Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Brody

Jackson Reynard is one of our starting receivers, and he’s so good I never see field time. Until now. He’s blown out his knee. It’s not career ending, but it’s bad.

I had to step up and the pressure was too much. I walk off the field after ending the worst game of my entire football career.

It sends the media into a frenzy. My teammates are questioned on my play. My coach is questioned on signing me. My college games are rehashed on ESPN, each play picked apart by a panel of commentators in minute detail. The general consensus is that I choked. I got to the big leagues and couldn’t handle it. The kid needs time. But time is a luxury in professional football. It’s something a rookie doesn’t get. We need to come out shining like a diamond. If we don’t, we don’t play. If we don’t play, we don’t get better. If we don’t get better, we don’t get endorsements. We get traded. And eventually we fade from the limelight and just become some guy that played pro ball once.

The media got it partly right. Only it’s not the football I can’t handle, nor is it the attention that comes from playing professionally. It’s everything else. But I’m trying. I haven’t taken a pill in three weeks. I need to prove to myself that I don’t need them. The withdrawals leave me shaky. I’m tired but finding sleep is hit or miss. It’s not a detox. To use that word would lay claim to me being an addict and I’m not. I’m just cleaning up a little.

Soon after I’m subjected to a urine test. I stand in the cubicle pissing into a small container while sending up a prayer of thanks. The timing is a miracle and the relief leaves me sick.

My next game I play better, but only marginally. I can’t find my focus. The next there’s more improvement, but not enough. I’m not playing anywhere near my best level without enhancements, and pushing through the pain from every bruising hit I take is wearing me down.

Breaking down, I go back to the Adderall. It turns me into an improved version of myself, like a smartphone upgrade. It’s still me. I’m still the same person. I can just do more. The only issue is the insomnia.

After talking to the team physician, explaining my exhaustion and inability to sleep, he prescribes Ambien. Two weeks later I play like a god. I back it up brilliantly the week after that. Another week later I get Jordan for four whole days. It feels like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one.

With two days off from training, we spend it traversing Houston—holding hands, shopping, eating, being normal. We play tourist, visiting the Space Center and the zoo, and that’s where our relationship hits the national spotlight.

We’re stopped in front of the new gorilla habitat. Jordan is wearing one of my old western shirts over a fitted white tank top. The worn material is blue and green, and soft from countless washes. She’s teamed it with her denim shorts and a pair of hot pink converse, keeping her long hair loose. I love the way she dresses—casual and cute. No matter how big her profile becomes, Jordan hasn’t changed.

She has a brand new Canon slung around her neck and her eyes dance with excitement when she turns to me and lowers her camera. “Why did the Gorilla go to the doctor?”

It’s a new side of Jordan I’ve only discovered today. Her bad animal jokes. She’s had one for almost every exhibit we’ve seen so far today. “I don’t know, babe. Why?”

“Because his banana wasn’t peeling very well!”

I groan. “How many more of these do you have?”

Her eyes narrow. “Why? You don’t like them?”

“Don’t quit your day job is all I’m sayin’,” I tease, holding up my hands.

“You couldn’t handle my day job.”

I arch a brow. “Oooooh, is that a challenge?”

Jordan’s lips twitch. “You better believe it.”

I laugh out loud. “You’re on. This afternoon. You and Eddie against me and Jaxon in a soccer showdown.”

Jaxon visits every other weekend, and the Houston Wranglers signed Eddie on as a linebacker. I bought a house with my signing bonus, and Eddie moved in because there’s too much space for me to live there alone. It has six bedrooms—the master suite for me and Jordan, three rooms for each of our future kids, Eddie’s room, and a guest room.

It’s a beautiful house—one that Jordan is decorating piece by piece each time she visits from Seattle. I’ve no doubt she’ll pick something up from the gift store here today and I’ll find it sitting somewhere in the house days later. I usually hate clutter, but everything she sets out isn’t just there to look good; it’s a memory of our life together.

I look at Jordan, grinning. “Think you can handle it?”

