Son of a Sinner Page 11

  Her cousin and roommate! She’d totally forgotten the master plotter who’d brought them together. Stacy rummaged in the bed to find her nightie in case she needed to put it on. Dean returned, phone in hand, shucked his jeans, and got back into bed. Stacy read the text message typed all in lower case and without punctuation as if the person on the other end didn’t know where the shift key was located.

  return my call right now important.

  “Aunt Nell. I guess I should get this over with.”

  “Right now?” Dean covered his face with the pillow as if hiding from his all-knowing, all-seeing mother.

  “Hi, Aunt Nell. I guess you saw those pictures in the tabloids. No, I won’t deny I have feelings for Dean. Yes, I’m on the pill. No, I won’t break your son’s heart. Yes, I do know marriage between us is legal. I looked it up on the internet when I was fourteen.” She listened quietly to the rest of the lecture and half-hoped Dean hadn’t heard that bit about how she’d known they could marry since she’d been a kid, information he did not need right now. At last, the conversation ended. “Love you, Aunt Nell. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

  The pillow over Dean’s face shook. She raised it to find him laughing.

  “So you’ve wanted to marry me since you were fourteen.”

  “I had a crush, a silly childish crush!” She socked him with the pillow. He wrested it away and hit her back but not very hard. This could be fun or would have been. Xochi pattered up the stairs calling out, “Anyone home?”

  Dean dove for his small pile of clothes. Stacy shrugged into her nightgown damning its length that twisted around her legs. By the time Xo reached the bedroom, she’d propped herself on two pillows and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

  Dean sat in the little chair again fully dressed and looking immensely uncomfortable, but he spoke first. “I’m glad you’re home, Xo. Prince Dobbs tried to rape Stacy tonight. I came over as quickly as I could. Damn near got hit by a cab crossing Canal against the lights, but I think she needs a woman to talk to, so I’ll be going now. I’ll lock the door on the way out.” He moved off faster than a receiver with two tackles on his tail.

  Stacy got out of bed to watch him cross the street while Xo questioned her about the attack. “Yes, it was terrible, but you know Xochi, your plan worked. He is my hero.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dean got to training on time, but he should have arrived earlier. With one foot in an orthopedic boot and the other ankle wrapped tight, Prince had hobbled in on a pair of crutches an hour before, possibly the only time he’d been the first to arrive for a workout. He’d told quite a tale about being with “his woman” when Dean barged in and knocked him down a flight of stairs in a jealous rage. Didn’t everyone know how their quarterback acted at Mariah’s and in the gym yesterday? There should be fines, big ones, penalties and punishments. The team doctors took over where the emergency room left off. Diagnosis: a broken bone in one foot and a high ankle sprain in the other leg, numerous bruises, a small scalp wound, some deep facial scratches, and a slight concussion. They placed the wide receiver on the injured reserve list despite his protests that he’d be good as new in a few weeks.

  Coach told Dean the general manager and his crew waited to hear his side of the story, not the best way to start a day. Marty Buck sent him off with a pat on the back. The GM, Mitchell Michener, was a distinguished man with a permanent crease in his forehead and an ulcer in his belly that had him tossing down antacids like malted milk balls. He asked Dean to be seated upon his arrival at the office.

  Sitting quietly to one side, Dr. Edmund Funk, team shrink for going on thirty years, held a pen poised above a paper notebook, very old school. The man Dean’s dad called Dr. Mind Fuck, usually following that up with “Sex addiction my sweet Cajun ass”, had gone completely bald only increasing his egghead identity. The public relations director, Acton Jackson, better known as Action, filled another chair. With one leg crossed over the other, Action’s foot jumped nervously as if he would have preferred to be pacing the room. No sign of the legal team yet.

  After listening to a recording of the accusations and marveling at how Prince’s grammar and respectful attitude had improved, Dean admitted, “Partly true. He attacked my cousin, Stacy Polasky—and she’s not his woman. Stace broke his foot and raked his face defending herself, but I did throw him down the stairs. Probably got the sprain and concussion then.”

