Al "Trunk" Mahoney, Defensive Line (First & Ten, #6)

Chapter One –––––––– Before practice, the team was warming up in the workout room when they heard a commotion. Cursing, the banging of metal, and the breaking of glass ground exercise to a halt. “Who’s in the locker room?” Griff Montgomery, the quarterback, asked. “Trunk,” Bullhorn Brodsky responded. “Damn!” Griff and Bull rushed into the room, followed by several teammates. There was Al “Trunk” Mahoney, trashing everything he touched. He’d already busted his own locker, and now, he was starting on an empty one. He’d thrown a chair through the window and shattered a mirror with his hand, which was bleeding. “Holy s**t, Trunk!” Griff said. “What the hell?” asked Bull. “It’s Mary!” Trunk yelled, opening then closing his injured fist, making ready to take another swing. Tuffer Demson, a defensive linebacker, lunged at Trunk. Grabbing him, Demson and Bull tried to subdue the big man. Al fought hard, but the others pinned his arms to his sides. His eyes filled and anger drained from him like water from a bathtub. In a moment, he was sobbing. His teammates let him go, and he sank to his knees. He picked up a busted cell phone. “It’s Mary,” he choked out, fingering the mangled device. “She’s leaving me. In a text.” Silence clothed the room. The men glanced at each other then stared at Trunk. Pete Sebastian, known as Coach Bass to the team, ran in. He stopped short at the sight. The destruction made him gasp. “I’m sorry, Coach,” Trunk muttered. “Come on, Trunk. Get him up, guys. Bring him to my office,” Coach instructed. “Break it up. Show’s over. We have a game to get ready for.” Pete tossed a small towel to Trunk, who wrapped it around his bloody hand. Devon Drake and Bull eased the wounded linebacker to his feet. They followed him to Coach’s office then left and closed the door. Coach was on the phone with security. Trunk slipped down onto a chair like a deflated balloon. “Four years of marriage. Down the toilet.” He sighed, wiping his eyes. Pete handed him a handkerchief. “Want to talk about it?” Trunk shook his head. “I think you should see Dr. McMillan.” Coach called his wife, Jo, who handled publicity for the Connecticut Kings. After a brief conversation, he turned to his player. “She’s coming in. Be here in an hour. Let’s get that hand looked at.” He pushed to his feet. The two men walked down the hall, in silence, to the medical room off the locker room. The sounds of staff sweeping up broken glass met their ears. “I’m sorry, Coach. I’ll pay for the damage.” “Yeah, they’ll take it out of your check. No worries, Trunk. We need to get you fixed up so you can play.” “I’ll play. Never missed a game.” Pete sat with Trunk while the doctor cleaned the defenseman’s wounds, sewed up one cut, and bandaged the whole hand. “If we give it a cushion and a glove, he should be able to play, Coach,” the medic said. “Fine.” Jo poked her head in. “Dr. McMillan’s here.” “Come on, Al. Let’s go upstairs.” Trunk grabbed Pete’s arm. “Mary’s gone, Coach. What am I gonna do now?” “I don’t know, but I bet Dr. McMillan has some ideas.” Coach walked Trunk to the psychologist’s office. It was painted light beige. There was a sectional sofa, desk, and two facing chairs. Dr. McMillan greeted Trunk at the door. “Sit down, Al,” she said, indicating the couch. He looked at the floor. Except for the mandatory anger management classes he’d attended, he didn’t know anything about this psychology stuff. He cast a suspicious eye on the doctor. “What are you going to do to me?” “Nothing. Really. Let’s just talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about. My wife dumped me. By text. Period. The end. Can I go?” “I think there’s a little more to it than that. Come on. I don’t bite. