Текст книги "Redemption: A Stepbrother Romance"

Автор книги: Jessica Ashe

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Soccer?” Maisie asked. “We’re going to a soccer game?”

“Yes,” I replied. “But you should probably get used to calling it football. If there’s one thing the natives hate it’s the word soccer. I’m not even that into the sport, but hearing the word makes my skin crawl.”

“Why are we going to a soccer game?” Michelle asked with a cheeky grin. The grin I couldn’t resist.

“Football isn’t even on at the moment,” Shaun said. “The season finished months ago.”

“It’s a charity game. And I’m playing in it.”

“You’re playing football?” Shaun’s laugh said everything there was to know about my ability at kicking round balls.

“Yes. I have a friend who’s a former footballer and now he works behind the scenes at Liverpool United. He was impressed by my efforts to increase the profile of women’s rugby and asked if we could get together and discuss opportunities.”

“So how will this work?” Michelle asked. “You’re going to play in an exhibition match?”

“We’re organising a friendly, which I guess is the same thing, and it’s going to be a mixture of rugby players and football players. When I met Jaxon, I teased him a bit about footballers being a bunch of pansies—”

“Which they are,” Maisie said.

“Damn straight,” I agreed. “Jaxon thought it would be a good idea to have rugby players play a game of football against retired footballers and then vice-versa for rugby. I politely pointed out that if those big girls’ blouses attempted to play rugby they would likely get killed.”

“Excuse me,” Maisie said, hands on her hips. “Big girls’ blouses? That sounds like a sexist insult.”

“Well, in the case of footballers…”

“Fair point. I’m going to let it stand. Continue.”

“Jaxon actually isn’t the stereotypical footballer to be fair,” I admitted. “He’s not the sort to go down like a sack of shit whenever someone breathes on him. And he’s been through a lot. But anyway, we ended up agreeing to play a football match where the teams would be a mixture of retired footballers and current rugby players, including yours truly of course.”

“At least it’s safer than rugby,” Michelle said. “I still cringe whenever I see you get tackled.”

“You’re still going to cringe when you watch him play football,” Shaun said. “But for a different reason.”

Shaun had really come out of his shell these past few weeks; I was starting to wish he hadn’t.

–*-

Michelle and the kids got whisked off to an executive suite, while I shook lots of hands. Jaxon and I had only decided on a charity at the last minute. We had initially planned to raise money for the promotion of women in sport, but that had never sat right with either of us because everyone playing the friendly game was a man. It would look a little patronising for the men to be raising money for the women.

In the end, the decision was easy. A major natural disaster happened in the Middle East the week before the game, and the charitable organisations on the ground needed all the help they could get.

Jaxon’s wife had worked for one of those organisations until just a few months ago. After meeting her, it became pretty obvious why she hadn’t travelled to help out with the relief efforts.

“When are you due?” I asked after the introductions.

“In three months,” Jennifer replied. “I can’t wait for it to be over.”

“I think she’s handling it perfectly,” Jaxon said. “Look at you, you have that pregnancy glow.”

“That’s just sweat,” Jennifer said.

Jaxon did his best to suppress a smile and then we went to join the others in the executive box. Jennifer was going to sit with Michelle and the kids to keep them company while Jaxon and I played football. Or in my case, tried to play football.

“Do your best to distract them,” I said to Jennifer. “Any time I get to the ball, have them look somewhere else.”

“They’re Americans,” Jaxon replied. “As an American myself, I can assure you, the football pitch is the last place they will look for entertainment.”

“Football pitch? You’re starting to sound like one of us.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jaxon said with a grin. “Last time we were in New York, I asked for directions to the car park and got a blank stare. Still can’t beat that city though. Liverpool’s nice, and London’s got everything you could ever want, but New York City is still the place to be.”

“Maybe if they ever get a rugby team, I’ll think about making the move.”

“You might have a long wait.”

Jaxon and I headed down to the changing rooms. Fortunately, we were on the same team, so at least there would be one friendly face. Jaxon would never be able to play football at the highest level again, but he would outperform everybody else on that pitch today.

He’d already admitted that he had his own selfish motivation for playing. Jennifer had always wanted to see him play, but had never got the chance. Now she would.

–*-

It had been many years since I was six years old and standing in the playground as the last one picked to be on their team. I’d been a touch overweight at that age, and I wasn’t exactly gifted with my feet. My transformation into a decent rugby player had been the result of years of hard work, not natural talent.

Now, twenty years later, I found myself as one of the liabilities once again. Jaxon had the role of team captain and he put me as a defensive midfielder where I could do the least damage.

