Roughing the Kicker (Austin Troopers)

Chapter Ten

K risten played nice after Rye returned from the Denver trip. Almost too nice, as her attentiveness bordered on stifling. There was a time when Rye would’ve quietly told her to back off, or simply gone to another room of the house. They had plenty of them, after all.

He didn’t want to be in the house with her, though, so to get away, Rye went for a run. Unfortunately, it was only a temporary solace. She was still there when he got back, ready to smother him again.

“What are we doing today? It’s your day off, right?”

“Yes. We’ll start game prep for Tennessee tomorrow.” That was the nice thing about playing the Thursday night game. The team got a couple days off while the rest of the league played. “I want to watch some of the games, though.”

“More football?” Kristen gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Do you ever think about anything besides football?”

Rye considered that and shrugged. “Occasionally, but it’s kind of my job, you know?”

“Still, you’re a little obsessed.” Kristen put on a pout. “I hoped we could spend the day together. We used to enjoy that.”

I used to like your company . Rye swallowed the words. He didn’t want to fight. He simply wanted to be left alone. “Maybe later,” he said.

“But I’m bored.”

“Why don’t you go to a spin class,” he suggested. “Or call one of your friends to go shopping.” Spend my money .

“I don’t have a lot of friends anymore.”

Whose fault is that? More words he couldn’t say, which was more proof that this relationship was increasingly toxic.

“Then read a book,” Rye suggested. “Or log into your online rehab group.” The one he didn’t think she was actively participating in. “I’m going to take a shower and then watch a game.”

He walked away, the sound of her protests following him all the way, only becoming muffled as he shut the door. Jesus. What the hell was he still doing here? With her? Was his image so much more important than his happiness?

He opened the medicine cabinet to find some ibuprofen for his aching head. As he pulled the bottle out, he noticed something behind it. A small vial on a short chain. He’d seen it hooked on Kristen’s handbag before and never thought anything of it, assuming it probably held perfume, or maybe breath mints. Now Rye was more suspicious.

He reached for the vial and opened it, peering inside. It wasn’t perfume, or breath mints, or pain reliever tablets. Instead, the vial was filled with a white powdery substance.

Son of a bitch!

It was all a lie. Kristen’s promise to get clean. Her so-called rehab classes. All of it. She was still using, and now her almost over-the-top cheerfulness made sense. It was all a front.

Still holding the vial in his hand, he opened the door. “Kris? Can you come here for a minute?” He shouted.

“What?” She asked, coming into the bedroom. “I thought you were taking a shower.”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet. I needed an ibuprofen for my headache first.” His voice relayed a calmness he didn’t feel. “And I found this.” He held up the vial. “I’m guessing this isn’t baby powder or sugar,” he said, sarcasm now finding its way into his tone.

Panic crossed Kristen’s face. “You weren’t supposed to find that.”

“But I did,” he said. “Maybe you need to find better hiding places.”

“I can explain,” she started to say, and he waved a hand to stop her.

“I’m not interested in any explanation you have.” He shook his head. “It was a lie again, wasn’t it? Going to rehab. Getting clean. All of it.”

“I’m trying, Rye. I really am.”

“Try harder.” His words were ice. “If you have other stashes in this house, I’ll be looking for them. In the meantime, this is gone.” He dumped the contents of the vial in the toilet.

Kristen stared, her eyes wide in fury. “You bastard. Do you know how much that cost?”

“Don’t care,” Rye snapped. “It was bought with my money anyway. It’s not like you’ve made any in a while.”

Too late, Rye regretted the words, as the palm of Kristen’s hand struck his cheek.

~&~

Cutter loved days off on the weekend, and he could thank the rare Thursday night game for that. In typical Texas fashion, the early-December weather was downright balmy. Perfect weather for a bike ride in Zilker Park. As a bonus, there was a food festival happening in the park, and Cutter’s family would be selling their tacos.

His condo wasn’t far from the park and he planned to cycle over there, but just as he was about to leave, he got a phone call. Cutter almost didn’t answer until he saw the name on the display.

Rye Lenhart.

Cutter could feel his heartbeat accelerate as he answered. “Cutter Hernandez.”

“You sound so professional. I like it. It’s Rye, by the way. From the team.”

As if he knew, and lusted after, another guy named Rye? “Yes, I remember you.” He chuckled softly. Please don’t make a fool of yourself , he silently prayed. “Is there something I can help you with?” What a stupid thing to say. “Is your back bothering you again?”

“No. If it were, I’d call Neal,” Rye said. “He’s my trainer of choice now, remember?”

“Right. Yes. So why are you calling me?” Cutter hoped his tone didn’t sound too clipped.

A moment of silence hung in the air before Rye spoke. “Because I kind of need a friend right now, if you’re still offering.”

The hint of vulnerability in the kicker’s voice caught Cutter off guard and he wasn’t sure how to respond. “The offer is always there,” he managed. Sure, he wanted more than friendship. It was a start, though.

“I was about to go for a bike ride in Zilker,” he told Rye. “I don’t mind company, if you like to ride.”

“I don’t have as much for it as I’d prefer, but I’ve got a nice bike,” Rye said, “and that’s a great trail.”

“Care to join me, then?” Cutter asked.

Rye didn’t hesitate. “Sure. Meet you on the trail?”

“Why don’t we meet at my place, if you don’t mind?” Cutter suggested. “I’m not far from the park. We can leave from here. I assume you can fit a bicycle in that crazy looking vehicle of yours?”

“My fiancée says it looks like a garbage dumpster on wheels,” Rye said, his voice devoid of humor. “And yes, it has plenty of room for a bike. I’ll change and head over. What’s the address?”

Cutter rattled it off.

“Great. You’re not far from me. I live in Tarrytown. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Cutter ended the call, more confused than ever before. Something was wrong, he was sure about that. Otherwise, there was little chance Rye would call him out of the blue on a day off.

Whatever it was, Cutter decided he wouldn’t pry. He’d let Rye confide in him whenever he was ready. Until then, Cutter would simply be a friend to Rye, if that’s what he needed. He had his water bottle on his bike and was waiting outside his condo when Rye pulled up in his truck.

“Hey. Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Rye said, stepping out of the truck. He wore cycling shorts and T-shirt, and Cutter couldn’t help but stare at his taut buttocks and long legs, not to mention the bulge Rye’s shorts, which left very little to the imagination. Especially since Cutter had already seen Rye with a hard on and knew he was generously endowed.

“Not at all,” Cutter said, forcing himself to direct his gaze away from Rye’s manhood. “Nice bike you’ve got there.”

Rye lifted it out of the truck. “Thanks. I like it. Not enough time to use it, though.”

“Your fiancée doesn’t like to ride?” Cutter asked.

“She used to.” Rye shrugged. “Not so much, anymore.” He paused. “Shall we go?”

“Do you need a bottle of water or anything?”

“Nope.” Rye shook his head. “I’ve got one.”

It was then that Cutter noticed the scratch on Rye’s cheek. It looked as if he’d been cut or something. He wanted to ask but thought better of it. He wasn’t going to pry anymore. It was probably a cut from shaving. “Great,” he said. “Then let’s go.”