Roughing the Kicker (Austin Troopers)

Chapter Fifteen

C utter arrived at Rosie and Margie’s house with a bottle of red wine from a local Texas Hill Country winery, despite being told not to bring anything. His mami had raised him right.

As Rosie opened the door to him, he held out the bottle. “Thanks for having me. I know you said not to bring anything, but—”

“It’s okay. That’s a great wine.” Rosie laughed as she took the bottle from him. “You really didn’t have to, though. I know people always say that, but it’s almost always true.”

“Right. Yet people still feel as if they’re obligated to bring something, anyway.”

“Just call it a fallacy of society,” Margie quipped as she rounded the corner from their kitchen into the foyer. “Thanks for coming, Cutter.”

“Thanks for having me.” He studied his boss’s wife, who wore jeans and a sweatshirt sporting the logo of her brother’s business. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she appeared completely happy. And why not? Anyone who looked at Margie knew her life was in a good place right now. It was difficult to believe she’d once been a victim of domestic violence, but everything Cutter knew about tonight’s dinner invitation was telling him that was the case.

He could only hope that when and if Rye extricated himself from his toxic situation with Kristen, that he would find happiness and a second chance at love with someone. Whomever it might be.

Cutter followed the two women into their kitchen, where Rosie busied herself with opening the wine. “Since we were short notice tonight, nobody cooked. I just had Margie pick up barbecue and various side dishes on her way home, and we’ve got ice cream for dessert. Plus, root beer, if you want to make a float.”

“That sounds great,” he said. “I’m not interested in anything fancy. More the conversation.”

“And getting to pry into my past romantic history,” Margie said. “I get it, and I assure you, it’s a doozie.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” Rosie was more than just his boss. These women were his friends. Cutter didn’t want to think about either of them being in an unhealthy relationship. Then again, he didn’t like it for Rye, either, but it was the reality.

“Relax, it’s fine,” Rosie assured him. “We wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t. Right, hon?”

“Right.” Margie gave Rosie a hug from behind. “All good here. Grab a plate, Cutter. I hope you brought a big appetite, because I got lots of food.”

“I can see that.” He was familiar with the layout of their kitchen, having been in it before, so he opened one of the cupboards and got out three plates while the women worked on opening all the containers of food.

There was brisket, smoked turkey, creamed corn, roasted potatoes and pinto beans, and Cutter fixed himself a huge plate and carried it to the table and set it down next to the glass of wine Rosie poured him. “You might have to roll me out of here,” he quipped. “I haven’t eaten like this in a long time.” That was the problem with being single. Cooking for one was nearly impossible, but he hated making too much and having leftovers that he would eat on for days.

“If that’s what it takes.” Margie set her own heaping plate of food on the table and set down. “I usually do eat like this, because I love Texas barbecue,” she said. “Plus, I know my wife loves me fat and happy.”

“You’re hardly fat,” Rosie corrected. “Happy is how I love you. And beautiful, which you are every day.”

Margie grinned. “See, I kind of had to marry her since she talks to me like that.” She looked at Cutter. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been with Rosie, but it took me a while to get there,” she said. “My romantic history hasn’t always been the greatest, as you’ve probably guessed.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that impression.” Cutter took a bite of brisket and turned to Rosie. “She’s the one you were talking about, right? The friend in the bad relationship.”

“Yes, I’me the one,” Margie said. “Bad doesn’t tell the whole story. It was toxic as hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Cutter said. “Who was it?”

“A guy I dated. He sort of rescued me from a difficult financial situation, and then he decided he owned me,” Margie said. “And by owned, I mean my body. He thought he could do whatever he wanted with it. There was abuse, physical and sexual, and I’m not proud that I allowed myself to get into that situation, much less that I let it go on for as long as I did.”

“That isn’t your fault,” Cutter said. Nor was it Rye’s fault. He needed to keep telling himself that.

“That’s right.” Rosie reached over and took her wife’s hand. “We’d been friends, casually, for a while,” she explained, “but my feelings were starting to shift to more romantic ones. I told myself I wouldn’t go there. She was off-limits.” The doctor shrugged. “I couldn’t help it, though. She was so darn cute.” She smiled at Margie. “Even when you caked on too much makeup to try to cover the bruising.”

“I never thought I was fooling you.” Margie took a drink of wine and looked at Cutter. “She tried to call me on it, and even though deep down, I understood she only wanted to help, I wasn’t ready for help. Instead, I accused her of saying bad stuff about Paul because she wanted me for herself.”

“Which I did, but I wasn’t trying to deliberately sabotage her relationship,” Rosie continued. “Is any of this helping add clarity to your situation?” She asked Cutter. “The one with your friend?”

“It is, yes.” He helped himself to more potatoes and beans. “It’s very complicated, like you said, because I’d be lying if I tried to say I didn’t have a romantic interest in him, but that’s not the reason I’m concerned. Especially now that I know my initial suspicions were correct.”

“This person is in an abusive relationship, then?”