All the rugby players were put in positions that utilized their main talents. The backs were given roles on the wing where they could make the most of their speed, while a forward and I were kept in the middle of the park to get in the way of the opposition.

I wasn’t particularly fast, but I could kick the ball hard, so when push came to shove, I would just kick the damn thing into the opponent’s half.

Jaxon usually played defensive midfield, but since he was by far the best player on the pitch, he pushed further up and played just behind the striker. It took him mere minutes to exert his control on the game, and thankfully the opposition had a tough job taking it off him.

When the ball did come towards me, I charged it down and sent it back where it came from. No one had ever called me elegant, even on the rugby field, but at least we weren’t in any danger of conceding.

I couldn’t see Michelle from the pitch, but she would be able to see me, and for once that terrified me. I didn’t need to show off to her—I never had needed to, I suppose—but being exposed was not an experience I intended to repeat any time soon.

“Get up the other end, Olly,” Adam yelled. He used to play right back for Manchester City, but he’d been shoved in central midfield today so that one of the rugby players could take his spot. “You’re tall and we need you up there for the corner.”

I took a deep breath and reluctantly ran up the other end of the pitch. The second I crossed the halfway line I felt a wave of terror rush over me, as if I were trespassing somewhere I didn’t belong.

Despite Adam’s insistence that my height would be an advantage, I didn’t want to go into the box and challenge for a header. Heading the ball wasn’t exactly something we were encouraged to do in rugby, so the entire concept seemed alien.

I arrived on the edge of the area just as the corner was being swung in. Jaxon leapt for the ball, but the tall centre back got there first and headed it clear. The ball came straight to me.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. My eyes traced the trajectory of the ball, and I knew exactly where it was going to land. Right in front of me. Unlike rugby balls, footballs moved predictably and this one was going to land just perfectly for a clean hit.

I adjusted my body slightly and prepared to hit it on the half-volley. The penalty area was crowded, but there was enough space for me to hit it into the top left hand corner of the goal.

If there was one thing my career in rugby had taught me, it was how to kick a ball. I could send a ball exactly where I wanted it.

I pulled my right leg back and swung.

I watched intently, literally on the edge of my seat, as Oliver swung at the ball, missed it entirely, and landed on his ass with a thump. So much for soccer being safer than rugby.

“This is why I didn’t want him to play,” Shaun said. “He’s not exactly in his element with a round ball.”

“You’ve seen him play before?” Maisie asked.

“Just in the back garden,” Shaun replied. “I went through a phase when I wanted to be a footballer, so Oliver would kick the ball around with me in the back garden. Or at least, he’d try to.”

“I think it’s sweet,” I said. “He can’t be perfect at all physical activities.”

“What is he perfect at other than rugby?” Maisie asked.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Oh Jesus. I think I preferred it when I was the one making embarrassing sex references.”

Jennifer laughed next to me. She found it hilarious listening to Maisie and I talk. I guess our dynamic was a little weird. There was enough of an age gap that she wasn’t a typical sister, but I was too young to be her Mom.

“At least he’s raising money for a good cause,” Jennifer said. “Trust me, when that video clip goes viral, donations are going to go through the roof.”

“I just hope he kicks better during the World Cup,” Maisie said.

“He’ll be just fine,” I assured her.

Oliver had a few ghosts from 2007 to shake off before the World Cup, but I had every confidence in him. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to playing for England again. Whenever I brought it up he sounded… not nervous, but apprehensive perhaps. Certainly not excited.

The image of missing that kick must be going through his mind non-stop, so I could hardly blame him. But this was a chance to make amends. Why wasn’t he more excited?

Oliver’s team ended up winning the game, although in the last ten minutes the match descended into a bit of a joke as players mucked around and swapped teams, generally playing it up for the audience.

One of the soccer players thought it would be funny to try and rugby tackle one of the rugby players. He ended up getting dragged half the length of the pitch in a desperate attempt to bring the man down any way he could.

Oliver kept his team in the game with some great last-ditch clearances, but no doubt all the replays would focus on his miss in the first half. A guilty smile crept across my lips as I pictured him swinging and missing the ball.

The players showered and got changed, then joined us upstairs for a champagne reception, which was really just an excuse to convince rich people to open their checkbooks.

Jennifer had been completely on point about the effect of Oliver’s miss; people laughed and joked about it, but then always made a fat donation afterwards. Oliver took it all in his stride once he realized the positive effect it was having on the charitable efforts.

