Blitzed (The Alpha Ballers #3) (14 page)

“Hold up, Coach, what’s going on?” Lance chimed in.

Drake put his hand on my shoulder. “No way, Coach, not Hud. Clean as a whistle.”
 

I brushed Drake’s hand off, thankful for the support, but I could take care of myself. “Coach, there’s nothing to this, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Coach Armstrong hadn’t said a word. He didn’t even look at Lance or Drake when they interrupted us. He just kept his steely gaze on me, unwavering, like he was trying to bore into my head and see what kind of man I was.

It made me angry. Coach Armstrong of all people knew what kind of man I was; he’d been my head coach for a few years now, and that meant he knew the kind of person I was.

“Coach,” I said, trying to figure out what to say next, how to defend myself. This was all bullshit, and I was gonna prove it.

“Save it, Asher,” Coach Armstrong said, so softly that the three of us leaned in closer to hear him. “Hit the lockers, you’re done till this is cleared up.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, back to the center of the field where the rest of the players and training staff were.

I seethed with rage - how had this happened?

I saw red, wanting to break something, starting to hyperventilate. Then Lance stepped in front of me, looking up at me. “Whoa there, big guy.”

“Out of my way, Lance,” I started to reach up to grab him by the shoulders, but Drake’s arm fell across mine, holding me down regardless of how much I strained against him. He had all the leverage.

“Can’t let you do that, Hud,” Lance said, focusing on me. “We’ll fight this, you know that, but for right now, you can’t do anything dumb.”

I surged forward, and Lance took a step back, but his face didn’t get any softer. Drake pressed my arms down even harder, stepping into it, and I looked at him, angry, yet thankful at the same time.

That’s why these guys were my brothers, because they looked out for me, and wouldn’t let me do anything dumb in the heat of the moment even if I wanted to.

I stopped pressing them, shaking my head. “I didn’t do anything,” I whispered.

“We know, man, we know,” Drake said. “We’ll get this shit figured out quick and you’ll be back on the field in no time.”

“I don’t know how this could have happened.”

“Probably just a fuckup at the lab,” Lance added. “It’ll blow over, don’t worry about it.”

Coach Armstrong blew his whistle signaling that practice was staring again, and both Lance and Drake looked over at the center of the field before coming back to me.

“You gonna be ok, big fella?” Lance asked, hopefully.

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Drake said.

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved them away. “Gonna be fine, gotta talk to my agent and see what the fuck’s going on. You guys get back to it.”

Coach Armstrong’s whistle came again, and this time Drake and Lance jogged back toward him, both waving at me first.

I walked slowly toward the tunnel back to the locker room, emotions swirling around my head. On the one hand, I was pissed off that this had happened. On the other hand, I was sad that Coach Armstrong, who was like a father to me, didn’t immediately jump to my defense; it was as if he wasn’t sure if I had actually done anything wrong.

Of course I hadn’t done anything fucking wrong. Performance Enhancing Drugs? Get the fuck out of here with that shit. My body was a fucking temple, and I wasn’t gonna put any of that artificial shit in it, especially not when it could get me suspended.

I stood by the entrance to the tunnel and watched my brothers keep practicing, wishing I could be out there with them. I broke down each play in my head as I watched them practice, seeing differences in how my backup approached things.

I wanted to punch something, but rather than risk injury to my hands I just pounded one fist into the other. I had to get back on the field as soon as I could - with as little ego as I could figure, I knew that without me anchoring the defense we didn’t have a chance of winning 3 more games in a row and taking home the championship trophy.

And even if I was wrong, and we did win? How could I enjoy it after missing the 3 most important games of the year, and my career?

“Hud?” I turned around. Mack stood there, looking sexy as hell despite wearing a regular business outfit. Automatically I started thinking about the curves hidden under there, and I had to force myself back into the moment and the current crisis.

“Mack. This is bullshit,” I started, figuring she already knew what was going on. “I didn’t take anything.”

