Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Brody

When I get home Jax is spread out on the sofa wearing last night’s clothes. He looks a little rough around the edges, though I’m sure I look worse.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“My father,” I say, my voice flat.

Jax pulls himself to a sitting position, his jaw ticking. I get in first before he can ask questions. “How was the chain gang?”

“Oh, it was the best.” He shifts sideways and stares hard at my face. “I almost became Big John’s bitch¸ and I made friends with the local roaches. The mattress smelled like a rotting corpse and the tap water tasted like piss. And because of your father, I have no criminal record to show for any of it.”

“Ripped off,” I joke and chuckle, which causes my ribs to throb like a bass drum. With a groan, I sink to the sofa and meet Jaxon’s eyes. “You know, when you said you’d take care of everything, I didn’t mean for you to throw yourself down and sacrifice your butt virginity to Big John.”

Jax huffs a short laugh and shakes his head. “Well after all that he didn’t ask me out, so I guess I’m feeling a little let down.” He looks at me with an expression of mock hope. “Maybe he’ll call later.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That he didn’t call?”

“Yeah. Maybe he has a brother.”

“Little John?”

I laugh and it sends a stabbing pain down my left side. I suck in a sharp breath. My father had followed up his slap to my face with a sharp jab to my ribs after I’d shoved him away.

“Hell.” Jaxon reaches across and yanks my arm away, revealing my swollen torso. All the previous amusement slides from his face. “Bud, that looks painful. You need a hospital?”

“No hospital.”

“You should go anyway,” he argues, already up and heading for my room. I follow behind. He opens my dresser drawer, pulling out a tee shirt and sweatpants. “We can go in the back entrance. No one will even know you’re there.” Jax dumps the clothes on my bed and reaches for my arm. “At the least they can give you some strong drugs for the pain.”

Drugs for the pain. Why didn’t I think of that? I tug the clothes on, slow as an old man.

“Shit, Brody. You can’t play like this. Can you play like this?”

“Sure I can. It happens all the time. Tony Romo played through a broken rib and punctured lung.”

“Jesus you guys are fucking crazy. You want me to call Jordan?”

My stomach clenches into a tight, hot ball of misery. “No.”

His brows rise. “No?”

“She’s gone, Jax.”

“Gone?”

Giving him my back, I pick up my phone. It’s been on silent and a pile of missed calls and messages from my coach glare back at me from the screen. I’m not sure what excuse to give him for missing training today, but whatever it is, I know it has to be damn good. Tucking it in my pocket, I swallow the huge lump in my throat and answer Jax. “Yeah. You know, the soccer finals in Florida. She’ll be gone a week.”

“Oh right. For a minute I thought you guys were off again.”

I don’t answer because I can’t. I don’t know what the hell we are right now. I keep fucking it up, and I don’t know how to stop.

“You want to tell me what your father was pissed about this time?” Jaxon asks when we’re in the car and speeding toward the hospital.

“Me breathing,” I mutter under my breath.

“Davis, right?” Jax shakes his head, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “That dick needs to drop off the face of the earth.”

The next day in training my rib is strapped tight as a damn corset, and I’m flying high on Percocet. Two pills instead of one takes me to cloud nine. It’s nothing like Adderall. The pain meds dull my senses, but man is it beautiful coasting up there in the sky. Nothing hurts. Nothing matters. Even my battered heart stops bleeding. It’s just me, the ball, and an endless field of green. Beautiful.

I don’t even have to come up with an excuse for my absence yesterday. Coach Carson spoke to my dad, who told him I was involved in a minor car accident. Coach had the hospital records faxed to the team doctor, who checked me over himself. His face was all skepticism, but he kept silent. They want these championships as much as the team does. On the day of our game, I’m injected with a high dose painkiller and sent out on the field with a slap on the back. I play high as a kite. I play rough. I play like a man with nothing left to lose.

We win but for the first time ever I can’t summon any joy. The slaps on the back, the celebratory hugs, and the wide grins are all forced. I limp off the field a broken man. It’s the highest point of my football career, and the lowest I’ve ever felt. It scares me when I start questioning why I’m doing this at all. But what would I do without it?

