Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Brody

The sound of her laughter floods my body with warmth. “Jordan, I—”

She leans forward expectantly and my words break off. Lifting my cap, I toss it away, scrunching fingers through my hair. I promised Jordan I’d talk and now I don’t know what to say.

She speaks for me. “I miss you.” My heart gives a sharp pang. Her mouth tilts at the corners as she adds, “I miss you like a squirrel misses his nuts.”

My laugh feels bittersweet. “You liked those?”

Jordan holds up her thumb and forefinger to the screen until they’re an inch apart. “Just a little bit.”

I smile faintly. It wavers and silence falls. Not an awkward one, but one where the cold reality of what I’ve done sits between us. I know it will only get worse until I give Jordan the explanation she deserves.

I draw a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “You know I told you I’d do whatever it takes to be the best. Well …” I press my lips together.

Jordan draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. I know the gesture. She’s subconsciously protecting herself, expecting what I say to hurt.

“They made me better.”

“The drugs?”

I nod my head in answer. “They did for me what I couldn’t do myself.”

“Brody—”

I cut her off. “Don’t.” Pity or meaningless platitudes is the last thing I need to hear right now. “It’s the truth. When I was seven years old, my father said to me ‘you’re too damn stupid to do anything else so you better make football count,’ and I believed him.” An intense burning pain spreads through my chest—strong enough to take my breath away. “Only I couldn’t even do that.”

Jordan shakes her head vigorously. “You can. You never believed in yourself, Brody.” Her lips press in a thin line. “It all started with that bloody midterm. If Kyle hadn’t messed with your paper, you would have passed, and none of this would have ever happened!”

“It would have,” I admit both to her and to myself. “You’re right, Jordan. I never believed in myself. If I did I would have questioned my grade. I’d have never taken the Adderall. And maybe I wouldn’t have hidden my dyslexia like a shameful secret. Instead, I put myself in a position where I couldn’t find a way out,” I say quietly. “I pushed, and pushed, and I took drugs, but it got me where I needed to be. Is this what it takes to make football count?” I stare down at my hands, absentmindedly rubbing the callouses on my left palm. “Because it fucking sucks.” My eyes lift and deep cracks form in my heart, making me crave the euphoric numbness that Percocet always gives me. “I’m losing you, and—

Jordan cuts me off. “You’re not losing me, Brody.”

“Are you sure about that? I’ve already lost my little sister. I can’t lose you too.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Annabelle?”

A scowl forms on my face. “Dad won’t let me see her.”

“Since when?”

“Since I gave Kyle Davis what he had coming.” My jaw tightens and my tone turns bitter. “I’m a bad influence. They don’t want me anywhere near Annabelle.”

Jordan’s voice trembles with hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t want you exposed to them!” I sit up on the bed, swiping a hand down my face. “I’ve tried so hard to keep you separate from my family. You don’t want anything to do with them, Jordan. Trust me. My parents aren’t warm like you are. There’s no love. Or joy. It was like growing up inside a cold, barren wasteland. When they look at me, they don’t see me. They see disappointment.” My lips press together. I focus my eyes on the wall above the screen of the laptop. “And I keep pushing you away because …” My words die off, my body growing tense as I force myself to look at her. “I don’t want you to see me the same way.”

Her next words are a knife to the chest.

“I am disappointed, Brody, but there’s a difference.” She keeps talking but I don’t want to hear it. “I’m not disappointed in you, or who you are, only in what you did.”

If she says I’m better than this, I’m going to lose my shit. Only she doesn’t. What she says next hurts more than I thought possible.

“If you couldn’t get drafted into the big leagues without drugs, then maybe it’s not where you’re supposed to be.”

Brody

“You good to go?” Eddie calls out.

Sliding the zipper closed on my sports bag, I call back, “Be right there!”

Loud thumps tell me he’s jogging down the stairs. When the sound of the fridge being raided reaches my ears, I quickly slide open the bottom drawer of my bedside table and reach for the little bottle. Unscrewing the lid, I palm a handful of Adderall and tip my head back, tossing them down my throat.

The fridge door slams shut as I’m swallowing them dry. “Hurry up, Madden!”

“Yeah, yeah!” I call back, my heart pounding hard in my chest.

Taking the pills—especially still under stage one of the substance abuse program—is a risk the size of Mount Everest. But with a home game in just a few hours, followed with a bye and four days in Seattle with Jordan for her finals, it’s a risk I’m willing to take—more so than ever in the wake of her words from last week. Maybe it’s not where you’re supposed to be.

