Blitzed (The Alpha Ballers #3) (13 page)

It was like Harvey Dent said in that Batman movie - “You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” Not quite so dire a set of circumstances, but in this case, I could either quit while I was ahead and able to, or I could keep playing until injuries or old age forced me out.

Which would it be?

I was still mulling over this question when I pulled into my garage and got off the bike, stowing my helmet away. As I went up the elevator to my apartment I shook my head, a smile on my face. Imagine having an existential career crisis like this before my 33
^rd
birthday.

It was almost comical. Except it totally wasn’t, because this was the question facing me and every pro football player after each season - should I keep going, or was this the end?

Of course, unlike guys from 24 other teams, my season wasn’t over yet - I still had games to play, so this entire thought process was premature.

But Mack had got me thinking about my life after football all over again, and now I couldn’t stop.

Football was all I had ever done, all I had ever thought about since I was 10 years old, and now, a sexy lady named Mackenzie had me thinking really hard for the first time in my life about what I was going to do when I was done with football.

Or when football was done with me.

CHAPTER 11 - MACKENZIE

I woke up the next morning and lay in bed for far longer than I should have, thinking about Hud last night and our dinner together and how his lips felt pressing hard into mine while his hand gripped the back of my head through my hair. I kept thinking about this as my hand crept lower and lower, toward my pussy, barely covered by my flimsy nightgown.

Needless to say, I enjoyed myself before getting out of bed that morning. If the rest of the day was good, it might just drown out the frustration that came at the tail end of my date with Hud last night.

Could I even call it a date? I sure thought it was, but maybe he didn’t, at first? That might explain why he seemed so surprised when we started getting a little close to each other.

As I got ready for work I thought more about our kisses - Hud clearly knew what he was doing in that department. He was a professional football player - his job was to play football, and the women around him’s second job was to throw themselves at him, and from what I had heard through the Patriots grapevine, Hud was no slouch in enjoying that aspect of his chosen professional career.

So why was I different? Of course, I wasn’t just some floozy throwing myself at him, but maybe that was the problem? I laughed to myself as I put my makeup on. Did I need to be more of a hussy, would that work?

Last night was kinda a mess, me going after him asking about the end of his career and all. In the harsher light of the morning I had realized just how confrontational that might have come off as, especially since when I wasn’t trying to get Hudson Asher’s attention I was kinda sorta maybe partly in charge of his continued employment with the team.

Shit, that might have been why things were so awkward. How could I not have seen this?!

And yet, despite how bad things had been and how embarrassed I was, and glad that no one besides Hud and I would remember the night, and hopefully I could get him to forget it…I still really liked him.

Despite how bad it must have sounded for me to ask him about his life after football, I had to say, I really liked his answer on it.

And then, of course, there was the Steve thing. Any other guy might have helped me out in that situation if they were physically able to, but Hud had taken care of me afterward rather than just tossing me in an uber and going back to the party. That was really sweet of him.

It was more than sweet, I realized as I gave myself one last look in the mirror before heading out to the office. It was more than sweet, it was how Hudson Asher was, as a man. He was the leader on the defense - he protected his brothers on either side of him.

That was who he was.

And he looked damn fine doing it, too. Whew! I didn’t mind saying that a second or third time. That boy looked like a statue carved out of marble, and all I wanted to do was jump over the red rope at the museum and climb all over him.
 

If only he would let me…

Real life came crashing back and I drove to work a little too fast to make up for how much I had dawdled that morning thinking about Hud’s sexy body towering over me and how small and feminine it made me feel just being in the same room as him.

As soon as I got there and parked, my assistant came out of the building with a handful of things for me to take care of. This was the divisional round, and there wasn’t really any time to waste - that would have to wait till the offseason, and hopefully that wouldn’t be till we had a championship trophy coming to live in the building with us.

I got to my office already having made a few decisions for the team, and deferring a bunch of other things till we all had a moment to breathe, which around here, was rare indeed.