“Please tell me you didn’t see it?” Oliver said, when he finally got a free minute to talk to me.

“You mean the bit where you landed flat on your ass? Yeah, I saw it. Don’t worry,” I added, leaning in and whispering in his ear. “I’ll massage that area later.”

Oliver moaned quietly. “That might just make this all worth it. You want to go get some fresh air? I need a break from being the laughing stock of the party.”

Oliver led me outside to the stands where we sat and looked at the empty field. The sun had set and there was a slight chill in the air, so Oliver leant me his jacket and wrapped his arm around me.

“I don’t want to spoil the mood,” Oliver said, “but when are you going home?”

“We should stay for a little longer. Maisie is having the time of her life going round meeting all the rugby players and insulting the soccer players.”

“I meant, when are you going home? You know, back to the US.”

“Oh. Well, you booked an open ticket, so technically there’s no fixed date, but…”

“But you have to get back to your life over there at some point.”

“Maisie has to go back to school, and I need to go back to work at some point. Mom doesn’t earn any money, and I didn’t exactly have a lot saved up.”

“Obviously you don’t have to worry about money anymore,” Oliver said.

“You’re not my sugar daddy, Oliver,” I replied. “I don’t need you to finance me.”

“That’s not it at all. I would have helped you out long ago, but Maisie always used to pretend that you were quite well off.”

“We get by,” I said. “But I have to work hard for it. Anyway, even if money weren’t an issue, Maisie still has to go back for school and I have to go with her.”

“So we only have about six weeks?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “I suppose so.” I didn’t want to have this conversation, but we needed to have it nonetheless. “Maisie’s not going to want this summer to end.”

“And what about you?”

“You know how I feel.”

“Let’s do something about it then. I’m not about to let you go, Michelle. It’s not going to be another eight bloody years before I see you again.”

“You want to do the long distance thing?” I asked. I’d settle for long-distance. It wasn’t ideal, but anything that kept Oliver in my life was worth doing.

“No, not really. We’ll think of something. Perhaps I can move to the US with you?”

“You want to come and live in Northern Virginia?”

“What’s it like?” he asked.

“Kind of conservative. Probably a little too conservative for your tastes.”

“Well, we can live wherever. As long as I’m with you, I don’t much care where we live.”

“Are you saying you want to move in with me?” I asked. I already lived with Oliver, but that had come about in an odd way, and I was still effectively living out of a suitcase. It just so happened that the suitcase was now located in a humongous house.

“If you’ll have me,” Oliver replied. “I know I’ll never be able to completely make it up to you for what I did to you and Maisie eight years ago, but I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

“You can start by not blaming yourself for the attack,” I said. “It was nothing to do with you, and you don’t have to make it up to us.”

“You don’t know the whole story,” Oliver said. “I am to blame.”

“I don’t care,” I replied. “Look, whatever happened eight years ago is in the past now. I want to move on from that.”

“Okay,” Oliver said, nodding his head. “But you need to move on too.”

He was right. I was being a hypocrite again, telling him to move on, while I had come to a party wearing a light shawl that covered my arm.

I stood up and handed Oliver back his jacket and then removed my shawl, revealing my arm to anyone who looked in my direction.

“Come on,” I said, offering my hand to Oliver. “I’m done hiding. Let’s go mingle.”

September 2007

“Alright, ladies, what are you having for dessert?”

“I want the ice cream sandwich,” Maisie replied, pointing at the picture on the menu. “And I want the strawberry ice cream as well.”

“You can’t have both,” I said. “You’ll be up all night. I’ll see if they can put strawberry ice cream between the cookies.”

“Yay!”

“What about you, Michelle?”

“I like the look of the banana split,” she replied. “But I don’t think I can manage it all. Want to split the split?”

I laughed. “Sure, sounds good.”

It felt good to be out having a normal meal with two awesome girls. Well, one girl, one woman. Michelle might only be sixteen, but she seemed more mature than any of the eighteen year olds I dated.

Maybe even a little too mature. She was inherently sensible, but on the rare occasions we got some alone time, she relaxed and acted natural around me. She didn’t idolise me like other women did; it was so refreshing.

“This isn’t how I pictured the team celebrating reaching the final,” Michelle said. “I pictured you all getting drunk and hanging out with groupies.”

“What are groupies?” Maisie asked, before slurping on her smoothie.

“Fans,” I replied quickly. “We aren’t allowed to get drunk. I’m not supposed to be eating ice cream either, mind you, but what the hell. There are a few more days to recover.”

The team had let me come back to England for a few days before the final, so I’d jumped at the chance to sneak in another night with Michelle.