“Yes,” Cutter said, without offering details. He understood the importance of protecting Rye’s identity, because if anyone affiliated with the team found out, it could be disastrous. “I’ve learned that much, and it makes me sick. Furious. But I’m trying to focus on being a friend to him. Just a friend, for now, because that’s what he needs the most.”

“Then I’d say you’re handling it the best way you can.” Rosie picked up the bottle of wine and refilled her glass and Margie’s, and then passed it to him. “I hope your friend gets through this, and the romantic in me hopes that maybe something more than friendship can come out of it for you.”

“That’s what I hope, too,” Cutter admitted. “We’ll see.” Did he dare to dream?

~&~

Rye got home to find a snarky note from Kristen on the kitchen counter. It read simply:

I went out. If you care.

He didn’t. Not much. He crumpled the note up and tossed it in the trash. Truthfully, he was quite relieved she wasn’t home. Sleeping in separate rooms helped, but if they were still in the same house, there was no way to completely avoid each other. It wasn’t a workable arrangement in the long term.

Rye opened the refrigerator, grabbed a beer and searched for something to eat. Fortunately, Kristen had already moved past her domestic goddess phase and Graciela was back at work and had prepared their meals.

Tonight’s was a baked spaghetti casserole. Rye put a little on a plate and warmed it up and browsed social media while he ate. He didn’t like to spend much time on social media because he didn’t want to know what people were saying about him or his game. The first few days after the loss to Oklahoma were especially brutal. Things got a little better after the win in Denver, but Rye still preferred to limit his exposure. Today, though, something showed up that got his attention.

It was Max Winters’ birthday. His former college roommate now played tight end for the Copperheads, and even though they weren’t close friends anymore, they remained connected through football and on social media. Rye still had Max’s phone number stored in his contacts, and they sometimes exchanged text messages throughout the season, usually complete with some good-natured ribbing about whose team was playing better.

He considered texting Max a quick ‘Happy Birthday’ text, but instead decided he’d try to call. Rye knew Max would be busy with his family, but hopefully he could take a few minutes to talk. After rinsing his dinner plate and putting it in the dishwasher, Rye took his beer upstairs to his study and then turned the TV on to the Monday Night Football game while he called Max.

After three rings, he concluded Max must not be available and was prepared to leave a message. Instead, his friend picked up.

“Hello? Rye, is that you.”

“It’s me.” He settled back against the couch. “I wanted to wish you happy birthday.”

“Hey, thanks, man.”

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” Rye asked.

“Sure, I guess,” Max said. “I had a day off after our big win yesterday. I spent it with Mandi and the younger kids.”

Rye couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Of course, Max would mention that. He knew the ribbing was good-natured, though, given the rivalry between their teams. Besides, the Troopers were coming off a big win themselves. “Yeah, congrats on the win. I guess,” he teased. “You have New York up next, right?”

“Yep. That’ll be tough,” Max said.

The polite thing to do would be to wish the other player good luck, but it would also be a little disingenuous. Instead, Rye changed the subject. “How’s your family?”

“Good. Kids are getting bigger all the time. I think Mandi and I are going to try for another.” That would make five kids for the tight end and his wife. Rye couldn’t even imagine, but if Max was happy, that was what mattered.

“That’s great,” Rye said.

“I think so. When are you and Kristen finally going to get hitched and start making babies?” Max asked. “It’s got to be the longest engagement in history.”

“I doubt that,” Rye said with a touch of defensiveness. Sure, it had been a few years, but they’d been busy. Then there were Kristen’s problems, but he wasn’t mentioning those to Max. “We’re working on it.” Or working to get out of it, more accurately.

“I hope so. Let me know when you set a date,” Max said. “Maybe I can be there for the wedding.”

“Sure.” Even if there was a wedding, and Rye was by no means certain there would be, he didn’t know if he would invite Max. It was easier to let his former roommate believe there would be both a wedding and invitation, though, than to let on to Max that he and Kristen were having problems.

“Hey, Max?”

“What?”

“Do you remember when we were in college and we... did those things? Kissed and stuff?”

Silence lingered over the line until Max finally said, “Why are you bringing that up?”

“I don’t know. No reason, really. Just something I was thinking about.” Because I’m finding myself attracted to a man again.

“You need to stop thinking about it, Rye.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but maybe close to one. “It was a mistake.”

“Was it, though?” He asked. “I mean, I know you felt something, too. I know you liked kissing me. I remember how your body responded.”

“Only because of you. The things you did.” Rye was taken aback by the harshness in Max’s tone. “You made me do it. You got me all hot and bothered. It was your fault, Rye.”

What the hell? “That isn’t the way I remember it. You practically begged me to touch you.”

“Damn it, Rye. Shut up,” Max hissed. “It was a mistake, and you started it, but I’m not like that, okay?”

“Like what?” Gay?

“You know what I mean. I’m not into that kind of deviant stuff. I go to church, all right? I have a family. I live a proper life. Don’t you ever bring that shit up again.” Now it did sound like a threat.

“Or what?”

“Just... don’t. Goodbye, Rye. Thanks for the birthday wishes.” Max ended the call before Rye could say another word.

“Whatever, Max,” he muttered to himself. “I know you liked it.”

I liked it, too .