Later that night we celebrate at the bar. It’s loud and rowdy, and girls cover every single surface. Their makeup is bright, their dresses short and body-hugging. They keep grabbing my hands and trying to shove them up their skirts. I used to think it was hot to be wanted this way, but now it just makes me sad. I don’t want anything to do with any of them. I just want to drink. I want oblivion for a while.

I’m four beers in when Jordan rings. I get up quickly, pushing through people to get outside. The air is ice cold, and my breath puffs out in white clouds when I answer. “Jordan?”

“Brody.”

All it takes is her speaking my name and a rush of calm washes over me. A smile forms on my face. Hugging my body, I lean up against the outside wall of the building, keeping my head down low to avoid unwanted attention. “Hey you.”

When she replies, her voice is soft and low and brings goose bumps to my skin. “Hey yourself. I just …” She pauses for a moment and then exhales a shaky breath. She’s nervous, like she doesn’t know what to say. “Congratulations on your win today.”

My smile widens. “You watched the game.”

“How could I not watch it?”

“It wasn’t my best play,” I admit.

“Your average play is better than everyone else, but you played like you were injured.”

Avoiding the question, I check my watch. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“No? Why not?”

Jordan pauses for a long moment, almost to the point I think she’s either fallen asleep or hung up and I’m too out of it to realize. “Because you’re not here.”

I hug myself tighter. “Jordan—”

“I’m so sorry.”

My brow furrows. “For what?”

Jordan laughs and the sound is high and nervous. “I had this whole thing in my head of what I wanted to say to you, and I can’t remember any of it.”

A drunken group of three approaches me, roaring our team song. I wave them away and turn, giving them my back. “So just say anything.”

“I’m scared.”

I press the phone harder to my ear, needing to hear her better over the loud noise of the bar that’s filtering outside to the front entrance. “Why?”

“You’re messed up, Brody, and I don’t know how to help you. You saw what happened. I found those pills and I freaked out. I love you, and instead of helping you, I made you leave.”

Turning, I press my forehead against the rough brick and close my eyes, my stomach a queasy lump. “Because I lied to you.”

“You did.”

There’s a long pause and I don’t know how to fill it.

“Are you still taking that stuff? Are you taking anything else?”

“No! I—” Jesus, I have a hospital prescription for Percocet and my team doctor prescription for the same thing. I’m swimming in pills right now. But it’s not the same thing. I need these. My face hurts like a bitch, my rib is throbbing, and my body took a huge battering at the game. I put a hand inside the pocket of my letterman jacket. My fingers curve around the bottle, holding tight, and my voice is a rasp when I speak. “I’m not taking anything.”

“I don’t know if I should believe you.”

“I deserve that.”

“Brody … why?”

My throat closes up. I stare down at my feet. “Because I’m not good enough without it, and please don’t try and tell me I am. It’s a fact, Jordan. It got the job done when I needed it to…” my tone hardens a little “…and I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she snaps in response.

My voice rises. “Then why are you calling me? If you want to let me go, then just fucking do it. Don’t string me along with your pity calls.” It hurts too damn much when I’m already hurting enough.

“I don’t want to let you go, but we’re no good together!”

“Goddammit!” Turning, I ram my fist into the brick wall of the bar. Jordan’s cries reach me through the roaring pain that ricochets up from my knuckles. “Don’t cry. Baby … please.” Reaching in my pocket, I thumb open the cap of the bottle and palm a pill, swallowing it dry without a second thought. “We can be good together. We’ve just never had a chance.”

“Will we ever have it?”

“We have to. I love you, Jordan. I’m not letting you out of my life. Not ever.”

After a shaky breath, she says, “I should go.”

“It’s the pressure,” I blurt out, desperate to keep her on the line, just for a minute longer. “It’s really bad right now, but it won’t always be there.”

“What are you saying? We should put our relationship on ice for a while?”

“No ice, Jordan. Just … one day at time.” Which is more than I have any right to ask, but I’m asking anyway because what have I got left to lose? I can deal with anything if I know I have Jordan at the end of each day. “Let’s just do that.”

“Okay,” she agrees quietly and my shoulders slump with relief. “One day at a time.”

