Roughing the Kicker (Austin Troopers)

Chapter Four

T he Monday after game day was dedicated to the film study of the previous day’s game, or as some of the guys liked to call it, the postmortem. After a tough loss, it was an appropriate term. Rye walked gingerly into the film room, his lower back still sore from Kristen slamming him against the refrigerator door in her fit of rage.

She didn’t mean it, Rye told himself. As soon as it happened, she’d been remorseful and apologized. Besides, it was partially his fault. He knew better than to pick a fight with her when she’d been drinking, much less snorting her precious white powder. That was the real problem. The coke had too much of a hold on Kristen right now, and she wasn’t herself. She wasn’t in control of her actions when she was high, and they both knew it.

She said she’d get help, and maybe he needed to be more proactive in helping her find a rehab program, and supporting her while she worked through the program, in the hope she’d stick with it. Maybe if Kristen could be successful this time and kick the drug habit, things would get back to normal. Rye could have his fiancée back, the sweet girl from Abilene he fell in love with all those years ago. The woman he lived with now barely resembled her.

Was it na?ve and delusional to think they could ever go back to the way it was before? After all, Kristen had talked about going into rehab before, most recently a few months ago, the last time one of their arguments got a little rough.

That time, she’d thrown a glass of red wine at him. He’d ducked at the last minute and the glass missed him, instead smashing into the wall. It stained the white curtains, and Kristen cried. Rye comforted her while they picked up the mess, and she promised to do better.

Things were tough on her. He knew that. The modeling jobs weren’t coming as often as they used to, and she feared she’d fade into irrelevancy. Or worse, oblivion. After the meltdown was over and the mess cleaned up, she promised to go into rehab.

It didn’t happen, though. The curtains were professionally cleaned and came out good as new, and Kristen booked a new print ad in a magazine. She cut down on the coke—although Rye suspected she still used occasionally—and they got along better.

And Rye convinced himself everything was fine.

Last night proved that it wasn’t, and now he had the sore back and a few bruises to show for it. It was the first time the fighting had turned physical, and Rye wanted it to be the last.

“You okay, Rye?” The question came from Javon Montrose, one of the team’s running backs who also played on special teams.

“Sure,” Rye said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Javon shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Just that you seem to be moving kind of gingerly. Like you’re in pain or something.”

“Yeah. I took a bad hit when I tried to tackle Oklahoma’s return man on that one kickoff.” He was deliberately vague as to which kickoff, and suspected Javon would let it go. Unless, of course, the film breakdown showed every kickoff and revealed that there hadn’t been any rough hit on Rye. Unless you counted the one from his fiancée. “I put a heating pad on it last night and I thought it’d be better, but I woke up sore this morning.”

“Sorry, man,” Javon said. “You should have one of the trainers look at. They’re all good, but I’m partial to Cutter. When I injured my hammy earlier in the season, he worked magic with me.”

“I remember that,” Rye said. “I’ll probably so see him if it doesn’t ease up.” He’d hoped his back was just tight from sleeping wrong, but so far, being awake and moving hadn’t helped. If anything, he was feeling worse.

Sitting in the film room for an hour didn’t help, and Rye was relieved when Coach Oliviera called an end to the session, freeing the guys for light, optional workouts. They would have a short week to prepare for the Thursday night matchup with Denver.

Normally, Rye would get together with the long snapper and holder and practice a few drills, especially coming off a loss on a missed kick. With the state of his back, though, he didn’t think it was a good idea. Instead, Rye sought out the team’s special team’s coach, Jaxen Ross, and informed him of the injury.

“I didn’t realize the hit was that bad,” Coach J said. “You said you were fine after the game, aside from a bit of wounded pride.”

“Yeah, I thought I was, but the back tightened up on me last night.” The lie was flowing easily now. Soon, he’d probably start believing it himself. “I’m going to sit out drills, if that’s okay, and go have the training staff take look at it.”

Coach J nodded. “Good idea. They’ll fix you up good,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will. Thanks, Coach J.”

“And Rye?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over yesterday. The missed kick is only one reason we lost.”

Rye nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate you saying that. I’m going to go get my back worked on so I’m ready to go on Thursday. I won’t let the team down again.”

~&~

Cutter expected a quiet day in the treatment room. It usually was when the team avoided injuries during the game. Sure, there would be routine stuff like taping ankles, and some of the guys who were rehabbing injuries would be in for follow-up care or physical therapy, but he wasn’t aware of any new injuries that were sustained during loss to Oklahoma.

That’s why it took him by surprise when Rye appeared in the training room, walking as if he were in discomfort and holding a hand to his lower back. To Cutter’s trained eye, he appeared to be in considerable pain. He wore a gold T-shirt with the Troopers logo, paired with black athletic shorts, and looked so damn fine that Cutter couldn’t help but check him out, his gaze lingering a bit on Rye’s crotch.

Cutter tried to discern if Rye wore briefs under the shorts, or a jock strap, or if he might be free balling it. Cutter expected the latter, and he found the possibility to be incredibly hot.

Dial it down , Hernandez, he cautioned himself. It wouldn’t do to get turned on by the players he treated, no matter how sexy they might be. “Morning, Rye,” he said, redirecting his gaze to the kicker’s handsome face. “Is there something I can help you with?” His mind could certainly conjure up plenty of possibilities. “You look like you’re in a bit of pain.”

Rye nodded as he rubbed his hand on his back. “Yeah. I’m feeling a little tightness in my lower back,” he said. “I think it must be from when I lunged to try to stop Oklahoma’s return got guy on that one kickoff. Anyway, I’m hoping you might be able to look at it.”

