Scenes from the Cutting Room Floor
Fourth and Goal:
From Chapter 15—Quarterback Sneak
Cass stood inside the doorway and waited for her eyes to adjust to
the dim light of the bar. The din of voices, music, and clinging
glasses bathed the large room in a soft roar, like that of a
waterfall, only less soothing. A drunken group in the corner
celebrated a birthday. Scantily-clad waitresses hustled from table
to table, balancing a tray of drinks with one hand.
Where the hell was the bastard? She’d been sitting in the bar next
door for over a half hour. If it hadn’t been for a mutual friend
mentioning he’d seen Tyler, she’d still be waiting.
Gorgeous assholes were good for a lot of things, but sometimes
feeding their ravenous egos wore on a girl, especially a girl with
an ego of her own to feed. Maybe gorgeous assholes should stick with
homely girls so there wouldn’t be two egos vying for attention.
Her eyes honed on him like the laser beam of an assault rifle. The
gorgeous asshole was doing exactly as expected. It wasn’t the first
time this happened, but it would be the last. Tyler sat in a
U-shaped booth with girls draped on him like medals on a war hero’s
uniform. But this man wasn’t a hero, far from it. He was a fucking
asshole, a gorgeous fucking asshole not worth the tanned skin and
sexy blue eyes God gave him. Small-minded men should be blessed with
small cocks, but the world didn’t work that way.
He grinned at her and waved, making no move to extract himself from
his trophies. Not looking the least bit contrite, he tightened his
arm around the little bitch stroking his thigh. Cass’s feet rooted
to the spot just inside the doorway. These women’s huge boobs fell
out of their tight little spandex tops. Their platinum hair and
perfect makeup made Cass, usually perfect herself, feel inferior,
even small. She’d never felt inferior until now.
Screw him. She didn’t need him at all. She marched to the booth.
Ignoring her obvious intent to commit a homicide, he threw back his
head and laughed at something one of the bimbos said.
“Hey, babe, have a seat.” He patted his other thigh.
Cass stiffened, didn’t move, didn’t speak. Hands on hips, she glared
at him. Could the guy be so much of a moron he didn’t get it?
“Got your G-string stuck up your ass or what?” Tyler snorted at his
own stupid joke. The groupies giggled. Their huge breasts jiggled.
“Fuck you. I’m leaving.”
“I’ll see you at home later.”
“No. You won’t.” She picked up the pitcher of beer on the table and
poured it on his head. The women screeched and scattered. Tyler
leapt to his feet, roaring like an angry lion.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he sputtered and grabbed a fist
full of napkins. Beer dripped down his cheeks and off his chin. It
saturated his designer shirt.
“Nothing, as of right now.” She turned on a spiked heel and marched
from the room.
Tyler Harris had seen the last of her.
From Chapter 22—Tripped Up
He clenched his fists at the thought of the jerk using his sister
like that. No way did his little sister know the score. She was too
inexperienced with guys. She believed she controlled the situation
and would get Ramsey to spill his guts eventually. Mitch figured the
only thing spilled would be his sister’s heart, pureed and dumped on
the sidewalk.
When two weeks passed and no Derek, he debated on asking Rachel but
decided to keep his mouth shut. If Derek needed to be reminded, to
hell with him. The Jacks had won two more games, and Derek had been
outstanding. Most likely the attention was going to his head, and
not for the first time.
Mitch glanced at Ryan, slumped in his wheelchair on the field, while
his team spilled onto the field for practice. The kid faded a little
more every day. Last week, he’d stood on the sidelines and watched
the team practice for minutes at a time before he needed to sit.
This week, he had a hell of a time walking from the locker room to
the field. He’d been forced to use a wheelchair at times, like
today. Mitch swallowed a huge lump in his throat and swiped a hand
across his face. His face ached from the iron control he exercised
over his expression. Be strong, he told himself, for Ryan and for
the team.
Shit, he’d beg the asshole to see the kid if it’d put a smile on
Ryan’s gaunt face.
At least he hadn’t told Ryan that Ramsey might visit. Not good to
get their hopes up for nothing. His coaches knew about his
conversation with the Jacks’ star wide receiver, but no one else.
Mike, his buddy and defensive coach, patted him on the back as the
boys went through their warm-up routine led by Ryan, the honorary
team captain, from his wheelchair. “Hey, at least you tried.” Mike
always read his mind.
“Yeah, I did.” He still felt like crap, even with his team
decimating every opponent in sight.
“He’s busy. They’re big news right now.”
