Roughing the Kicker (Austin Troopers)

Chapter Three

R ye eased the Tesla into the three-car garage of his multi-million dollar Tarrytown home and killed the engine. Instead of getting out of the truck, though, he lingered for a few minutes, trying to work up the nerve to go inside the house. He knew the house, the car, his fiancée, made him the envy of millions of guys all over the world. Yet here he sat, scared to go inside.

Sad and pathetic much, Lenhart?

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t delay the inevitable forever. Rye stepped out of the truck and grabbed his bag from the back. The garage led to a mudroom, and he dropped the bag there on his way to the kitchen. Later, he could go through it and toss whatever needed to be washed into the laundry. For now, he wanted to fix a drink and watch a bit of the football game.

Kristen stood at the counter with her back to him, pouring whiskey into an insulated tumbler. Rye doubted it was her first. “I’m home,” he said, but stopped short of approaching her.

“I heard you. Nice kick, by the way.” Her words were tinged with sarcasm.

Ouch . “The hold was off.”

“Sure.” Kristen let out a laugh as she turned to face him. “Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

Rye stifled a sigh. He should’ve have gone out with the guys after all. If this was the mood Kristen was in, it wasn’t going to be a good night. “It doesn’t make me feel better,” he said, his tone coming out harsher than intended. “We needed that game. We’ll probably miss the playoffs now, and then everyone will blame me.”

Kristen rolled her eyes. “Dramatic much, Rye?” She snapped the lid on the tumbler and brought it to her lips. “Are you going to spend the rest of the night having a pity party?”

The words took Rye aback, and he studied her. Something was off. Sure, Kristen could be a self-centered bitch. She had that side to her. But most of the time, she tried to console or him, or at least empathize with him, when he had a bad game or the team suffered a tough loss. Not deliberately mock and antagonize him.

This was a new low, even for Kristen.

He pointed to the tumbler in her hand. “How much of that have you had? It’s not your first, is it?”

“So what if it’s not?” She snapped. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was true. And heck, he planned on having a drink, too. Don’t pick a fight with her , Rye, he cautioned himself. You know what happened last time. He should back off.

“Is there any Coke in there, or just whiskey?” he asked, eyeing the countertop, where the whiskey bottle stood, still open. There was no sign, though, of a bottle of soda. That was the problem. Lately, when Kristen drank, it was straight whiskey, and more of it, because the glasses she used got bigger all the time.

“I don’t need Coke,” she said, and then giggled. “Not that kind, anyway.”

Son of a bitch! She was doing it again. She might not have put any Coca-Cola into her drink, but she’d put coke up her nose.

Rye studied her more closely, especially her eyes, and the pinpoint pupils confirmed it. He’d seen this before, too many times. He knew the signs, and he should have caught it as soon as he walked in, but he’d been too caught up in his pity party, as Kristen called it.

“Your high, aren’t you?” She was high on cocaine, and now she was drinking a giant tumbler of whiskey, straight up. “Damn it, Kris. We talked about this. It needs to stop.”

“I know, and it will. I haven’t been using much lately. I just needed a little pick me up,” she said.

A little pick me up? He didn’t believe her. He’d heard it too many times. “Is that why you’re planning on getting drunk now? To heighten the high?” He’d been reading up on it. He knew that was how it worked.

He also knew how dangerous it could be, and he wasn’t going to let her do it to herself. Even if in this moment he hated her, or rather what she’d become, Rye loved her, too. “That’s a good way to kill yourself, and I’m not letting you do it,” he said, reaching to take the tumbler out of her hand.

“Give that back to me,” Kisten demanded, trying to wrestle it from him.

“No.” He got the tumbler out of her hand and started to back away, just as Kristen shoved him, sending him backwards with such force that he fell against the refrigerator, hitting his lower back on the door handle.

“Jesus!” The impact came with such force, and was so unexpected, that he sank to the floor. “Who knew you could hit that hard.”

Immediately, Kristen was on her knees beside hm. “Oh my God, Rye. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. You know I didn’t mean to do that, right? Are you okay?”

He was in so much pain that he struggled to understand the torrent of words. Sorry. Of course she was sorry. She was always sorry. “My back hurts,” Rye managed to say, “but I’ll be okay.” His back would be, anyway. He was less sure about his wounded pride and he didn’t know how much more of this he could put up with.

“Do you need me to help you up?” Kristen asked, and Rye shook his head.

“No. I can get up by myself. I just need a few minutes,” he said. “And right now, I’d prefer if you leave me alone.”

~&~

His family shut down the food truck at nine, so Cutter headed out to the back a few minutes past to see if they needed any help. The game wasn’t very exciting to him anyway, although the customers at the brewery appeared to be enjoying what looked like it would be a Dallas victory. Lots of beer had been poured, anyway, and he guessed lots of tacos had been eaten, too.

Leticia was just closing the order windows on the truck when he approached. “Need any help?”

She shook her head. “Nope. We’ve got it. Thank you, though.”

Leticia’s boyfriend, Esteban, who’d been helping her tonight, came down the steps of the truck. “Hey, man. What’s the score of the game?”

