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

I hoped he would be - it would mean so much to the team to see him at this event, but I also knew that these days he wasn’t doing too well.

I went to the parking garage at the a facility, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders to ward off the wind, and got into my car, shivering at how old the interior cabin was. I flicked on the heater as I left and drove home as as quickly as possible, getting there just in time to avoid the regular afternoon drive time rush home from work - small miracle there.

I stopped at my place only long enough to get my dress, shoes, a few pieces of jewelry, and my makeup bag, and then headed back out to my father’s place. He lived in a much nicer house than I did.

When I got to the gate I pressed the button hanging down from my reflector and the gates silently and quickly opened, and I drove onto my father’s estate. Despite how frequently I’d come here in the last few months, as I drove by the well-manicured lawns and small gardens that marked the driveway leading to the main house, it struck me once again how crazy it was that my family owned something like this.

But then again, we also owned a professional football team, so crazy kinda sorta came with the territory. I parked the car at the center of the roundabout in front of the main house’s entrance and gathered my things before heading inside fast, to escape the colder weather now that the sun was going down.

Inside I set my things down and called out for my father, and only got a reply on the second time. Without realizing it, I sighed, relieved that he’d answered so quickly. I didn’t dare to admit to myself what the other possibility might have been.

From the sound of his voice I could tell he was in his study, so after grabbing myself some water I headed in there to make sure he’d either already gotten ready for the party or he was just getting to it. I had a hunch it was the latter - my father had lost a little bit of his trademark punctuality in the last few months.

The study was small, despite the impressive size of the rest of the house. It was shaped like a cylinder, with short shelves that reached so high some of the books could only be pulled down with an arm on the end of a long wooden pole that stood in one corner. My father took great pleasure in reading the books that were the hardest to get to, like that was an indication of their quality rather than just a quirk of the room and how he’d organized it. “Nothing worth having is easy to get, Mackenzie,” he’d always say when I watched him reaching up high to get one of those books.

In the center of the room were two chairs, each facing the opposite side of the room, so people sitting in them would each turn their heads 90 degrees to see each other. It was an odd setup, but my father had always said the study was for reading, not for conversations.

John Mayfield sat in one of those chairs now, his face buried in a book, the only light the high bulbs that hung almost naked from the celling on long cables. He was most definitely not already dressed for the party.

“Father,” I said, softly, trying to get his attention without disturbing him. I shook my head when he looked up, his eyes focusing on me. “You haven’t gotten ready for the party yet.”

“I know,” he said, his voice creaking, before he looked back down at the book.
 

I made a big show of looking at my watch. “Well, now’s a good time for it. There’s just enough time for you to get ready so we won’t be late.”

“I’m not going,” he said, his voice muffled by the pages of the book catching.
 

I sighed. “You’re not going? You organized this charity event months ago? Are you sure?”

My father breathed in deep and closed the book, setting it down on the small circular table made of rich mahogany that stood in the center of the circular room, like its focal point. “No, Mackenzie, I’m not going. I don’t feel up to it.”

I knew I wouldn’t be able to change my father’s mind, and I wasn’t interested in trying. Besides, I had to get ready myself, and I would take a little longer than him. I turned and walked to the doorway, leaning on the wall as I looked back at him. “I know this is a rough time for you, father, but you can’t just renounce the world. You’re an important man and there are things out there,” I waved toward the window behind him, “that won’t wait for you much longer.”

“You didn’t know her like I did, Mackenzie. She was everything.”

“No, I didn’t. She was everything to you, and you’re right, I don’t understand that. But she was also my mother, and that I do understand. And now she’s gone, and every day is tough, but there are things I have to do, and even though I miss her, I get up every morning and do them.”
 

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“Neither do I.” On impulse, I walked back into the room and leaned over, kissing my father on the forehead. “You have a good night, Father. I’ll tell everyone something about why you’re not there.”

“Thank you, my dear. Have fun.” I would have looked back, but by then I knew he was already ensconced once again in his book.
 