  “You rip his hair out?” Action thumped a folded newspaper against his thigh.

  Dean placed the bag containing the braids on the desk.

  “You brought breakfast to this meeting?”

  Dean suppressed a grin. Last evening, Tom mistook the evidence for a sack of hamburgers when he came home hungry as always. The sight of the weave with its particle of skin attached grossed him out big time. “Some of Prince’s braids, though they do smell a little like french fries now. They caught on a nail on his way down. I didn’t pull them out. He’s welcome to have them back. I’ll bet the blond streaks cost extra.”

  Not a single person smiled. Mitch Michener wagged a finger at him. “We gave away three years worth of early draft picks to get you on our team, Billodeaux. Hell, we had to take a kicker the next year we fell so low.”

  “Tom worked out great for you, right?”

  “Yes, but this isn’t about Tommy the Toe. We expected you to set a shining example of what a quarterback should be, and up until recently you did. Prince Dobbs wouldn’t be on our roster if we’d had any better choices this past year. We counted on you to work with him.”

  “I’ve tried. When he drops a pass, it’s my fault, he says. When Stacy didn’t want to go out with him, he hit her, left bruises on her body, and tried to rape her. With Prince, it’s always some else’s fault. I have pictures of him leaving her place still unzipped. A tourist snapped it. Here’s more of Stacy’s injuries.” Glad Xochi had foresight to take those pictures after he’d left, Dean passed his phone around the group. Dr. Funk said, “Hmmm,” and the PR man made a small whimper deep in his throat.

  “How much do you think she’ll want?” Action asked. “We have to keep this quiet.”

  “No money and certainly not notoriety. I talked to her late last night. I needed to be sure she was okay. Stacy wants Prince Dobbs gone from New Orleans and for any other team that takes him to be made aware of his problems. She says he needs mental help. If you can’t do that for her, she’ll report this to the police and take out a restraining order on him. You know that will make the press.”

  Mitch appeared pleased with the deal but still dug several antacids tablets out of the jar on his desk. “Anyone else?” he offered. The PR man took one. Dr. Funk shook his head.

  “I’d expect someone raised by Joe Dean Billodeaux to be a team player. Sounds like Stacy is. Most women would milk this for every cent.”

  Dean kept his hands gripped tightly to the armrests of his chair to prevent himself from committing his own assault on the GM. To his right, Dr, Funk stated mildly, “I will see the recordings of both these meetings are transcribed and append copies of those pictures to the Dobbs file. I have observed none of his father’s proclivities for sexual dalliance in Dean and would take his word in most situations. Prince, however, is a raging egomaniac of the worst kind. While he is unable to train, I’ll schedule some mandatory sessions with him to discuss anger management and sexual harassment, but unlike Joe Billodeaux, most men don’t change because they have no desire to try. Dump Dobbs as soon as you can.”

  “He won’t be traveling with the team any more. We’ll put out a statement that he injured himself in an off the field accident and will be out at least six weeks,” the PR man stated.

  Mitch crunched his tablets before saying, “Once he’s healthy again, we’ll try to work out a trade, maybe for Little Joe Bullock up in Cleveland.”

  Dean no longer felt he had to suppress a grin. “That would be great! There’s no better lineman, and Little Joe hates Cleveland winters a
nd Ohio food.” He’d grown up with Little Joe, son of the great cornerback, Revelation Bullock. The Rev and his offspring shared the same massive build and appetite.

  Action Jackson thumped that paper in his hand one more time before he unfolded it. “I’d save the happy for later Billodeaux. You seen this?”

  Dean opened another of the scandal sheets that filled the news racks. This one featured a very clear photo of Prince and Dean facing off in Mariah’s. Stacy appeared as a slightly blurred blonde harder to identify and for that Dean felt grateful. She was named within the article. The headline read Dean and Dobbs Collide over Cute Cousin.

  “No, I hadn’t seen this. I apologize for my unprofessional behavior in a public place.”

  “Never heard that one from his daddy,” Dr. Funk remarked.