Her eyes dance at the challenge. “Prepare to have your ass handed to you.”

“Au contraire,” I argue. Grabbing her hand, I bring it to my lips, still chuckling when I press a light kiss to the back of it. “I’ll win, and my prize will be you naked in my bed alllllll afternoon.”

“Keep dreaming,” she retorts.

We play in the local park, and Eddie and I lose by a long, ass-kicking mile. I thought having him on my team would be an advantage, and maybe it would’ve been if it were football. But Eddie and I are too big. Jordan weaves the ball around us like a magician, leaving us standing there like two stunned lumberjacks, wondering how she did it. She could’ve taken us both without having Jax there at all.

She returns to Seattle the following afternoon, and the next day photos from our mini holiday get splashed over the media via stalking paparazzi. The one in front of the Gorilla exhibit where I’m kissing her hand goes viral. I don’t know what it is about the photo. Maybe it’s the light in her eyes as she looks up at me. Maybe it’s the way I’m looking down at her like she’s my world. Or maybe it’s the way we look so relaxed and in love.

I see it first and send her the link via Facebook messenger.

Brody: They think we’re in love, but u just want my cock.

She replies a minute later, having just changed her profile picture to the new image.

Jordan: So true. Should I set the record straight and tell them?

I grin.

Brody: Maybe they can already tell by the way you walk funny.

With two brilliant games under my belt, and the Seattle Reign’s winning streak, we both become the golden couple of sport. Suddenly we’re everywhere. I get my first endorsement and soon I’m shooting ad campaigns for protein supplement company, Evolution. Jordan does a ‘women in sport’ feature with Marie Claire magazine. They photograph her in black and white. A face shot first, her eyes dark and smoky and her hair a wild tangle. It follows with a body shot. Her skin looks dark and slick, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. They’ve shot her from the back, not a stitch of clothing on, but she’s holding a soccer ball behind her with both hands, and it covers her sweet ass. With her standing on tiptoes, it highlights every sleek muscle in her body.

I send her a Facebook message the minute I catch a five-minute breather from on-field training.

Brody: Ur a fucking work of art.

Jordan: Tell that to Nicky. My ears are still ringing.

Brody: I bet.

But messages aren’t enough. Skype isn’t enough. Football keeps me busy, and right now I have the world at my fingertips, but even knowing that isn’t enough.

Six weeks later I’m in Seattle, knocking on the door of Jordan’s apartment. I’m exhausted, edgy, and I have to be back in Houston in twenty-four fucking hours. This is our future and it’s taking its toll. My eyes burn as I stare ahead at the door, waiting. My need for Jordan is palpable. I feel it in every part of me—my itchy skin, the short puffs of air pushing past my lips, the pulsing of my blood. I’m almost hyperventilating.

Open the damn door, Jordan.

It opens suddenly and she’s there, every perfect inch standing right where I need her to be. Warmth leaches deep inside my bones, calming me instantly. It’s the equivalent of walking out of a raging snowstorm and into a warm, cozy log cabin.

I take a deep breath and grin crookedly. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Jordan’s response is to grab my face, dragging it to hers as I step inside, kicking the door shut behind me. She kisses me violently, pushing her tongue in my mouth.

“Missed you,” she mumbles, tugging at my jacket. “How long do we have?”

“Hours,” I manage to get out before her mouth is back on mine, my arms grabbing at my own clothes, helping her. “Just a few hours.”

When I realize her own shirt is already off, my arms slide around, fumbling the clasp of her bra with shaky hands. It drops and my palms fill with her tits. She moans, tilting her head back. I take advantage, covering her neck with wet, open kisses.

I go for the button on my jeans, and Jordan bats my hands away. Dropping to her knees, she undoes the fly with hasty fingers, revealing my boxer-briefs. She tugs those down too and my cock springs out, filling her palms. My body shudders. Opening her mouth, she takes me in. Wet heat surrounds me, and warm hands grab my backside, pushing me in further.

