Page 66 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 19
Ty
TUESDAY MORNINGas I head to the Outlaws' compound I'm in a great frame of mind. Last night, we'd decimated the Roughriders with a score of 42-7. I'd worked with Pedro Santiago, the rookie quarterback who'd temporarily replaced me—telling him what to watch out for, the defense players' weak tells. He'd taken every word of advice and capitalized on our nemesis's weaknesses. Even though I hadn't thrown a single pass, I felt partly responsible for the victory.
After such a resounding win, I'd normally party with the rest of the team, but last night I'd wanted nothing more than to go home to MacKenna. She'd proved true by welcoming me home in the best of ways. Except for Oliver and Marigold, nobody knows she's living with me. And I mean to keep it that way. If word got out, it might damage her career. And that's the last thing I want. But somehow, I have to make this work. I want her to live with me, in my house, where she will feel safe, and I can take care of her.
As soon as I step into the compound, Terrell, one of my offensive linebackers, stops me. "Missed you last night, man. The party was off the hook. Some of the honeys were wondering where you were."
"Glad you had a good time. But it was Pedro's night. Didn't want to steal his thunder, you know?"
"Yeah, the kid's great. But you're better. Heal fast, buddy. We'll need you for the playoffs." He pounds me on my shoulder—my good shoulder.
"Thanks." I want nothing more than to get back on the field, but Doc Latimer's not about to give me a clean bill of health for two more weeks. So, until then, I'll have to grin and bear it. And contribute as much as I can to Pedro's success. After all, we need the kid to get to the playoffs.
The morning after game day, we don't practice, but attend team meetings where the coaches review what went right and what went wrong. After that, we're usually released. Some players stay and work out; but most take off to enjoy the half day of freedom. I head toward the locker room to check out the schedule, but as soon as I walk in, one of the assistants stop me. "Mathews!"
"Yeah."
"Coach Gronowski wants to see you."
I nod. "Okay." Wondering what that's about, I steer toward the coach's office and knock on the door.
"Come in." His rough voice barks out.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yeah, take a seat." He points to one of the truck-sized chairs in front of his desk, wide and sturdy enough to support the football players he coaches. "Got a call from Nebraska State."
The college I graduated from, the one where he was head coach before he was hired by the Chicago Outlaws to lead the team. "Oh? Who?"
"Art Johnson." Art had been his offensive line assistant coach at Nebraska State. They'd always been close. When Coach Gronowski moved to the professional league, he'd asked Johnson to come along, but he'd chosen to stay. He had a large family there he didn't want to leave.
"What did he have to say?"
"He got a phone call from MacKenna Perkins."
I gulp. "MacKenna?"
"Yes. She's been poking her nose where she shouldn't. She called the Athletic Department asking about your football college career, and they patched her to Art. Don't worry. He only gave her the basics. How long you played, your stats, that kind of thing."
"Well, that's good."
He pounds on the desk. "No. That's not good. We both know she's not going to stop there. Look at what she did with Ron. She figured out he was dyslexic and got him to open up."
"But that turned out all right. We got a lot of positive feedback from the article."
"Yeah. We came up smelling like roses on that one. Hiring a kid who can't read. Oliver Lyons is pretty pleased with the piece." His gaze zeroes in on me. "I gather he knows her as well?"
"Yeah. He met her one summer. His cousin's family had a farm next to hers in Iowa."
"Just our rotten luck." He drops his ham-sized fists on the desk and leans toward me. "We can't count on him stopping her from writing about the Outlaws. And you. She's going to keep digging. Sooner or later, she's going to come across this." He drops a Nebraska State newspaper in front of me and taps his finger on the headline. "Student sexually assaulted at campus fraternity."
I suck in a breath. No matter how far you run from your past, it always manages to catch up with you.
"You know I had no part in that."
"Yeah, I know. But that's not going to stop her writing about it, is it?" He spits out, baring his teeth.