Cutter smiled. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The kicker nodded, appearing relieved. “I appreciate it. Some of the other guys insist you’ve worked magic on their injuries,” he said. “I’m lucky I’ve been injury free most of my career, so I’ve yet to experience your services.”

Much to my great disappointment, Cutter thought. “I’m sorry you’ve got an injury now, but let’s see if we can get you fixed up,” he said. “What’s hurting, exactly? Your lower back, you said?”

“Yeah.” Rye turned around. “Right in this area.” He rubbed a hand on his lower right back. “I tried a heating pad last night, but it didn’t do much.”

Cutter nodded. “Okay. I’ve got some things we can try, see if we can get you feeling better,” he said. “Good news is I doubt it’s anything that would keep you out of a game, unless maybe you’d broken a rib. From what you’ve described, though, that seems unlikely.”

“Nah, I don’t think it’s anything like that,” Rye said. “I mean, not that I would know. I don’t have any medical training.”

“Hey, that’s never stopped most people from trying to diagnose their own injuries,” Cutter said, chuckling. He gestured to one of the tables in the training room. “If you want to hop up there, we’ll take a look.”

“I’m not sure about the hopping part,” Rye said with a sheepish smile. “But okay.” He pulled himself up to a sitting position on the table, wincing in the process. “Ouch.”

“You’re in some obvious discomfort, that’s for sure,” Cutter said. “Do you mind taking your shirt off?”

Rye shook his head and tugged the T-shirt over his head, revealing his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and perfectly sculpted abs. His chest was mostly smooth, except for a smattering of hair in his lower abdomen that disappeared into his shorts, which hung low on his lips.

It was enough to have Cutter salivating. Damn, the man was fine. Cutter knew his fantasies that night would all include Rye Lenhart. For now, since he couldn’t stand there and admire the man’s chest, Cutter moved behind the table to have a look at the kicker’s back, which was equally muscular and attractive.

The bruising, though, was what got Cutter’s attention. It covered an area of Rye’s lower back and torso, about three inches long and an inch wide. The bruising was a pinkish purple in color, suggesting a fresh trauma rather than something actively healing. That would be consistent with a hit sustained in yesterday’s football game, as the kicker reported. The size, shape and location, though, suggested something else.

It suggested an impact to that part of the kicker’s body, the kind that would result from hitting a narrow object. Or being pushed against one. It didn’t look to Cutter at all like a bruise that might result from a football hit. Those were seldom specific and tended to occur in unusual locations.

“That’s a heck of a bruise you’ve got forming there,” Cutter observed, striving to keep his tone casual. “Looks fresh, too.”

“Yeah, I told you.” Was it his imagination, or did the kicker’s shoulders noticeably tighten. “The tackle yesterday.”

“Right.” Except it was not from the tackle. Cutter was all but certain about that. He wouldn’t push it, though. Not now. “I don’t think it’s too serious. Not something that won’t resolve itself with ice, heating pads and maybe some pain relievers,” he said. “I do want to make sure you’re not potentially dealing with a rib injury, though.”

“How do you do that?” Rye asked.

“I’ll do a quick exam, check a few things,” Cutter said. “If there’s anything concerning. I’ll send you to Dr. Jiminez for X-rays or an MRI. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but I do think it’s important to rule it out.”

“Do whatever you have to do,” the kicker said. “I just want to get back on the field and help the team win.”

“And my job is to help you do that,” Cutter said. “Will you raise your arms out to your side, please? Both of them. Straight out, like an airplane.”

“Sure.” Rye extended his arms. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” In more ways than one. Cutter moved behind him, placing his hands on either side of Rye’s lower back and torso. “How does that feel? Any pain?” It certainly felt good to him.

“Um, no. No pain.”

“Great.” Cutter moved his hands further up. “How about now?”

“Still good,” Rye mumbled. “Real good.”

“No pain, then?” Cutter pressed a little harder.

“No. Not on my sides. That feels... good It’s just the bruise.”

“That’ll resolve over the next week or so. You can ice it if you need to,” Cutter said. “I think you’ll be fine, though. No indication of a rib fracture or anything.”

“That’s g news,” Rye said. “We’re good, then?”

Cutter hesitated. “Yeah, you can sit up.” He backed away from the table as Rye sat up, his hands immediately covering his groin area.

He wasn’t fast enough, though, because Cutter couldn’t help but notice that Rye appeared to be aroused. And no, he definitely wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Cutter sucked in a breath as he glanced downward, making sure he wasn’t aroused himself. Okay, he was. A little. Fortunately, the pants he wore did a decent job of concealing it. Unlike Rye’s shorts, which concealed next to nothing. He was distinctly hard. And generously endowed, too.

“Jesus. Sorry,” Rye muttered, his cheeks reddening as he held his hands over his crotch. “I can’t believe that happened.”

Me neither, but I’m glad it did. “No worries,” Cutter replied, his tone light. “Not much surprises me.” Though that did.

“Good, okay.” Rye slid off the table, holding one hand to his sore back, and keeping the other over his erection, as if it wasn’t already obvious. “Ice, then?”

“Yeah. Ice.” Cutter forced himself to direct his gaze higher. “Rye? Are you okay?”

“Sure. You said nothing’s broken, right?”

“Right.”

“Then what?”

Cutter hesitated. “The bruise... are you sure that came from the game?” He asked. “There’s nothing else going on?”