I went to the room I stayed in when I stayed here and took a quick shower, washing the day off me so I could feel fresh and clean at the party. After putting on my lingerie, I slipped into my dress and put on my jewelry, before going back into the bathroom and applying my makeup.

I understood where my father was coming from. My mother’s death after a long bout with cancer had hit us hard even though it hadn’t been a surprise. Me, I’d lost someone I was terribly close to, but my father had lost his constant companion for the last 35 years. I’d never felt as strongly about anyone as my father loved my mother, so try as I might, I couldn’t see where he was coming from.

But seeing him try and go on without her broke my heart every time I saw it. In a way it was good that he wasn’t going to the party tonight - as much as the players and coaches and staff of the Patriots loved him, I would rather none of them see their owner in such distress.

Steve texted me right then telling me he was just leaving for the place we were supposed to meet for a drink before the event. The two were so close by we could just walk from the restaurant to the party after we were done, just in time to be fashionably late.

I’d never understood just how anyone could be ‘fashionably’ late, but like a lot of things I didn’t quite understand I just went along with them if they didn’t cause me serious moral heartburn.

I texted Steve back, feeling a twinge of regret at doing so. On paper, Steve was everything I should look for in a man. We’d been on a couple dates over the last 3 weeks; he’d gotten my number at another charity event last month. Steve was in finance, as most of the men I’d met in the last few years were. Finance, finance, finance. All their flashy money and nice cars didn’t impress me much.

Steve had managed to keep the finance part of his life in check when he was out with me, and while I wasn’t super excited to be seeing him again, it was nicer than going to an event like this alone.

After wishing my father a good night and getting a loud grunt in return, I picked up my all black clutch, dropped some necessary things into it, and headed back out to my car.

As I drove to meet Steve, it wasn’t him I was thinking about. It was Hudson Asher from earlier in the day. And this wasn’t one of the usual times I thought about Hud, despite my pulse quickening and me feeling a sudden lightheadedness at the thought of him touching me.

No, this was about the way his broad shoulders had drooped ever so slightly earlier today on the field when I had mentioned I had a date for the party.

I didn’t know why Hud would care. He and I had never had more than a polite conversation about the team in a social setting. Professionally, of course, he was on the team I helped manage, and he was also the popularly elected player representative, attending some front office meetings and making sure the players’ interests were kept in mind.

So why did Hud care if I had a date to the party tonight? And why did him caring make me feel so funny?

Ugh. I hated how awkward I was.

CHAPTER 02 - HUDSON

The only thing more fun than playing in an actual professional football game was practicing for a professional football game. Yeah, I know, that sounded totally strange, and if I had said that out loud almost every one of my teammates would look at me like I had just sprouted a second head, but it was true.

Lance Parker, though, he’d agree with me, which is why we were best friends.

Practice was where you got your head on straight. It’s where you and your teammates took all the lessons you had learned earlier in the week from scouting reports and watching and breaking down film in meetings, and learned the game plan the coaches had decided you needed to learn in order to come away with the victory in the next game.

More specifically, practice was when you got to go out and hit your teammates. Not to hurt them, of course, not maliciously, but just for fun. Love taps from all directions. Pretend football was almost as good as real football, because if you were playing pretend football, that meant real football was right around the corner.

So, yeah, I loved practice. Practice let me focus; practice let me build up for the real thing.

As much as I loved practice, though, I loved the moments after practice, the weariness that came as I walked to the locker room, the sun shining down on my back, the sweat running down through my pads and jersey, the feeling of accomplishment replacing the energy I had had before.

Sitting down in front of my locker and taking deep, long breaths, the breaths that made my entire body rise up a little straighter, before I exhaled and slumped over, leaning against the divider. In those moments nothing could wipe the smile off my face.

“Man, you always have that grin on your face after practice,” someone called out to me. I opened my eyes and looked over, but I knew who it was.

“Even bigger this time, Drake.” I twirled the ball I’d brought in from the field in my hands, tossing it from one to the other while smiling at Drake. “I think this used to belong to you.”

