The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1)

by A. Meredith Walters

  But I had thrown a wrench in the works. I wasn’t giving him exactly what he wanted, so he was going to be a dick about it.

  Well screw that.

  “I guess that’s it then, Morgan. I hope your mother makes a full recovery. I really do.” He sounded so cold. So distant.

  “So that’s it. We’re done?” I felt sick.

  “What else are we supposed to do?” he asked. He was already pulling away.

  “You could say we’ll make it work. That we’ll find a way. You wouldn’t be breaking my heart with everything I’m dealing with,” I shouted, the tears falling freely.

  “I’m sorry, Morgan. You mean a lot to me, but how is this going to go? You in America, me in England? I barely see you as it is. It will be impossible without you here. I just think prolonging the inevitable hurts us unnecessarily.” How clinical of him. How rational.

  Well I wasn’t feeling rational.

  “You really are an asshole.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Lucas quipped.

  “Goodbye, Lucas. Have a nice life.”

  And then I hung up.

  I dropped the phone on the floor, curled into a fetal position on the couch and cried. And cried. And cried.

  Damn Lucas Bradley for being an asshole.

  Damn him for making me love him and then taking that love away.

  Damn him for ruining my heart and decimating my soul.

  I hated him.

  Mostly because I couldn’t stop loving him. No matter how much I wanted to.

  Lucas

  I was drunk.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had been sober.

  It had been six weeks since Morgan had flown back to England. Six weeks since I had told her goodbye.

  Six weeks since she told me she wasn’t coming back.

  My life had gone to shit.

  I was playing like crap. Chester had started so strong, now my team barely spoke to me.

  They felt betrayed.

  I guess I understood that, but I was too miserable to care.

  Morgan had left me.

  Just like my dad.

  I loved her and she wasn’t coming back.

  Part of me knew it wasn’t fair to compare her to him. But I hurt so I couldn’t think much beyond that.

  “You stink. You need a shower,” Anna griped, walking into my bedroom and opening the curtains.

  I squinted in the late afternoon light. I hadn’t gotten out of bed yet.

  “Don’t you have a game? You need to get to the stadium.”

  “Mum’s coming up tomorrow. She’s worried about you. So am I. This is getting ridiculous, Luke. Morgan’s been gone for weeks, isn’t it time you snapped out of it?” She picked up the empty vodka bottle from my bedside table and threw it in the rubbish. “Sort your shit out.”

  “Fuck off, Anna. I don’t need your lectures,” I grumbled. I needed to piss. She was right, I smelled horrible.

  Last night was a blur. I remembered being at the club. There were women. Two of them, maybe. We were doing shots. Too many shots. Then we were hooking up in the toilets.

  Then I was freaking out. I remembered that part. Because we were in the toilet. And that’s where I had first met Morgan. Not in that particular toilet, just a toilet.

  They got angry and left and I was pretty sure I had sobbed like a bitch until I was able to make my way out of the club.

  I must have gotten a cab home. I didn’t remember that part.

  “You’re depressed. Maybe you should talk to someone,” Anna suggested outside the bathroom.

  “I’m not depressed. I’m doing great. Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was in a right state. I hadn’t shaved in god knows how long. My hair had started to grow out and stuck out all over my head. I was a fucking mess.

  I flushed the toilet and slowly made my way back to my bedroom. Anna was picking up clothes off the floor. She held out a T-shirt I was pretty sure I had puked on last night. “This is disgusting. You need to clean yourself up and get to the damn stadium.”

  Blah. Blah. Blah.

  I collapsed back on the bed, my head pounding. I was hungover. And my heart hurt. I knew what she was saying was reasonable.

  But I didn’t want reasonable.

  But I didn’t want to do anything but lie in bed and drink the past six weeks away.

  Six weeks.

  That’s all it took for my life to collapse.

  “If you miss her so much, call her. Stop being such a whiny minge.”

  “Shut up, will you?” I groaned.

  “I know you said you ended things because she wasn’t coming back, that she had to stay in the states with her mother. But why? Couldn’t you make a long distance thing work? I thought you loved her. You were happy.”

  “We were happy, goddamn it! Now mind your own fucking business!” I shouted.

  “Snap out of it, brother, you’re being a bloody drama queen—”

  “She left. She’s not coming back. She left me,” I mumbled.