“Fuck.” I groan.

The sucking and licking sends me rock solid, and Jordan whimpers around my cock. It’s like a fucking steel pipe in her mouth. Mere seconds later my body tightens with the sweetest agony, my balls pull up, and I’m coming down her throat. “Sorry,” I rasp, my legs unsteady. “Sorry. Fuck.”

Jordan pulls away with a final lick, and I blink down at her. A tear trickles out the corner of her eye. Shit, did I hurt her? I drop down in front of her. Another one escapes and I catch it with my finger. “Baby?”

Like the word is a catalyst, a sob rips from her throat. My jaw trembles and I wrap my arms around her curled form, dragging her against my chest.

“I h-h-hate this,” she stutters through sobs, her pain stabbing at me like a thousand knives. “I thought I c-c-could do this, but I … but I c-c-can’t.”

“You can,” I tell her, desperately needing it to be true. I’m not the strong one here. Jordan is. She always has been. Jordan is like the strongest oak in the forest. Nothing can fell her, yet here she is, half-naked in my arms and falling apart. It’s breaking my heart.

Later that night we lie in bed facing each other. Jordan stares at me as I play with a lock of her hair, watching the honey strands slide through my fingers. “If this is what it takes to be the best, then I’m not sure I want it anymore,” she croaks.

“Sure you do.” I pause my hair playing and look at Jordan. Dark circles line her eyes and there’s a sadness in them I’ve never seen before. “We’ll get used to living this way,” I reassure her. “It’s not permanent.”

But my words don’t ring true. At least not inside my own heart. I don’t want to get used to living this way. It’s hell. And this situation stretches like a long road ahead of me, so dark and bleak it may as well stretch forever.

Jordan slowly drifts off to sleep, but I don’t. I lie there wide awake, so many pills coursing through my system I feel I’ll never sleep again.

Eventually my phone beeps. The first alert on my alarm, reminding me I have an hour left before I have to leave for the airport. I pick it up to turn it off when I realize it’s not the alert, which isn’t due to go off for another ten minutes. It’s my little sister Annabelle who I haven’t spoken to in months. Why is she calling me at three a.m.?

My chest pulls tight with dread. I shoot up in bed and quickly hit answer. “Moo Moo?” I answer quietly.

“Brody,” she responds, her voice timid.

Swiping my boxer-briefs up off the floor, I tug them on, leaving the bedroom as I speak. “Sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

A little hiccup escapes her throat.

“Annabelle?”

Another hiccup hits my ears. I pad silently out into the hallway, pressing my back against the wall as I wait for my sister to say something. “No.”

“Moo Moo, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“You left,” she squeezes out, her voice getting louder as she speaks until it ends on a shrill shout. “You left me and you never came back!”

Oh God. Fucking shit. What do I say? I tried. I tried calling. I stopped by the house more times than I could count, but I wasn’t allowed through the door. I stalked her school, but parents kept shooting me suspicious glances and I kept getting told to move on. I didn’t know what else to do.

Hanging my head, I run fingers through my hair, mussing strands that are long overdue for a cut. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not sorry. You’re not! Otherwise you’d be here. I hate you!” she shrieks. “I hate you, Brody, and I’m glad you’re not here! You—”

A muffled sound comes through the line. “No!” Annabelle screams. “Give it back!”

“Annabelle?” I cry out.

My father’s voice comes on the line. “Lose this number,” he orders tersely and then I get dial tone.

The arm holding my phone drops by my side and I slide down the wall, planting on my backside. My lungs drag in air, but it feels as if I can’t breathe. I’ve held it together for so long. So long. I can’t lose it now. I know if I do, I won’t ever find my way back. I’ll vanish somewhere inside myself where no one can reach.

Hold it together, I order myself, blinking fiercely.

I sit there until the second alert on my phone goes off. When it does, I stand on autopilot and walk back inside the bedroom. Jordan’s breathing is deep and even, the dark circles beneath her eyes more pronounced in the pale moonlight. Finding my clothes, I dress quietly and grab my bag. When I’m ready to leave, I lean over the bed and press a light kiss to her forehead.