As soon as my assistant left my office, loaded with things to work on, I set my bag down and went looking for Coach Armstrong.

Of course, he wasn’t in the front office - I knew for a fact he hated all that stuff and preferred to spend all his time around football guys - players or coaches that he could talk shop with. As far as I knew, shop was all Coach Armstrong lived for, shop and his boat that he regularly groused about not getting enough time with.

I found him in his own office, silently watching game film, rewinding and watching again, over and over. I stood in the doorway for almost a minute, watching the master at work.

Armstrong was a legendary football mind - it had been a huge coup for my father to lure him away from other head coaching positions a few years back. The rest of the league thought of him as a difficult to deal with curmudgeon, and the truth was that Armstrong was much worse than that - he was downright acidic at times.

“Don’t just stand there, Mayfield,” Coach Armstrong said to me, without looking away from the screen as he continued to watch the same play over and over again. “Tell me what you see.”

I watched through another couple loops. “The center bobs his head just before he snaps the ball.”

Coach Armstrong stopped the playback, then rewound and showed it again. “You saw that?”

“Yeah. It’s the same play, but maybe he does it all the time.”

He stopped the playback and turned to me, setting the black remote control on his desk. “Was there something you needed?” He peered at me over the rim of his glasses, clearly not in the mood for any small talk.

Of course, Armstrong was never in the mood for any small talk. “I just wanted to see how preparations were going for the Steelers game this weekend.”

Armstrong turned away. “We’ll be ready for them.”

That was as optimistic as Armstrong ever sounded. “It’s an away game.”

Armstrong grunted; I hadn’t given him any new information.

“Is there anything you need from me?”

“Just stay away from my players. I know you front office people are all in a hurry to start the offseason and renegotiate contracts, which seems to be the most fun you all have every year, but this time we’re still playing in January and the guys on the field don’t need thoughts of paydays and checks running through their heads.”

I moved back as if he had punched me. That might have been the most words I had ever heard out of Coach Armstrong’s mouth at once. “I’ll see what I can do, Coach.”

“Great. Thanks.” Coach Armstrong started the player again, and it was if I no longer existed.

“Good talk, Coach,” I whispered almost to myself as I left the room.

Just before I got out the door, Coach Armstrong said back, just under his breath, barely loud enough for me to hear, “Good call on the center bobbing his head, Mayfield.”

I paused for a moment, a huge smile appearing on my face even though Armstrong couldn’t see it. One of his legendary almost-compliments. I had heard stories of hall-of-fame players counting receiving such a compliment from Armstrong among their greatest career accomplishments.

As I walked back to my office, a head poked out a door after I walked by. “Mackenzie?”

I stopped and turned around. This was the medical and recovery wing. “Charlotte! Hey there, how are you?”

Charlotte came out of the quarterbacks’ training room and smiled, wearing her relaxed work clothes. On the one hand I was a little jealous that she could dress like that at work, but then again I did kinda enjoy figuring out what to wear. It had taken me a long time to get comfortable with fashion, but I had finally gotten the hang of it.

“I’m good, Mackenzie, I’m really good.” I could tell that wasn’t an exaggeration. Charlotte practically glowed.

“I can tell! Enjoying taking care of your boyfriend for a living?” I had initially been a little wary of Charlotte and Lance getting together, but I had quickly warmed up to it. Though I didn’t know either of them as well as I could, both of them were among my favorite people on the team and I was thrilled that they had found each other.

Charlotte leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, almost fanning herself as her face broke out in a huge smile. “It’s pretty amazing, Mackenzie, I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“You did luck out, now that I think about it.”

“That’s for sure.”

I suddenly remembered that Charlotte had stopped me from heading to my office. “Was there anything I could help you with?”

Charlotte blinked. “Oh right, I stopped you! No, I just wanted to congratulate you on the victory last week.”

I laughed. “Thanks, Charlotte. I didn’t really have anything to do with it, it was all the coaching staff and the players.”