I’d wanted tonight to be a date, but when I asked Michelle to dinner she stared at me, and I could have sworn she’d been about to say no. I quickly said that Maisie should come too so that the dinner wouldn’t look like a date.

Before we left the restaurant, word got out that I was in there eating dinner, so I had to sign a few autographs before we could go out to the relative anonymity of the London streets.

Maisie was bouncing around enjoying her sugar high, so I was thankful that we had a thirty-minute walk home for her to burn it off. The walk also meant more time with Michelle.

I wanted to put my arm around her or hold her hand, but I had no idea how she would react. It probably wouldn’t have been a good idea, anyway. Maisie picked up on every little detail and would no doubt notice any contact between us and tell her dad.

I kept my head down when walking around London to avoid being recognised. The country was buzzing after England had won the semi-final, largely down to my kicking, so right now I was one of the most recognisable people in the country. Fortunately, a baseball cap worked wonders for anonymity.

We had attracted someone’s attention though. The second we moved onto a quiet street, it became painfully obvious someone was following us. I looked around and saw Wayne. What the fuck was he doing here?

I’d refused Carl’s offer of a bribe before the quarter-final game, and since then I hadn’t heard a thing. Did he really think I was going to change my mind now?

Wayne flicked his head and motioned for me to follow him. I didn’t want to leave Michelle and Maisie alone, but I also wanted them far away from this creep.

“Michelle, I’ve just remembered there’s somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to show my face at a party tonight. Can you walk Maisie home the rest of the way?”

“Sure, no problem.” She looked disappointed, but what choice did I have? I could make it up to her later.

It was dark, but the streets around here were safe. Certainly safer than being anywhere near Wayne.

As soon as the girls were out of sight, I ran over to Wayne and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “I’ve told you and Carl before, I want nothing to do with your little betting scheme.”

“You should come with me,” Wayne responded. “Trust me, you don’t want to piss off the boss right now.”

–*-

I followed Wayne to Carl who had now set himself up in a slightly larger DIY store. I knew what this meeting would entail, but I didn’t let that make me complacent. Carl and Wayne were not good people, and they were no doubt capable of doing terrible things when they didn’t get their own way.

“Good evening, Mr. Cornish,” Carl said, lighting a cigarette from behind a makeshift desk.

I sat down in the empty seat and did my best to look cool and composed. There was another one of his minions in the corner, but at a push I could take the three of them.

I shouldn’t be here. Even being near these people carried a great risk of being implicated in a betting ring that would ruin my entire career. This was how it had started for Gary: innocent meetings that soon turned nasty.

“How is young Shaun doing?” Carl asked. “I hear you’re looking after him at the moment.”

“He’s an orphan now, thanks to you. How the fuck do you think he’s doing?”

“From what I hear, he had a tragic car accident. I don’t see how that’s my fault. If only he hadn’t gone to the police, he never would have been driving that night and never would have crashed his car.”

“What do you want, Carl?” I asked. I couldn’t sit here and listen to his bullshit about Gary. I knew what’d happened. He’d reported the crime to a dodgy cop who had then informed Carl about Gary’s confession. Carl must have sent one of his lackeys out to sabotage the car. I’d never be able to prove it, but I knew what happened.

“You ignored my request,” Carl said calmly, taking a long, slow drag on his cigarette. The shop was a mess, with tools and materials lying around everywhere, but Carl still insisted on using an ashtray to collect his ash anyway.

“You mean your request for me to throw the quarter-final game? Yeah, I must have missed that one.”

“I had a lot of money riding on that game, Mr. Cornish.”

“My Granddad used to gamble,” I said. “My Nan used to give him hell for it, but you know what he said? ‘I only gamble what I can afford to lose.’ Perhaps those are words of advice you should live by?”

“Very good, very good. It’s no problem, anyway. I can recoup it all in the final. I must say, you did a marvellous job of helping England to the final. Phenomenal kicking.”

“Thank you.”

“England are now favourites to win the final. The last thing anyone will suspect is for you to have a bad game. Why, whoever made that bet could win a small fortune, especially with so many people betting on this game.”

“I wouldn’t advise making that bet,” I said. “You’ll only lose more money.”

Carl put out the cigarette even though he’d only gotten through half of it, and leaned forward on his elbows.

“You’re going to make sure England lose the game,” Carl said.

“No, I’m not,” I replied, still sitting back casually in the chair.

“You a family man, Mr. Cornish?” Carl asked.