Hailing a taxi, I get in and direct the driver to the airport. As we zoom off into the quiet, dark night, I pull a pill bottle from my bag. It’s labeled as ‘Percocet’ but that’s not what’s inside. I shake out a couple of downers along with some Ambien, trying to counteract the effects of Adderall so I can sleep. It works. After boarding, I pass out on the flight home.

“What the fuck did you give him?” Jaxon shouts somewhere near my ear.

At least I think it’s him screeching like a pissed off barn owl. My eyes are closed and opening them is a feat of mammoth proportions. So I don’t. I shoot out an arm and swat at where I think he might be. My efforts prove futile when I encounter air and I giggle. Then I giggle because I’m giggling, and only girls do that.

“I’m a fucking girl,” I slur.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. He’s my best bud. My roommate. Together forever. “In electric dreams,” I wail loudly, breaking out in song. It’s an oldie but my sister loves the song. Fucking loves it. I know that’s supposed to make me sad, but I giggle again.

A hand smacks me across the face, cutting me off. It doesn’t hurt. I can’t feel a thing. I’m epic. I’m Captain America.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I warn whoever it was. Just because I can’t feel shit doesn’t mean I’m everyone’s punching bag.

“What did you give him?” Jax growls.

“Just some ecstasy,” Damien says.

“Ecstasy,” he echoes flatly. He says it again, only this time he shouts it. “Just some fucking ecstasy? You gave Brody hard drugs?”

His voice reverberates through my head like a gong. “Cool it, Barn Owl.”

My eyes flutter open. Jaxon is standing above me. His face is screwed up and red, veins popping on his neck. He looks a bit angry. “Barn Owl?”

“Dude.” I cover both ears with my hands. That’s when I realize I’m flat out on the floor in the living room of my house. I look from Jaxon to Damien, who’s hovering on the other side of me. Damien shrugs. I tilt my head and look in front of me. Eddie’s standing at my feet. I’m surrounded by morons. I look between Jax and Damien again. “What are you both doing here?”

Jax scowls. “We’ve been here all weekend.”

I scowl. “Well how would I know? I’ve been in Seattle with Jordan.”

He shakes his head. “We were here before you left, remember?”

“Shit, you’re wasted,” is Damien’s epic contribution.

“And it’s your fault.” Jaxon jabs a finger in his chest. “I can’t believe you gave him ecstasy. What are you doing with that shit? And why the hell are you giving it to Brody? It’s going to fuck with his head and fuck with his career.” Jaxon plants both hands on Damien’s chest and shoves hard, shouting, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

I roll over and my face encounters carpet. “Ugh.” Getting up on my hands and knees, I start crawling away. It’s a slow process and I don’t know which direction I’m headed in. Hopefully it’s the kitchen. I’m thirsty. Really thirsty. Like I could drink all the water in Lake Michigan.

“I wasn’t, okay?” Damien shouts back. “He needed something and that’s all I had!”

Suddenly I’m airborne. Eddie has me in a fireman’s hold and he’s carrying me somewhere. My room, I realize, when I flop down uselessly on my bed.

“You’re an idiot!” Jaxon yells, their argument going strong from the living room.

“What the hell is going on, Madden?” Eddie asks.

“My dad’s an asshole, is what’s going on.” My teeth feel funny. I lift a hand to rub at them but my muscles are lax and my arm flops by my side. I continue talking. “I fucked up. Remember that time I beat the crap out of Davis? Well apparently that was the last straw. That and the drugs. I’m bad news, Eddie.” He lifts my legs, swinging them over the bed. They collapse down on the sheets as if they aren’t connected to my body. “Dad won’t let me see my sister anymore. Maybe he’s right. I’m no good to anyone. Not even Jordan. She’s an oak tree. Did you know that? Don’t tell her I told you.” No girl wants to be compared to a tree. It’s not sexy. “She tutored me because I’m stupid.” My eyes close, bringing blessed darkness. “I think that’s about it.”