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” “Do I have to do this?” She nodded. “I think management would be happier with you if they knew you were seeking some help during this painful time.” “Painful is right. Damn b***h. I’m sorry.” The doctor waved her hands. “Don’t apologize. All language is permitted here. Divorce hurts, doesn’t it?” “Damn straight it does,” he said, moving toward the sofa. After he’d gotten comfortable, McMillan poured a glass of water from a carafe and handed it to him. She sat two cushions away and turned her gaze on the distraught man. “Why do you think this happened?” He looked at her sympathetic expression. Emotion welled up in him. He took a deep breath and thought about her question for a bit before answering. “I don’t have a f*****g clue, doc.” * * * * Practice finished at five. Trunk and Bull loped over to the sidelines for water. “Mary took all the furniture. I get the house. I’ll have to sleep on the floor.” “You can crash with me tonight. Guest room is available.” “Thanks. Might take you up on that. I’ll have to find a new place.” Trunk returned home to pick up his clothes. He opened the door and stepped into the foyer. The sound of his footsteps echoed off the walls of the empty rooms. It wasn’t a huge house—only three small bedrooms, much more modest than most of his teammates—but it suited him. Extravagance wasn’t his style. Trunk made less money than some of the Kings, and was careful with it. Orphaned at thirteen, he had turned to football to deal with his anger at his parents’ death. Shuffled from one relative to the next, he had learned to stomach insecurity. He had succeeded at the sport, making a name for himself in every town he called home at one time or another. Being a football star meant a big welcome from each new school he’d attended. Having nothing, Al had gone to work young, doing odd jobs—raking leaves, mowing lawns, running errands. Sports had anchored him. His coaches had helped him stay on a good path, avoiding drugs and crime. Being a hero fed his heart, but he never outgrew the yearning for someone to care about him. He thought he’d found it in Mary, but he had been wrong. Now, he was rootless, just like the old days. But he’d lost his knack for starting over, and the pain of his loss cut through him like a surgeon’s scalpel. He looked around. The house was clean, immaculate, in fact. Just like Mary not to leave a mess behind. He walked from room to room, followed by the sound of his footsteps. It was ready to be shown for sale. He didn’t want to keep it, too many bad memories lived there. Mary had a good job as a loan officer at the bank. That’s where they’d met. She made decent money, and Trunk didn’t see why he had to give her alimony. He needed to find a lawyer. The barren rooms were chilly. Of course, she’d turned down the heat. He took the stairs two at a time. His dresser was still there, and his clothes were still in the closet. He pulled down a valise and filled it as quickly as possible. The cold was permeating his bones, making him shiver. He needed to get the hell out of there. He didn’t want to move in on Bull and Samantha too quickly. He needed time to think. He threw his suitcase in the back of his Rav4 and drove to The Savage Beast.  It being a weekday night, the place wasn’t busy. A couple of tables had people eating, and two men were at the bar. Carla Ricci, the proprietor, was telling a story, and the guys were laughing. She looked up when he walked in and gave him a warm smile. She was Trunk’s special friend. The one who didn’t care how drunk he was or what stupid things he said. She always forgave him by the next day. His gaze roamed over her. She looked beautiful, prettier than he deserved. Her raven hair was long, shiny, and luxurious, her lips red, her skin like porcelain. And her body? Hell, every man who walked in there lusted after Carla, and Trunk Mahoney was no exception. She had more curves than a mountain road. She wore a red sweater showing plenty of cleavage. She’d once told him that her tips correlated directly with the neckline of her outfit. The lower the sweep, the bigger the payout. Black pants stretched over a perfect rear end and tapered legs. Her welcoming smile was exactly what he needed. “The usual?” She c****d an eyebrow. “What’s on tap?” “Heineken.” “Works for me.” Carla poured his beer and went in the back to put two burgers on for him. He eased his butt up on the stool and nodded to the men at the other end. “Aren’t you Al Mahoney? Defensive lineman for the Kings?” They moved two seats closer. “Guilty.” Most days, he relished meeting fans, talking about games. But not today. “Say, aren’t you playing St. Louis on Sunday?” “Yep.” Carla returned. He shot her a look, and she picked up on it. They had been friends for two years. She knew the days he didn’t want to be bothered. And this was one of them. “Hey, fellas, why don’t you give Mr. Mahoney a little breathing room. He