  “But I’d toss Prince down a staircase again if I had to. What I stopped was a rape about to happen. This only amounted to a little push and shove. I left as soon as Mariah sent her bouncers to break it up.”

  Unable to restrain himself any longer, Action Jackson began to pace. “We’ll need the girl to give a statement and sign an agreement not to press charges or hold the Sinners’ organization liable. The press and the public will put two and two together when they see this and figure out how Prince came by his injuries, but we don’t need to confirm anything. Meanwhile, stay away from the young woman. Prince has his orders, too.”

  “She’s my cousin, part of our family. We see each other all the time.”

  “Not now you don’t. Cool it with her and stay clear of Dobbs.”

  “Is that all, sir?”

  The GM leaned back in his chair, one hand on his flat aching belly. “We’re fining both you and Dobbs the same amount for this debacle.” He named a sum that would have made a player less well paid than the quarterback wince.

  Dean merely nodded. “May I go now?”

  “Get out on the practice field. Let’s see how you manage against Minnesota on Sunday without Dobbs as a receiver,” Mitch said with a flick of his hand.

  “Oh, I’ll manage just fine, sir, just fine.” Dean held in his burning desire to hit something all the way to the field. There he got the anger out of his system with sweat and hard work, but who were they to tell him he couldn’t see his own cousin whenever he wanted?

  ****

  He’d called after she got home for the day. Stacy had kept her phone on for a change hoping to hear Dean’s voice telling her everything went fine and maybe something more personal. Instead, she’d been asked by a man named Acton Jackson to come to Sinners headquarters and fill in some paperwork regarding the incident with Prince Dobbs. Busy with a client for the day, she’d set an appointment for the following morning and debated trying to get in touch with Dean, but he’d be at practice. Bad form to call him at work and worse form to hound a guy by phone after a night of sex. Though the clock said seven p.m., evidently Dean Billodeaux was the one man in the world who did call the next day. She didn’t like what he had to say.

  “I’m so sorry about this mess, Stacy. Sorry you’ll have to go in and sign papers clearing the Sinners organization. Just tell them what really happened between you and Prince, no more and no less. The lawyers will be there.”

  “Did you say we made love afterwards?”

  “Had sex? No, that’s none of their business, but maybe I took advantage of you in a weak moment.”

  “Believe me, I am not weak, Dean.”

  “I didn’t mean it in that way. Anyhow, the GM and the PR guy don’t want us to see each other for a while, especially not out in public. Does anyone else know that we did it last night?”

  She guessed she’d been fortunate he hadn’t said “hooked up” or “bumped uglies”, but what they’d done amounted to far more than having sex in her opinion. They’d broken through a barrier separating them for years, and he only showed concern about who knew it.

  “Xochi figured it out,” she replied tersely. “If she knows, so does Tom, they’re that close.” Actually, Xo had asked for all the details, and she’d supplied them while getting weepy again over his tenderness. “Did Tom say anything to you?”

  “Not so far. I think he knew something was up. Said I seemed pretty relaxed and happy for a man about to be chewed out by the brass. I’ll ask him not to say anything to anybody, especially the rest of the family. Would you ask the same of Xochi? Dad told me to proceed with caution. You know I didn’t. We should cool it for a while.”

  Stacy imagined Dean tugging on that same curl on his forehead he’d inherited from his father as he sometimes did when stressed. She wished she could rip it out by the roots right now like that piece of Prince’s weave.

  “If that’s the way you want it, you big lout,” she said, putting some sting into her words.

  “Don’t get up on your high throne, Princess. This isn’t the way I want it. It’s for your own good. I never want to see your name or face in the tabloids again. After this blows over we can…”

  “I think I know what’s best for me!”

  “Like flirting with Prince Dobbs?”

  “Sure, throw that at me, too.”

  “Just a reminder to be careful while I’m on the road and not around to protect you.”