I pass out.

The whole drug mess causes a falling out between Jaxon and Damien. Both he and Eddie ban Damien from our house and from my phone. They blocked him on my social media. I’m cut off and I hate the panic it sets off in my chest. I can’t be who everyone needs me to be without a little help.

I track down Damien on Facebook and send him a message.

Brody: Sorry bout the shit storm bud.

Damien: It’s cool dude. I fucked up.

I type my next message, my fingers shaky on the keys.

Brody: No. I did that all by myself. Do me a favor?

Damien: Sure.

Brody: Thanks bud. I need something.

It takes him a half hour to respond. The wait leaves me coiled tighter than a spring. When his message finally comes through, the coil unravels, leaving me almost buoyant. A satisfied smile forms on my face.

Damien: What do you need?

Five weeks later, following a torn ligament during game time, I’m blindsided with another drug test.

This time I fail and all hell breaks loose.

Jordan

Tucking the phone between my chin and shoulder, I rummage through the kitchen cupboards. I can’t bring myself to call them my cupboards. Or my apartment. Nor is Seattle my city. It’s a beautiful place to live, but I’m struggling to do this again. Start over. Open myself up to new friends when I’m missing the ones I’ve left behind.

“… and Hayden agreed,” Leah says in my ear. “I mean, the place has six bedrooms and it’s right on the beach. It’s perfect. So are you in?”

“What a bloody jerk,” I mutter under my breath, ignoring Leah’s question as my agitation bubbles over.

“Elliott?”

“I’m moving out,” I growl, slamming shut the last cupboard. My Milo is gone. It’s not sitting where I left it yesterday morning. It’s vanished. My last tin of beloved crunchy chocolate powder has simply ceased to exist. My eyes narrow on the rubbish bin. Dani’s taken great pains to make my stay here a living hell. One guess she’s tossed my Milo in the rubbish just because she knows I can’t live without it.

“What’s she done now?”

“What hasn’t she done?” Putting the lid on the blender, my finger jabs high speed and the blades roar to life. “She’s deliberately trying to piss me off!” I shout over the screaming noise.

“You can’t move out.”

“Why not?” I yell.

“Because that’s what she wants you to do.”

“So?” I switch the blender off and the apartment settles into stillness. “She wants me to move out. I want to move out. Something we’re actually both in complete agreement with.”

My phone beeps. “Hang on,” I tell Leah. “I have another call.”

Putting her on hold, I answer an incoming call from Jaxon.

“What are you doing awake?” I ask. Putting the phone on the bench, I hit speaker and turn, grabbing a cup from the cupboard as I speak. “You do realize it’s just after five in the morning, don’t you? I know how much you need your beauty sleep, Jax.”

“Har, har.”

“If this is about Dani, I’ve told you, I’m not giving you her number. Seriously. I’m doing you a favor,” I tell him as I pour the thick protein shake out. Emptied, I carry the blender to the sink. “She’s scary. She will sleep with you—”

“Elliott.”

“—and then she’ll rip your head off and feed it to her young. Is that what you want? Because from where I’m standing—”

“Elliott!”

Turning on the tap, I start rinsing off the blades, which is more than Dani ever does. “What?”

Charged silence follows. Flicking off the hot water, I turn back, brows drawn as I walk over to my phone. “What is it?”

“How soon can you get here?”

There’s something off in his voice. Something that makes my heart begin to pound. Thump, thump, thump. I stare at the phone. It stares back at me, a coiled snake waiting to strike. “Get where?”

“Houston.”

“Why?”

“I can’t talk about it on the phone.”

I forget about Leah waiting for me on the other line. “Is Brody okay?”

“Define okay.”

Fear makes my voice sharp. “Is he hurt, Jax?”

“No.”

“Then what’s going on?” Resting my backside against the kitchen counter, I fold my arms and stare at my feet. The left one is deep purple and green—bruised from being stomped on in training yesterday. “Why do you want me in Houston? I have a game in two days.”

