Backfield in Motion (4 page)

“Yeah, you pricks backed me into a corner. I
couldn’t turn her down without hurting her feelings.”

“Do you care? About her feelings, that
is?”

“Yeah, I do. Surprised? I like Mac.” Bruiser
was pissed and out of sorts, which probably had something to do
with his recurrent fantasies about Mac riding him for all he was
worth into one mind-altering orgasm after another. Shit, he’d been
trying to squelch those particular visions for the past week by
dating a different woman every night. And each night, instead of
taking Ms. Anonymous home and banging her brains out, he dropped
them off and left. Visions of Mac’s pretty brown eyes and toned,
athletic body moving underneath his had driven away his desire for
anyone else.

God, he needed to get a grip. Bruiser rubbed
his eyes with his fists.

“Everyone likes Mac.” Brett ground his teeth
together, obviously misinterpreting Bruiser’s attitude as not
wanting to take Mac out.

Feeling oddly weary, Bruiser leaned his
elbows on the table, rested his chin in his palms, and looked up.
“Not as much as you do. Why don’t you ask her out?” Maybe that’d
solve his current preoccupation. He didn’t mess with another man’s
woman. Ever. If he could get these two damaged souls together, he
could go back to his normal life of meaningless, recreational sex
and superficial friendships.

“I don’t know. She probably wouldn’t go.”
Brett took a big gulp of his beer.

“How the hell do you know? You’ve never
asked her.”

“I might.”

Bruiser stared at his friend and shook his
head. “You’re a piece of work, Brett, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Sure does,” Bruiser chuckled.

Brett stared at his beer as if it held the
answers to world peace. “I wish I could take her.”

“I wish you could, too. Cancel your
plans.”

“I can’t. I’m in Portland judging a pet
parade fundraiser to benefit to an animal shelter. Remember? I
asked you, and you said no. Said you had commitments.”

“Uh, yeah, that. My plans got cancelled.”
Bruiser had been outed. “I’m not good with animals.” Pets reminded
him too much of his own crappy upbringing with his barfly mother
and crazy-wild sister and their unattended menagerie of dogs and
cats. “Hey, I gave you a big check to help with expenses.”

“You think money replaces people,
Bruce?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. His
ex-wife, CeCe, would say money solved everything. She took half of
his rookie-year signing bonus and hooked up with a New York
quarterback so she could bask in the limelight of the Big Apple.
Bruiser had really loved that woman. Adored her, actually. They’d
been together since high school, dated all through college, and
married as soon as the Jacks drafted him in the first round. Less
than a year later, she left him with a broken heart and empty bank
account. She’d been one in a handful of people in his life who’d
deserted him, and after that Bruiser tore a page from his family’s
playbook and kept his relationships superficial. A guy didn’t get
fucked over that way.

He had one simple rule when it came to
women: His one-week rule. Most didn’t last one entire night, but
none of them lasted a week. Not since CeCe. At least he hadn’t
confided his secret guilt to her. If she’d known the depth of his
private pain, she’d have used it and turned it back around on
him.

She’d been his biggest fucking mistake.
Being betrayed by someone you loved and trusted sucked worse than
losing the Super Bowl in the last second of the game.

He kept his relationships so superficial, he
didn’t even know much about Brett, his best friend, and he didn’t
ask, even though he suspected his buddy had similar scars from his
own past. Brett had interrupted his college education to become a
paratrooper. Sometimes Bruiser caught the tragic sadness in Brett’s
eyes and worried like hell about his friend, but he kept his
concerns to himself, holding the world at arm’s length and
concentrating on football and his foundation.

Except lately he’d been concentrating on
Mac, which was fucking weird. Hell, he didn’t even know if she
cleaned up well—or cleaned up at all. A new image crashed into his
brain: Mac wrestling with him in a pit of warm, thick, gooey mud.
Her body covered with wet, soft dirt and her nipples standing out
against the material of a thin T-shirt and nothing else.

Oh, hell. He smacked the flat of his palm
against his forehead.

“What is wrong with you?” Brett narrowed his
eyes and studied Bruiser with a gaze that pierced way too deep.