“Too big to mess with a high school kid who’s nobody to him.”
“You don’t know what kind of pressure he’s under. The Jacks are
looking good. They’re the hottest thing in town. Everyone wants a
piece of him. Kids like Ryan are lined up around the Northwest to
meet him. A guy can’t do it all, no matter where his heart is.”
“Yeah, I really wanted to do something for Ryan. He’s such a
trooper.”
Mitch stalked to the edge of the field and concentrated on his kids.
Undefeated, the press favored them to win a state championship even
without Ryan under center. Regardless of their former quarterback’s
absence on the field, he’d been with them every step of the way,
practice and games. His hawk eyes never missed a play, and he
analyzed a game as well as any adult. The team dedicated their
season to Ryan.
Mike followed him to the sidelines. “We’ve got a big one this
Friday.”
As if Mitch didn’t know that. The biggest game of the season so far,
two undefeated teams battling it for a spot at the top. Mitch nodded
to his assistant, still distracted.
Mike read him as well as he read opposing team’s offenses. “Why
don’t you ask your sister? She might be able to put some pressure on
Ramsey.”
“I might do that.” Mitch frowned as Mike looked past him, distracted
by something.
His friend’s eyes grew big and a slow smile crossed his face. “Holy
shit.” Mike nudged him and pointed toward the edge of the football
field. “I don’t think you’ll need your sister’s help after all.”
Mitch turned his head, following Mike’s gaze. “Well, I’ll be
damned.” Relief unwound some of the tightness in his body.
Derek Ramsey stood inside the gate surrounding the field, a duffel
bag swung over one broad shoulder. Casually dressed in jeans,
running shoes, and a Jacks pullover sweatshirt. He looked every bit
the professional athlete he was, and Mitch was damned happy to see
him.
* * * * *
Chapter 26—Big Play
(in Tyler’s POV)
“Hey, you came.” Ryan offered a feeble smile. The kid kept his eyes
on the sports channel.
“You asked.” Tyler bristled a little. Of course, he had. He might be
an asshole, but even he drew the line at brushing off a sick kid.
“Is Mitch gone?” Ryan craned his neck to see into the kitchen.
“He went out for some beer. Said he’d be right back.”
“Good.” Ryan struggled to sit up, coughed, and took a drink of
water. It trickled down his chin. He wiped it with the sleeve his
sweatshirt. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
“Shoot.” Tyler helped himself to the bowl of chips on the coffee
table.
“I need a favor.”
Tyler hesitated, popped several chips in his mouth, and chewed
slowly. Nice guys did favors, and he wasn’t a nice guy. If he did
one good deed, people would be all over his ass expecting more
favors. He believed in Number One. Numero Uno. Everyone else in his
life fit because they served a purpose.
“So, can you do me a favor?” Ryan’s scrawny arm reached for the
water glass.
Tyler tried not to stare. A skeleton had more meat on its bones. He
shrugged. “I suppose.” The words slipped out, and he couldn’t get
them back.
Ryan’s eyes bored into his, steady, direct, and way too old for a
kid of his age. “I need you to find my mother.”
“Your mother?” Tyler choked and wished he had a beer. Even better a
couple straight shots. He crammed more chips in his mouth.
“Yeah. Please, Ty. I need to know where she is. I want to see her
before—before—well, you know.” Ryan’s gaze unsettled him with its
intense desperation.
“Why didn’t you ask Derek?” Ty didn’t want to do this. Not one bit.
He didn’t get involved in other people’s problems, except on a
superficial level and when it benefited him. With Ryan, he’d already
sunk beyond superficial. He didn’t plan on sinking any deeper.
“Because I want the truth. Derek’s too nice. He’d never tell me the
truth if it was bad news.”
“And I would?” Sorrow sliced through Tyler, as cold and sharp as his
father’s hunting knife. He shook it off. He should consider Ryan’s
assessment a compliment. Except it wasn’t.
“Yeah. You’re a tough guy. A badass. You say what you think and to
hell with everyone else. I don’t want anyone worrying about my
feelings. I need to know.”
“You think you’ll get that from me.” Tyler forced the words past a
constricted throat.
“Yeah, I will because you won’t be concerned about hurting me.
You’ll just do the job. You take care of yourself, nobody else
matters.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me. I’m a selfish bastard.”
Ryan punched his arm. “Then you’ll do it?”
“Yeah, sure.” Tyler stared at the images on the TV without seeing
them, while he tried to drag in a breath around the boulder crushing
his chest.
