Calls
The first call that Alaina Marie Castillo received after news broke about how she drunkenly drove into a tree in Lorain, Ohio, how she was arrested for a DUI, and how the FBA suspended her was from her mother, Melinda Elizabeth Castillo.
Still slightly hung over from the night before, Alaina lounged on her back on her black leather couch, a lavender scented eye pillow pressed to her face that she kept in the freezer for such occasions as Melina barked in her ear.
What the hell was she thinking? Did she forget how her father died? What if she had hit a car with someone's father in it instead of a tree? Did she know how lucky she was to be alive, how this was her second, her second, time in jail and did she know how lucky she was that she was in Ohio when the accident happened, and even luckier to be back in Biloxi instead of at home in Georgia because I had brought you into this world, Alaina, and I could certainly take you out of it.
Alaina knew better than to answer with anything but a "Yes Ma'am." There were no arguments here and the coonhound knew that she was never too old for a whoppin'. She already escaped death once, she didn't want to try and press her luck.
There was one call from California but Alaina ignored it.
She didn't need to talk to him right now.
The second call she picked up was from her attorney.
The weasel went on and on about how the league was still trying to decide on her punishment, how she needed to issue a public statement and an apology, how she probably wouldn't be fired since it was her first offense and the fact no one else was injured. Alaina kept quiet as she scrolled through article after article about her arrest on her oBook, ignoring each comment that screamed out for her resignation from the league.
The last straw came when he told her how they wanted to put her into rehab. Alaina barked a firm "No, No, No," to that.
She'd pay whatever fine, attend a few bullshit AA meetings, read "Take a Fucking Nap" to some cubs for FBA Cares, donate to whatever charity, or listen to a lecture from some members of FMADD but she wasn't going into rehab. She didn't have a problem. She had one slip up and if they thought that they were going to go put her in some day program or away at some dry house then, so help them, they had another thing coming and Aroorooroo.
She wasn't paying her attorney to pussy out on her like this.
Then came four more calls from numbers that Alaina didn't recognize. She guessed that they were from reporters.
The third call came from Morgandy Doyle, the athletic trainer for the team, the closest thing Alaina ever had to a sister. Well, she couldn't really use the term 'sister', per se, since there was that one time the two of them got exceedingly drunk after a game in Spokane and, since then, whenever the two of them decided that it was a Ladies' Night, Morgan came over with a bottle of Screech and pints of Jen and Barry's and some sort of movie or another.
The Screech always made the good night perfect. Some kind of rum from Newfoundland, both Morgan and Jack Hinks swore by it. Newfoundlanders sure know their drink and once their heads got cloudy and pats on the back turned into caresses, they'd head off to her bedroom.
Or her shower.
Or just right there on her black leather sofa.
It's easy, it's quick, but it's that tender female side that sometimes Alaina craved and, shoot, there's just some things that the Newf knows how to do that no other male could do quite right. It's their dirty little secret, it never messes with their jobs or their professional relationship, and in the morning, the two of them would go out for pancakes. That was Morgan's idea from the start, and the tradition stuck.
God damn, tonight would be perfect for one.
"Yes please," said Alaina as she balanced the phone between her bruised shoulder and her torn ear.
"And bring extra Screech." She wasn't about to just give up drinking.
The fourth call came after Alaina got out of the shower. It was her mother again.
Her jowls still dripping wet, she found herself consoling her sobbing mother that, no, she wouldn't do that again. Yes, she knew how stupid she was, and no, she wouldn't make her Mama bury her only daughter like she had to bury her husband. She loved her too, very much so, and she would drive the three hours out to Blue Ridge the next time that they played Huntsville so that she could see her Mama and her brothers and their families.
The fifth call came when Alaina was tending to the lacerations on her face.
She winced as the medication stung her wounds and listened to her lawyer babble about how they wouldn't make her go into rehab. Community service, a fine, four AA meetings and the next time she pulled a stunt like this, she was out. That would be it. She should feel bad about how she represented her team and the league and, damn it, she knew better.
Throwing out the bloodied cotton balls, Alaina decided that she could live with that.
The six ring she heard was from her doorbell to her apartment. Not caring who saw, she grabbed the Newfoundland by the waist and pulled her indoors, locking their muzzles together, her paw already trailing up the other's shirt.
The Screech could wait.
She needed a distraction from all of those damn phone calls.
Art by the amazing :iconGatorguts:
FBA belongs to :iconBuckHopper: