His legs drove up and down like pistons. Bodies crashed around him and grunts and shouts filled his ears. He dropped his shoulder and flexed his thighs. Fourth down and only a few feet to go. The thick, padded bodies parted before him. He shouted and plowed forward, extending his arms, thrusting the ball forward as he thudded to the muddy field. A smile spread across his lips followed by the sharpest pain he'd ever felt radiating from his left ankle like a bullet. His victory cry gave way to a choked scream. Everything went dark.
Billy watched his teammates file out of the hospital room, his left leg suspended by the traction rig. He smacked his hand on the bed. Godammit, he cursed. Final game of his junior year. Next year's season gone - - thanks to a stray cleat shattering the bottom of his tibia to bits and pieces. He could redshirt for a year - - but what was the point? Despite a decade of practice, so many winning seasons, high school and college rushing records, he was done. No more football. Ever.
He sighed and settled into the pillows stuffed along his back. No more football. Ever. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the hospital bed sheets. The whole disaster replayed in his mind and he rolled his head, gnashing his teeth.
------------------
Two weeks later, Billy hobbled out of the hospital on crutches. He pushed away the Uber driver when he tried to help him get in the car. He watched the landscape pass by with glazed eyes.
Christmas break had started at the university. The place was deserted.
Better this way, Billy said to himself as he stuffed clothes into a duffel bag. Better to slip away without all the bullshit.
His parents were off on some mission to some god-forsaken third-world country. His sister and her two kids were struggling in the wake of a messy divorce. That left only his Uncle Joe or Grandma Jennie. Seeing as Uncle Joe lived in a tiny studio apartment and bathed once a month, he asked the Uber driver to take him to the train station.
Five hours later, he allowed an Amtrak guy to throw his duffel onto the station platform. He followed, using his crutches to pick his way down the train car's narrow exit stairs. He almost stumbled but then righted himself, glancing up and down the empty platform. Christmas lights twinkled in the rafters and along the windows of the tiny, deserted station
Great. He kicked his duffel bag forward. Perfect start to the holiday season.
"Mr. Rutherford." A deep, male voice brought his head up.
"Charles?" He asked with a smile.
The tall, older man nodded and returned his smile.
"Mrs. Rutherford was indisposed. But she eagerly anticipates your arrival at the house."
Charles swept his arm to the right and stooped to grab Billy's duffel.
"Nasty business, that...." Charles waved at Billy's leg.
"Yeah," the younger man answered. "Docs say I can ditch the crutches by Christmas."
Charles nodded and BIlly swung after him toward a black Town Car sitting all alone in the station parking lot.
Ten minutes later, as dusk shifted into night, the car pulled up a long driveway and stopped next to an ancient brick house. Billy glanced up. The Rutherford mansion yawned above him. Three stories of imposing late Victorian architecture - - complete with turrets and towers and a deep, wide front porch. Yellow light gleamed through the first floor windows.
Charles helped him out of the car and carried his duffel. The driver unlocked the tall, oak door and ushered him inside. Billy took a deep breath.
The Rutherfords had dominated this little town by the bend in the river since the late 1900s - - first through timber then through banking and property and now through investment funds silently ticking upward in accounts that stretched from Seattle to Chicago to New York and beyond. Grandma's mansion was proof and symbol of their royal status.
Too bad, there were no other Rutherfords in town to enjoy the privileges of royalty.
Billy's parents caught the Jesus bug back in the 80s and spent all their time "ministering" to the unfortunate. Joe was a recluse who'd nailed himself into a sarcophagus that masqueraded as an apartment. Billy's sister had sworn never to set foot in Rutherford House and was too busy peddling timeshares in Florida and wrangling her kids to worry about a crippled brother. That left Grandma Jennie. And, himself.
Just as Charles ascended the grand central staircase with duffel in hand, a tall, slender figure at the end of the hallway glided into Billy's view. He smiled as his grandmother swept into the light of the chandelier suspended above.
Jennie Rutherford was nearing seventy, but her back was straight and her shoulders were level. She wore a black skirt and white blouse - - both fitted to accentuate her slender figure. Billy noted her gleaming high heels as his eyes swept up her shapely calves and across her waist. His eyes lingered briefly on her chest - - her breasts filling out her blouse and her blouse unbuttoned to reveal a line of cleavage, crowned by a string of pearls.
Money can buy just about anything, Billy thought to himself. But good genes were important too.
She smiled at Billy, her thin lips parting to reveal ivory white teeth. Her wide green eyes glowed and she raised her arms to invite Billy's hug.
He hobbled forward until her arms wrapped around his neck. His nose pushed into her thick, rich-smelling silver hair and a cloud of sweet perfume enveloped him. Her smooth cheek slid against his.
"Welcome, Billy." His grandmother's soft breath whispered against his ear. "My poor baby."
Her hands patted the back of his head gently.
"Thanks, gran," Billy whispered back, suddenly overwhelmed by the first genuine affection he'd felt or received in months. "I'm happy to be back."
Jennie sighed and pressed herself closer to him. His shoulders relaxed and he gripped the crutches with his fingers. She signed again and Billy felt her breasts slide against his chest. He nudged his hips backward a fraction. One of her hands raked his hair and the other slipped to his shoulder. She squeezed and patted him.
"Oh, Billy," she sighed again, her breath gusting across his ear.
Her proximity and effusiveness made him uncomfortable, but it felt so good to be appreciated. His hands relaxed on the crutches.
"It feels good to be back," he half-sighed.
Grandma flicked her head back, her hands still resting in his hair and on his shoulder. She smiled and her green eyes met his.
"It does feel good. So good, darling." She pecked him on the cheek and stepped away from him, her palms dropping to his chest. "I was so sorry to hear about.... " Her eyes swept downward.
Billy nodded. "Yeah, me too."
