"True. Remember that year we played you on a Monday night?" JT asked, and Brutus nodded. "Turned around and then had an early Sunday game against Dallas, man. And that was when they were in one of their good years. That was a rough six days."
"You're going to have more of them this year," Brutus pointed out. "Rookie coach and all."
"Oh I know, Huffman and I have already talked," JT said. "I'm the linebackers coach, but let's face it, I'm a glorified intern right now. So here's what I'll ask you. You work with me. You're the defensive team captain, you're a leader, and you're damn near smart enough to do my job for me."
"But what's the fun in that?" Brutus asked wryly. "Besides, you'll be the one with the eyes I don't have."
"Which is why we work together," JT said. "Huffman'll be up in the box, you know that. So we put his plan in place, get the Bluecats to the playoffs again. Damn… feels weird saying that. Spent too many years wanting to see you guys anywhere but in the playoffs."
Brutus laughed. "Yeah, bet it does."
JT sipped his beer, and checked his watch. "Okay, just a few more minutes. Hey, gotta ask you… I heard something about you seeing someone?"
Brutus sighed, shaking his head. "Fucking football players, man. We're worse than TMZ when it comes to gossip and who's seeing who."
"Helps, so you know who you can and can't be fucking with, at least as a single man," JT pointed out. "So who is she?"
"Linda Castellanos," Brutus said. "She's a soldier, I met her during that week I was working with the Army."
"Army girl, huh?" JT asked, and Brutus nodded. "How is it?"
"She's great… but I gotta admit, I was distracted today in the film room," Brutus said, his voice softening. "She's in a unit that gets last minute missions, hush-hush kind of shit, and she texted me yesterday that she was going out of communication for a while."
"Ah," JT replied, humming. "And you don't know anything?"
"Just that she's out of communication," Brutus admitted, the worry evident in his voice. "No idea where she is, what she's doing, or when she'll be back. It's the first time I've felt this way about someone, and not knowing if she's okay... it's messing with my head in ways I wasn't prepared for."
Suddenly, JT laughed.
Brutus turned to him, perplexed. "What?"
"Just thinking how much the cleat's on the other foot now," JT said. "You know, before Keisha and I got married, how many times I had to listen to her worries about me? And I get it. Think about it, Brutus. Football wives, how many times do they have to sit there and watch their men put themselves through car crashes multiple times a week? How many times do they watch their men on the turf in pain, wondering if this is the time the body won't get them up again?"
Brutus hummed, and sipped his beer. "More than a few." He sighed, and took another sip of beer. "Guess I should ask Keisha then."
"Ask Keisha what?"
"Is the worry worth it? I told Linda I could handle it. But just between you and me right now, I'm glad I've got camp to keep my mind off of what she might be going through. When I'm alone, all I can do is imagine her in danger, and it's... it's terrifying."
JT nodded, and drained the rest of his beer. "Well, at least in Keisha's case it must have been worth the worry. But if you're even asking me, that means you're seriously thinking about it. My point of view is this. You might love football, but football don't love you, man. You can't lay in bed at night and hold a helmet, and when you're old as fuck and feel like getting off the couch to go the bathroom or grab a beer is like the labors of Hercules or something, football ain't going to be there for you. Keisha will for me. Just think about it, and we can talk tomorrow after the linebackers meeting."
"Cool." Brutus finished the rest of his beer, his mind drifting back to Linda. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe. "Think I'll stop at one. See you in the morning, JT. Hell, I have to see my therapist tomorrow morning before practice anyway, and I do not want to do that with a hangover."
"How is that going, anyway?" JT asked. "Helping?"
"So far, yeah," Brutus said. "I mean, I don't know how it's going to go with tapping into that caveman rage side of me until we strap up and start hitting people. But I can look in the mirror and feel a lot better about the guy looking back at me than I used to."
"It's a good start then." JT reached into his wallet and pulling out a bill for the bartender. "And thanks for telling me about that. And about Linda."
As they walked out, Brutus found himself checking his phone one more time. Still nothing. The fear and worry remained, but alongside it was something new, a deeper understanding of what it meant to care for someone whose job put them in harm's way. Linda was worth the worry, he realized. Whatever she was facing, he'd be here waiting when she returned.
15
LINDA
The tropical weather hit Linda in the face like a wet towel as she and the rest of the platoon made their way through the heavily wooded terrain. Orkin might have liked those sorts of rapid weather changes, but for her, it played hell with her sinuses. The oppressive heat reminded her of how far she was from home, from Brutus, and it unsettled her in a way missions never had before.
Next to her was Agent Foster of the DEA, the platoon's partner in this operation. He was short and compact, and a man totally not built for the tropics. His pale skin was slathered in sunscreen to the point that his skin glistened with an oily, almost alien shine. But at the same time, the man's forearms and face were a nasty shade of sunburned pink.