just got off practice and would probably like to leave football behind for a bit. Can I get you another beer?” “Sure, sure, we get it.” The men went back to their original location. Carla brought them more drinks. “These are on the house.” They finished quickly and headed out. One of the couples at the tables paid and left. The place quieted down. “So, how come you look like you lost your best friend?” Carla sipped a ginger ale and leaned against the bar. Trunk couldn’t keep his eyes off her breasts, squeezed together and almost spilling out of her top. God, they’re gorgeous. His fingers tingled at the idea of touching them. He took a deep breath and forced his gaze up to meet hers. Her dark brown eyes cut right through him. There was no lying to Carla. “Guess I did.” “I’m still here,” she joked. “Mary moved out. Left me. Took the furniture.” He spit it out, fast. It hurt less that way, like ripping off a bandage. Carla grasped his muscular forearm, and her eyes softened. “Well, s**t. I’m sorry, Trunk. What happened?” “Damned if I know.” He took a gulp of his beer. “Didn’t she say anything?” “‘I’m leaving. My lawyer will be in touch. Took the furniture. You can have the house’.” “Eff that bitch.” “She says I can have the house, but I doubt her lawyer’ll let her do that. Money grubbing fuckers.” “Didn’t she say anything else? Like why she was leaving, or where she was going?” Trunk shook his head. “Nope. That was it. In a text.” “A text?” Carla’s eyebrows rose. “Damn, that’s cold.” “I think she’s afraid to face me. Though I don’t know why.” “You’ve got to track her down. Get some answers.” “You’re telling me.” He shook his head. Carla slipped back into the kitchen and returned with two blue cheese burgers and an order of fries. “These are on the house, Trunk.” “No way.” “Way.” “You can’t afford to do that. You just gave those two assholes free beer to leave me alone. And now this? You keep giving food away, and you’ll be out of business. I’m paying.” “We’re friends.” He shot her a longing look, before masking his expression. Her statement cut him deep. He had wished he could be so much more than friends with this beauty, wished he’d met her before he got hooked up with Mary. It would never happen now. Trunk had a secret, a secret that would keep her away. He’d guessed it might be what finally drove Mary to leave him. “Business is business, Carla. You can’t afford to give food away. And I don’t want to be the cause of your closing down.” “Screw you. I’ll charge you double, then. For everyone else, $5.95, for you, twelve bucks!” Trunk laughed. He hadn’t thought anything could be funny today, but Carla was, and he was grateful. He bit into a juicy burger, cooked just the way he liked, and smiled. No one made food like she did. “Where you gonna live?” she asked, finishing the last of her drink. “Good question. I have no idea.” “I have a ‘sleep-it-off’ room upstairs, down the hall from my digs, if you need it.” “Thanks. I’m bunking in with Bull and Samantha tonight.” “Barging in on the newlyweds?” “When you put it like that, maybe I shouldn’t go there. But one night won’t kill ’em.” “Nah. Bull can keep it in his pants for once.” “Or keep it quiet.” Trunk snickered. She chuckled. He finished the first patty and washed it down with a healthy slug of beer. “Hey, how about this? I could rent that room from you. Just until I get a new place. Give you some more income.” “You think I need the money?” She narrowed her eyes and rested her hand on her hip. “Everybody needs more money.” “True. I could do that. How much?” “Hmm. Five hundred do it?” She swallowed, and her eyes widened. “Five hundred does it just fine. I’ll take you up there after closing.” “Fine. I’ll tell Bull I’m not coming.” “There’s a bathroom across the hall too. No kitchen, but you can use the one in the bar.” “Works for me.” He finished the last of his beverage, stuffed two more fries into his mouth, and slid off the seat. Dropping a twenty on the counter, he headed for his car. * * * * Carla hoped Trunk hadn’t noticed the flush she’d sensed in her face when he said he’d move in. Thankfully, new customers arrived, giving her the chance to escape. She made her way to the three tables, took their orders, and scurried back to the kitchen to slap burgers on the grill. The heat from the cooking food was nothing compared to the heat in her body