15. John

CHAPTER 15

JOHN

We checked out of the hotel and headed back to the practice facility in hopes of getting what we needed. After a little internet search, I discovered that Rush had an open practice today. So if our boy Turner was there, he'd be easy to find.

Brent was feeling better, but I was still careful with what I allowed him to eat, much to his displeasure.

"I think I can handle a burger, " he announced from the passenger seat.

I looked over at him when I stopped at the light. "If you shit in this car, I'm going to kill you."

"But that's illegal."

"Only if they find the body. And I'm a SEAL. I know things."

Brent's laughter made me smile. The stupid kind that made my face hurt. And when he leaned over and put his hand on my thigh, I knew he was playing dirty.

"But last night you said you were all in. Remember?"

His eyes were filled with mischief, and I knew he was on the road to recovery.

"I draw the line at cleaning up shit. I'll buy you some damn diapers."

When I pulled into the parking lot of a chicken place, I gave him his options. "You can have mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese."

"Toddler food. That will fill me up," he griped. It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest something else fill him up, but I'd wait until a more appropriate time than the drive-thru of a chicken joint.

"You can get the family size. Just humor me. Because if that doesn't settle well on your stomach, I'm leaving you on the side of the road and going home."

Brent found that hilarious, so when I pulled up to the window, I ordered three carbohydrate specials and two electrolyte waters.

"You're not hungry," he asked as I pulled around to the pickup window.

"I am," I said, pulling out my wallet.

"John, you can order real food for yourself. It's okay."

I shook my head as I looked over at him. "I'll be fine. Don't you worry."

That look of confusion was back on his face that I was beginning to recognize. I turned back to pay the attendant, then took the bags when she handed them to me.

Passing them to Brent, I pulled into a parking space so we could unpack our food and eat.

"So what's the plan," he asked around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"We lucked out. Practice is open to the public today. If he's there, we'll find him quickly."

Brent nodded and continued to eat. "We need to get his autograph and a picture as proof. We need to buy some Rush shirts or something."

He was right. "We can stop in the team store at the stadium. But I'll be the one to get the autograph. You take the picture. The fucker knows who you are."

Brent grinned from ear to ear. "I'd love to walk up to that fucker and laugh in his face."

"No," I growled. "Absolutely not. You're gonna get yourself in trouble like that. Does GQ know you're such a loose cannon?"

He shrugged and shoveled in a spoon of macaroni and cheese. "This shit is good," he murmured. "And GQ assigns me to the jobs that need a smooth talker. Phantom is too nice and Dare is too reserved. He sits back and assesses the situation while I go do the dirty work."

"And by dirty work you mean…"

He grinned, like a chipmunk with his cheeks full of nuts. "I use my personality to get them talking. I can extract information from people without them realizing I'm doing it. They tell me all kinds of shit."

I nodded, wondering if he'd used that tactic on me. Tossing my container into an empty paper bag, I drank some water as he finished off two pint containers of potatoes. Good to see his appetite was back.

When we reached the stadium, we walked into the team store to buy some merch. We wandered around until we found the cheapest shirts we could find. When he pulled out a bright orange t-shirt with the words My D is Better than Your D on it, I couldn't help but smile.

"I'm not paying full price for something I'll never wear again," he said, reaching for my shirt.

"What are you doing?"

Brent leaned in close and whispered to me. "I'm buying your piece of shit shirt. Can't I buy my new hubs a shirt to throw away?"

I groaned and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "You're going to get us kicked out of here."

He grinned. "Only if we fuck in the dressing room."

I burst into flames as he laughed at me. He was such a shitass, but damn, I loved being with him.

I put my hand on his back and urged him forward. "Pay for the shirts and let's go. I'll be outside."

While he went to the register, I walked out of the store to check in with GQ.

Me: Heading into open practice. Will update you afterward.

The dots bounced on the screen as I waited for his reply.

GQ: Good. Don't let him go off the rails. When will you be back?

Did he know him?

Me: Yeah, okay. Going to try to get a flight back tonight.

GQ: Good deal. Keep me updated. Party tomorrow night.

Me: We'll be there.

I pocketed my phone as Brent exited the store. "Let's go change at the car."

"Not necessary," he said, stripping his shirt over his head and replacing it with the new bright orange one. I held out my hand and he took it.

I shook my head but the smile on my face was stupid again.

"What did I miss?" he asked, looking confused.

"Nothing. I'll change in the bathroom rather than here on the sidewalk. I wanted your shirt, but I'll also hold your hand."

"Oh." He smiled as his cheeks pinked. When he tried to pull it away, I just tightened my grip and kissed his cheek.