“Fuck your game.” Jaxon exhales sharply. “Brody needs you.”

“Did he say that?” I ask, and immediately regret my question. If Jax says Brody needs me, then I know he means it. I should be pushing off the counter right now and heading for my room to pack a bag, but I can’t just up and walk out on the team right before a game. I’m contracted to play. It’s not that simple.

“Brody happens to think your soccer is more important than he is right now. But it’s not, is it, Jordan?”

His voice is a steely reprimand. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

But getting away before the game proved impossible. With current team injuries, my team would be left without a striker if I didn’t play.

Heading from the field with another solid win under our belt, I shower quickly. Pulling on a pair of Seattle Reign sweats, I tug a brush through my wet hair, arrange a taxi, and head straight for the airport.

I send Jax a message before boarding to let him know I’m on my way. Brody doesn’t know I’m coming. I’ve been trying to call him ever since I heard from Jaxon, but he’s not answering his phone. With no one telling me anything, my anxiety levels are through the roof by the time my plane touches down in Houston.

The taxi drops me in front of Brody’s house later that night. It’s gated for privacy, but beyond the imposing barrier lies a welcoming house with a wide timber porch and lush, expansive gardens. There’s a pool out the back and enough yard space to kick a ball around. The outdoor seating area boasts a weatherproof sectional, an outdoor kitchen, and a mounted flat screen television so all sports coverage won’t be missed if Brody’s either cooking on the grill, or swimming in the pool. It’s idyllic and geared toward outdoor living, with French doors along the back of the house, always kept open to meld the indoor with the out.

The house is a home. My home, and not because I helped him furnish it, but because Brody lives there.

Using my key, I step inside, walking through the dark-timber floored entryway down to the back living area. I drop my overnight bag on the sofa and look around. Thanks to a regular cleaner the house is spotless, but it’s quiet.

“Hello?”

Jaxon steps through the laundry door which sits off the side of the kitchen. His hair is mussed. Not the messy, sexy kind that takes him hours to achieve, but dirty and lank. He glares at me through exhausted eyes, looking nothing like the flirty, carefree guy I met in college.

“You’re here,” he says.

“I’m here.”

“Two days was the best you could do.”

Jaxon’s anger is gone, replaced with flat disappointment which somehow feels worse. “Yes. It was. I told you they’d be short a striker and—”

He cuts me off. “And nothing. Clearly you have your priorities, and Brody isn’t one of them.”

My jaw ticks. “Are you finished? Because I’d like to know what the hell is going on. Where’s Brody?”

Jaxon stalks to the kitchen counter. “You want to know what’s going on?” Bending low, he opens a bottom cupboard. Straightening, he sets a white, opaque pill bottle on the bench top with a loud clack.

My blood chills to ice as I stare at it. Oh no. Please. My eyes hold Jaxon’s for a long moment, willing it not to be true, but all I see is resignation in his expression. Reaching across the counter from the opposite side, I take hold of the bottle and read the label, mouthing it silently. Ambien. Sleeping pills prescribed by the team doctor.

But Jaxon isn’t finished. He sets another bottle on the counter. I put the Ambien down and pick the next one up. Percocet. Another medically prescribed drug. Before I can blink, Brody’s cousin sets another bottle down. Adderall. Then he tosses two separate plastic packets next to the growing hoard. They both hold more pills. Unlabeled ones. I close my eyes, devastation rocking me down to my very toes. Jaxon is quiet. When I open them I pick the sleeve of pills up, flipping it over in a shaky hand.

“What are these?” I croak.

Jax shrugs but his eyes are red and he’s battling the urge to cry. “Who the fuck knows? Uppers, downers, all kinds of fucked-up shit.”

Deep, jagged cracks form in my heart. It hurts. It fucking hurts knowing he put all these deadly chemicals inside his beautiful, strong body—tainting it. That he would do this to himself. My eyes fill and a fat tear spills over, splattering to the counter below. My gaze falls on the Adderall. I pick it up. It doesn’t rattle, indicating the little plastic bottle is empty. I meet Jaxon’s brown eyes. “He was taking these in college.”