“You know full well that my mum is under protection,” I said. “I have so many people guarding her that your men won’t get close. That’s why you didn’t do anything after I ignored your last request.”

“What about other family members?”

“My father left before I was even born. If you find him, you’re welcome to him. Tell him I said ‘hi.’”

I heard a phone beep behind me. Carl looked over my shoulder at Wayne, but I resisted the urge to look round. Carl smiled and sat back in his chair again. He’d just received good news.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Mr. Cornish. Imagine my surprise, when one of my men spotted you out and about the other week with a young woman and a girl.”

I sat bolt upright in my chair. So much for trying to remain calm. “You stay the hell away from them.”

“Michelle and Maisie Portman. Cute girls. They’re your step-sisters now, right?”

“I can protect them too,” I growled. “Just give this up, Carl. I’m never going to go along with your scheme. The second I get out of here, I will put every security guard in the country on those two. You won’t get close.”

“Yes, I figured you would. You know, it strikes me that I never properly followed through on my threat for your failure to lose the quarter-final game. No wonder you won’t agree to throw the final. You probably think I’m all talk.”

“I’m not going to let you so much as look at them,” I snarled.

“I don’t think I want to look at them anymore,” Carl said, as a snide grin spread across his face. “Shame too. They were such pretty girls.”

I stood up and reached over the desk, grabbing Carl by his cheap suit and shoving my face in front of his. “What have you done?” I yelled.

Wayne and the other minion, grabbed me by the shoulders and between the two of them they just about managed to pull me off of Carl, who was now laughing hysterically.

“You really shouldn’t let young women walk home alone,” Carl said. “There are some truly nasty people out there.”

I shook off Wayne and the other man, and ran out of the store. I backtracked until I was back in the spot where I’d abandoned Michelle and Maisie, and then ran in the direction they would have taken to get home.

When I rounded a corner and saw the flashing lights of police cars, I realised I was too late.

–*-

I visited the girls in hospital, but I could never stay for long. I couldn’t bare to look at Maisie and see the pain she was in without feeling sick with guilt.

Michelle had escaped relatively unharmed, although she must have landed on her side and badly bruised her arm, because she could barely move it and winced when anyone touched her. Of course, she refused to see a doctor because that would mean leaving Maisie’s side for a few minutes.

I wanted to stay with them, but I had a rugby game to play. I’d have happily missed the final to spend time with Michelle and Maisie, but I didn’t have a choice.

I’d assumed Carl was just a glorified thug, but I’d underestimated him. He must have an entire network of people under his command, and he clearly had access to personal information about me.

I’d specifically not said anything publicly about Michelle and Maisie, but he’d found out about them anyway. I couldn’t take the risk anymore. Who knows what he would do to them next time.

The entire team was nervous before the final, so no one noticed how terrified I was. We were the favourites to win for the first time since the tournament had started, and no one knew how to deal with that label. We all preferred being the plucky underdogs.

The team was on fire. I scored all the kicks that would be considered easy, but I made sure not to score with anything remotely missable. Even without me on good form, we were still only two points behind in stoppage time.

When we were awarded a scrum deep inside the opposition half, I felt the expectancy of the crowd in the stadium bubble to the surface. Tens of millions of people would have figured it out.

All we had to do was get the ball out of the scrum, where the scrum-half would pass it to me, and I would have an easy kick to win the game. The kick was almost unmissable, but that’s exactly what I had to do. For Maisie. For Michelle.

I dropped the ball and pretended to lose balance as I kicked it. I sent the ball straight into the hands of an opposition back who kicked the ball out of touch. We’d lost. England had lost the World Cup Final because of me.

–*-

I treated Michelle like shit over the weeks following the final. I even blamed her for my miss.

I told myself it was all part of getting her out of my life so that she would be safe from Carl, but if I was completely honest with myself, the nasty things I said to her came far too easily.

I didn’t actually blame her for what happened of course, but I couldn’t help but get mad when I saw her. If Michelle and Maisie hadn’t come into my life when they did, I would be a World Cup winner right now. Instead, I was a figure of hate. A laughing stock.

I accused her of being a distraction. That was true, in a way, but she’d always been a positive distraction. She was the one I thought about on the pitch. Other players had their families in the stands, but I had Michelle at home watching on television. That’s what kept me going.

By the time Michelle returned home to the US, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at me, let alone talk to me. She’d had feelings for me at one point, I was fairly sure of that, but now she hated me. I’d probably never see her again, and that thought was far more depressing than anything that had happened on the pitch.

I whispered a goodbye as she walked out the door for the last time. She never even looked back.