Brody

A week later I’m watching Jordan’s team bus pull to the curb, returning them to campus from the airport. I’m anxious. I know I am. But the Percocet keeps it buried well below the dark, murky surface where it can’t touch me. With hands jammed in my pockets, I watch as she bounds down the steps behind her teammates, her cheeks flushed pink with elation because they won their semifinal, moved up to the championship final, and then won that too.

A beanie covers her head and silky waves ripple over her shoulders and down her back. Her face is turned and she’s laughing at something Paige is yelling from behind her.

When she turns back, her eyes catch mine and she sobers instantly, pausing on the bottom step. I didn’t tell her I’d be here. I wasn’t sure I would be. But it felt right and I didn’t want to wait, so here I am.

Her clear blue eyes run over me like she hasn’t seen me in years. It gives me hope. Tense shoulders ease beneath me, and I breathe out in a rush, my lips curving slowly. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

Paige gives Jordan’s back a nudge and she steps off, walking toward me. When she reaches my side, she lifts a hand, her eyes on my bruised face.

“You’re hurt.”

Gentle fingers trail down the side of my face. All her teammates pour out of the bus, swarming the pavement, excitedly hugging family and friends, but I don’t see them. It’s just the two of us.

“It’s nothing.” I take her hand and move it away from my face, linking our fingers. “Just the price of the game.”

“It looks sore.”

“It’s fine. I can barely feel it.”

Jordan starts pulling away, her gaze caught on the driver removing luggage from under the bus. “I should get my bag.”

“I’ll get it.” I know which bag is hers and find it quickly. Picking it up off the ground, I sling it over my shoulder and turn, nodding toward my car parked by the curb. “Can I take you home?”

Affection warms her eyes. I’m trying this ‘one day at a time’ thing, and I know she sees and appreciates it. “That would be nice.”

We start for my car, walking side by side. Her hand slips in mine, fitting perfectly. My fingers close around it, and my heart expands when she squeezes gently, silently telling me we might just be okay.

I bring her hand to my lips, kissing the back of it as we walk. “Congratulations on the Championships. I knew you’d do it.”

Jordan grins. “It still hasn’t sunk in.”

“Well, I know just how to celebrate,” I tell her with a wink, letting go of her hand to tug the keys from my pocket. I beep the locks.

“Oh?” Jordan arches a brow at the innuendo in my tone. “And that is?”

I open the rear passenger door and toss her bag on the seat. Slamming it closed, I turn and grin. “With champagne of course. Why? Were you thinking of something a little more … intimate?”

Jordan grabs the handle and jerks open the passenger door, but not fast enough for me to miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes. “Of course not,” she mumbles, sliding inside the car.

I chuckle to myself as walk around to the driver’s side.

I wake early to filtered sunlight and my body spooning Jordan in a warm cocoon. Pushing up on an elbow, I rub my face. We’re still wearing our clothes from yesterday, but sometime during the night Jordan grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and pulled it up over both of us.

Shifting hair away from her neck, I lean close and press my lips to the bared skin. It’s impossible not to. Jordan gives a sleepy moan and my cock twitches. When I’m with her I only ever feel good. I want more of it. My lips trail down, nibbling, until I reach the point where her neck meets her shoulder.

She rolls over, blinking lazily, a smile curving her lips. Last night we drank champagne, ate vegemite toast, and talked about nothing in particular. It ended with us lying in bed watching a Game of Thrones marathon on her laptop. Blood. Violence. Nudity. It was awesome. I’d never seen the show before, but I was now a convert. Kicking back in bed together and watching Jon Snow fight the good fight against the White Walkers felt so normal. I loved Jordan giving me that because my life felt so far beyond normal right now.

“If this is one day at a time, I like it,” she says with a voice husky from sleep.

“Me too.”

Jordan’s eyes roam over my face. “I like waking to your pretty face too.”

I roll my eyes with disgust. Her response is to giggle, and my heart soars at the lightness in the sound. “I think the correct term is manly and sexy.”

“Uh huh.” She shakes her head, serious. “Pretty.”

Not taking kindly to the term, I launch myself at Jordan. She responds with a shriek, her knee coming up instinctively to block me. It gets me in the ribs. I fall back with a hard grunt and a muttered “fuck.”

