The Lion Heart (Rogue Academy Book 2)

by Carrie Aarons

  “You’re too close to the keeper,” a midfielder calls back to me as we set up for passing drills.

  I snort. “Yeah, okay, mate. I think I know how to play my position.”

  “If the right back can’t hold off the forwards, which he won’t be able to because Patricio is quite good, you’ll be too far into the penalty box to fend him off.”

  This lad has no idea what he’s talking about, but I’m not about to run my mouth. “Got it, uh …”

  “Finnegan. I’ve been in the fourth league for almost five years. Which is five years longer than you, superstar. Watch and learn.”

  My hands ball into fists, but I take a few steadying breaths before the drill starts. Action got me into this mess, maybe it is time to watch and learn.

  It’s clear who Patricio is, the guy is faster than even Jude and can handle the ball like no one I’ve seen. I wonder idly why his talent is being wasted down here in the fourth tier, but push it out of my mind when the ball moves into my practice squad’s zone.

  Finnegan fakes out the other midfielder, bypassing him in an attempt to bogart the ball from Patricio, but the latter is too fast. I get ready, my heart thumping with enthusiasm for this game. Even down here, slumming it, I’m excited to be out on the pitch. I should have known all along that I, alone, loved this sport, regardless of what my parents meant to its history.

  And Finnegan is right again, the right back falls easily to the speedy forward, and then it’s just me as the last line of defense. I get up in his space, using every technical move I’ve been taught over the years at the number one football academy in the country, but it’s no use. Finnegan was right, Patricio drove me back too far, and when he sinks one into the back of the net, I groan in defeat.

  “Told you so.” Finnegan smirks as we walk back to our lines, ready to repeat the drill.

  “You don’t have to say it like that.”

  “Oh, but he does,” Donnie yells from behind me, and I realize that he’s the team’s keeper.

  How did I not notice him standing in goal?

  Well, probably because I haven’t noticed a lot of things. I’ve been on autopilot for years, not listening to coaches or bothering to learn new methods of the game. I’ve been lax on studying game film or sizing up other players who were leading the international scoreboard. I hadn’t been putting one-fifth of the effort I could into staying nimbler, stronger, or more mentally quick.

  And my blissful ignorance didn’t just apply to the sport. No, I’d been shucking responsibility in all areas of my life. I let Jude and Vance down time and again, and yet they still stuck by me. My friends were top notch, and I owed them apologies for how selfish I’ve been through the years. When Jude lost his parents, and again when he went through that rough patch with Aria … I’d been busy getting pissed and flirting with kit chasers. Vance was most definitely going through something right now, I knew he was, but apparently, he didn’t feel comfortable opening up to me. It is high time I call him up and drag it out of him.

  My worst offense yet, though, is being a complete wanker to Poppy. From the beginning, I’ve treated her like a piece of meat … and really, every woman I’ve ever come in contact with. I’ve been a selfish, cocky, immature twit who thinks there is nothing more to a woman than her arse and tits.

  Honestly, I probably would still be thinking that way if it wasn’t for the moment on Poppy’s couch that smacked me between the eyes like a double decker bus to the face. No one has ever spoken to me in such a tender way. No one has ever seen the rotten core of my soul, stared it in the eyes, and told me they fought the same demons. And I didn’t even have the nerve to stay and face her in the morning.

  After that, everything shifted. It was like the scenes of our acquaintance played on rewind in my head, and I cringed at every part. The first time we met, I propositioned her before I even heard her speak. The second and third times, I’d been arrogant and crude. The fact that I made out with a woman right in front of her … it was shameful. I was a prick, a nasty bugger.

  That wasn’t even the worst thing I’d done that night … the way I’d terrified her with the limo stunt …

  I owe her so many apologies. And then I need to see if she’ll give me one last shot.

  Because based on the moment, that deep, intimate beat, I was pretty sure we are much more similar than I ever realized.