“Nah, man,” Drake laughed back at me, pointing to my right. “That one’s Lance’s. I got all mine in a special case, they don’t ever get out.” He held up his giant hands, his receivers’ gloves still on, opening and closing them for emphasis.

I looked over to my right, at Lance sitting in front of his own locker, his eyes closed, his face pointing downward. Lance didn’t look up or even open his eyes. “Don’t involve me in this,” he said wearily. “This is between you two.”

That was just the opening I needed. “Actually, I think you’ll agree, dear Lance,” I heard Drake snicker as I said that last part, “that it was I who was between you,” I pointed to Lance, “and you,” I reached my thumb backward to indicate Drake.

Lance sighed. “Semantics, my worst enemy.”

I snorted. “Your worst enemy is linebackers who know your tricks.”

That got a smile of him, and Lance turned his head, still holding it in his hands, to face me. “Good thing there’s only one of those, and he’s on my team.”

“Yeah, you really lucked out on that front.”

“And I thank my lucky stars every day for it.”

“I’ll bet you do.” I leaned back and relaxed again, reaching inward and enjoying the rush of my muscles slowly loosening after a couple hours of strenuous work out on the field.

When I opened my eyes again, Lance was already in street clothes, packing things into a bag. “You in a hurry?”

Lance smiled at me, but didn’t stop packing. “Yeah, man, you know it. Hot date.”

I winked at him. “What’s her name this time? Penny?”

“Shut up.”

“Rachel?”

“Dude, come on.”

“Wait, wait, let me guess. I’m so close, I know it, give me one more chance.” I looked pleadingly at Lance, and he shot daggers at me for a few seconds before he finally nodded. “Is it…Charlotte?”

“You know it’s Charlotte, man.”

Drake piped up. “Dude can’t talk about anyone else. We get it, man, no need to wave at her from the fucking huddle.” Lance and I looked over at Drake, but we both knew he was kidding around.

Lance stuck out a finger at Drake. “Don’t you fucking talk, man, the entire regular season all we hear out of you is ‘Lily this’ and ‘Lily that.’ I’m just giving you back what you’ve been doing all fucking year.”

Drake didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, man, I was totally like that.” His face broke out into a smile that went from ear to ear. “And I’m not even sorry,” he said, laughing.

I waved him off, shaking my head at Drake and Lance together. “Both of you are disgusting.”

Lance smiled. “You’re just jealous, man, it’s OK, we both understand.”
 

“I am not jealous!”

Lance held up his hands, and by now Drake was standing next to him, copying him and making no attempt to hide it. “It’s OK, Hud, it’s OK. We understand! It’s tough to get a woman to spend more than a couple nights with you, let alone date you for real.”

I threw my towels at them, and as I expected, they dodged out of the way. “Fuck you guys, the both of you.”

Lance finished packing up and slid his backpack onto his shoulders. He looked at Drake and I. “You guys both gonna be at the thing tonight?”

“Yes, sir!” Drake actually saluted. Fucking rookies. “Lily and I wouldn’t miss it.”

I waved at Lance. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Charlotte coming too?” I knew the answer already. When Lance wasn’t on the field or hanging out with me, he was with Charlotte. And I had a hunch that these days even when we were hanging out he was still thinking about Charlotte.

New romance had a way of doing a number on even the most stalwart of men, I had recently learned.

The twinkle in Lance’s eyes jumped out at me. “Oh yeah, she’ll be there.” He pointed at me. “You bringing anyone?”

“Not this time.” I didn’t want to get into it, and I guess both Drake and Lance got my drift, because they let the manner drop. We said our goodbyes and I relaxed back in my locker for a few minutes, waiting for everyone else to clear out before I showered and got dressed.

I certainly wasn’t shy, nor did I have any reason to be. Once in a while, though, I just would rather walk through an empty locker room and enjoy the silence as I cleaned myself off. Normally I’d go nice and slow, but today I had to get home so I could get ready and make it to the party in time.