“Hey look! It's him!” Rusty had taken half a pain pill after his shower and ate a piece of toast. He'd drank almost a gallon of water too, but so far it wasn't helping with the headache or the shakes. But, somewhere in between waking up, the call from Matt and the shower, he'd resolved to stay sober, no matter how hard it was. At least he knew from experience that it would get easier...eventually. He'd had a temporary setback, that was all. He could stop drinking any time he wanted to...and today was going to be the day. He crossed the yard at the side of the house toward the park while ten pairs of eyes staring out of young boys watched him. Isaac must have told all his friends he'd be here, there was a much bigger audience today than usual. They stood in two groups, four or five in each, and when he approached Isaac, they all watched and listened to the exchange. Isaac held out a travel cup and Rusty took it. While he was burning his tongue trying to down the coffee in one gulp Isaac said,

“You're late.” Rusty looked at him over the cup. At least the cocky little shit had the foresight to smile when he said that. Rusty started to flip him off, but remembered he was dealing with an eleven-year-old and just made a face at him instead. When in Rome...After he finished the coffee and could feel it warming up his veins he held up his hands and Isaac threw him the football.

“Go long,” Rusty said to a stocky kid that was standing next to Isaac. The kid ran back, hesitating every few yards until he was at least thirty yards out and that was when Rusty threw the football. He watched the ball spin through the air with more than a handful of emotions running through him. He was surprised he could still throw it, in awe of how far it was going and how good his aim still was, and practically exhilarated at the feeling it all gave him. The kids watched as the ball arced and began to spin toward the ground. The stocky kid almost caught it but juked in the wrong direction at the last minute, not accounting for the wind. Rusty grinned at Isaac and said, “First lesson, make sure your teammate knows how to gauge the wind.”

“He's not my teammate,” Isaac said, putting his hand on the shoulder of another boy standing close to him. It was the first time Rusty noticed that the group standing closest to Isaac were dressed in what looked like newer, maybe even designer shoes and t-shirts. The group of kids the other boy had been standing close to, were the dirty-faced, ripped jeans, holes in the tennis shoes crew. They'd been the ones on the other side of the park the day before when he'd wrecked his bike. “This is Phillip. He's my running back.”

Rusty looked at the smug face of the dark-haired boy Isaac was touching. Then he looked at the kid who had just run thirty yards and almost caught a ball thrown by a three-time Super Bowl champ. He didn't look happy with himself...but, he should. “What's your name?” Rusty asked him.

“Brett,” the kid said. Rusty held up his hands and Brett threw him the ball. “That was great, you almost had it.” A small smile crept onto the kid's face as Rusty's praise set in. Rusty let him revel in it for a few seconds and then he said, “You'll just have to learn how to factor in the weather.” The kid nodded, looking eager to learn, so Rusty said, “Okay, Brett, Phillip, both of you go out about twenty yards, but give each other plenty of space. Isaac, come here.” Isaac walked over next to Rusty and the other two boys went out where he told them to go. Rusty looked at the rougher group of boys and said, “Who's your quarterback?”

“Hey! You're supposed to be...” Isaac started. Rusty looked down at him and said,

“If I'm teaching, I'm teaching you all. You have a problem with that?”

“They're ranch kids. I'm not supposed to play with ranch kids.”

Rusty didn't have to ask him what “ranch kids” were. Other than his time in living and playing football in Philadelphia, the Southside had been his home. Anyone from the Southside of Boston knew it was Skulls territory, and the Skulls clubhouse was on a big piece of property that everyone simply referred to as “The Ranch.” Rusty didn't know any of them personally, but he'd seen them around town a lot. There was a time when violence and murder stained their entire neighborhood thanks to the biker gang and their rivals. But from what Rusty knew of the past few years, their president, Dax Marshall had turned a lot of that around. For the most part they were business owners and farmers...albeit the crops they grew weren't always things that could be sold in the grocery store. The thing that resonated with him the most though, was something he remembered his father telling him not long before he got injured and came home. Dax Marshall had built a home on the ranch for teens who were victims of abuse and sex-trafficking. He'd gone through the proper channels, thanks to his old lady who was a former cop and now a lawyer, and he'd gotten all the proper permits. The kids were well taken care of, fed, warm and educated...and most importantly of all, protected from further abuse or exploitation. Rusty's dad did the church services at the teen center for a while before his retirement, and he'd been impressed. His Dad's judgment was always spot on too. The fact that Isaac said, “ranch kids” like it was a dirty word only made Rusty that much more determined to include them all.

“I can keep a secret,” Rusty said with a wink. Isaac seemed to understand what that meant even before Rusty went on to say, “You're gonna take turns throwing passes. Your guy can catch yours and his guy can catch his if you want, but if we're doing this, we're doing it my way.” Isaac nodded, albeit reluctantly and Rusty handed him the football. “Show me how you hold it.”

“Like this?” Isaac asked, with his hand on the ball. His hands were small and they didn't cover as much of the ball as Rusty's did, giving him less control...but, he had a good idea of what he was doing all the same.

“Move your thumb over here like this,” Rusty showed him where to put his thumb and then said, “How does that feel?”

“Awkward,” Isaac told him.

“Big word for an eleven-year-old,” Rusty said with a chuckle.