  21

  Kingston

  The London Eye is almost twenty years old, so why not throw a party for it?

  I guess that was my Mum’s thought, even though I knew it was just an excuse to host a swanky charity party for it at her house. It’s just another rouse to be Mrs. Phillips, to show off our palace of a residence and gain more clout. Or to gloat about her and my father’s status in the world. There is always an angle with my folks.

  Of course, I’m here in my monkey suit, indulging them, so am I much better? I pull at the collar of the tuxedo my mother had hand-sewn for me from one of her designer friends, and I can’t believe the price tag on this thing because it’s itchy as hell.

  The tent that’s been set up right next to the Thames is not your traditional sort of tent. No, this one has a parquet ballroom floor under the guest’s feet, chandeliers hanging from the delicate white fabric ceiling, appetizers that have been made by a three-star Michelin chef being passed around, and more amenities that make us all look like privileged, fat cat wankers.

  You wouldn’t think spending two weeks with the Nartanica Football Club could completely change a person, and I would have laughed in your face if you told me a year ago that this would be how I would feel. But … it’s true. Something about going out to the country, about losing it all and falling to the very bottom of the barrel … it’s eye-opening. You not only see people in a different light and listen to those you may not have before, but I now see myself in a different light.

  I always wanted to know what it would be like not to live the opulent lifestyle I was born into, and I got my wish when Niles sent me down to tier four. No one cared that I’d come out with a silver spoon in my mouth, and if anything, my new squad mates resented me for it. That only made me want to work harder, to care more.

  As I finally stopped trying to fake who I was, I’m finding who I actually am.

  And apparently, it’s not one of these people. I hang off to the side, watching the London Eye twirl round its base in the setting sunlight. Sipping on a coke, no Jack surprisingly, I’m satisfied with just being alone and observing the view of the river.

  “Kingston, there is someone you need to say hi too.” My mum interrupts my thoughts, trying to grab my elbow and usher me into the hobnobbing going on around the dance floor.

  “That’s all right, Mum. I’m going to stay here.” My voice is firm.

  “Kingston, do not embarrass me.” Her voice is sharp, and it’s about as much of a yell as you’ll ever get out of my passive Swedish mother.

  Still, I don’t want to play their games tonight. “I came, all right? I’m here, I’m sober, I’m not misbehaving. Take that and be happy, okay? I’ll get on for the ride, and then I’ll disappear. You’re always embarrassed by me anyway, so does it make a difference either way if I keep to myself or go schmooze?”

  I’ve never actually spoken to one of my parents with smack-in-the-face logic and truth. It must take her by surprise, because she doesn’t have quick enough reaction control and her mouth falls open. My mother backs up, blending in with her guests.

  I guess she figures that not responding to what she’ll inevitably deem an outburst is the best solution.

  Ten minutes later, the event organizers begin herding everyone to form a queue, to disperse into the various cars on the London Eye for an exclusive nighttime ride.

  That’s when I spot her in the crowd.

  To be honest, the only reason I actually came was to see Poppy. I’d asked one of my mother’s assistants if she was on the guest list, and they confirmed that she’d responded with a will attend. Of course, I c
ould always go back to our shared building and try to snag her attention there, but my plan is far more devious. I couldn’t risk her bolting into her flat, so I’d schemed another option.

  She’s easy to spot, standing so elegant and willowy well above most of the other guests. I can only see the back of her, all of those chocolate brown curls pinned into a thick, silky bun at the nape of her beautiful neck.

  She’s wearing a white column dress, simple with the back cut out into minuscule straps that keep it in place. I want to run my hand down the length of her spine and make her shiver … but I keep those thoughts in check.

  I have an apology to make first.

  “Excuse me, please … just, can I squeeze through here?” I elbow and nudge until I’m just one person behind her in the line of guests trying to board their giant Ferris wheel cars.

