Busted Play: The Series (Players, Books 1-6) Read online

  Once she’s out the door, I give Jack a call. Time to see the doc. Funny how my stomach gets all screwed up on the ride there. I guess it’s normal. What guy would want to know if his brain has turned to mush. A quarterback may not go down as often as guys like Hacksaw, but still, I’ve been banged up a lot and seen stars more times than I’d like to admit.

  After the CT scan and MRI, the doc puts some images up onto a computer monitor and stares at me like it should mean something. I have no idea what the hell it is but from his tone, I get that it’s not good.

  He hands me a form to sign but I don’t like how he’s sweating and shaking as my pen hovers over the bottom line. With dyslexia, I could miss something important. Besides that, my older brother would kick my ass for doing something so stupid. Of course, then I’d have to punch him back and after, we’d both be sorry. Regardless, I’m not signing this stupid paper.

  I pointedly fold his damn form and shove it into my back pocket. “I’ll bring it back after I get a second opinion.”

  Doctor Pranayama jumps in front of me as I start to exit his office, a really bold move for such a small guy. “I suggest if you want to continue playing you keep this between us.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I get up into his face but with the Super Bowl so close, I pause for a second as he holds another pen in front of my face.

  “Just sign the bloody paper. Now.”

  No one gives me orders, except maybe the preacher-man and my mom. “Right. I just need to have my lawyer give it a look-see, first.”

  The doctor frowns. “Very well but if someone asks to see your paperwork, your career is through. Think it over. If it gets out you have CTE, kiss your big bucks good-bye.”

  CTE? That’s brain damage. No way.

  I push him aside, walk out the door, and slam it behind me. Once back in the limo, I Google CTE.

  Chronic traumatic encephalopathy? Fuck it all to hell. The doctor might as well have held a gun to my head and shot me. I’m as good as dead.

  My dad was a pro ball player, too. They said he had Alzheimer’s but I always wondered. Now it makes a lot more sense.

  Chapter 2

  Melanie Quinn

  The GYN always makes me nervous but today, even more so. CJ and I’ve talked about having kids someday, just not now. And, according to ‘the rules’ of being the wife of an NFL star, I am not to say or do anything during the season that might distract him.

  Hmmm. Not sure. Announcing an unplanned pregnancy? Does that fall under the category of distraction?

  Shit. It’s times like this I wish he was a regular guy. I really don’t need his millions of dollars to be happy. Sure, it’s nice not to worry about money but I don’t need a whole lot of stuff. I really don’t. I’m happy with less. I like my job, my few friends, and my apartment.

  And, of course, I love my hotshot, CJ Quinn, more than life itself. He’s so damn handsome and got these hazel eyes that stare right through me. His spikey dark hair feels like silk between my fingers and our sex is out of this world. Although I’ve only had one other lover in my life, I hear the other wives talk. CJ’s more well-endowed than the largest of the other players but that’s something I’m going keep to myself.

  On the exam table, the paper crunches under my butt and I wonder if I should’ve come sooner. My periods have always been spotty but after being kidnapped, they’re all over the place. At first, I thought it was stress. Now, I wonder.

  As I wait I got to admit, I hate doctors. Not personally, mind you. That would be weird. I just dislike having some stranger stick a finger up my vagina. Seriously? Who the hell likes that?

  There’s only one magazine in the exam room and it has a cute baby on the cover. She’s got deep blue eyes, a toothless smile, and is wearing an adorable hand-crocheted pink sweater. For a second, I picture her as a miniature version of my husband and my chest gets all tight, my eyes watery.

  A baby.

  I should’ve done an at-home pregnancy test but it’s hard to have any privacy when you’re the wife of someone famous. You never know when a member of the paparazzi’s going to pop out between the aisles of CVS like a live jack-in-a-box and snap a picture.

  Oh yeah, don’t forget rule numero uno. Do not upset the NFL star during game season.

  Beckie, Hacksaw’s girlfriend, gave me an earful during the last team party. Jeesh. I guess I get it. There’s millions at stake but me and CJ aren’t like that.