Her face looms over me, mussed tendrils of long hair spilling on my neck and chest, tickling my skin. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” I tug at her arm and she collapses on top of me. I hide the wince of pain and stretch up, capturing her lips with mine, holding them for a long, hot moment. She draws back and I see her eyes are filling rapidly. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“You, Brody. That Skype call you had with my brother. You were arranging for him to be there for my finals in Florida.”

“All I did was Skype him to tell him the dates and chip in with the flights. Nicky arranged the rest. It was nothing.”

I know the ache from having no family at your games. At least with Jordan the only barrier was distance and that’s something easily fixed. Her brother and I are Facebook friends now. I saw Nicky’s posts from his visit and having him there meant the world. I could see it in Jordan’s smile from the photos.

“You gave me a week with my brother. That’s not nothing.” Jordan pushes up off me, sitting up on the bed. “I wanted to ring you a million times to thank you.”

“Oh?” My brows wing up. “That’s funny because I didn’t see a million missed calls on my phone.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just thought it would be easier to wait until I got home.” Jordan cups my cheek and leans close, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. Drawing back, she looks at me. “Thank you. So much.” Her eyes shift to the clock on the bedside table. “Don’t you have training? You have a bowl game to prepare for.”

I kiss her again. “It can wait.”

“Tell that to your coach.”

Jordan’s right, but I don’t want her to be—especially when she climbs off me and stands. The sports shorts she’s wearing are a shade of orange so bright I feel blinded. I still look anyway, because the mile of leg they’re pretending to clothe requires a certain level of inspection and appreciation. I watch them walk away, carrying Jordan to the door. “I’ll make you a protein shake.”

I don’t protest her leaving, only because her protein shakes are morning miracles. She adds honey and banana, and something she calls Milo. It’s some kind of crunchy chocolate powder she has her brother ship in special from Australia. She can have her vegemite, but I’ll eat that stuff from the tin until I’m sick.

When the room is clear, I roll from bed and reach for my jacket hanging off Jordan’s desk chair. I shrug it on and after using the bathroom, I stand at the basin, palm a couple of pills from my pocket, and shove them in my mouth. Turning on the water, I lean over, drinking straight from the faucet as I swallow them down.

After washing my face, I straighten, both hands braced on the vanity, and look myself in the eye. I look fine. A little bruised, but all that dark shit eating at my insides isn’t showing on my face. Good.

Jordan

Brody’s team loses the bowl game. It was close, yet he blames himself when he shouldn’t. Something’s not right with him. Even now, with both of us back in the thick of study and training for our respective combines, I feel dark clouds hovering above.

As I sit here on the edge of his bed waiting for him to get back from the gym, I’m contemplating ransacking his room. He said he wasn’t taking anything. I should believe him. A small part of me doesn’t want to know, and I hate that part. How easy it would be to just bury my head in the sand. I’m one week out from trials with Seattle Reign. Career comes first, no matter what. Focus. And besides, soon Brody and I won’t have this time together anymore. Should I spoil what little we have by voicing my fears?

Yes. You should, my inner voice argues.

Screw it. I’m reaching for the bottom drawer of his bedside table when he walks in the room, tossing his gym bag in the corner. I snap back on the bed, my heart hammering.

Brody faces me, freshly showered and already peeling off his clothes. A grin lights his face, his eyes bright and alert. I give him a tentative smile. Happy seems to be tonight’s mood of choice.

“Let’s go out,” he says, and gives me his back as he opens a dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of pants.

“Out?” I ask, dubious. It’s late and I had plans for an early night.

Brody turns, tugging them up his legs. “Somewhere nice.” Leaning over, he presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips. I’m surrounded by the scent of fresh soap before he draws back, taking it with him. “We’ll stop by your place so you can change.”

It doesn’t take Brody long to railroad me into going. Just under an hour later I’m seated opposite him at a restaurant table. I look away from the waiter pouring expensive wine in my glass and take in the pale timber floors, warm lighting, and nearby diners watching us with recognition in their eyes. There wasn’t much time to make an effort with my appearance, but at least I had that stretchy scrap of black fabric to wear thanks to Leah. The dress is making its debut tonight, and Brody hasn’t been able to drag his eyes off me from the moment I walked out with it on.

When my gaze turns his way, he’s still watching me intently. “I’m not sure we should be here.” My eyes drop to the menu as the waiter leaves us. No prices are listed. “A steak probably costs more than my car.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “A Happy Meal would cost more than your car.”

