Six Ways from Sunday by Mercy Celeste Read Free Book Online Page A

up and run, ask questions later,” he said in the drill sergeant voice and Dylan did exactly what he was told despite his own rank and years away from basic. So he ran, and when the quarterback called the play he ran instinctively, ending up in the end zone before the other receiver, the ball in his hands and he’d had to jump to get it.
    Whistles from the sidelines broke the quiet. The clapping started with Bo and spread through the crowd. What the hell was that fool doing anyway? Showing off. The answer came to him. Hurricane Bowen was a force of nature. Always had been and always would be. And he was just being himself.
    “Damn, ‘Cephus, your boyfriend throws better, runs faster, and jumps higher than you do. What’s he like in bed, and I might just marry him?” Someone shouted from one on the sidelines. Dylan knew it was bullshit. But the comment still made Dylan flush, mostly with anger.
    “Shut up, Pisshead, I’m getting his name tattooed on my ass because he just owned me.” Bo pushed the other guy, only a little, but the other guy was not as big as Bo so he teetered a bit before he caught himself. There was laughing and slapping and shoving.
    “Yeah, well, we get a diamond ring because of you so we’ll keep it a secret. Big fucking Super Bowl ring. And ‘Cephus has a Recon boyfriend.” The guy made a zipping motion across his lips before he shoved Bo back. Bo gazed across the field and smiled. Everything here was good. Bo was good.
    The coach had made his way down the field to where Dylan stood alone, trying not to let the ribbing get his hackles up. “They’re just messing with him. The newspaper picture was already a major source of embarrassment to him in the locker room. Being caught with tears was not something his ego could stand. I did some checking and found out you weren’t supposed to be in that ceremony last night.”
    “I wanted to be here for him. And I wanted him to know I was here and not some anonymous face up in the cheap seats.” Dylan didn’t like having to explain himself. “I haven’t seen him since he left for college his freshman year. Hell, this is the first time I’ve been stateside in nearly two years. Always missed connections. I’m home when he’s in the middle of play offs or training camp or finals. It’s been a hell of a long time. Missed him so damned much.” He realized he’d said more than he should have and shut his mouth.
    “Know the feeling well. That was me a decade or so ago. Listen, kid, I’m going to ask you one question: are you career?” The coach lost the drill instructor and the coach voice and became just another Marine.
    “I have one year, six months and twenty days left and I’m out.” He watched Bo on the sideline and nodded. One year, six months and twenty days, that’s all he had left to give his country before he could come home to his reward.
    “You made plans yet?” This seemed more than just casual curiosity but Dylan wouldn’t allow himself to entertain any ideas that the coach might be making any offers. Not one at all.
    “Get drunk, get laid, not ever wear anything in the brown or tan family ever again. Not much after that. Maybe go to school. Maybe become a beach bum. My opportunities are wide open at this moment.” It didn’t do him any good to dream about those days until he made it home again in one piece and mostly sane. If he could manage those last two things, he’d be golden. After that he’d figure it out.
    “Just don’t get killed and call me when you’re ready. It’ll be late in the summer, the season will most likely be started, but I’ll see what I can do for you. You’ve got talent. Raw, to be sure, but that arm needs to be in the NFL.” He extended a business card at the same time that an arm snaked around Dylan’s neck.
    Dylan didn’t stop to think where he was or that there would most likely be no threat. He flipped his aggressor over his shoulder and buried his knee in the guy’s neck. Hand