Calling the Play (18 page)

“Holy shit,” Brian heard one of the coaches behind him say. “Is Smith actually laughing? I’ve never seen that fucker even smile before.”

Ty stood up and faced the room. “Look, Brian’s right. And I’m sorta pissed at you, Reyes,” he said, pointing. “And you, too, Brown”—he pointed again—“for even thinking that I’d want to play if I wasn’t fit or ready, when I knew it would screw the team. That’s not the kind of player I am, and I would hope you’d know that, Brown, after playing with me for the last two years.”

Cass stood up and glowered at his teammates. “That goes double for me. You all know I’m here because I want front office. I’ve made no secret of it. That means the team always comes first, with me, with Beau, with Marian. End of story.”

“What the fuck is in this water?” Reyes demanded unhappily. “Because I sure as shit ain’t been on a team that’s so ready to fuck each other before.” The room erupted in angry shouting as Reyes and a couple of others faced off with Cass and Beau and Tom and Danny. Ty just met Brian’s look with a sad one of his own and shook his head.

“I’m guessing you were, but nobody was talking about it.” Darius Alvin’s voice rang out over the arguing. He stood up. This was probably the big linebacker’s last season, and they all knew it. He was respected in the NFL, and a good friend of Shannon’s. He was usually low-key, a leader in deed, not words. His curly black hair was showing a little gray, and he still had a summer beard. “Everybody calm down,” he said, “and sit the fuck down.” He calmly looked around the room and waited for everyone to sit. “Times are changing, boys. Personally, I think it’s a good thing. I don’t really care who you all are fucking. I’m too old and too married for that shit. I’m here to play ball. And I think everyone in this room is, too. You got to focus, people. Shannon’s right. We’ve got to be the team that leads the way. No one else is stepping up. We’ve got nothing to lose and everything to prove. I dare one of you to tell Cass or Beau or Ty that they’re no good just because they like to fuck guys. Sorry,” he said, nodding at Cass, who just nodded back with a frown. “It ain’t affected the way they play ball. Just like the fact that half you boys ain’t got the brains to leave no good pussy alone doesn’t make you bad players. So leave it at the door. And that’s all I got to say on it.” He sat down amid a deafening silence.

Tom raised his hand as if he were in school and Shannon noticeably suppressed a smile as he pointed at him. “You got something to say, Tom?”

“Yes, sir.” Tom stood up. “I want to tell you why I’m here.” He looked around the room. “I got drafted.” His smile was huge as he looked around. “I mean, can you fucking believe it? I was on the no-fucking-way list, and the Rebels tapped me. I get to play with Darius Alvin.” He pointed at him. “And Danny Smith.” He pointed at his roommate. “Ty Oakes. He won the fucking Grey Cup. And Cass Zielenski. And, shit, all of you. How fucking amazing is that? I mean, have you looked at this roster? I don’t give a shit what anybody else is here for, frankly. I am going to play football with you guys. That is fucking amazing.” He shook his head, disbelief on his face. “Millions of guys out there want to be me right this minute. And not only that, but a new franchise? We get to set the tone, define what this team is going to be for
generations
. Do you get how important that is? Look, I’m a lot younger than some of you guys.” Paper cups and other trash were thrown at him amid grumbles. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. My point is, Darius—can I call you Darius?—is right. Times are changing. The number of people I went to college with who gave a crap about who was or wasn’t gay was smaller than the number of people who didn’t give a shit.” He shrugged. “Hey, we’re Rebels. Live up to it. Embrace it. Live it.” He looked at Darius and grinned. “And that’s all I’ve got to say about it.” Hoots and whistles followed his speech as he sat down, and Danny patted him on the back.

Cass stood and turned. “I feel the same way. We have the potential to be the greatest comeback team in NFL history. And by that I mean personal comebacks. We have overcome some serious shit in our lives. We fucking deserve this.” He looked down at Beau sitting next to him and squeezed his shoulder. Beau’s drug addiction and near-fatal overdose several years ago were well-known. Cass looked up. “What about you, Reyes? Why are you here?”

