Page 26 of Linebacker
“You can’t fucking speak to me like that,” he shouts, jumping to his feet. “This is a crock of shit, and I’m not putting up with it.” He turns and storms towards the door which doesn’t surprise me in the least. Jerking on the door, he pulls it open, but before he gets the chance to step through it, I shout out his name.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at 2pm for our next session.” I say firmly. “No more games, Marshall. I expect you to be here on time and minus the attitude.”
“Dream on,” he flings over his shoulder as he takes another step to leave.
“If you want to continue playing for the Longhorns, then I suggest you get on board with this, because otherwise,” I sling back at him smugly, despite the niggling fear that sit heavy in my gut, “ you’re on borrowed time at this club.”
My last comment must hit home, because he stands rigid on the spot for a few moments before he makes his move through the door, slamming it behind him.
CHAPTER22
Mars surprises me when he turns up on time the next day, and to the Thursday session. But to be honest, it’s a waste of both our time, because I get absolutely nothing from him. The whole hour is pretty much of us seated opposite each other and having a staring competition. When I do ask him a question, all I get back is a one-word answer. He certainly wouldn’t win a game of ‘Yes or No.’
Due to his reluctance, I end up cancelling the Friday session. If I wanted to, I could go and take my issue to Coach, air my annoyance at Marshall and how he’s not open or willing to take the board’s direction seriously, but I’m not one to give up that easily.
It’s as plain as the gorgeous head on Mars’ impressive, and hot as fuck body that there’s something going on with him. I was hoping that one-on-one time, getting him to talk, would be enough to give me an insight as to what is inciting his reckless behaviour, but that isn’t happening. So, my next step is back to basics. What most behavioural specialists would do when it came to a troubled child. Observation.
You see, even before I chose my vocation, I have always believed that external factors, traumatic events, the environment, peer input, etcetera is what influences us into being who we are. How we react to situations, emotions, and events in our life, because this is not a part of our make-up at birth. And ultimately, it’s us that decides whether we follow the mould or break it. You know the saying; the apple never falls far from the tree? Well, in some cases, that apple decides that it doesn’t want to be an apple; it wants to be different. A peach or grapefruit; something more than what they came from. Not that there’s anything wrong with being an apple as long as it’s not rotten at the core.
From what I know of Mars, the young Mars who grabbed my hand and opened the door that gave me the chance to leave behind my hideous, unbearable life is not rotten to the core. Somewhere along the way, his skin has been bruised and tainted, and I’ll be damned if I won’t at least give it my all to try soothe away the damage. The path he’s on right now will only lead him to destruction.
Because I’m new to all this and have yet to find out about the player’s haunts and general free-time activities, I decide to call on Lucy to help me with my next plan of action.
Of course, with client confidentially and all that, I have to be a bit cloak and dagger with my reasons for wanting to hit the same haunts as the players. But as Lucy and I have spent most days having coffee, drinks or just chilling at my place with a takeout, wine and Netflix, when I ask her if she’s up for coming along on the away game this Saturday, she’s immediately up for it.
The away game is against Denver, which is an 8-hour road trip. Yes, flying would be a tad quicker, but as the team can visit a brand-new state-of-the-art, training ground in Casper, Wyoming, on the way back that they are looking at using as an offsite training boot camp, using the club bus is the better option.
The plan is to travel down on Friday night, stay at one of the hotels near the Denver Mile High Stadium, so the team are fresh for the Saturday midafternoon game against the Broncos. After the game, another night in Denver with an early start Sunday morning up to Casper. A couple of hours looking around the new sports facility and then home. Our estimated time back in Billings is around 5 pm, giving the guys time to decompress before training again on Monday morning.
Saturday night, after the game is when I’m hoping that Lucy and I can get to shadow the players, specifically Mars. This is the only time they get to enjoy some downtime while we’re away, so it gives us the perfect opportunity.
Lucy is’nt usually part of the entourage that gets to go on away games. Still, after I asked Coach Scully if she could join me on this particular trip as my assistant, without grilling me as to the reason behind it, I managed to bag her a seat near the front of the bus next to me. I’m not sure if Coach is happy to just give me whatever I want or if, in this instance, he was too focused on the game to give a flying fuck. I guess time will tell.
The general banter on the bus is playful and light, considering the amount of testosterone on it. Marshall is sat right at the back, and other than a couple of interactions with Buzzy and Boiman, he’s quiet as a mouse. However, I don’t miss the scathing glares he casts my way whenever he gets the chance. Halfway through the journey, despite wanting to avoid using the toilet, especially after the guys, I really need to pee. The toilet is about two thirds down the coach, and surprisingly I find it in reasonable order. After I’ve relieved myself and washed my hands, I step back into the centre of the bus and start to weave my way back to my seat. When the driver takes a sharp right, I lose my balance and fall sideways into TJ’s space.
“Whoa,” he grunts when my hand hits the top of his thigh, thankfully not on his junk, as I try to stop my fall. “You okay there?” he asks. His arm hooking around my waist and bringing me further over him and into his lap.
“Sorry,” I gush out in surprise. I grab hold of the headrest in front of me, but when I try to use it as purchase to get back up, TJ’ tightens his grip.
“No need to rush off,” he says as he pulls me even tighter against him. I can feel something stir under my arse cheeks that’s a little concerning but also quite intriguing. His mouth is close to the side of my head, his nose nuzzling in my hair, and I swear to God, he sniffs me.
“Mmm, you smell nice,” he murmurs as he fingers my hair with his free hand.
This is not good conduct. I cannot be fraternizing with any of the players, coaches or management. It doesn’t only go against my better judgement, but also my moral code. Do not mix business with pleasure.
“TJ, I need to get back to my seat,” I say strongly as I try once again to pull myself up. I get about halfway, but TJ’s not giving up so easy, and he pulls me back down.
“Burress,” Mars’ deep, powerful voice comes from just behind me. “Let her go.”
“Ahh, shit, Marshall.” TJ grunts before releasing his hold on me. “You’re such a fucking spoil sport.”
Mars gently takes hold of my upper arm and helps me get back on my feet and stood upright in the walkway between the seats.
“You, okay?” he asks me with a modicum of concern in his voice. His brows are down, two faint creases between them mark his normally smooth forehead.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I smile back, marginally shocked at his act of concern.
“Then stop flirting with the team and fuck off back to your seat,” he hisses at me before turning and making his way to the back of the bus.