  Where the hell is the damn doctor? It seems like hours ago the nurse ushered me in, gave me a backless cotton nightgown, and told me to change. Goosebumps cover my arms and thighs and I rub them away. Either I’m freaking or the office is too cold.

  When the door finally opens, a woman with Dr. Lydia on a plastic name tag shakes my hand. She’s pleasant enough but has this tight, busy smile. I swear they teach doctors that look in med school. There’s probably three credits for acing it.

  Staying seated seems the right thing to do as my butt is naked. I do, however, lean forward to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  She looks down at my chart, as if it’s the first time, then smiles brightly. “I see congratulations are in order.”

  “Excuse me?” A b’zillion brain cells fire all at once and my mouth drops open.

  “You didn’t know?” The smile falls off her face and she regards me like I’m a complete moron.

  “M-My husband is CJ Q-Quinn.” No doubt, my stuttering gives more credence to the doctor’s opinion of me and her blank look says she’s not a football fan.

  “My husband is the star quarterback for the Giants. They’re on their way to the Super Bowl?”

  She looks at her watch.

  Jeesh, I may need to find a different doctor for the next nine months but try again. “Sorry. Listen I’m not explaining this well. I didn’t take an at home test because it’s impossible for me to do anything without someone catching me and taking a picture with their cell phone.”

  “Oh, I see.” She’s just being polite.

  Cripes. I need to get us back on topic. “I’m on the pill. I can’t be pregnant.”

  Safely in her comfort zone, Dr. Lydia raises her eyebrows. “Did you miss taking one, even for a couple days.”

  Oh shit. Yeah, when I was kidnapped, I did. No point in hashing that all out with her.

  However, as a modern, intelligent woman, I find it necessary to defend my honor. “I did what it said on the package.”

  There’s a paper that unfolds like a map with font so small you need to bring it to your nose and it’s got so much crap on it, I doubt anyone actually reads it. Plus, it’s scary as hell. There’s a list of everything that you could die from, just for trying not to get pregnant.

  The doctor’s face grows stern above her plastic pocket protector as she stares over her clipboard. “Did you abstain or use some other form of birth control for a good month or more?”

  I shake my head, no. Shit. I must’ve missed that part in the mountain of instructions.

  “Well then, that explains it.” She smiles, no doubt pleased that everything in her world makes sense. Good for her.

  Wow. The baby on the magazine cover grins at me.

  Holy shit, I’m preggo! Suddenly, I’m full of awesomeness. A baby. Our baby. His baby. We’re going to be a family.

  I grin so hard my face aches. “Sorry, I’m just like, all over the place. What do I do now?”

  “Lie back, let’s do an internal exam, then I will get you set up with some appointments, okay? Remember, you got nine whole months to prepare. You don’t have to figure it all out today, or even this month.” She shakes her head, her grin seeming a whole lot nicer now.

  This is pretty amazing, right?

  I wonder if CJ will think so, too.

  Chapter 3

  CJ

  “Mel, baby? I need to stay with the team tonight.” I promised myself I wouldn’t ever lie to her but this is different. It’s for her own good. If she finds out I have CTE, she’ll insist
on being my nursemaid, ruining her chances for happiness. I love her too much to take that chance.

  “I got something to tell you. Can we talk for just a sec?” When her breath hitches like that, I know she needs me but this is as good a time as any to break our ties. Anything else is too cruel.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.” That’s a lie, too. I need to leave her forever, cold turkey.

  “Okay.” Her sad, deflated tone reminds me of a wounded puppy and I feel more like a complete ass, which I hadn’t thought possible.

  But she’ll be okay, eventually.

  Stretching out in the back of the limo, I wonder what would happen if I told her the truth about the chronic brain shit and my father. I can picture her now, all clinical and insisting on a second opinion. Then would come the pity party, and finally, the reality would sink in of taking care of a special-needs husband.

  I won’t let that happen. My first priority is to make sure she’s all set for money. That’s why I had Jack drive me to my lawyer’s house tonight.