Isaac made a face. “I'll be thirteen in two months. My dad said he grew late.” It was obvious that Rusty touched on a nerve.

“Dude, I grew four inches in my senior year,” Rusty told him. He was exaggerating, but it looked like it made the kid feel better. Rusty stepped back and said, “Okay, throw it.”

“Go longer!” Isaac yelled at his partner. The kid took a few steps back and Isaac launched the ball. It fell a few feet short and while they argued about whose fault it was, Rusty got the other quarterback...the “ranch kid” set up. When he threw the ball, Rusty tried to control his facial expression. His pass was so perfect that his partner would have had to have been completely inept if he hadn't caught it, but he did. Isaac didn't look happy about that, but it seemed to make him work harder, having some competition. For the next two hours, Rusty gave the boys tips and they listened. He threw quite a few passes and even caught and ran with some. By the time Isaac said he had to get home for lunch, Rusty was exhausted, his body hurt all over, and he couldn't stop smiling. The endorphins he'd been lacking for over a year had suddenly flooded his system, and it felt great.

Isaac and his little “crew” were almost out of sight before Rusty realized the other kids were still there. “Hey, don't you guys have to get home for lunch too?”

“Nah,” Brett said. “It's too far out to the ranch, we brought some sandwiches.”

“Well then, you better get to eating them, I plan on working your as—butts off when those other bums get back.”

Rusty lay down underneath one of the trees while the boys ate. His hands were still shaking slightly and his headache hadn't gone away, but he felt...alive. He closed his eyes for a while and when he opened them he found one of the kids standing there looking down at him. “What's up?”

“You want a sandwich?” the kid asked in a soft voice. Rusty had noticed this kid was quite a bit thinner than the rest of them and somewhat effeminate in the way he threw and caught the ball. But despite all that, he'd also noticed that the kid was faster and seemed more determined to prove himself than the others.

“Sure,” he said, sitting up. He was kind of hungry, but not looking forward to more peanut butter when he got home. He really had to get to the grocery store. The skinny kid went over to where the others were and came back with what looked like a sub sandwich and a soda. Rusty took it and was surprised to see that it was indeed a sub sandwich with meat, cheese and fresh vegetables. “Wow, this looks great. Your mom make it?” As soon as he said it, Rusty wished he could take it back. He forgot for a second that this was one of the “ranch kids.” What if he was one of the Dax Marshall's rescues? Luckily, the kid didn't look fazed by his question.

“Nah, one of the club girls made us lunch today.”

Rusty took a bite and washed it down with a drink of the soda. “That's good,” he said, honestly. It was the best thing he'd had to eat in days.

“Yeah, they take good care of us.”

“You lived on the ranch long?”

The kid nodded. “My whole life. I'll be twelve next week.”

“Cool. What's your name, kid?”

“Everybody just calls me Blue.”

“Blue huh?” The kid had dark eyes and the hair Rusty could see poking through the ball cap was dark too. Rusty got his nickname thanks to the color of his hair, when he was a kid. “Where'd that name come from?”

The kid shrugged and said, “When I was little, my dad used to call me Bonnie Blue.”

Rusty almost choked on the bite he'd just taken. “Bonnie? You're a...”

The kid smiled and pulled off her hat. Dark, messy hair spilled out down her back. “A girl, yeah.”

“Oh shit...I mean, shoot...” She laughed.

“Don't worry about it, everybody thinks I'm a boy at first. And we hear lots worse than ‘shit’ around the clubhouse, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Rusty said. “I'll try to keep it in check anyways.”

“I like your bike,” she said, and then added nervously, “I just saw it yesterday.”

“Thanks.” Rusty felt his face go hot. She'd seen it fly across the grass when he dumped it too, undoubtedly. She proved that was the case when she said, “My uncle could probably get that dent outta the tank for you pretty easily.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, he's the best there is. Nobody touches Dax's bike except my uncle.”

“Cool. Maybe you can introduce me.”

“Okay,” she said, looking up towards the main road. “The jerks are back.” Rusty looked over to see Isaac and his friends coming toward them on their skateboards and hoverboards.

“Why do you call them jerks?”

“Cause they are. They think they're better than us.”

Rusty didn't say anything to Bonnie, but before they started their afternoon session, he gave them all a little speech about being a part of a team and how, once you walked out on the field, everyone was equal. He wasn't sure if it would stick, but it seemed to work for the rest of the day. By the time the sun started going down, Rusty was exhausted, but it was a good tired. For the first time in a long time he was looking forward to a shower, a decent meal and his bed...and not drinking until he passed out and starting over again in the morning.

A black van came to pick up the ranch kids and the guy driving it got out and stood next to the door and looked at him suspiciously as they loaded up. He was wearing a leather kutte. Rusty couldn't see any patches on the front of it, which he thought probably meant the guy was a prospect. Bonnie stopped next to him before getting in and said something which seemed to lighten his expression somewhat. Before he got back in the van he gave Rusty a chin-tilt and Rusty tipped his head back at him. He had a feeling that if the kids showed up again the next day, and he hoped that they would, they wouldn't be alone. The MC was protective of their own, and Rusty thought that was a good thing. He just hoped he measured up to their standards of someone they trusted to teach their kids...because he'd had a lot of fun doing it.