“Twenty-two to thirteen Dallas right now, and they’re in driving for more,” Cutter said. “Go inside and grab yourself a drink. Tell the cute blonde working the bar to put it on my tab.”

“You sure?” Esteban turned to Leticia. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Gives me a chance to talk to mi hermano .” She gave her boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for helping me out tonight.”

“How was business?” Cutter asked his sister as Esteban headed inside.

“Excellent. We ran out of some things, but that’s a good problem to have. Business is almost always good here when Dallas is playing, or when the hometown team is playing out of town.”

“That’s good.” Cutter said, taking a seat at one of the picnic tables and gesturing for his sister to join him. “Thanks for doing this while Papa is not feeling well, and bringing Esteban to help.” He liked his sister’s latest boyfriend and hoped it might last.

“He’s a good worker, and he doesn’t mind,” Leticia said.

“Are you bringing him to abuela’s birthday dinner later tomorrow night?” Their grandmother was turning eighty-five, and the family had quite the celebration party planned.

Leticia nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I’ve mentioned it to him, and he wants to come,” she said. “I think it’s time to introduce him to the rest of the family.”

“I think so, too,” Cutter said. “And Mami will probably love him.” What wasn’t to like about Esteban, in their families’ eyes? He was Latino, he went to church, he had a steady job with a construction company, and he doted on Leti. He was a win all around.

“I hope so.” Leticia smiled. “I really like him, Caesar,” she said, using his given name, which she almost never did. “I would like him to be the one.”

Cutter exhaled. “Wow. Okay.” It struck him as rather quick, as his sister had only been seeing Esteban for a couple of months, but he understood. In a conservative Latino family, there was an expectation that she find a man, and his sister was probably tired of being asked about her romantic life. “I like him, too, Leti. He seems like a good man. If he makes you happy, I’m all for that.”

“Thank you,” she said. “What about you? Will you be bringing a date to the birthday party?”

Immediately, Cutter froze up. “Not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” she said. “Maybe it’s time for you to put it all out there. Show up with a handsome man and introduce him as your date. Okay, not the stud kicker you crush on. I think he is a lost cause, sorry to say. But someone. You’re a nice- looking guy. You’re fun to be around, at least some of the time. You have a good job. Surely you could find a date.”

“I could find plenty of dates,” Cutter said with a tough of defensiveness.

“Great. Then bring one along.”

“Are you kidding?” His sister had a way of being blunt, but also a bit na?ve. “Papa is already not feeling well. Do you want to give him a heart attack?”

“Of course not.” Leticia pushed back the bench and stood up. “Nor do I want to see you continue to live a lie. You deserve love, too, Cutter. And if you give them the chance, I think our family would come around to accepting that when you do find the love of your life, he’s going to be a man.”

“If you say so.” Cutter was less than convinced.

“We’re wired how we’re wired, Cutter. It’s not something that can be changed.”

“Yeah.” He raked a hand through his short, black hair. “I’m glad you get it, and I appreciate the support.” He stood, too. “We’ll see. You’re sure you don’t need any help here?”

“I’m sure. Go back inside with your friends,” Leticia said. “And think about what I said.”

~&~

Rye sat in his upstairs study, a heating pad on his sore back, staring at the TV screen but not paying any attention to the game. It wasn’t very exciting, and besides, he found it difficult to concentrate on football. Instead, he replayed the whole ugly scene with Kristen in his head. He’d known, or at least suspected, for the last couple months that she was using again, but he never confronted her. He’d been too focused on the start of the football season.

Training camp. Long days of practice. Film study. Traveling for road games. He was away from home a lot, and they didn’t spend much time together.

Now, he wondered how bad things had gotten. Although she insisted she wasn’t using much, Rye wasn’t sure he believed her. Not if she was drinking whiskey on top of the cocaine to try to enhance the high. No. That indicated a higher-level of use and a higher tolerance. And he’d blindly let it happen because he was too wrapped up in kicking a football through two posts.

“Rye?” He heard the knock on the doorframe and turned to find Kristen in the doorway. “How’s your back feel?”

“It hurts, but I’ll live.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. You know that, right?” She walked over to where he sat, and Rye noticed she was dressed in lingerie, no doubt with the intent to lure him to bed. They’d have sex, and everything would be okay. That was what she hoped for, and too often, it worked. Tonight, Rye wasn’t in the mood. She was a beautiful woman, but even the sexy lingerie did nothing to turn him on. “I had a bad day.”

Rye ignored that, because it was a common excuse. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry, too. It was wrong to pick a fight with you.” Seriously. He knew better than that by now.

She sat down next to him on the couch, snuggling closer, and Rye turned to face her. “It’s got to stop, though, Kris. You need to get some help.”

“I know, and I will,” she said. “Starting tomorrow.” He heard it before, several times, and the words rang hollow. “Let’s go to bed now. Let me make it up to you.” Her hand moved to the waistband of his sweat plants.

Nothing. Rye felt nothing, and he pushed her hand away. “I’m not in the mood right now, Kris. I want to watch the rest of the game.”