  “Hey, Bro.” I buzz the door at street level.

  Climbing three flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator, I knock and he lets me in. Without asking, he sets a beer down on the table.

  “How much do you remember about Dad?” I can never figure out how to lead into a serious conversation so start in the middle.

  His eyes darken, he pulls out another cold one, and sits across from me. “Why?”

  “Just thinking.” I’ve broken an unsaid family rule by bringing up the topic of my Dad but I just got to know.

  Andy’s got this perfect poker face, his only tell is a small tick in his jaw. “He was an okay Dad… before he got sick.”

  The apartment goes silent for a while except for the whir of his refrigerator. Finally, he adds, “You were like three when he started getting symptoms.”

  “Is that what you call him beating the shit out of us? Symptoms?” My pulse quickens. I may only have fragments of memories but the few I got are pretty vivid.

  He shrugs like it doesn’t matter and uncharacteristically chugs down his beer. “Alzheimer’s makes some people angry. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “What if it wasn’t Alzheimer’s. What if it was CTE?”

  “What difference does that make now?” His gaze narrows.

  Shit, I said too much. “Nothing. But before that? Was he an okay guy?”

  I hate to do this to my brother, but I really need to find out. It might help me figure out what kind of person I’ll become when things get worse.

  Andy’s bottle clunks down hard on the dark shining wood. “How would I know? I was what? Eight? Nine? I guess he had a bit of a temper. Why?”

  I stand, suddenly claustrophobic in the small space of his kitchen and I open his fridge. Inside the items are perfectly stacked, more like a grocery store and I wonder how much of his need for order is because of what happened to him as a kid.

  Then my brother sighs heavily, shaking his head back and forth, while his hand rakes across his evening beard. “So, how much do you recall?”

  “Just that Dad went fucking nuts, fists flying. You pushed me into the bathroom and gave me Mom’s cell phone.”

  “I should’ve protected you.” He closes his eyes, brows creased.

  “Shit, man. How could you? You were a little kid, too.” I scrape a chair out from under the table, and it screeches against his hard wood floor

  As I recall, my dad pounded on the bathroom door. “Come out here, you little shit.”

  The phone in my hand was still a bit of a mystery and I cried out like any little kid, “I want Mommy.”

  “She’s getting groceries. Open the damn door. If I have to break it down, you’ll be one sorry little boy.” His voice back then was worse than thunder.

  “But me and Andy didn’t do anything.” At four, his anger was a complete mystery to me.

  My brother shouted from somewhere in the living room, “Chance, press nine-one-one. Do it, now.”

  I guess my Dad didn’t like the advice because he clumped down the stairs. Then Mom’s best lamp crashed to the floor and Andy screamed.

  Shaking like mad, I flipped open the phone and pushed all the buttons at once. Suddenly it lit up and I placed it on the white tiled floor so I could carefully press those three important numbers.

  A lady said, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  “My daddy is hurting my brother.” Downstairs, the cursing and yelling got even worse.

  “How old are you?”

  “Four and a half.”

  “Okay. And where’s your father?” If she was big enough to help, why did she keep asking stupid questions?

  “Downstairs. He’s really mad.” I glance at the door handle, wishing I was big enough to save Andy.

  “Help is on the way. Be brave and don’t hang up.”

  The fleeting memory dissolves and I’m back in Brooklyn drinking beer with my brother.

  “I really thought he was going to kill you.” My knuckles grow white as I clench the bottle.

  “Damn close. He broke my arm and ruptured my spleen. Why do we need to hash this out now?” Intelligent eyes regard me, no doubt trying to read my mind.

  Glad for something to do, I pull the form out of my back pocket and press it flat on the table. “I got knocked out today. The team doc gave me this to sign but I didn’t. It’s written in legalese mumbo-jumbo.”

  Andy picks up the paper, studies it for a few minutes, then nods. “Good you didn’t sign it. It says here you willingly agree to play, knowing that you may be permanently disabled. Not only that, he names a figure. Pay it and he’ll keep his mouth shut about your CTE.”

