bruiser challenged,
playing the dumb blond jock to the hilt.

“Merriam-Webster,” Elliot shot right back.
The kid had spunk after all he’d been through.

“Never met the guy.”

“What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“To watch all the old
Star Trek
reruns, like a marathon.” Elliot almost appeared excited.

Bruiser gagged as if the thought were making
him sick. “Ah, man, anything but
Star Trek
. How about
Star Wars
or
Robocop
?” He actually liked Star Trek,
but the kid seemed to be enjoying their banter.

“Star Trek was ahead of its time. Did you
know that space warp is possible?”

“Uh, no, actually I never thought about it.
Sure I can’t talk you into a classic like
Planet of the
Apes
?”

Elliot shook his head pretty vigorously.
“Nope, that’s my prize. I won’t settle for less than Kirk and
Spock. You’d like it. The women have really short, tight uniforms.”
Elliot actually laughed, a rusty, hoarse sound as if it’d been a
long time since he’d used it.

“Well, now that you mention that, you’re on,
because I never lose a bet.” Bruiser grinned and got a smile in
return.

“Neither do I, not at checkers,” Elliot shot
back. “Don’t you want something if you win?” Elliot scooted his
little body higher up in the bed.

“Uh, sure, you have to watch a football game
with me.”

“Only one quarter. I’m too young for more
with that level of violence.” Elliot stared at him with no
expression on his face.

It took Bruiser a full minute to realize the
kid was jerking his chain. “A full half.”

Elliot shook his head. “One quarter. That’s
my final offer.”

“Okay, fine, but I get to call you buddy.
Deal?”

“Deal—buddy.” Elliot smiled at him, really
smiled this time. Bruiser grinned back.

They setup the board game on Elliot’s lap
tray, and the kid thoroughly enjoyed kicking Bruiser’s ass. Bruiser
promised to come back over the weekend with a full DVD set of the
original
Star Trek
series. Elliot gave him a hug when he
left, as witnessed by a grateful set of nurses.

For all his Super Bowl rings and awards,
nothing beat the satisfaction Bruiser got out of seeing these kids
smile and hearing them laugh, ass-whooping or not.

Chapter 4

Mac sat on a stool positioned in the middle
of Zach and Kelsie’s huge kitchen while three women circled her
like she-wolves prowling around a wounded fawn. Kelsie Murphy
rubbed her chin and stood back, as if she were a painter studying a
blank canvas.

Lavender, Tyler’s girlfriend, took a sip of
her wine and hiccupped. Rachel, Derek’s wife and an assistant
football scout for the Lumberjacks, grabbed the counter to steady
her very unsteady feet. She had a hard enough time with gravity
without adding alcohol to the equation.

Mac was putting her future in the
she-wolves’ hands, and she was still sober. What did that say about
her?

“Where do we start?” Lavender hiccupped
again and topped off her glass, tossing the empty wine bottle in
the garbage. With a clink, it nestled among the other wine
bottles.

“Bruiser’s sister volunteered to do her
hair, add some highlights, take the dirty out of the dirty blonde.
I’ll teach her to do makeup.” Kelsie wobbled around her, taking a
big gulp from her wine glass.

Mac marveled at how someone could be so
drunk and so graceful at the same time. When Mac drank too much,
she got loud and lurched about like a three-legged hound dog.

Lavender leaned against the counter. “I have
just the dress. I suspect we’re about the same size. It’s sexy as
hell.”

“She needs sexy. Who would have guessed you
were hiding that figure under all those baggy clothes?” Kelsie
said.

Rachel dropped into a chair. “I’ve worked
quite a bit with Veronica. I’ll give you the scoop on her so you
can make small talk and impress her with your knowledge of things
not related to plants.”

“I don’t have any knowledge other than
plants and sports.”

“You will,” Rachel cackled with an evil
laugh and her sisters in crime joined in.

“So,” Kelsie ticked off on her ruby red
fingertips, “clothes, hair, makeup, small talk. What else? What are
we missing?”

“Wine. We’re missing wine.” Lavender snapped
her fingers. “More wine, garçon.”

The other two draped themselves across the
stools and poured another drink. This time they coerced Mac into
joining them. A few hours and way too many wine glasses and tequila
shots later, Mac was certifiably drunk, having a great time, and
refusing to be the first of the group to end the night, probably a
bad move on her part.

Lavender leaned her elbows on the counter
and grinned a wicked grin, obviously up to no fucking good. “Okay,
ladies, truth or dare. If you were single, and you could sleep with
any man in the world, who would it be?”

Mac rolled her eyes. Couldn’t they just
enjoy a good drunk without playing stupid games?

“Zach,” Kelsie hiccupped and giggled.

“Derek,” Rachel grinned, her eyes all glassy
and unfocused.

“No, no, no,” Lavender groaned and pounded
her forehead with her fist. “Pretend Derek, Tyler, and Zach are out
of the picture. Give me a name.”

“It’s your idea, Vin, you give us a
name.”

“Channing Tatum, but I still think Ty’s
hotter. Rachel, you’re next.”

“Christian Olsen. Kelsie?”

Kelsie giggled, scratched her head as if
she’d forgotten the question, and finally answered. “Matt
Bomer.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Mac. She
belched, a very unladylike sound, but then no one had ever accused
her of being a lady. Not one bit. Squinting, she tried to focus on
the blurry faces swimming in front of her. At least she still had
enough of her wits about her to keep her mouth shut, even as she
felt her face getting redder. This was not the time for
honesty.

Lavender narrowed her eyes and raised one
eyebrow. “It’s one of the guys, isn’t it?”

“One of
our
guys?” Rachel held her
hand up to her mouth and ripped off a hunk of fingernail.

“No. No.” Mac shook her head. Big mistake,
as it made the room spin. Or maybe her body was spinning and the
room was stationary.

Lavender wasn’t about to let her off easy,
drunk or not. She narrowed her eyes and studied Mac. “Wait a
minute.” She started to smile. “It’s Bruiser.”

Wallowing in embarrassment and speechless
with horror, Mac knew her face revealed her most carefully guarded
secret.

“It
is
Bruiser.” Lavender clapped her
hands together, reveling in her discovery way too damn much.

“As in
our
Bruiser with the
eight-pack abs,” Lavender hiccupped again and giggled.

“Bruiser with the great hair,” Kelsie smiled
dreamily.

“Bruiser with those smoky blue eyes.” Rachel
leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles, and sighed a deep
sigh.

“Well, I mean, you know, who wouldn’t think
he was hot?” Mac backpedaled, but even in their inebriated state
the women weren’t buying it.

“You have a crush on Bruiser.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I —I don’t feel that way, I really
don’t.”

“Bullshit.” Lavender obviously knew crap
when she heard it, which probably came from living with Tyler for
the past year.