Jordan couldn’t be more wrong. Everything I’ve been through to get to this point would all be for nothing otherwise.

Grabbing my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and jog down the stairs.

“Yo!” Eddie appears in the living room and fastballs me the car keys.

Stretching up, I catch them and my ribs give a twinge. The entire length of my torso is black and blue from training this week. It’s par for the course, but when I walk in shirtless to my trainer’s office an hour later and tell him I need something for the game, I’m jabbed with a shot of Toradol—a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory. When injected, it becomes an amped up painkiller, used to reduce pain sensitivity and leave you playing like a fearless machine.

Numbness floods my body, and I walk back to my locker with the knowledge I’m doing what I have to do. As a pro player, the hits come harder and the injuries more frequent. You need to have an edge, take risks, and show you can play with pain, otherwise they’ll replace you with somebody who can.

Eddie’s grin is wide when I return to my locker.

My brows rise in question as I shove my shorts down and off, tossing them in the direction of the open shelf. “What?” I ask, yanking my football pants out.

His grin widens further, bright enough to take out an eye. Standing, he pulls his football jersey down over his head. Tugging it in place, he says, “You got a surprise visitor.”

“Yeah?” Stepping into my pants, I tug them up my legs. “Who?”

He jerks his head toward the door of the locker room. My head turns but no one’s there.

Hawk, our starting quarterback, strides past. “Yo, Madden.” He gives me a playful shove and keeps moving. Turning, he walks backwards and winks. “Your girl looks hot to see you. Better go put that fire out.”

“Dammit, Hawk!” Eddie bellows. The big, romantic lump scrunches his hands into fists, his expression wounded. “You ruined the surprise!”

Hawk spins on his heel, laughing loud and hard before disappearing inside the office of our head coach.

My heart leaps at least a mile in the air. I look at Eddie. “Jordan’s here?”

Not waiting for an answer, I start jogging toward the outer room.

“Five minutes, Madden!” Joe Pettone, our wide receivers coach, yells out behind me.

Waving him off, I reach the outer room and stop dead when I see Jordan’s solitary figure, her hands clutching a large handbag slung over her shoulder. She’s wearing my football jersey, tight dark jeans, and a hesitant smile.

A rush of love hits me harder than a linebacker tackle, stealing my breath. Jordan’s here to watch my game, and I’m fucking thrilled. “You’re here.”

Her smile falters slightly. “Is that okay? I wasn’t sure if– Oomph!”

Jordan’s words are cut short when my body slams in to hers. Before she can topple backwards, I’m picking her up. Her long legs wrap around my waist and her arms grab my shoulders. Holding her thighs, I spin us both around.

Coming to a stop, I bury my head in her neck and breathe deep. “You’re really here.”

My teeth find skin and nip gently, following a path up toward her ear. She giggles, drawing back a little. “That tickles.”

“Too bad.” I do it again, my tongue snaking out to suck her lobe into my mouth. Jordan jerks back, still laughing. “Kiss me.”

She does. Her lips find mine, and her laughter turns to a low moan. Only when I’m dizzy from lack of air do I pull back—but not far. I rest my forehead against hers, our mouths less than an inch apart.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

My brows knit. “For what?”

“For what I said. Of course you’re supposed to be here. Football is in your blood. Anyone can see that. I’m just scared.” Jordan’s eyes fill and she turns her head, blinking. “What it takes to play at this level…” her gaze returns to mine “…it’s overwhelming and intense, and so fucking hard.”

My lips press together and her eyes narrow at the dirty gleam in my expression. “What?”

“You said hard!”

“Brody!”

Jordan’s lips twitch and I laugh, more than happy to surface from the deep waters our heavy conversation was falling into. She wriggles and I let her slide to the ground. When her feet hit the floor, she aims a hard jab to my bicep. Her fist bounces off. “Jesus,” she complains, taking in my large, rounded shoulders. Built-up deltoids are the best defense against injury for a wide receiver, and mine have never been bigger. “It’s like punching a brick wall.”

I grin and flex. “You like?”

Jordan’s gaze lowers over my chest and ribs. “You’re so bruised.” Her hands skim over my skin, her touch soothing and delicate.

“It doesn’t hurt.” She looks at me, skeptical, but the Toradol is so powerful I could get hit by a car and barely feel a thing. “I promise.”

My jersey slaps me in the head from out of nowhere. Grabbing it in my fist, I drag it from my face, revealing an exasperated Eddie. “Your five minutes are up, Showpony.” He gives Jordan his attention. “I’d apologize for dragging him away, but it looks like I’m actually doing you a favor.”

