Page 1 of Bourbon Bliss
1
George
My knee hurt more than it should.
I was more than eight weeks post-surgery for a torn ACL, and it shouldn’t have been this sore. Instead of wandering around the VIP room at Bleu Martini—a favorite club among my teammates in Philly—I was chilling in a plush booth with my leg propped up.
The dim lights cast a bluish tint over the room. I could still hear the club music bumping through the walls, but our private party had mellowed. The smooth R&B sounded like Rex’s patented sex playlist. Judging by the way my teammate had his latest groupie backed up against a wall, it probably was his sex playlist.
I adjusted my leg, trying not to visibly wince. I should probably have been home icing it. But Rex had threatened to drive to my place and drag me out tonight if I didn’t come. And I hadn’t exactly admitted how bad it was.
I’d talked to my agent already. And my coach. My teammates, however, hadn’t heard the news. My career as a pro football player was officially over.
In some ways, it was devastating. Football was the only thing I really knew. I’d been playing since I was five.
But from the moment I’d gone down on the field, my knee screaming with pain, I’d known. It was my second ACL tear in five years. I’d come back from the first one. You didn’t come back from two. Not when they were the same knee, and you were a thirty-two-year-old receiver. Despite the way everyone—from doctors to my agent—had tried to make the best of it, I’d known. It was a career ender. No amount of PT was going to save me.
So when my doctor had given me the final verdict a few days ago, I hadn’t been surprised. Wasn’t happy about it. But not surprised, either.
“Sup, GT.” Deacon Phillips, defensive player of the year, five-time all-pro linebacker. He was getting up there in years, just like me. But he’d managed to get through the season without any injuries.
I leaned back, like I wasn’t elevating my knee, just relaxing in the club. Like I was too cool to make any effort. “Taking in the scenery.”
“Bullshit.” He set his beer down on the table and slid into the booth. “Don’t mess with me, man. You coming back?”
I looked away. The guys weren’t going to like this. I knew they were all holding out hope. They’d made it to the playoffs without me, but lost the first game. A bitterly disappointing end to what had begun as a perfect season. We’d all been hoping I’d pull through and we’d have another shot next year.
“No, man. I’m not coming back from this one.”
“Shit,” Deacon said under his breath. He shook his head. “Can’t they give you a bionic leg now or something? Jesus. This is it for you? Really?”
I nodded, letting it sink in as I said it aloud. “Yep. I’m done. No more football.”
“I had a feeling it was coming, but this is brutal, bro. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t give me any pity crap. I had a good run. Y’all are gonna be fine without me.”
He shook his head, like he didn’t believe me.
I took a deep breath, glancing around the room, at a dozen or so of the guys I’d played with for the last few years. The worst part was the feeling that I was letting them down. Not to mention the coaches and staff. They’d pinned a lot of their hopes on me—me and these magic hands. Sticky as my hands were, they didn’t do me any good without legs to run on. Without my wheels, I was just another tall guy with big hands.
“Anyone else know?” Deacon asked.
“The organization knows. It’s official. I need to start telling the rest of the guys, though.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” There wasn’t much more to say.
He glanced over his shoulder, and I knew exactly who he was looking at. MacKenzie Lyons. My on-again-off-again—currently off-again—girlfriend. She’d arrived about ten minutes ago, and so far, she seemed to be pretending to avoid me. I wondered if she’d known I’d be here. I’d never figured out how so many women seemed to find where my teammates and I were hanging out. No one ever took credit for inviting them, yet there were always women around.
Wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing MacKenzie tonight. This wasn’t exactly a high point for me. Kind of a low, really. Did I want her here to witness the end of my career?
Maybe I’d call it an early night and bail now.
As if she could see how close I was to getting up and leaving, MacKenzie broke off from the conversation she was having with a woman I didn’t know, set her eyes on me, and walked to my table. Even I had to admit, she looked hot in that tight black dress and heels.
“Trust me, dude,” Deacon said as he got up. “Hit that while you still can.”