She walked up to me. “I know, Hud, I know,” she said softly. “But the rules are the rules. You can’t practice anymore, and you can’t even watch practice - you’ll have to go hit the lockers and stay away from the team and coaching staff.”

“Really? This is fucked up, Mack, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, Hud, and that’s why you’re not suspended. If the league had a case against you they’d already have announced the suspension. Some crazy shit is going down, and we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“What does it matter?” I said, anger blazing again. “If I miss the most important games of the year while the fucking league gets their story straight.”

Mack’s eyes hardened. “Look, Hud, I’m just the messenger here. We’re going to figure out what’s going on, but in the meantime, getting angry about it isn’t helping anyone, least of all you.”

“Then what the fuck else am I supposed to do, Mack?” I was starting to see red again. I needed to get out of there.

“Take a shower, go home, take the rest of the day and relax. Do what you do to get rid of stress. Come back and see me in the morning and we’ll figure out our strategy. Got it?”

I nodded, then started to walk by her and into the tunnel. Then I stopped, turned back toward her, and once again drank in her beauty before I said, “I didn’t do anything wrong, Mack. And I need to play in those games if we’re going to win.”

Mack nodded. “I know, Hud,” she whispered. “We need you here too.”

And then I left. I took a shower in the empty locker room, got dressed, and took a longer route to ride home on my bike than usual. I had nothing better to do and a lot of time on my hands, and feeling the engine between my legs and seeing the open road spread out before me calmed me down, just a little bit.

Even when I got home, though, I was still fucking pissed.

I went right to the mini-gym I had set up in an extra room and whaled on my punching bag for an hour.

Fuck everything.

CHAPTER 13 - MACKENZIE

I went home that night after a long day at the office making phone calls to various league sources, trying to get to the bottom of this PED thing with Hud. All I got was the runaround, by people who normally had information for me that was reliable.

No one really knew what was going on, but the league was in the process of investigating, and until their investigation was concluded and any punishment came down, Hud couldn’t play.

Which made zero sense, because that meant a simple accusation held just as much power as an actual finding of wrongdoing. Once again, and not for the first time that week I cursed the players’ association for giving up so much power to the commissioner during the last collective bargaining agreement discussions. How they could let one incompetent man have such broad and sweeping powers over player personnel made no sense to me, or any sane individual.

We were in a holding pattern, and that left Hud in the lurch - needed by his team, but not allowed to practice or play. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through - this was his life’s work up until now, and the league could take it all away even on the slimmest of evidence.

I felt terrible about it - about what Hud was going through, and how he’d taken it. I wanted to rush over to him and hug him hard, whisper to him that everything was gonna be OK, that we would get through this together, but of course I couldn’t do that at work, not when other people could see us.

When I went home that evening, I felt restless. All the normal things I used to do to relax like read or watch trashy TV just didn’t work for me; I kept pacing around the apartment instead. Finally, after thirty minutes of trying to relax and stop thinking about work and Hud, I knew what I had to do.

I got dressed again, this time a relaxed top and skirt, and got in my car. At this hour there wasn’t any traffic, and the drive to Hud’s house didn’t take very long. When I pulled into a guest parking spot in his garage, I turned off the car and sat there, my hands still gripping the wheel. Was this the right thing to do?

Of course it was. Hud was hurt and in trouble and I could help him through official and unofficial channels in my official capacity as a front office employee for the New England Patriots, but at the same time, Hudson Asher and I were at this point a little more than coworkers or friends, and even if that was a little murky right now, he was in trouble and the least I could do was be there for him.

That having been decided, I got out of the car without any more hesitation and took the elevator to Hud’s floor, remembering how it had felt when Hud had brought me here just over a week earlier. That time I had been a little tipsy - this time I was stone sober and on a mission.

I rang the doorbell and felt foolish for a moment, wondering if Hud would even want to see me. I heard a noise from across the door and for a moment I thought of running away - what if he already had someone over? What if Lance Parker or Drake Rollins were here? It would be inappropriate for them to see me at his place after hours!