Dimples break out on Jordan’s cheeks when she gives Eddie a laugh. I don’t like it. They’re my dimples.

“Shutting your mouth would be doing us both a favor,” I retort. Slinging my jersey over a bare shoulder, I take Jordan’s hands in mine and tug her close. Seems I can’t handle having her in the same room without some part of her body touching mine. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Eddie gives me a nod and Jordan a salute. “See you after the game, sweetheart.”

“She’s not your sweetheart!” I call after him, flushing with indignation.

“Dude.” He holds up his hands defensively and turns, his big body disappearing from sight.

“Now,” I say, looking down at Jordan with intent. “Where were we?”

“We weren’t anywhere. You were too busy puffing out your chest like a peacock.”

I snigger.

Her eyes roll, amused. “Yes I said cock.”

My lids lower, liking the word on her lips. “Say it again.”

“Do you really want to go there right now?”

Jordan’s hips press against my groin, a reminder that I’m currently wearing tight football pants and no cup. It’s all on display down there. I draw my hips back. “Probably not a good idea.” Threading our fingers together, I finally get around to asking Jordan how she managed to be here. “You have finals in four days, babe,” I add as if she didn’t already know.

Heat steals over her cheeks, flushing them red. She clears her throat. “I uh, told them I had an ankle twinge. I’m supposed to be resting it overnight.”

I gasp in mock horror, clutching a hand to my chest. “You … lied?”

My words have her biting her lip, dragging it inside her mouth. “I wanted to see you.”

“And seeing me is all that and more, isn’t it?” I curl my forearm and biceps bulge.

Jordan laughs and I’m punched in the shoulder. Again. “Would you stop?” she asks.

“Can’t,” I say, shaking my head seriously. “You’re my girl. It’s programmed in my fundamental makeup as a man to show you my strength. You need to know I can provide for you.”

“Okay, you prehistoric brute.” My shoulder is rubbed in a placating gesture. “Use those manly muscles of yours to go forth and provide. You’re taking me out after the game, and I have a hankering for Japanese food.”

My insides recoil in horror. “Steak,” I correct firmly.

“Sushi.”

“Steak.”

“Sushi.”

I open my mouth and Jordan jabs a finger in the direction of the locker room. “Go!”

“I’m going.” Ducking my head, I press a long, slow kiss to her lips. Drawing away slowly, Jordan turns to leave. “Hey.” I pull her in close. Grasping her chin in my hand, my eyes lock with hers. “Don’t be scared, okay? Everything’s fine. I’ve got this.”

Maybe my words were prophetic because I bring my best game to the field. So do the Colts. Every sack they deliver hits like a freight train. One of them breaks a rib. There’s zero pain, but it’s getting harder to breathe so I know the fracture is there. My body will pay the price tomorrow, but I’m in the zone right now and it’s hard to care.

With a minute left on the clock, we’re trailing by four points. One touchdown is all we need. I step into the huddle, sweat in my eyes and every breath harsh inside my helmet. When Hawk calls the play, my pulse spikes, forcing an adrenaline rush so hard I feel the surge in my veins.

“Hut!” we roar in unity. With a loud clap we break and take formation. My eyes focus dead ahead, tuning out the screaming, chanting sea of blue that surrounds us. The opposing linesmen stare back at me, determination making their eyes hard and dark inside their helmets. There’s an endless field of green behind them. I fix on it. Nothing else exists except that empty space, and our entire team is betting against the clock, giving everything they have left to ensure I find it and bring the ball over the line.

I roll my shoulders. This is it, Madden. Breathe and run. That’s all you need to do. Breathe and motherfucking run.

“Hut!” The ball is snapped to Hawk and both teams rush. Digging in my heels, I push off, clumps of turf flying up behind me as I sprint for the green, ducking and weaving every Colt who comes at me. A player slides and I hurdle the felled body.

A quick glance to my right shows Hawk tossing the ball to Felix Lynch, our first string wide receiver. From there, the Colts strike, expecting him to carry the ball. But it’s a trick play that allows me to find the pocket I need to take possession. With the double pass in play, Lynch throws the ball down the opposite sideline. Vaulting high, the ball slides into my outstretched arms. Perfect orchestration. Wranglers supporters roar in triumph. I don’t hear them. I don’t see them. My task is clear. Run like a motherfucker.