“I know. For study, right?”

“But he stopped,” I whisper, putting the bottle back down as a sob builds inside my chest.

Jaxon shakes his head.

“He promised me!” I cry out, my stomach rolling with pain. I point at the Adderall and shout, “He promised me it was a one off. I believed him!”

Did you believe him, Jordan, really? Or did you just want to?

Oh god.

“Brody lied to you. He lied to all of us.”

The sob escapes. I sweep out an arm, scattering everything on the counter to the floor. “Why? Why would he do this?”

But I know.

He’s never deemed himself good enough. Not his entire life. Adderall was the temporary fix, giving him a reprieve from the struggle—only it escalated into this … this goddamn drug-infested nightmare. Why didn’t I see? Why didn’t I let myself see?

My stomach cramps with regret.

I was too busy worrying about myself and my own future. Jaxon is right. Brody needed me, and I wasn’t there for him. I was never fucking there for him.

Jaxon reaches for me and I push him away. Wiping tears with a shaky hand, I croak, “Where is he?”

His gaze moves toward the stairs. “In his room, sleeping.”

I spin hurriedly, starting for the master suite. I need to see him. I need to see he’s okay.

“Jordan, wait!” Jaxon calls after me. “There’s more.” I keep walking up the stairs, not sure I can handle more. “He failed his last drug test.”

I pause on the middle step and turn, sucking in a breath.

Oh no.

Brody.

“What are they going to do?”

Jaxon runs fingers through his filthy hair and pulls them away with a grimace. “They’ve put him in an intervention program.”

“And what’s that?”

“It means he has to see the Medical Director to determine whether he needs treatment or not. If not, then he’s subject to regular testing for ninety days.”

“That’s it?”

He gives a single nod. “That’s it. Oh, and the media doesn’t know, thank fuck. If this got out, his dad would rain holy hell down on his head like you would not believe.”

I’ve never met Brody’s father, but I know Jax is right. The last thing Brody needs is this getting splashed all over the papers.

Making my way up the stairs toward the bedroom, I push open the door. It’s dark in the room, but I hear the rustle of sheets and see a body turn in the bed. “Jordan?”

My name is hoarse on Brody’s lips. Making my way across the thick carpet, I reach for the bedside lamp and flick it on. Warm light floods the room. I turn to face Brody in the bed. His cheeks are flushed, his usually intense eyes dull and unfocused. “What are you …” Brody trails off when his gaze meets mine.

He knows then that I know. I see the burst of anger and the bitter twist in his lips. Brody turns his head, nostrils flaring and body rigid. He’s bracing. Waiting for the same reaction he got when I first discovered Adderall in his gym bag.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take his hand. The muscles along his forearm pull tight, bunching with tension, as I drag it toward me. I turn it over and rest it on my thigh, exposing his calloused palm. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix what’s so clearly broken inside of him.

I begin to trace the lines on his hand. It relaxes in my grip, and that’s when I feel the slight tremor beneath his skin. I open my mouth and speak, forcing out calm words instead of the hysteria I’m feeling. “They say your entire life is mapped out on the palm of your hand.” My finger trails along his heart line—the line at top, directly below his fingers. “I had mine read at the markets once.”

A moment of silence follows. Then Brody turns his head, looking from his palm to my face. I don’t know if the disbelief in his raised brows is from me talking about mumbo jumbo fortune telling, or the fact that I’m not yelling at him. “You believe in that shit?”

“I’m not really sure. At the time it was a bit of fun. Who would you marry? How many kids? That’s what my friends wanted to know. All I wanted to know was if I’d succeed in soccer. She said my success was tied deeply to my line of destiny.”

My eyes follow Brody’s own line. It runs deep from his head and his heart line. “Your line is the same as mine,” I tell him, tracing it slowly with the pad of my index finger.