CHAPTER ELEVEN

Knowing that the press would be hounding Trevon, they offered him Sor’s old cabin to use for a few weeks until everything died down. It also put him closer to Noelle and the team to help with the holiday decorations.

With him no longer a part of the team, Cait and Ashley had to make their proposal to the Fire on their own. They were both shocked when the coaching team gave a thumbs up.

“Do you need to check with your owner?” asked Cait.

“It would be best if we didn’t,” said Coach Osterhausen. “I make the decisions about the team. For now.”

With the green light, the team showed up the next morning early to walk through what they would be doing. The players seemed open to the idea but probably more because they wouldn’t have to run drills after their overtime win the day before.

“Dude, it fucking sucks what they did to Trevon,” said a big man seated on one of the yoga mats. “They didn’t give a shit about his contract or anything else. We’re nothing but meat for the Pinken family.”

“Contracts aren’t the same here as in the big leagues, man. They aren’t worth the paper they’re written on. It’s all for show,” said the lineman, Rossi.

“What do you mean?” said the deep bass voice behind them.

Rossi and the other man jumped a mile, gripping their chests as they turned to see the big indigenous man standing behind them. He was in loose-fitting yoga pants, a t-shirt that looked as if it were painted on him, and his feet were bare.

“Jesus! Who the fuck are you?” asked Rossi.

“I’m part of the training team here today. What do you mean the contracts don’t matter?” he asked again.

“Well, they just don’t. It’s all a show, really. We’re supposed to be prepping for the big leagues, but if you look at the numbers, maybe only five have ever moved up. Most of us know that, but we just want to play. The way the contracts are written, the owner has the right to let you go no matter what.”

“That’s why she was allowed to let Trevon go?” asked Trak.

“Yeah. Exactly. He was still at the top of his game. Shit, it wouldn’t have surprised me if she was the one that had the illegal hit put on him.”

“And Butch?”

“Butch was a different matter altogether. He was old as fuck, no offense,” he said, staring at Trak. Trak’s eyes bore into him, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, he was older. Anyway, he’d had a lot of injuries, especially concussions. Dude wasn’t all there anymore. Know what I mean?”

Trak turned from him, walking away as Cait stood in front of the large room. She was still stunning with her fiery red hair and porcelain skin. As she led the men through some breathing techniques and stretching, Trak and Noah walked the room between the rows of men. On occasion, the men would look up with appreciation at the physical specimens before them.

“Do you feel him here?” asked Trak.

“Not at all,” said Noah. “It is strange. I feel nothing in the building of his presence.”

“Could it be because it was suicide?”

“Perhaps. I am not sure, but it feels strange to not feel anything here.”

When Cait finished with the meditative yoga, Ashley stood before the men, smiling as she talked about the stages of grief and loss. Immediately, Noah and Trak saw a few men squirming on their mats, including Kurt and Petey.

“Butch was a good man,” said one of the players. “He was devoted to his little girl, and that alone earned my respect. To be a quarterback in this league for as long as he was, well, that’s something special.”

“I agree,” said another player, “but you have to admit, he was losing it. He was old, slow, and his head wasn’t on right, man.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Kurt. “He deserves our respect.”

“Says the man that took his job,” smirked another. Kurt started to go toward him, but Noah gripped his shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze and shaking his head.

“This is not about attacking one another. It is about dealing with what happened in that room down the hall.”

“He slit his wrists. That’s what happened,” said Rossi. “He slit his wrists because his brain was scrambled, and he could barely wipe his own ass any longer.”

“That’s it!” yelled another, leaping toward Rossi. It took Noah and Trak fifteen minutes to calm the men enough to have Ashley speak to them again. Only this time, everyone refused to speak. When they left, she stared at her friends.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” she frowned. “Did you get a sense of anything at all?”

“Fear. Guilt. Death. That’s all,” said Trak, Noah nodding in agreement.

“That’s all? Trak, that’s a lot. Who were you getting guilt from?” asked Cait.

“At least four men,” said Noah. Trak nodded at him. “I do not know why they were feeling guilty, but the sense was overwhelming to me. What I did not get was a sense of Butch’s spirit here in the building. I should feel something, but I do not.”

“The two men in the front row wouldn’t make eye contact with me,” said Ashley. “The young man, Kurt, the quarterback who took over for Butch, definitely wouldn’t look at me when I spoke of him. I don’t know if that’s guilt or sadness without talking to him directly.”

“You might get your chance,” said Trak, staring at the practice facility as players began to exit. Ashley nodded at him, walking slowly toward the young man.

“Kurt? Kurt, hi, Ashley again,” she smiled.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m kind of in a hurry,” he said nervously.

“Oh, I know. I don’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to offer my services for free any time you want to talk. You must be going through a lot right now. It can’t be easy taking over from someone like Butch.”

“Look,” he said with a curt tone, “I don’t want to talk about this. Not now, not ever.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a step back. He looked up to see Noah standing just a few feet away and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” he said. “That’s not who I am.” Lowering his head, he left Ashley and Noah standing in the parking lot, staring at one another. When Cait and Trak approached, they just shrugged.

“That didn’t go very well,” said Cait. Noah nodded, watching as the car sped away.

“No, but he is feeling guilt for something. I just don’t know what it is yet.”