  It’s essential I get in the same car as her, because that way … I’ll have her trapped. She won’t be able to escape me in a wheel hanging four hundred feet above the Thames.

  The wheel attendant is about to rope that car off when he sees me, and he must know who I am and that my mother is throwing the event. Because when I flick my eyes to the button he’s about to press to seal the doors shut, he lets me pass, allowing me into the car.

  And I’m face-to-face with the woman who seems to invade all of my dreams.

  “You look stunning.” I open with this, hoping I sound sincere because I really do mean it.

  “Thank you.” She blushes, none of the usual venom she usually reserves for me in her tone.

  Ducking her head, I notice a shy smirk grace her lips. She must be thinking about our last encounter, the one before I was put on loan. I repeat that scene over and over in my head so often, I’ve worn out the memory to a sentimental old photograph.

  “You left for … I’m sorry, I realize I don’t know where you’re playing these days?” Thank God she isn’t annoyed enough to dismiss me out of the gate.

  “Nartanica, up by Cornwall. It’s a little country town, not much around. But I kind of fancy it.” My smile follows, and I see Poppy narrow her eyes at me.

  It’s not in a mean way, but as if she’s trying to pick apart something new she’s just noticed in me.

  “Yes, it agrees with you. You seem … lighter? The last time I saw you, Kingston—”

  I don’t want her to start off what is supposed to be an amends by talking about one of the lowest points in my life.

  The car rocks a bit, cutting her off as we and the twenty other people inside throw out a hand to steady ourselves. Poppy and I aren’t near anything solid though, so I let my body go rigid, locking my legs to the spot, and reach for her.

  She lands against me with a thud, our bodies lined up from shoulder to toe. Our eyes meet, flicking back and forth in the close proximity to capture everything lurking in the other’s gaze. The cutout in the back of her dress has my hands landing firmly on naked flesh, and it’s cashmere warm under my fingertips. Poppy gasps as I let my hand graze for only a minute, and then I begin.

  “Poppy, I owe you an apology.” My hand is on her lower back, and I feel her sweet breath fan across my lips.

  Those cool, ocean blue eyes asses me. “Is that so?”

  I duck my head, trying to muster up the courage to say the things I know I need to. But then I rethink, knowing it will be that much more sincere if I banish my nerves and look her in the eye.

  “It is. From the minute I met you, I have been nothing but a swine. A conceited shite who only wanted one thing … and I think we both know what that thing is. You’re classy, professional, elegant … the kind of woman who deserves respect, not a catcall. What I did with that girl at Les Ches, and after … you should never forgive me. I was in a dark place, I still am. But … I’m seeing the light. I hope that you know that I’m trying to be better. I’m still Kingston Phillips, but … maybe I can be a version of myself that isn’t so haughty or self-serving. When you found me outside your door …”

  “Kingston, you really don’t have to do this.” Poppy looks away, but I can tell from how she leans into me that she’s just as invested in what I’m going to say as I am in saying it.

  “No one has ever been so raw with me. Poppy … I think maybe you see something in me that I never even knew was there. And … I think maybe I see the same thing inside you.”

  Inside my chest, I practically feel my heart being stitched back together. I’ve done a one-eighty, and while I’m still trying to maneuver through the last few degrees, it’s clear that I needed to hit rock bottom before I could resuscitate my life.

  Before I could try to give in to the way my heart beats for this woman.

  Her mouth opens and then closes, those plump lips I’ve been fantasizing about tasting again transfixing my gaze.

  “Will you be in town for a little? Maybe we could … do something normal to get to know one and other.” Poppy says this as if she’s trying to fully convince herself it’s the right move.

  But I won’t hesitate if she’s offering something up. “I go back to Nartanica tomorrow afternoon, but how about I cook you breakfast? All you have to do is walk next door.”

  We’re still pressed up against each other, and she slants a scolding look at me. “If you think I’m going to come over for some morning delight over eggs and toast—”

  “That’s not what I’m playing at … though I might as well tell you that, yes, it’s my end goal. I just … want to share a meal with you.”

