Blue 42 by C.A. Rene

Chapter four

Sebastian

This rookie needs his head checked and I will gladly be the one to do it. Since the first day he got here, striding onto the field like his shit didn’t stink and his nose so far in the air; I fucking hated him. Rookies aren’t supposed to act privileged and they sure as fuck don’t start mid ladder.

Back home in Rochester, guys like that get capped, and then we send pieces of them back home to their families, reminding everyone of their places. I think I need to teach this bitch his place.

“Avando.” Zeal’s voice grates on my last nerve and I give him a cursory glance over my shoulder. “Lay off the rookie.”

“Pardon?” I turn around to fully face him. His lean body tense with frustration and his blue eyes hard.

“I don’t want tension on the team,” his face hardens and I clench my teeth, holding my fists firmly at my sides. “I want the Super Bowl this year.”

“And what? You think the pussy rookie is going to get it for us?”

A few snickers circle the room and I snort when Zeal’s eyes flash with irritation.

“He’s an asset and if we work as a team, we can all get there.” He drags a hand through his light brown hair.

“You heard him,” Jameson sneers, a sheen of sweat shining along his porcelain skin, “if we all get on our knees in a line and suck the rookie’s dick, we’ll win the Super Bowl.”

Ostin Jameson is a big motherfucker and almost everyone on the team stays out of his way. He’s as tall as me, but where I’m cut and stacked, he’s at least two times my size in width, most of it fat. Not that that’s a bad thing, we need the power that comes with his big body.

“Maybe Coach needs to hear about this shit.” Zeal threatens and once again my teeth crack as I grind them.

“Go for it,” I grit through my teeth, “I think it’s time our second string QB had some field time.”

Coach Meyers is firmly against bitching of any kind. If he hears it, he drops whoever is bringing it to his table, and he expects his QB to keep us all in check.

“Maybe Flaherty needs a vacation,” Ortiz announces, “maybe a little bit of homegrown loving from his mommy back in Alabama.”

Ortiz Fernando rubs on his dick through his shorts and the locker room breaks out into laughter. He’s not fucking wrong, maybe Flaherty needs to take his ass home. I have ways to ensure that happens.

“Try to behave.” Zeal mutters, his face red from embarrassment.

“Yes, Daddy.” Jameson snorts and the room is once again in an uproar.

Zeal and I stare into each other’s eyes and I smirk when he’s the first to drop his gaze, little pussy. He turns and heads for the showers as I look around the room.

“I think we need to welcome the rookie properly.” I see a few nervous swallows and some sideways glances. They know what the hell I mean.

“Yeah, whichever of you don’t want to, then turn your ass cheek.” Ortiz grins maliciously.

“That’s not how the saying…” Jameson begins.

“Shut up.” Ortiz cuts him off with a shove to the shoulder.

They’re fucking dumb as shit but they’re loyal and if I say to jump, these fuckers ask how high.

I drop the white powder onto the glass tabletop and cut out the thin lines with my limitless black AMEX. I drag my right nostril along the clear cold surface and then my left back down to where I started. Both nostrils filled with the brain numbing elixir.

“We have a piss test in three days.” Jameson mumbles as he sniffs his line.

“Well, make sure we get our piss.” I look at him with my brow raised.

“I think Coach is onto us.” Ortiz states, his pupils the size of pin pricks.

“As long as our piss is clean and we get the fucking ball into the end zone, Coach will leave us the fuck alone.” I growl, “if you’re afraid then get the fuck out of here.”

Ortiz nods, his face void of emotion and his eyes glazed. He and I didn’t get off to a good start in the beginning either, not only did the fucker have my position, but he had a shitty attitude, too. Being a rookie at the time, I let it slide, until I couldn’t ignore it any longer and slammed him into place.

Ortiz Fernando grew up in Corpus Christi, Texas, to a poor but religious Mexican household. Him and I are the same age at Twenty-four and he’s the oldest of four brothers and two sisters; his parents have been married for thirty years. All the good shit you see with those sitcom families, full of love, and prayers to Jesus, his family is a carbon copy. Until he started rolling with me, I hardened him and made him a fucking man.

I pick up the gun that’s sitting beside the discarded bag of blow and rub the barrel against my temple. My .22 is always close by because no matter how safe you feel, you’re never actually safe.

Ortiz has his dark brown eyes on the gun and he shrinks back into the couch, he knows I don’t tolerate fear well. Doesn’t mean I don’t like to see it in the eyes of the person I’m staring down and I think that’s what has my insides so twisted; Rookie has no fear. It’s driving me to want to do things to entice that fear out of him, it’s my addiction.

Buffalo has been my on-season home for three years now and I hope I’m never traded. Yeah, we struggle to win games but at least I’m close to home and I can go back to see my boys whenever I want. Off seasons, I live in New York with my family and I prefer it this way. They don’t come here to live with me so I just rent this house while I’m here. That’s how most of the guys do it and the on season begins to feel a bit like vacation, or a break from the nagging of family.

“I need to get going,” Jameson stands and holds his fist out to me. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

I give it a quick bump with my own and nod to him, “Yeah, bro.”

Ortiz runs his hand through his black hair and stands as well, “it’s an early day tomorrow.”

I nod again and watch them leave, letting themselves out of my front door, and hearing Jameson’s car start up. They live in the same gated community so they carpool like housewives going to book clubs or some shit.

I lay back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, watching my ceiling fan rotate in circles. It reminds me of the one room apartment me and Ma lived in back in Rochester and how the summer nights were brutal, our ceiling fan doing absolutely nothing to ease the discomfort. I remember how my stomach would growl from not eating for a whole day and anticipating the next day school funded breakfast. How most nights I was left alone in that apartment while Ma was off turning her next trick and grabbing what drugs she could with the money.

My father could’ve been any drug dealer or random guy that picked her up for a few hours. But she learned her lesson after me and abortions became a form of birth control, until they weren’t needed. I’m guessing she made herself infertile. Not that she was upset by it, no, that meant more sex without the worry.

My first year of college, I came home from class and found her dead in a puddle of her own puke. Looked like she overdosed and drowned in her own vomit. I wish I could say I felt sad or traumatised but that would be a fucking lie. I was relieved she was finally gone and I could pursue this football career without having to give her a cent. Because that’s exactly what she was banking on; her son to look after her when she never looked after him.

I was running the streets from eight years old and selling drugs by ten. It was only a small hop from that to joining the local gang and holding down our turf. From twelve onward I had finally found the family I had always been craving and they made sure I was good. When Ma got us evicted for the fifth time, I went and lived with one of the guys, when Ma didn’t feed me, my boys always had a hot meal ready for me; and that’s why I will always do everything I can for them. I wouldn’t be where I am today if they didn’t take me in.

They taught me that I am my own person, I need to watch my back and always be prepared for something to pop off. I grew a tough exterior before them, but with them, that shit became impenetrable, and no one gets inside. No one. That’s why Rookie is pissing me off, he’s getting to me and I fucking hate that. He looks like he’s entitled and I can bet my left nut that the fucker grew up feeling loved and safe, most pussies did.

I’m ready to find out exactly what the little bitch is made of.