I wanted to turn around and leave before the door opened, but just as I was about to, the handle lowered and the door opened. Hud peeked his head out. “Mack?” He asked, a look of confusion and surprise on his face. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hey, Hud,” I started lamely, trying to act all cool and failing miserably. I really didn’t know how this man managed to fluster me so easily, “I was, uh, just passing by and I wanted to see how you were doing…”

Hud furrowed his brow, still leaning out from the gap between the door and the doorway, like he didn’t want me to see what was going on inside. Did he have another girl in there? “You don’t exactly live close by, Mack.”

“No, I, uh, I guess I don’t,” I whispered, shifting from one foot to the other and wanting to curl up in a little ball. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” I looked around for a second. “Can I, uh, come in?”

“Sure,” Hud said immediately, and opened the door the rest of the way. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging outside like that.”

I looked down and walked through the doorway, past Hud’s bulk, looking around furtively at first to see if there were signs of anyone else around. Nope, nothing here. So far I was chasing at ghosts. “Thanks.”

Hud closed the door behind me and leaned against it. He was wearing Patriots sweatpants and a tight t-shirt that barely covered his bulging muscles, and despite how casual I looked, I felt overdressed around him. Hud stared down at me like he didn’t know what to say, so I kept going. “I wanted to apologize for how gruff I was at the office this afternoon.”

“You don’t have to…”

“No, I do. I wanted to say more, but in the moment I panicked and it all came out a little heartless and cold, and I’m not like that. I know I have a reputation of coming of a little robotic…”

“Mack, it’s OK-“

“-And I just want you to know that’s not really me, you know. I’m not like that, and I don’t want you thinking that considering how we…” I trailed off, blushing furiously and realizing that I was blathering on and on.

“How we…?” Now there was a hint of a smile on Hud’s face, and I got even more embarrassed.

“You know,” I offered back.
 

Hud stepped toward me, pulling me in. “I know.” He tightened his arms around me. “Thanks, Mack.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the feeling of being in Hud’s arms again. “You’re welcome.”

“Let’s not stand in the doorway too long,” Hud said after a minute, unwrapping his arms and gently guiding me into his condo. We went all the way to the couch and sat down, before Hud offered me a drink. We drank for a bit, not talking, just relaxing in each other’s company, and it felt good.

“How are you handling it?” I asked, not knowing how better to put it.

Hud grimaced. “The whole thing is bullshit, I didn’t take anything, and I’m gonna fight the charge all the way through.”

I nodded, sipping my drink. “We’ll back you 100%.” Hud nodded. A minute later I blurted out, “I heard that Coach Armstrong didn’t take the news well.”

Hud shook his head, sadly. “Coach Armstrong doesn’t take any news well, much less bad news.”

“You’re right.”

Hud hesitated before he spoke again, avoiding making eye contact. “There’s something else, though.”

I leaned in. “Oh?” I touched him on the arm, holding him. “You can tell me, Hud, I won’t judge.”

Hud looked at me, his dark eyes piercing through me as he decided whether to open up. “I did take PEDs once before.”

I gasped, unable to believe what I had heard. “What?” I was shocked; floored by this revelation.

“It was in college.”

“And?”

“I got sick right at the end of winter, I was sick all spring, lost a ton of weight, couldn’t work out. I knew I had to prove that I was worthy of playing pro football, so a couple months before summer practices start, after I got better, I took something to help me get my weight back up, get my strength back.” The way Hud looked at me in that moment, it felt like he expected me to jump off the couch, run to my car, and burn rubber back to the office so I could release him from the team before the morning.

It must have been so tough for him to tell me all that, even though it had happened more than a decade ago. “Hud…”

“I’m not proud of what I did,” he said, a little more forcefully now, like he had come to peace with his past actions during that five second silence. “I also don’t regret it - I had a short window with which to show professional teams that I could play at a higher level, and that wasn’t going to happen after I lost 30 pounds of muscle from being sick for 3 months.”