  “Shit. That’s blackmail.” My opinion of Pranyama drops lower, something before tonight, I would’ve thought impossible.

  With nothing else to do with my hands, I start tearing at the label of the bottle, making a small pile of paper on the table while my brother grabs his laptop off from a chair and starts typing. “Listen up. You need to get a second opinion. See how bad things really are. Let me deal with this, okay?”

  Antsy, I stand and pace his hallway. “If I try to get a second opinion, it says I can kiss my career goodbye.”

  “Sit. Something smells rotten. You don’t have any symptoms. Did he let you see the CT scan?”

  “Yeah, but I had no idea what I was looking at. Listen, I’ll see someone, I promise, right after the Super Bowl. Then, together, we’ll take the doctor down.”

  He nods still frowning, and then we hug, slapping each other on the back. We love each other and nothing else needs to be said. Before I go, he tries once again to convince me to get a second opinion but I can’t take any chances. Football is all I know and I’m not ready to retire, not yet. Sure, I’ve considered it, but figured on years left to play, not months.

  The worst part is, I always thought I’d coach after I quit but unless they fix football, kids will get head injuries and end up like me. That’s just not right. I won’t be part of that.

  Outside the building, Jack’s waiting with the limo and opens the back door for me. “You want me to take you home?”

  Usually the first thing I do after practice is see my wife, not my brother. Jack has to know something is up but I can’t yet wrap my head around having brain damage.

  Our Brooklyn apartment is right around the corner and more than anything I need to see Mel. Maybe I can have her one more night before doing the right thing.

  “Take me home, Jack.”

  As he maneuvers the vehicle through the narrow streets, I kick myself for my weakness. How am I ever going to find the guts to leave her? We were supposed to grow old together. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She’s my fucking everything.

  When I open the door to our apartment, she’s asleep on the couch, an empty pint of chocolate mint ice cream on the end table. Then she blinks, yawns, and gives me that smile that makes me want to give her the world. I can face the NFL’s best defensive line but at
the thought of living without her, I’m a fucking mess.

  Scooping her lithe body into my arms, I bring her back into the bedroom and gently place her on our comforter. Tonight, she’s mine, perhaps for the very last time.

  Shit, it makes me crazy to imagine her marrying some other guy but it’s got to be. What kind of man in my place would insist she stay shackled? In a few years, she’ll be nothing but my nanny. Not only that, she could end up in the hospital or even worse.

  “Hey. I thought you weren’t coming home tonight.” Gorgeous blue eyes regard me as she stretches her pink tipped toes to the footboard and arms over her head.

  “Changed my mind.” I have to kiss the line of freckles across her nose before removing her sleepshirt.

  Then, her blond hair goes all over the place because of static and create a halo on the pillow when she lays back down. Her smile seductive, she grasps the headboard and spreads her legs wide.

  I need her so much that it cuts deep into places I didn’t even know existed. Kicking away my sneakers, I pull down my sweats, and tear off my t-shirt. Maybe knowing I can’t keep her, makes me want her more.

  I need to fuck her into oblivion. Then again, this night has got to be different. She needs to remember how much I loved her before I do what has to be done.

  Naked, I climb into the king-sized bed beside her and tug her into my body. My chin rests on the top of her head while she nuzzles my neck. Then, I lift her face to mine, starving for sweet, warm lips, savoring her flavor, committing it to memory. The sweet agony of the unfairness of it all makes me almost change my mind about leaving.

  My wife knows me too well and with wide eyes searches my face but I say nothing. As much as I love her, I can’t share what’s going on. I fear what happened to my mother, would happen to her. The best thing to do is to cherish her as if there’s no tomorrow, only tonight, only this moment.

  Lying on my side, I kiss her eyelids closed because I can’t bear to look at that questioning gaze. Then, I caress her soft and willing lips with mine. She tastes so damn good that I take the kiss deeper. Holding the globes of her ass with my hands, I pull her across the soft sheets tight into my hardening need.