“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 ole Boston Bruiser wedding gift.”
“What’s that?” Chase asks.
“How about a balloon bouquet filled with whipped cream?” Declan makes a popping motion.
“Or we could put one of those creepy mannequins that Grey found in the basement when he was looking for old jerseys in Cain’s hotel room.”
“Good one,” Chase says.
“Speaking of pranks. We should discuss the matter of Brandon Campos. The new center,” I say, eager to forget about my brother.
“I’ve put some thought into this. We could glue his hands together while he’s sleeping.” Declan is originally from Ireland. He doesn’t look like a leprechaun, but has one tattooed on his arm. People think they’re funny little men with happy accents. Not so. In traditional lore, they’re tricky, dangerous creatures to watch out for. Declan, too, if his mischievous smile is any indication.
“Dude, he’s our new center. We kind of need him to have use of his hands.” Grey speaks carefully and is the least likely among us to be voted troublemaker of the year.
I’d probably get that superlative. Along with the best safety. On the field, I’ll cover the wide receiver—Declan—and I’ll tackle anyone, anytime...all the time.
“Yeah. Coach Hammer says his hands are gold.” I grunt because that remains to be seen.
“The commish says he’s like the rising sun and any team would be lucky to have him.” Chase lifts and lowers one shoulder. He’s our peacemaker, though he makes trouble with the best of us.
“Luck has little to do with it. I say he’s in it for the paycheck.” I cut my eyes in Chase’s direction.
Grey sniffs. He’s our elder statesman and has little tolerance for our smack talk.
“Now, now. Let’s give him a chance,” Chase says. “You felt the same about me in the beginning.” He arches his eyebrow, referring to his start on the team as a legacy player.
“You proved yourself,” I say, now proud to call him one of my football brothers.
“So will Brandon,” Grey says.
“Brandon Campos will have to do more than prove himself. He’ll have to endure our killer practices, show that he’s a team player, and not a showboater—” I use a few of what Coach Hammer callslocker room words. Even though the Boston Bruisers are the toughest team in the league, language like that is against the rules, but Hammer isn’t here.
We have our own rules, namely, initiating new players. Campos will also have to prove himself while training and on the field, but there will be plenty of time for that.
“How about we replace his toothpaste with mayonnaise?” Declan wrinkles his nose as though even speaking the idea out loud grosses him out.
Chase tilts his head from side to side as though that idea doesn’t cut it. “We could always use the old standby.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. “No. We’re not covering the toilet seats with plastic wrap. Coach Hammer made me clean it up last time. Never again, man.”
“Doughnuts filled with mayo? Mayo in Oreos?” Declan suggests, his slight Irish accent coming through.
“What’s with you and mayo?” Chase asks.