Reyes looked around the room like a deer caught in the headlights. “To play ball, man,” he grumbled.

“You asked for the trade, Dominique,” Shannon surprised the room by saying. “I’m curious as to why.”

“That’s my own business,” Reyes said sharply. “Don’t worry. I’m back in line.” He sounded bitter.

Shannon sighed. He suddenly looked very, very tired. “I don’t want you in line, Dominique,” he said sadly. “I want you on board. This ship isn’t going anywhere if we’re not all paddling in the same direction.”

“Well I ain’t gonna fuck Alvin,” Reyes said sarcastically. “But fine, as long as they keep it out of the locker room, I ain’t gonna complain.”

“No problem,” Cass said diplomatically. “And for the record, thanks for the nightmare of imagining you and Darius together.” He shuddered. “I can’t unhear that.”

“Motherfucker, neither can I,” Darius said with a glare at Reyes. The room laughed and the tension was broken. Brian felt his shoulders relax. If this was the worst team opposition got to his and Ty’s relationship, he’d consider himself a lucky man.

“Anyone else want to chime in on why they’re here?” Shannon asked with a smile. “Make Tom’s day by telling him it was to play with the future Rookie of the Year.” This time the laughter was louder, and Tom gave them all the finger.

“No.” Randi’s voice was firm; she didn’t reveal any of her inner turmoil. She might have turmoil, but damn if she’d let these fuckers know it. “I will not work with
Mr.
”—she emphasized the word for sarcasm—“Sullivan. Not undercover, not out in the open, not to raise money for charity.”

“Look,” the DEA douchebag said. “You’ve already been seen with him, you have an established identity and a reason for being with him. It’ll be easy to transition you into place. It’s the perfect setup. Your boss gave the okay.”

Johnny stood in the corner, his arms crossed, frowning so fiercely she was pretty sure he hated these guys as much as she did. “Don’t make her think that okay means she has to do it,” he barked. “He gave the okay for you to
ask
her to do it. She can say no if she wants. And she already did.”

“But, why?” The second DEA agent seemed genuinely mystified. He’d been introduced as Agent Dobbs, but the agents looked so alike that she couldn’t be sure. He might be Agent Wilkins. “She did it the first time. This is no different. She’s a cop. The DEA will look very favorably on it, as will other federal law enforcement agencies if she decides she wants to move up.”

“Move up?” she asked incredulously. “What, you don’t think being a cop in Birmingham is good enough? Fuck you.”

“Detective McInish,” the captain said calmly. “I believe you’ve already made your decision known. No need to pick a fight.”

“We asked nicely,” Wilkins said. “But the truth is we can just make you do it.”

“You can’t make me do shit,” Randi said with derision. “I’d like to see you try, asshole.”

“Come on,
Sissy
,” Tater Sullivan said, taunting her from where he sat beside his attorney, sprawled out in a chair in the captain’s office like he owned the fucking place. He reached out and snagged her thigh with his hand, tugging her closer. “It’s not like I haven’t already tasted the merchandise.” He laughed, smug and self-important.

Randi couldn’t help herself. She slashed down and broke his hold, making him curse. Then she spun on him and punched him right in the face. He wasn’t expecting it, and presented a wide-open target.

“What the fuck?” he yelped, grabbing his nose as he bled all over himself. “You fucking bitch!” He jumped up and came at her, and Reggie Kline grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back. Johnny came barreling between them and shoved Tater back.

“You deserved it, you fucking prick,” Johnny growled. “This is what you crawl into bed with?” he asked Wilkins.

“If he were an upstanding citizen, he wouldn’t be any use to us,” Wilkins said dispassionately. “The broken nose will be a nice touch,” he told Sullivan. “You can tell them the cops roughed you up.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Johnny said, running a hand down his face. “And people wonder why we have image issues.”

“A cop did rough me up,” Tater said, sounding like he had a stuffed nose. He had an expensive handkerchief pressed against it. Probably his attorney’s.