“That may be true, but it hasn’t let me down yet,” I boast.

He finally looks away, his gaze turning out the window. “Not like me, huh.”

“You didn’t let me down. But what you did? That’s not who you are. I’m sorry you felt taking pills was what you had to do. I just don’t want you to do it anymore.”

“I won’t do it anymore.” He closes his menu and rests it on the corner of the table. Swallowing hard, his eyes lift to mine. “Okay?”

I want to believe him. So much I ache with it. “Okay.”

The waiter returns to take our orders, and halfway through our meal, Brody puts down his knife and fork and clears his throat. “How’s your fish?”

“Incredible,” I reply. It’s cooked perfectly and full of flavor, which surprises me because this is Texas, the unofficial meat state. “How’s your cow?”

Brody’s eyes crinkle and he looks to the half-eaten slab of beef on his plate. “It’s good.” His gaze circles the room before returning to me, and he runs fingers through golden-brown tufts of hair. “You’re probably wondering why we’re in this place, huh?”

“I am,” I reply. Brody’s gone to some effort bringing me to one of Austin’s best restaurants. It’s sleek and upscale, with candlelight adding an air of romance. “I know we’ve been taking things slow so maybe it’s so I’ll put out?” I joke.

I wait for a teasing response but none is forthcoming. When he speaks, there’s a deep chord of sincerity in his voice. “You’re not ready. And I’ll wait however long it takes until you are.”

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

The acknowledgement has my body breathing a sigh of relief. I know Brody’s is too because he’s half lifting out of his chair before I finish speaking. “I’ll get the check.”

I laugh and wave my fork in his direction. “I’m still eating!”

He grumbles and sits back down while I take a big mouthful of fish, now in a hurry to leave too. Brody watches me chew hurriedly and laughs. It’s deep and ripples across the table. It dies off suddenly and I look up, finding him staring at me with a strange look in his eyes. “Jordan.” Taking a deep breath, he blurts out, “Let’s get married.”

My breath stills, my limbs freeze, and underneath it all my heart pounds a wild, staccato beat. Carefully resting my knife and fork down on my plate, I give him my full attention. His expression is bright with hope and more than a little fear. “What did you just say?”

“Marry me.” He reaches over and grabs my hand, dragging it closer to him. His palm is clammy and squeezes mine tight, my fingers crunched in his grip.

Butterflies riot in my stomach and my mouth opens and closes. Marriage is something for the future. I don’t know what it takes to be ready for such a step, but whatever it is, I don’t have it. “That’s crazy.”

“I know.” He takes in my expression of disbelief and firms his lips. “But it’s the good kind of crazy, right?”

“Brody …” I shake my head. “Why?”

“Why?” He sets my hand free and thumps back in his seat, breaking our connection. “You seriously need to ask that?”

“We’re going from one day at a time to getting married?”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t need to do one day at a time to know I want to be with you the rest of my life.”

Tears prick my eyes. I feel the same but what he’s asking is impossible. I look somewhere over his shoulder because I’m a coward, unable to bear seeing the hurt I’m about to inflict. “I can’t, Brody. I’m signing with Seattle. I’m leaving.”

“I know,” he says quietly. My eyes shoot to his and I see heartbreak hiding behind them. “I already know. And I’m not going to lie. It hurts you’re not signing closer. The Houston Dash would jump to have you. But here’s the thing. I’m proud of you, Jordan, and I’m not going to hold you back. This is your dream, and who the hell am I to take that from you? Or put restrictions on it. I know I won’t be able to wake up to you every morning, but at least I’ll know I have you in my life. I need you in my life.”

I swallow, not knowing what to say, so I stall, a nervous huff of laughter escaping my lips. “I haven’t even met your family.”

“And if you’re lucky, you never will,” he replies, his eyes darkening into a hard glare. “I’m not asking you to marry my family, Jordan. Just me.”

I should say no. That would be the logical, smart thing to do, and I’ve always been logical and smart. We’re both young. We both have careers. We haven’t even graduated college. Yet I can’t bring myself to form the two-letter word. I swallow, my mouth dry. “I need to think about it.”

After a pause, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “That’s not a no.”