With a final burst of speed, I reach the end zone and make the touchdown. Throwing the ball away, I leap up and fist pump the air. “Whoooop!”

“Umphf!” Eddie slams me before I hit ground. Lifting me high, he roars our victory. When I do hit the ground, Hawk runs at us both. His hand grabs my neck and we headbutt helmets with a loud crack. “You brilliant sonofabitch,” he gasps and slaps me on the back. “Didn’t think you were gonna make that catch.”

Pandemonium from the crowd surrounds our team as we slowly reach the sidelines. I’m snagged by a reporter before I can go any further. Dragging fingers through sweaty hair, I tuck my helmet under my armpit and give her my attention. Holding my sweaty bicep to prevent escape, she faces the camera.

“In what will likely be touted as one of the best games of the season, the Houston Wranglers clinch a nail-biting win against the Indianapolis Colts. Here I am with man of the hour, rookie wide receiver Brody Madden.” Erica looks at me. “Brody, a brilliant last few minutes. It secured a win for the Wranglers. Tell us about your final play.” She shoves the microphone in my face.

Swiping a hand across my grimy face, I shrug and grin. “We knew we had to pull out something miraculous.” I drag a few deep breaths into my lungs while Erica waits expectantly. “The Colts defense was like a brick wall. Our final play was the best way we knew to break through.”

Erica draws the microphone back to her. “It was a thirty-five yard catch and beautiful to watch,” she informs me. “I’d have to call that pretty miraculous. So do the Wranglers supporters.” Erica gestures toward the screaming crowd, waving flags and banners and homemade signs, some with my name on them. “It looks like Madden Fever is sweeping the nation. How does that make you feel?”

Back slaps hit me as team members walk past. Joe gives me a noogie, making me laugh as he pulls me in for a half hug. “Insane catch, Madden,” he shouts in my ear before walking off, victory making his steps light. I give my attention back to the microphone in front of me. “How does that make me feel?” My lungs expand with euphoria. How do you explain what it’s like to fly? “Incredible. Playing with the Wranglers, a team I’ve idolized all my life, is a dream come true.”

Erica smiles, pleased with my answer. “For the last two games you were a chosen finalist for the Pepsi NFL Rookie of the Week. There’s no doubt you will be again this week, which will make it the third week running. How do you do it?” She brushes away a lock of hair that blows in her face. “What does it take, as a rookie, to maintain this level of play?”

Lady, you have no idea. I swallow the lump of shame. I’m not the only one who does what they need to do in order to get time on the field. “Discipline and hard work.”

“What about family?” she asks, digging for a more personal angle.

A grin lights my face. “That would be Jordan. She’s my biggest supporter.”

“You’re referring to Australian ex-pat and forward for Seattle Reign, Jordan Elliot. She’s been your girlfriend since senior year of college?”

I shake my head. “She’s not just my girlfriend.”

Erica’s brows rise in question. “No?”

“No.” My heart rate kicks up and a smile pulls at my face. Jordan is going to kill me for going public with this, but I’m ready to burst after sitting on the news for far too long. It’s time. Finding the family section where Jordan should be sitting, I press my index and middle finger to my lips and then hold them up high. The gesture is for her, and her alone. Jordan’s mine, and I want the whole world to know. She’s my reason for breathing. “Jordan Elliot is my wife.”

Erica fumbles the microphone. Before she can recover, I lean in to the camera, salute the home viewers, and walk off.

Jordan

No! He did not just say that. I rise in my seat, my eyes narrowed on a grinning Brody as he leaves the field. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until his pretty face turns red and his eyes bulge from their sockets.

“Did he just say what I think he said?” Renae screeches from beside me. She’s Felix Lynch’s wife, and we’ve been making general small talk throughout the game. I’ve only met her once before, but I like her. She’s loud and assertive, and reminds me of Leah. “You two are married?”

I turn toward her, my mouth open. A scant second later, my shorts begin to vibrate, alerting me to a phone call. Pressing my lips together, I close my eyes.

“You okay, Jordan?” Renae asks.

My pulse begins to race a mile a minute and a headache starts thumping at the base of my skull. “You know, I’m not sure.”

The phone in my pocket continues to vibrate, the sound seeming to get louder and louder. Little dings follow. Message after message is racking up.

“Ummm … are you going to get that?” Renae asks, her tone cautious as if she expects me to spaz out at any moment. It’s possible I might. I flinch when she reaches out and proceeds to pet me, her hand stroking my forearm in a slow, soothing motion.