When the fuck had I become a cheek kisser?

We walked hand in hand to the entrance. When we had cleared security, I found a bathroom to change in. "Don't get in trouble while I'm gone."

Brent snorted. "Go change. I'll be right here."

Nodding, I headed into the bathroom, found an empty stall, and changed into my own ugly shirt. The fucker had exchanged the one I picked out and bought me one exactly like his. Warmth crept into my chest and gave me hope convincing him to give us a real chance might not be so difficult after all. I knew he was still suffering from losing his younger brother, and I wanted to be the one to take care of him and to be his emotional support.

I exited the bathroom to find him scrolling on his phone as he leaned against the wall. One look at him made me smile. He was beautiful inside and out, and in an unguarded moment, I let myself think of him as mine. And when he looked up at me, that smile that lit up his face lit me up inside too.

"Nice shirt. Your D might be better than my D."

It suddenly occurred to me why he'd bought me one too. Laughter erupted out of me, and that alone was fucking new. I didn't just spontaneously laugh. That shit only happened with him.

"There's only one way to find out when we get home. Let's go lover boy. We have work to do."

Brent laughed and followed me into the stadium. We found some seats close enough to the players on the field to get a good look.

It didn't take long for us to spot him. Turner wore number fifty-seven and was running drills with the rest of the defense. While we watched them go through their practice, the Pirates fan leaned into me and provided color commentary.

"That fucker has nothing on Griffin. Patrick could run circles around him. He was so good that he was hand picked to replace Jackson Kincaid when he retired. Greer went all out to get Patrick."

"I thought he wanted to play for Portland?"

He nodded. "He did. But no one knew that he and Cole were together until he said something to Foster when he and Coop were having a rough time."

I turned to look at him. "How do you know all this shit?"

Brent turned that electric smile on me. "It's my superpower. And I listen when people talk. When you're not partnered up, you learn a lot."

"Guess you're going to have to find another superpower now."

The rapid whistles on the field caught our attention as we looked down to find two players pushing and shoving.

"A hundred dollars says one of them is Turner. He's a dick like that."

I nodded and leaned into him. "Get a video of this. It might help their case."

Brent hurried and got his phone to record the coaches and other players pulling them apart. Turner was red faced and screaming at his teammate. And when it was all over, he went toward the Rush entrance to the locker room.

"Let's go down there and wait. You can stop him for an autograph when he comes back out."

Brent stood and I followed as he led us through the stadium. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Hey. What's the best way to get down to the locker room? We're on the concourse level B."

I stood back and listened as he looked around and gave landmarks to whoever he was talking to.

"Got it. Thanks."

He ended the call and smiled at me. "Phantom. Fallen Angel has performed here, and he knows every door and security zone like the back of his hand."

"I'm impressed. Where are we going?"

"Right down here," he said, leading me to a door that was hidden from sight by a large pillar.

Brent opened the door that led down two flights of stairs. When we reached the bottom, he opened the last door that opened up into the home team's tunnel.

Pointing to the left, we found the entrance to the locker room. "You stand here, and I'll get out of sight. When he comes out, talk to him about some shit. Here's the program for him to sign."

I took the booklet he produced with a marker clipped to it. "Where did this come from?"

"I bought it with our shirts."

"Good thinking. Go," I said.

I pulled out the program and waited as players began to trickle out. Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Clay Turner came out wearing a scowl.

Stepping forward, I engaged him in conversation. "Hey, Turner. Can I get an autograph for my kid?"

He looked at me, the scowl still present, but conceded. "Sure."

He took the pen from my hand as I handed him the booklet. "Make it out to Brent. He's a big fan. Watched you play in Portland."

He snarled as he wrote, but I kept going. "You like it down here?"

"It's better than playing with a bunch of fags even if these guys are all idiots."

Turner capped the pen and handed it back to me. But before he could walk away, my hotheaded husband walked up and shot off his mouth.

"Fags, huh?"

Turner's head snapped up at the sound of Brent's voice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Brent grinned. "Came to see if you were as shitty down here as you were in Portland. Greer did the right thing firing your homophobic ass."

He lunged at Brent and I stepped in, automatically shifting to commander mode. "Back the fuck off."

Turner looked at me, anger oozing from him. "You a fag too?"

I didn't dignify his question with a response, but my husband did. "What's the matter, Turner? Why are you so threatened?"

He stepped closer and looked him up and down. "I bet I could make you like having a dick in your ass."

The dumbass roared in anger, catching the attention of all the staff moving around. And then all hell broke loose.