“Nothing, just got a headache. I’ll flip you
for the next round of drinks.”

“Nah, I’m done for the night. Gotta get back
to the kids.” Brett’s kids consisted of a shitload of animal
rejects, which was why Bruiser never went to Brett’s place.

“Catch ya later then.”

Brett sketched a salute and headed for the
door, stiffing Bruiser for the bill. With a sigh, he took out his
wallet and paid up. Across the room, an athletic, blonde woman
chatted with her friends. She caught his eye and waved. She
reminded him a lot of Mac. Bruiser got up from the table and made
his way to her. Maybe he just needed a change in type.

Or maybe he needed something more, something
he wouldn’t get from a one-night stand with a stranger he picked up
in a bar.

Smiling at the ladies, he walked past their
table and out the door.

Chapter 3

Mac plopped down in a plastic lawn chair on
the concrete patio of her little house and kept her back to the
house next door. Two years ago she’d planted arborvitae next to the
fence dividing the two properties in hopes they’d block any view of
the neighbors, but the shrubs weren’t growing fast enough for her
taste.

The old craftsman-style cottage had been her
home for about four years. Previously, her grandmother had lived
there. This property had been in her family for four
generations.

After Mac made the decision to move into the
long-vacant house, she’d worked side-by-side with her brother Will
to make it livable. Since he’d lived next door, it’d been easy for
him to drop by and work on stuff, even though it pissed off his
selfish wife, Sonja. No one in the family ever understood why Will
married the woman. Well, other than the obvious. She had big boobs
and wasn’t afraid to show them off. But a wedding ring hadn’t
guaranteed Will exclusive rights to that show.

Mac rubbed her eyes with her fists and let
out a shuddering sigh. She glanced around her carefully landscaped
yard with its flower gardens erupting in a riot of summer colors.
Birds splashed in the birdbath and flitted to and from various
birdfeeders. She loved her little house and was immensely proud of
all the improvements she’d made over the years.

Shifting in her lawn chair, Mac’s gaze swung
toward her house. Beyond the open French doors on the opposite
wall, an ornate, antique mantle surrounded the old brick fireplace.
Will had found it on CraigsList and sanded, stained, and installed
it as a surprise for her birthday.

God, she missed her brother with his
dancing, mischievous eyes and zest for life. His absence left a
huge hole in her heart that time didn’t seem to heal.

Bart rubbed his black head against her leg,
and she bent down to pick him up. The crotchety, old black cat with
one good eye and a ripped ear purred his approval. He’d showed up
at her back door one day and demanded in no uncertain terms that he
upgrade his status to a house cat. She’d relented and been his
loyal servant ever since. Mac hugged him close, burying her face in
his soft fur, while his purring gave her a sliver of comfort.

“Mac? I thought I’d find you out here.”

Mac turned and smiled as her father, Craig
Hernandez, sank his lanky body into the chair next to her. “Hi,
Dad.”

He looked weary and old with his bloodshot
eyes and rumpled shirt he’d most likely slept in, if he got any
sleep. So much for a relaxing retirement.

“Hey, honey. I got a lead via the website
yesterday. Someone thinks they may have spotted your brother in
Port Townsend last weekend. What time do you want to head up there
on Saturday?”

Try not at all
. Mac cringed inwardly
at her traitorous thoughts. “Dad, I can’t go Saturday. I have
plans.”

Her father frowned. Nothing deterred him
from his mission. “What could be more important than finding your
brother?”

“What’s the point, Dad? We aren’t going to
find him in Port Townsend because he’s not there.” She fought to
keep the exasperation from her voice. The last thing she wanted to
do was spend the three-hour drive cooped up in a car with her
father as he went over all the evidence he’d collected for the
trillionth time.

Guilt and duty tore her in half. He had no
one else. After Will disappeared her dad had driven away his
golfing and bowling buddies with his obsession to find his son.
He’d alienated the only woman he’d dated since Mac’s mother died
when Mac was only three.

Only Mac remained. She couldn’t abandon him.
Or Will. Lately, she’d begun to fear her father might be losing it,
on the verge of a breakdown or something.