“No,” Randi corrected. “I defended myself from your unwanted attentions. Something I refrained from doing while I was undercover and you all but raped me in the back hallway.”

“What?” Johnny said incredulously. “We had you wired. Why didn’t you say something?”

“And blow the bust?” she said. “Not likely. Not that it did any fucking good,” she added, glaring at the DEA agents.

“You were hot for it and you know it,” Tater said. “Now you’re fucking the quarterback and all his friends. ‘Whore’ wasn’t a really big stretch undercover for you, was it?”

“What did you just say?” Randi asked with attitude, hands on hips and chin thrust in his direction. “Because I know you did not just call me a whore. I will bust your balls. And I mean that literally. I will fucking kick you so hard your balls will burst like little grapes.”

Johnny was straining to get at Tater, but the captain had him in a headlock. “Easy,” he told Johnny.

“How does he know shit about my personal life?” she demanded. She kicked Tater in the shin just for the fun of it and he hopped around Reggie to get away from her.

“Police brutality,” he said.

“Damn right,” she told him, stalking him around the chair.

“Randi,” the captain said, clearly exasperated. “This isn’t helping.”

“Like I give a shit,” Randi said sharply. She turned on the DEA agents, who were watching her warily. “Well? You’ve been babysitting him, haven’t you? How the hell does he know shit about my personal life?”

“We were fairly certain you were going to agree to work with us,” Wilkins said. “It’s standard procedure to look into any undercover operative’s background and make sure there’s nothing that can bite us in the ass later. Based on your current lifestyle choices, we thought the role wouldn’t be too onerous for you.”

“Motherfucker,” she said, eyes wide. “You just did it, too, didn’t you? You just called me a whore.” She crossed her arms and glared across the office at them. “First of all, I’m going to be filing a complaint with my union, with the department, and with your agency. Because I know damn well sharing personal information about a cop with an informant is against the rules.” She could tell by the way Dobbs paled that she was right on the money. “And who I decide to have a relationship with is none of your damn business. So consider this a big ‘Fuck off,’ and good luck finding someone else in this town to put up with Tater’s bullshit.” She started to march out of the office, but stopped and turned back. “FYI, Tater’s information is probably going to be useless and bogus. He doesn’t know shit about the SUR pipeline. They were fucking laughing at him behind his back, the stupid little cracker playing drug dealer. He paid twice street value on that shit, and I bet you’ve already figured out it was cut so heavily there wasn’t even enough heroin in it to get your grandma high. They were playing him. For us Tater was a good bust, because he’s too stupid to leave on the streets of Birmingham. At some point, someone’s going to get hurt because of his stupidity. For you, he’s nothing. And you’re scrambling to cover your asses over wasting so much time, money, and manpower on a bust that went wrong. So you turn Tater and hope for the best. Your big break here with Tater is going to end badly. At the very least, you’re going to have egg on your face. Now that you’ve realized what a waste of space he is, you want someone in there who’s smart enough to try to get information he doesn’t have, and can’t get. Not gonna happen.” She mock saluted and turned away to yank the door open.

“Let me go,” Johnny growled, pulling out of the captain’s arms. “Randi, wait,” he called. He followed her out the door and slammed it shut behind him. “Hold up,” he called as she kept walking. He grabbed her arm and she spun around and punched him in the shoulder. “Hey!” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “What was that for?”

Randi was shaking. She’d punched Tater in self-defense, because when he’d touched her she’d felt dirty, and all she could think of was his filthy fingers jammed inside her. She stood there looking at Johnny and she felt lost and stupid and incompetent. But mostly she just needed a hug.

“Randi?” he asked quietly, taking a step closer. “Hey, sugar baby, are you okay?”

It was that stupid nickname that did it. He’d called her that when she was little. Sweet as sugar candy, he used to say, and Meemaw would laugh. She walked right up against him and buried her face in his shoulder, her arms around his waist. The little sob she gave wasn’t quite muffled. Johnny hesitated for a second before he wrapped his arms around her. In less than a minute, the squad room was quiet around them. Now she was a spectacle.
Great.
She didn’t move, rubbing her face on his shoulder, not caring about her makeup, wiping the tears away.