  “Oh, go protect yourself—and use a condom next time.” She disconnected. They were right back where they’d started from. Stacy punched one of her silver cushions in frustration.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dean guessed he’d shown management how little he needed Prince Dobbs on the field. Two long passes to Jakarta Jones—one into the end zone, a hand off to the running back—and a short pass to his tight end, all resulted in touchdowns, leading to a final score of 28-21, Sinners. If the defense had been able to hold better, the end result wouldn’t have been nearly as close. Trade asshole Dobbs for Little Joe Bullock, and they’d be doing a whole lot better.

  Good team meeting this morning with nothing said about the absence of Prince in their midst. They’d be preparing for another away game with Dallas this week. Right now, this second, Dean believed he couldn’t be defeated. He seemed to have been born with his father’s boundless optimism in all matters as well as his looks—except when it came to Stacy Polasky.

  Dean stared at her window again wondering if she’d stayed home tonight. No lights on this early.

  “Come on,” Tom urged. “We deserve to celebrate at Mariah’s tonight.”

  “I don’t know. I should avoid run-ins with Prince and stay away from Stacy in case she shows up there.”

  Tom snapped his fingers. “I forgot to tell you when I was listening to your play-by-play of dragging Prince off Stacy and heaving him down the stairs—choke hold, drag, boot to the rear! Wish I could have been there. Anyhow, he’s been banned from Mariah’s Place. After we left, he continued to mouth off. Called you the m-f word.”

  “Tom, Mom isn’t here, and we’re all grown up.” Still staring out the window, he thought he noticed a light go on in Stacy’s living room. Hard to say with the sun at its current angle.

  “Okay, he claimed you were a worthless motherfucker who wouldn’t be able to put a score on the board without his help. Lots of the team still in the club that night, and they told me about it. The temperature in the place rose when he said that. Mariah herself went over and told him get out and not come back. It takes a lot to get her out of her chair these days. Might be part of the reason he wanted to harass Stacy the next night. You know Mariah regards all the Billodeaux kids as grandchildren even if the connection is pretty loose, and she doesn’t put up with crap from anyone where we’re concerned.”

  “Yeah, Mariah is something else. In that case, I’ll go have a few drinks with the guys. Stacy should be fine. I doubt if Prince could make it up her stairs in his condition.”

  “That’s the attitude. Drive or walk?”

  “Walk, I guess.”

  Glad of that last decision, one beer and two hard shots later, he and Tom traversed the edge of the French Quarter with a mild buzz on.
Thinking about being buzzed seemed to have activated the phone vibrating in his hip pocket. He fumbled it out.

  “It’s Stacy. What should I do?”

  Tom gave him the no-brainer look. “Answer it.”

  “Hi, Stace. We’re walking back from Mariah’s right now. What can I do for you? Be right there, only minutes away.”

  “What?” Tom asked.

  “Something terrible happened. She’s crying.” Dean picked up their pace, stretching out those long legs, eating up the crumbling sidewalks of the Quarter.

  “Prince?”

  “No. Something else. She’s a little incoherent.”

  “Where’s Xochi?”

  “Out to dinner with friends. She’s all alone.” They arrived in the little cul-de-sac. Dean took out the key Stacy had given him. He always had it on him now just in case.

  “You want me to stay, too?”

  “No, I can handle this.”

  Tom raised his dark red eyebrows. “If you think so. I’ll be right across the street if you need me.” He continued on his way as Dean opened the door and shouted up the stairs, “It’s me.”

  ****

  Stacy knew she was taking a chance, a big one, but in all truth she couldn’t stop blubbering, and she did want Dean’s arms around her right now providing comfort. She supposed she could have asked Ilsa to come over, but for a German she had strangely little love for dogs, all except the Lucky Dogs sold from a cart near her new apartment. May she gain twenty pounds!

  Simply hearing Dean’s voice made her feel a little better. Stacy managed to blow her nose in a tissue and wipe her eyes before he rushed up the stairs so swiftly he must have taken two steps at a time. Exactly as she’d imagined, he said, “Tell me what’s wrong,” and opened his arms. She ran to him and pressed herself against all that warm muscle.

  Looking up, blinking back more tears, she told him. “Titi is dead.”

  “Your dog died—that Titi?”