Chapter One
“Come on, Rick! I’m not a newbie that just joined the team. You can’t be serious!” Bruce Hawkins, the Miami Thunder halfback, was livid. After securing a position with the team almost six years ago, Bruce was in danger of being sidelined due to his MCL injury. The second of his career, this was one he’d been recovering from during the off season that no one knew about, except for his agent, Rick Batista.
“You know, Hawkins,” Rick said. “If it weren’t for your impressive playing so many years ago that got the Thunders excited enough to bring you over, and the fact that I’m putting my career on the line for you, I’d call the manager and tell them to can your ass already.
Bruce laughed. “And lose out on your commission?”
“You think you’re special?” Rick glared at him. “I can get someone from the practice squad to take your spot on the rosters tomorrow. At least they’re chomping at the bit for the chance you seem to want to throw away. Those guys live and dream football. I mean, look at you, you’re walking with a cane. Christ, my old man walks better than you and he’s in his seventies! Besides, shouldn’t you be using crutches to stay off your leg?”
“Canes are stylish; crutches tell people I’m crippled.”
“Oh, yeah, right. I’m sure that’s what everyone would be thinking.”
Bruce ignored his agent’s sarcasm. They worked well together. They needed each other. “My doctor said the injury is minor. It’s a grade two injury, so I won’t need surgery.”
“It’s a damn good thing you don’t need surgery. I don’t know how I’d cover up that for you.” Rick blew out a sigh and ran his hand through his iron-grey hair. “Look around. You have this condo in the middle of Manhattan, and you bought your mom a house in Miami, without blinking an eye. Your football career has given you the best of everything and all you keep doing is getting into trouble during the off season. It’s like you don’t care.”
Bruce looked around his two bedroom condo, bought and furnished before he even stepped inside. It was contemporary in style with a sprinkling of black and gold accents, his team colors. Manhattan waterfront views glistened from almost every window. As a foreclosure, the condominium was a steal, and growing up without a father and struggling through life, Bruce decided he was worth the expense of the renovation. He shrugged when he spotted Rick scrutinizing him.
“Tell me again how you hurt yourself?”
“Ultimate Frisbee.” Bruce ignored Rick’s eye roll. “No one needs to know that I’m hurt again. I’ll just do some exercises and be back on the field in time for —”
“In time for nothing. I’m not making it easy for you anymore. I can’t lie for you again. All of your off season activities have started to raise eyebrows. Ultimate Frisbee? Shit. I’m glad the papers haven’t caught hold of that incident.”
Although it was true that he hadn’t considered the media when he picked up with some guys in Central Park, Bruce viewed ultimate Frisbee as a stress reliever, and a way to try to have a normal life outside of football.
“The team’s doctor is already suspicious that you’re being reckless off the field. He wants you to have a complete physical when you get back to Florida, so they can decide if they’re going to renew your contract. I had to lie and tell him you flew your family here for a special visit, so you can’t make it down there right now.” Rick downed the rest of his beer and shook his head. He pulled out a business card from his wallet and handed it to Bruce. “Here’s the name of a good physical therapy team. They have several facilities throughout the country.”
Bruce took the card, but his attention was still on Rick. “So? Why don’t you schedule something for me next week? I’ll check my calendar and let you know when I have some spare time.”
“No deal. I figured you’d stall,” Rick pointed at him. “I already told them I’m sending someone special for them to work with this afternoon, so you might want to head right over after I leave. They’ll report your progress back to me so I can decide what to say to the team doctor.”
Bruce looked at the list of therapists on the card and snickered. “Rose Perez is the name of one of them? No one names their kid Rose anymore. How old is she ninety?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek knowing his sister, Jenna, at seven months pregnant, was considering that exact name for her child.
A girl.
That’s what Jenna had told him she was expecting. She wanted to know the sex of her next child after her husband, Marc, suddenly moved out of their house and into a nearby apartment. They’re having issues, his sister had told him. Without getting into specific details, Jenna briefly mentioned the stress of Marc’s new job, their new house, and their growing family. After having three very active boys, all under the age of five, Marc claimed he needed time to regroup. He seemed overwhelmed, and while Jenna was willing to give Marc the space needed to save their marriage, she was the one who was stressed.