from Trunk’s news. He was like a magnet, drawing her to him for the past two years. The way his shirt pulled over his wide shoulders, his lean waist, powerful biceps, and what she guessed were tight abs, invaded her dreams at night. Of course, he had a cute butt, which she tried not to notice. A couple of times he’d caught her checking him out. She always had a snappy retort that made him laugh. But she saw the lusty light in his eyes, and it made her shiver. She remembered the first day he’d come in. She’d been joking with Griff Montgomery that he never brought his good-looking teammates in for a beer. Then, Trunk Mahoney had walked through the door, and Carla hadn’t been able to speak. Her mouth had gotten dry while other parts had gotten damp. His powerful body, barely concealed in tight jeans and T-shirt, coupled with his confident swagger, had made her knees weak. He’d flashed a sexy grin and raked her body with a smoldering gaze from beautiful, light blue eyes. If he had ripped the clothing from her, she couldn’t have felt more naked. Trunk Mahoney was s*x on wheels, and she’d wanted him, until she’d checked out his left hand. There it had been, the colossal mood killer—his wedding ring. So, Carla had locked up her feelings and swallowed the key. Her ‘no touch’ policy applied to all married men, no matter how attractive they were. And that included Al Mahoney. That’s all she needed—an affair with a married man. Like life wasn’t hard enough, trying to keep the bar open and her head above water financially. Every month was a struggle. She thanked God for football season, as the team filled her place several nights a week. But after the Super Bowl, a dry spell for The Savage Beast set in. The men and their women scattered, along with the townsfolk who had enjoyed mingling with the team. Business was reduced from a race to a crawl. Even Betty, who played piano and sang on Friday and Saturday nights, didn’t draw a lucrative crowd. Carla kept her secret, cutting back on expenses, holding on to every penny when the place was hot. She’d given up her apartment and lived above the bar to save money. Trunk’s rent would be a lifesaver, even if it was only for one or two months. She’d put it away to help pay the mortgage on the building when the cash register stopped ringing. She’d let him break through to the buddy circle in her heart, greeting him with a friendly slap on the back or a sharp insult meant in jest. They were friends, without benefits. Now, he wasn’t married anymore, and the barrier she had erected between them began to crack. Griff Montgomery had been her favorite hook-up before he’d married. Since then, no one had taken his place. As she crumbled blue cheese on the sizzling meat, she wondered why. Then, it became obvious. That’s when Trunk Mahoney had started coming in. She smacked her palm against her forehead. Damn it! Yep, she’d been on the shelf, waiting for him. What a stupid thing to do. Now, he’d be available, but on the rebound, serious rebound, ready to jump into bed with a bevy of hot women. What man goes from a crushing divorce to a new relationship? Nope. He’s gotta play around first. Bed hopping, for sure. I’m done with bed buddies. It’s the real deal, or I don’t play. She had promised herself not to take on any more men just for s*x. Did she have time for a relationship? Hell no, she was married to the Beast. Casual affairs had been so handy. No ties, no commitments, and no grousing about the long hours she worked. Griff had been her best bed buddy. Although he’d wanted to take their relationship to the next level—or at least had said he did—she hadn’t believed him. Besides, he’d wanted kids, and motherhood was not in her future plans. Still, she’d missed him. When he’d gotten married, she’d turned over a new leaf. Her life now was about making a go of the bar, meaning she had little time for men, in or out of bed. But this was Trunk Mahoney—fresh out of the gate. Since he was just leaving one marriage, she doubted he’d be interested in another. And then, there was the kid thing. She’d never met a man who didn’t want kids. She sighed. Nope, they still weren’t compatible, but he was tempting. Carla took a deep breath then plucked a bottle of water from the fridge. The kitchen was getting hot, and with the defenseman staying upstairs, it was bound to get a great deal hotter.