“We can’t pass up any leads. You never know
which will be the one. What’s wrong with you, Mac? We always
reserve the weekends for Will.”

“I know. I just need this Saturday for
something else. How about Sunday?”

He brightened up, and she mentally kicked
herself for caving once again. “Sunday’s a deal.” He stood, bent
down to stroke the cat on her lap, and turned to leave.

“Want to stay for dinner?” She longed for
just one normal dinner with her father where they’d talk about
sports, fertilizer, and last’s week’s pool game. Only she knew they
wouldn’t.

“Can’t. I’m meeting with Trudy.”

Not Trudy again. “Dad, there’s nothing more
Trudy can tell you. She’s milking you for a free dinner.”

“There has to be something. She’s Sonja’s
best friend and the last known person to see Will. She’s hiding
something.” Her father’s eyes gleamed with his rabid obsession,
which unfortunately had become his norm.

Mac glanced at the seventies-style house
next door, at one time her parents’ house, then Will’s, now Sonja’s
home with her second husband, Ben.

Resentment and anger over the injustice of
it all flooded through her. Once part of the same family property,
that house was where Mac grew up with her brothers, Will and Clint.
It should still belong to her family, not to
that
woman.

“Eventually I’ll wear her down. I have to.”
Craig’s voice steered her attention back to him.

“I think
she’s
wearing
you
down.” She couldn’t count how many times they’d had a similar
conversation.

Craig shrugged. “He’s my firstborn. I can’t
give up on him.”

“Dad, at some point, you need to face facts
and live your life. Will wouldn’t want you dedicating every spare
moment to finding him.”

“What you’re really saying is that you want
to abandon your big brother, too?” The sadness in his eyes pierced
right to her heart.

“No, Dad, I don’t. I loved Will, but he’s
gone.”

Her father sighed and stood up. “Bye, hon.
I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Bye, Dad.” Mac watched her father walk out
the gate, his shoulders slumped, his gait shuffling.

Maybe if he thought she was seriously dating
someone he’d cut her some slack like he did Clint. Only that
deception didn’t sit well with her any more than abandoning her
father did. Besides, she’d need a guy to play along, and what guy
would volunteer for that duty?

Her mind quickly detoured to Bruiser, with
those blue-gray eyes, perfect face, golden hair, and deep tan. Not
to mention that ripped body. Oh, God, especially that body.

She shook her head and had to laugh. What an
outrageous thought. Just because Bruiser had been backed into a
corner with no way out and graciously accepted his fate didn’t mean
they had anything going other than a casual friendship and Mac’s
late-night, secret fantasies with a vibrator named Bruce.

* * * * *

The next morning, Bruiser walked into the
Regional Burn Center in Seattle. He was a regular fixture at the
center and showed up like clockwork every Tuesday morning when he
was in the area, sometimes more often. The center served the entire
Pacific Northwest. Burn patients came from all over to receive the
critically acclaimed care and surgical procedures pioneered here.
He’d seen it all as far as physical damage done by burns, but the
mental and emotional scars were far worse.

Bruiser lived an illusion, one he’d
perpetuated so long that the real Bruiser rarely came out to play.
He was the team’s poster boy, always saying the right thing, making
news with his daredevil escapades, and being a damn good football
player. Veronica Simms loved him, but not like that. Hell, no.
Bruiser avoided women who emasculated men, and Veronica avoided men
she couldn’t pussy whip. Instead, they’d developed a business
relationship. She did more for him than his agent when it came to
finding lucrative endorsements, and he supported her favorite
charities as she did his.

People claimed Bruiser had become the face
of the Evergreen Burn Foundation because he was a publicity whore
and liked the added attention that came from doing charity work
with kids. They didn’t realize he
was
the foundation, at
least in part—a large part. His secret charity, The Brice Fund,
made a generous donation every year to the foundation. In fact,
pretty much everything Bruiser earned from modeling and
endorsements went to that cause.

He owed Brice that much.

What people didn’t know and Bruiser wouldn’t
tell them was that beyond the publicity photos taken of him
visiting the hospital, there were countless more visits that were
never documented. This morning was one such visit.