Wanting to strangle Marc, Bruce saw the stress in Jenna’s eyes trying to raise her children and maintain an organized household. A loud belch from the direction of the dark mahogany leather couch brought Bruce’s attention back to his agent.
“I’m not playing games anymore, Hawkins. I can’t continue to jeopardize my career, especially when you’re near the end of yours. Think about it. You just turned thirty. I don’t know how many good years you have left in the game, especially if you’re intent on screwing it up. You can’t be irresponsible off the field if you want to be ready to play on the field.” Rick got up from the couch and gave Bruce a salute with his bottle. After placing it on the kitchen counter, Rick walked to the door. He placed his hand on the knob before turning back to Bruce. “Thanks for the beer. I don’t want to see you in my office or flying south to the clubhouse until you’re one hundred percent ready to play.”
“I’ll be in shape for spring training.”
“Right. That and a dollar might get you a cup of coffee. Listen. I know your brother got into some kind of trouble again, but you have to stop beating yourself up for anything he’s putting you through. You need to remove your focus on him and focus on your game.”
“Randy’s not putting me through anything.” Bruce stalked toward the windows and looked out over the city. He folded his arms across his chest and then turned toward Rick.
“I get that you’re telling me to butt-out like usual. So why are you trying to kill your career?” Rick shook his head and opened the door to leave. “You have less than a month to convince me you’re ready. Work with the therapists’ office starting today and let me worry about what to tell anyone. In the meantime, try not to let anyone see you hobbling around with a cane. We don’t need to feed the media. So, keep your nose clean.”
Bruce watched the door close and then briefly looked at the card in his hand before he tossed it onto an end table in his living room. He placed his hands behind his head. “Shit, shit, shit.” He knew his career was in trouble if he didn’t straighten out, but damn, he was having too much fun. Or was he? How could everything be going so wrong? He blew a breath, sat on his couch and looked up at the fourteen foot ceiling.
His mom had been impressed when she first saw his condo. She had run her hands along the engineered stone counter, offset with the porcelain tile backsplash in the galley-style kitchen, and remarked how fancy everything looked. Even though he had recently bought her a house in the same Florida town he grew up in, he couldn’t help but think there was more to life than the homes and other things his money could buy.
He remembered how his mother had looked out at the Manhattan skyline one evening and remarked how jealous his two brothers, David and Randy, would be if they saw the same view. As the oldest child in the family, jealousy wasn’t Bruce’s goal. He felt a need to help provide for them in a way that their absent father hadn’t. Unfortunately, as a rising athletic star, his family life was fodder for headlines and the newspapers exposed how the money he had sent to Randy, was most likely used for drugs, women, and booze. His brother only held out his hand for more money saying he’d use it for college. When college didn’t materialize, the money flow stopped and the tension between them intensified.
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut against his past, angered at the thought that some people said he’d probably go down the same reckless path as Randy. When did his own reckless behavior start?
Bruce remembered going sky diving after Randy’s first major brush with the law, when drugs were involved. Half way though the dive, Bruce hadn’t paid attention to when he should open his shoot until he realized how close he was to the ground. Then there was the zip line incident that stopped him in midair when the equipment became faulty, yet he wanted to try it again. That episode came right after he had to pay off an officer new on the beat, to not haul Randy in for drunk driving. It was lucky for Bruce the officer was a fan of his. Then there were the many women who tried to help Bruce take his mind off his family’s troubles. Unfortunately, the press was only too eager to turn those escapades into headline stories.
Maybe Rick was right. Bruce wondered if he was subconsciously trying to sabotage his own career in some twisted way to ease the tension between him and his brother, and be the father they grew up without.
Picking up the card, Bruce looked at the address and absent mindedly rubbed his knee with his free hand. He shook his head. “Might as well head out. With my luck, I’ll probably get stuck with the old lady.”