For all the millions of dollars spent on the Boston Bruisers’ training facility, I’d expect cell phone reception to be better. I drop the call with my manager. Moments later, it rings again, likely him calling back to discuss how the wolf sanctuary I sponsor is opening its fifteenth branch in the fall and I’m slated to make an appearance.
Answering, I say, “Yeah, just put it on my schedule.”
I expect him to remind me to prepare a speech—I’m better at winging those kinds of things.
Instead, a slick voice with an Appalachian accent, similar to but much thicker than mine, comes through the phone.
“Well, aren’t we frilly and fancy? ‘Just put it on my schedule.’ I figured you’d already have it in ink since Lizabeth sent out the invitations a few weeks ago.”
“Hello, Cain.” The greeting to my brother comes out like steel on gravel as I await whatever fresh trash is going to come out of his mouth.
We rarely speak, twice a year at best. See each other once a year at the annual Enduro Survival Challenge back home.
“No congratulations? I figured you’d be pleased to hear about your big brother’s upcoming nuptials.”
“I’m pleased as punch.”
“Nah, I bet you’re jealous. Envy is eating you alive. As usual, I beat you to the punch.” He chortles.
The way he says that particular word reminds me of how many punches I’ve taken from him, though the last time, I hit back. As a result, he lost a tooth. Hasn’t come at me since, but he still talks a big game, more than happy to remind me of my place in the pack.
But I’m not envious or jealous. More like concerned for Lizabeth’s well-being, but I have to trust she knows what she’s doing. I take a deep breath, reminding myself to at least attempt to be gracious to my brute of a brother. So far, he’s behaved himself and that’s saying something.
“Congratulations, Cain. Please pass on my well wishes to your bride-to-be.”
At the mention of his future missus, he launches into a detailed account of what he’ll do to me if I so much as look at her and provides supporting evidence of what happened to Hayden Kennedy, who asked her if she wanted a drink when they were last at the pool hall.
I interrupt his account of the brawl. “Cain, I have to go. Nice talking to you.”
“Wait. I was just getting to the good part. But I understand. You’re busy up there in the big city with your fancy life and all. Just remember that you’re my best man and have to give a toast at the wedding.” He laughs darkly like that has a double meaning.
I’ve been to a few weddings. I’m pretty sure the best man toast is a bit of a roast, but I will try to keep things clean, simple, and short so Cain doesn’t drag me outside and try to use me as a punching bag, emphasis ontry.
Before I get off the phone, he launches into a few instances of our childhood when he was bigger, better, and more brutal than me.
I doubt he’ll even notice when I’ve hung up. But now I’m strung up with aggravation. I don’t want to go to his wedding. It’s sure to be a who’s who of bullies and brutes.
I stomp into the lounge at the training facility here in Boston.
“Uh, oh. Looks like Wolf is looking to bite,” says Declan Printz Charming, our wide receiver.
I grunt. “My brother just called and reminded me about his wedding. I have to give the toast.”
“Didn’t know you had a brother.” Chase Collins, yes, of the legendary football family and our quarterback, frowns.
“I don’t. You’re my brothers. Cain was less of a brother and more of a bully.”
“Are you going? I’ll be your plus one. Keep Cain in line.” Declan waggles his eyebrows. We’re all Bruisers, but he’s never backed down from a fight.
“I’ve got your back, bro. Whatever. I’ll crash the thing if he gives you any trouble,” Chase adds.
“It’s not until next month. I didn’t plan to go, but I’ll be in North Carolina anyway.”
“That’s right. Your annual retreat to the woods where you survive off the land,” Grey says with interest. Of all the guys, Adams is the most outdoorsy and our linebacker.
“Knowing Cain, he’ll probably be named Groom-zilla of the year,” I say.
“Is he that bad?” Declan asks.
Dropping onto one of the leather sofas, I answer, “He’s worse than mayo.”
Declan sticks out his tongue. “Sounds like Cain is cruisin’ for a bruisin.’ We could give him the old Boston Bruiser wedding gift.”