  How odd, that phrase coming out of my mouth. I’ve never seriously pursued a woman; they typically just fall into my lap, bed, or otherwise and then leave when I tell them to the next morning. I’m trying to … court Poppy, and it feels monumental. I’m nervous and more than a little cautious, but this chase also feels more fun. No wonder Jude fancies Aria so much if this is how the start of monogamy feels. My flesh prickles with the mere thought of all the sexual tension that will be flying as I try to woo her.

  And woo her I will. I’ll be the best bloody courter she’s ever seen.

  “If you really want to apologize, you’ll keep me away from that man.” Her voice is shaking as she says it, and I can feel her grip tighten on my arm as I glance across the car.

  Wait, that man looks oddly familiar. A flash of a memory pops into my brain, of Poppy bolting at that television awards show …

  When she saw the same man standing within a couple feet of her.

  He’s a smarmy Italian type, wearing a scarf over his tuxedo even though it’s almost June. His smile is a leer he directs at the women around him, and automatically, I shield her from him. Not that we have many places to retreat to, we’re stuck in this car for the foreseeable future.

  “Come on.” I lace my fingers through hers and pull her to the farthest point away from him in the car we can possibly get. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice us, but I do notice that Poppy’s breathing has become erratic, and her pulse is racing as I feel it against my palm.

  “Who is that?” I question her, ducking my head to look in her eyes.

  She shakes her head, sucking her cheeks in and failing to calm her erratic gasps for air. “No one.”

  “Poppy, don’t lie to me,” I say as gently as possible, but she’s going bonkers right now, and it’s clear this man is the reason.

  “Kingston, please don’t make me explain here. Please …” Her voice is desperate.

  “Okay, okay. Shh, squeeze my hands and try to calm down.”

  Those cerulean blue eyes fix onto mine, as if I’m her lifeline and if she only keeps staring at me, she won’t be lost to the current pulling her under.

  I rub slow circles into her palms with my thumbs, and I’ve never wanted to care for someone more than I do her at this moment.

  “Slow your breathing. In and out. In and out … good. Just look at me. Keep your eyes on me. I’ve got you.”

  22

  Poppy

  Kingston helps me off the London Eye, supporting me as my skin goes hot and co
ld from the mild panic attack I just had hundreds of feet in the air.

  Before Nicolai can realize we’re sharing the same space, Kingston whisks me off to a waiting car and helps load me inside. Once we’re alone, the cool black leather of the seat pressing against my back, I finally let out my first steady breath of the last hour.

  “He hurt you, didn’t he?” Kingston’s voice is a bullet to my chest, when I’ve just now gained control of my own heartbeat back.

  I can’t find the words to confirm it, so I just nod my head.

  “That guy? You were … with him?”

  Blimey, he thinks that Nicolai hurt me in the emotional sense … as in we were dating. The thought makes me want to hurl up the coconut shrimp I had at the cocktail hour under the tent.

  My voice still evades me, so I shake my head, trying to tell him no.

  I can feel his eyes on me, how much they search every muscle movement on my face.

  “He … hurt you, hurt you. As in …”

  The dishy specimen next to me, in that tuxedo that leaves nothing to the imagination in terms of how fit he is under the expensive material, trails off. I know he’s trying to work through it in his head, trying to wrestle with the image of Nicolai hurting me and deny it to himself. Oh, how many times I’ve tried to convince myself that it didn’t happen. But it’s undeniable.

  “Yes,” I supply weakly, turning to look at him.

  I can feel the tears pooling in the back of my eyes, and I never thought this would be the way I finally told someone about what happened to me. Then again, I hadn’t planned on Kingston being here or receiving the apology that just tore me to shreds and exposed my heart fully to him. Never had I imagined I’d go into a full meltdown, or that he would be the one to pull me out of it.