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.
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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."
Grandma chuckled and her hand slapped him playfully on his brawny pec.
"Come" she said, slipping her arm through his and turning toward the other end of the entryway. "Mathilde roasted a wonderful chicken and you must be starved."
She squeezed his bicep as he hobbled next to her into the dining room.
Billy blinked and exhaled. Until now, he'd seen his visit to Rutherford House as a painful necessity. Now, with his grandmother's soft hand on his arm, her hair gleaming in the warm light, and the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, a wave of relief washed over him.
-------------
He said hello to Mathilde, his grandmother's maid, as he entered the kitchen, wiping sleep from his eyes. The woman's big grin and enthusiastic hug welcomed him. She slid a plate of eggs and toast and bacon in front of him as he sat at the kitchen table, followed by a mug of steaming coffee. The food tasted like heaven and the strong coffee woke him to alertness.
A few minutes after Mathilde's departure, his grandmother strode into the kitchen. A slug of coffee stopped up his throat. The older woman wore heeled mules, a pair of tight cropped pants, and a gauzy blouse that showed off her generous chest. Bracelets clanked on her wrist as she raised her arm in greeting.
She stopped next to the breakfast table and raised her arms. Charlie clambered to his feet, leaning against the table and listing away from his injured ankle Grandma Jennie once again wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing his face to her hair and lightly pressing her body to his. He gulped the coffee down and rested his free hand on her hips.
"Good morning, darling," Jennie gushed. She snuggled her cheek against his.
"Morning, gran," Billy answered, drinking in her rich fragrance.
Her hands patted the back of his head and she unleashed a deep sigh.
"It's so good to have you back, sweetie," she whispered. "My big, beautiful grandson. Back where he belongs."
Was it his imagination? Or, had she hitched her hips tighter against his crotch. Billy swallowed again. Grandma's fingers riffled and raked through his hair as she took a deep breath, her big tits riding up and down against his chest.
"Oh, shit," he thought to himself. Her warm body and their embrace sent a tingle across his groin.
Morning wood. He clenched his teeth and tried to edge himself away from her. Jennie responded by pressing her hands tighter against the back of his head and keeping her waist tight to him. He gulped again, confused and embarrassed.
Grandma Jennie pecked his cheek and released him suddenly. She took a step backward, her eyes gleaming and a faint blush across her cheeks.
"Go on, darling," she said, spinning to the kitchen cabinets. "Finish your breakfast."
Billy sat - - too weirded out to keep eating. Grandma returned to the table with a cup in her hand and poured herself some coffee. She sipped and gazed at him over the rim of the cup. If he could have squirmed, he would have. Instead, he dropped his eyes to his plate and pushed the scrambled eggs around with his fork.
"Honey," grandma said. He looked back up to her. "I've called up Doctor Reynolds. You remember him, don't you?"