“I know, I know, but you front office folks don’t get nearly enough credit,” Charlotte said with a wink.

I winked right back. “You know, you’re right, we don’t get enough credit! Just like the training and medical staff!”

“Now you’re talking.”

I got serious for a second. “How’s Lance doing? He must be under a lot of pressure.”

Charlotte came in. “He’s stomping all around the apartment talking about how big a deal this is and how much he has to concentrate, but secretly I think he’s loving it.” She smiled. “I think he was born for this kinda stuff.”

“That’s good to hear,” I added. “We’ll need 3 more good games out of him if we want to bring it all home.”

Charlotte nodded. “It’s all he talks about. He’ll be ready.”

“Perfect.”

“How’s your father doing?” Charlotte’s voice was tenuous, like she was unsure of herself. That wasn’t common.

“He’s good, Charlotte, thanks for asking.” I sighed. “Things are tough, these days, but he’ll be OK.”

Charlotte touched my arm and let it linger. “You’ll let me know if there’s anything we can do to help, right? I don’t know him that well…but Lance can’t say enough good things about him.”

“I’ll pass that along, thank you so much.” I stood up straight. “I gotta get going - it never ends, does it?”

“Only when it has to!” Charlotte shot back, and we both laughed, and waved at each other.

I had just gotten back to my office and settled down in my chair when my assistant came rushing in. “Katie, is everything OK?” I asked, alarmed. She seemed out of breath.

“Watch,” was all she got out before rushing to the TV on the other side of my office and turning it on, backing away and grabbing the remote control on my desk, and turning the TV to ESPN.

Sportscaster was on, and there was one giant news bar on the left side, instead of the usual list of upcoming stories. That meant there was huge news.

When I read the text and my brain processed it, my jaw hit the floor.

It read “Patriots linebacker Hudson Asher suspected of PED usage.” Underneath it added, “Asher could be suspended for rest of playoffs.”

Well, shit.

CHAPTER 12 - HUDSON

The only way I could forget about how I had fucked up at Mack’s house by leaving was to play football. Of course, I couldn’t really forget about it, but I could stop thinking about it for a little while.

The best way to do that was run around and beat other people up. So, football it was. Luckily, I had practice the next day, and every day till Sunday, just like clockwork.

I had just finished throwing an arm up and deflecting one of pretty-boy Parker’s passes to glue-hands Rollins when Coach Armstrong whistled for practice to stop. I waved at Parker and Rollins, laughing as they both shook their heads, then I jogged over to the water jugs and took a long drink from a cup waiting there.

I stood up straight and faced the sun, closing my eyes and taking another long sip. This was the good life. A couple minutes rest during a long practice, cold water on a winter New England day. What could be better?

“Asher.” Coach Armstrong’s voice behind me stopped me cold. You never wanted the coach to talk to you during practice. That meant you were doing something wrong, and after this long, I was pretty sure my game was on point. It had to be something else.

“Yeah, Coach?” I said, tossing the empty cup into the trash and turning around to face him, a twinge of nerves running through me. It must have looked hilarious, a giant of a man like me getting nervous in front of a slightly disheveled portly older guy, but this was no ordinary guy in front of me.

“You’re done for the day.”

“Huh? What gives, Coach?”

“Just got a message. League’s investigating you for PED usage. You might be suspended for the rest of the playoffs.” Coach Armstrong’s voice was even and measured - even if he was ready to blow his stack with anger, he never betrayed it. He just looked me in the eye and spoke to me like a disappointed father who was trying to hold it all together.

“What the fuck?” I practically shouted back. “PEDs!? Never touched the stuff, Coach, you gotta believe me!” My heart rate jumped, erasing any of the relaxation after the stoppage in practice. “I didn’t use anything!”

Armstrong said nothing, he just stood there looking at me. By now Lance and Drake and some of the other players had noticed something was up and they had come over to stand near us.