“No.” I open my eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her expression of cautious delight changes to one of understanding. “You didn’t know he was going to do that, did you?”

“No.” The word comes out slow and shaky.

Her whole face lights up. “How romantic!”

“Sure.” My voice begins to rise as I speak, verging on hysteria. “Everything is all crazy and romantic until someone gets maimed!”

Meaning me. Nicky is going to shit a brick. He likely already has. He’s just waiting for me to check my voicemail and hear how it went down. Hell. “I have to go.” Grabbing my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and flee the stands.

My phone gives me a reprieve as I head for the locker room. It lasts five seconds. I’ll have to face the music sooner or later, but later is the sanest option right now. Winding my way quickly through hordes of people, I smack into a hard, grimy chest. Blinking, I stumble back. Before I can steady myself, I’m lifted and squeezed in a rib-cracking hug. I come face-to-face with Eddie, a grin splitting his face.

“It’s Mrs. Madden!” he shouts.

“Shhhh!” I glance around. Players are heading for their lockers, and reporters and trainers are swarming the area like bees. “Keep it down.”

Eddie laughs. It’s a loud, booming sound that comes from deep in his belly. “I’m pretty sure the whole world knows.”

My lips pinch. “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?”

“Peter Piper,” I hiss with loaded sarcasm. “He stole my pickled peppers and I want them back.” Another belly laugh from Eddie jostles me in his arms. “Put me down and go find Brody,” I order. “I have a killing to get to.”

He cocks his head as he sets me on my feet. “You know, I think you’re a bit pissy.”

“I am?” I wave my hand in a swift circle around my face. “Because this is my expression of happy excitement.” Try as I might, I can’t seem to un-pinch my lips and form a smile. I raise my brows instead. “I want to go hug the man of the hour. Mr. Pepsi NFL Rookie of the Week.”

My phone dings a few more times. Eddie’s gaze drops in the direction of the sound and comes back up. “Are you going to get that?”

“No!”

“You know…” he cocks his head “…if anyone has a right to be pissy, it’s us.”

“Us?”

“Your friends.” Eddie slings a sweaty arm around my shoulders and starts leading me toward the locker room. “Well, at least I thought we were.” He glares down at me, making his displeasure clear. “What’s the deal, Elliott?”

We reach the locker room to the loud chants of “Madden, Madden, Madden!” Eddie starts pushing me through the door, and I struggle backwards. “I can’t go in there!” But it’s like swimming against the tide. I’m expelled into the room like I’ve shot out from an overflowing storm drain.

My presence goes unnoticed as the chants continue. A champagne cork pops. The room is sprayed. Then I see him, caught in the middle of the rowdy bunch. Shirtless, soaking wet football pants, sweet sticky alcohol dripping from his chest, and a huge grin on his face. My heart pounds. He’s so full of life. So happy. So vital. I can’t shit all over that. At least not right now. I’ll do it later.

Pushing my way through the fray until I stand behind Brody, I tap him on the shoulder.

He turns and his grin falters. Taking my hand in a brave gesture, Brody lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of it. Desperate to preserve my anger, I restrain the visible shiver. Instead it rocks me on the inside, all the way down to my toes.

“Marry me, Jordan.”

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.”

“And it’s not a yes.”

“Jordan.” Brody reaches across the restaurant table and grabs both my hands in his. There’s hope in his eyes and a doggedness that tells me he’s not letting this go easily. “Your whole life you’ve done what you’re told. Study, training, games. You’ve followed the path set out for you. Don’t you want to break free of that? At least a little? Life’s too short to wake up at the end of your soccer career and wonder if it was all worth it.” He squeezes my hands. “Do something crazy.” The words take root inside me and my heart begins to thump. “Make life worth living, Jordan. With me.”

How was I supposed to say no? Instead, I woke the next morning with a ring on my finger, and the knowledge that crawling off into a deep dark hole to die would be better than facing my brother with the news. I tried telling him, easing him into the idea by mentioning Brody’s proposal, but he completely lost it. How could I tell him the truth after that?

Brody lowers my hand. “Are you mad?”

“Am I mad?” It’s not obvious? “Your little announcement tonight has brought the wrath of hell down on both of us.” Nicky would be the leading torchbearer. “We’re both dead.”

“And what a sweet tragedy it would be, Jordan Matilda Madden.” Brody shakes his head in mock sadness, yet there’s mischief glinting in his eyes. “But so be it.” He spreads his arms out wide and winks. “Life wouldn’t be worth living if you weren’t married to me anyway, right?”