“Okay,” he said, sounding a little panicked. “We need a minute,” he said.

“Take room two,” someone said. “It’s empty.”

Johnny managed to get her pointed in the right direction and hustled her out. She couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as they moved. Finally, he pushed her into an interrogation room and shut the door. “What the hell?” he said softly, pulling her back into his big bear hug. “Tell your big brother what’s wrong.” She just shook her head and he sighed. “What did that asshole do, Randi?” he asked a little more firmly.

“He didn’t rape me,” she told him sharply. She pulled out of his arms and crossed the room to lean against the wall. “Honestly, Johnny, I thought I was okay with it. I mean, I’ve done worse, right? But now I can’t stop thinking about it.” She held up a shaking hand. “Look at this. Over that little shit! I could take him in a heartbeat.” She ran her hands through her hair and then wiped under her eyes with her fingertips, trying to clean up her makeup. She knew she was a mess. “Brian said if it was something I didn’t want to do, then it’s the same as rape. That’s what he said. But it isn’t! Hell, I’ve seen real rape victims and they’re a hell of a lot worse off than I am.”

“Brian’s right,” Johnny said. He crossed his arms, frowning fiercely. “This is my fault. Shit. I never should have asked you to do it.”

“It’s not your fault,” she told him, suddenly exhausted. “It’s mine. I should have said something for the wire or pushed him away. But I was so determined to be the tough cop and help you with a big bust. What an idiot.”

“That’s true,” he said. “You are an idiot.” She glared at him and he sighed. “Did he hurt you? Physically? I mean, are you, you know, all right?” He seemed pretty uncomfortable asking, and she gave a weak little laugh.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” she said. “All my parts are fine and in good working condition.”

“So this thing with Ty and Brian,” he said cautiously. “Is it sort of a rebound thing?”

“What?” she asked, not sure she’d heard correctly. “Rebound from who? Tater?” She was horrified.

“I guess that’s not the right term,” Johnny said warily. “Um, reaction to what happened?”

“No,” she said. “The timing sucks, I’ll give you that. But no matter when they’d come into my life, I think we’d still be where we’re at.”

“Where is that?” Johnny asked. He held up his hands. “Not that I’m making light of the Tater situation. I’m taking full responsibility, and you and I are going straight from this room to the police psychologist.”

“Brian said I should talk to someone,” she said.

“I think I really like Brian,” Johnny offered.

“Good,” she told him, straightening up from the wall and smoothing her hair again. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of him. And Ty. We’re together. As in seeing each other. Like, sort of a relationship.”

Johnny’s mouth dropped open for a second as he stared at her in stunned disbelief. “You?” he croaked. “A relationship?”

“Nice,” she said. “Yes, me. What? You don’t think anyone would be interested in a relationship with me?”

“No,” he rushed to assure her. “I know lots of guys would give their right nut to be with you. But you’ve never been interested in one.”

“I know,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Weird, right?” She shrugged. “It is what it is.” She walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry if this causes some bumps here at work.”

He laughed. “Bumps? Baby sister, this is going to cause shockwaves. Trust you to finally jump in the deep end. Two guys. Holy shit.”

“You’re okay with it?” she asked tentatively. She was pretty close to her brothers and she didn’t want to fuck that up. Family was about all she had.

“I’m fine with it,” he said, and she could tell he meant it. “God knows, you’re too much for one man to handle. And like I said, I like them both.”

Randi slid her arm around his waist and they walked over to the door. “How’d I get so lucky to have a brother like you?” she asked, giving him a one-armed hug.

“Well,” he said, “our dad couldn’t limit himself to one woman. I guess you come by it naturally.” He stopped. “Do you suppose that’s why I’ve been divorced twice? Maybe I should’ve tried having them together.”

“Right,” Randi said, snorting in disgust. “That would have been an epic catfight. But, you know, it ain’t bad. You ought to try it.” They both laughed as the door closed behind them.