  Anna threw the vomit covered shirt at my face. “You’re an arsehole, Lucas Bradley. She had to stay to take care of her mother and you’re over here whining that she left you. I know you have some serious abandonment issues because of Dad—”

  “Don’t you dare bring him into this. It has nothing to do with that wank stain.”

  Anna rolled her eyes. “You’re being a child. About Morgan. About football. About everything. Grow the hell up and be a man already. No one has patience for this woe’ is me bollocks.”

  She lifted up my overflowing hamper of dirty clothes. “I’m doing your laundry just this once because I can smell them from the hallway. But you need to get your act together. And fast.” She left the room in a huff, slamming the door behind her.

  I looked at the time. I should have been at the stadium an hour ago.

  I got my kit together and headed for the door.

  “YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” I screamed into the defender’s face. I had been tackled and now I was ready to lose it.

  “Lucas, calm down,” Alan called out, trying to grab my arm.

  We were twenty minutes into the match and already a point down. I was woozy. I couldn’t focus.

  I felt sick.

  And now I was going to punch this pillock in the face.

  “Settle down, you two,” the ref warned.

  “Fuck off,” I shouted at the referee, shoving him.

  Everyone in the stadium gasped.

  I had stepped over the line.

  I had put my hands on the ref.

  The red card went in the air.

  I was sent off the pitch.

  I had royally fucked up this time.

  There were certain things you didn’t do. Getting aggressive with the officials was definitely one of them.

  Jack grabbed me by the shirt as I walked off the field. “Get the fuck out of here, you idiot. I can’t even look at you.”

  I shrugged.

  I didn’t care.

  Nothing much mattered to me anymore.

  A FIVE MATCH ban and a fifty-thousand pound fine.

  Mo had called and said that Liverpool had officially withdrawn their offer.

  I was fucking up everything.

  So what do I do? I went to the club.

  And I got drunk.

  The paparazzi were everywhere. I was becoming a popular subject once again. English football’s bad boy. I was giving them enough stories to keep them in business for a while.

  Next thing I knew I had brought home the entire club. At least fifty people were at my house. I didn’t know any of them. Thankfully Anna wasn’t home because she would have killed me.

  The room started spinning. I was going to be sick.

  I went to my room, laid down on my bed and passed out.

  “MORGAN,” I MOANED, reaching for her.

  I could feel her touching me. Her hands were caressing me. Her lips on my skin.

  “Morgan,�
� I whispered her name over and over again. I felt tears burn behind closed eyelids. She had come back to me.

  I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her deeply. Her tongue entered my mouth and I almost died from the relief of it.

  “I love you so much,” I sobbed, breaking apart.

  My fingers burrowed into thick, stiff hair. It felt as though she had put on a liter of product.

  Wait a minute.

  Morgan never used product.

  I opened my eyes.

  “Bloody hell, Marla! What are you doing?” I shouted, shoving Craig’s wife off me. She scrambled off the bed, not wearing a stitch of clothing.

  “You seemed so happy to see me, Luke.” She licked her lips and smiled at me.

  “How did you get in here?” I demanded, pulling a shirt on. The closest was the one covered in dry vomit. At that point I didn’t care.

  “There’s a houseful of people, Luke. Looks like you’re having a party. And you didn’t invite me, naughty boy,” she scolded, her hand on her hip.

  “Where’s Craig?

  Marla flipped her hair over her shoulder and made a face. “Not here, of course. It’s just you and me, Lucas.” She crawled back on the bed.

  “Put some clothes on, Marla,” I said tiredly. I was too drunk for this shit.

  She ran her red tipped fingers up my chest. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Everyone’s worried about you, baby.”

  I grabbed a hold of her wrist and shoved her away. “Go, now.”

  Marla propped head up with her hand and lounged on her side next to me. “I heard Morgan left and isn’t coming back. That’s a shame.”

  “Is it?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, not for me,” she grinned.

  “How many times are we going to have this conversation, Marla? It’s getting tired.”

  “You’re hurting. I can tell. Let me help you.” She straddled me, leaning down to kiss my chin.

  I gripped her by her upper arms. “Stop it,” I ordered. The room tipped. I felt sick to my stomach.

  I was having a hard time moving.

  “Everything is messed up, isn’t it? Look at you. You’re wankered. Going out all the time. Trying to drink your pain away. Is it helping, Lucas?” She kissed my mouth. “I know it’s not. So let me help you, baby. Because I’ll always be here. I’m not going anywhere. Morgan left you. I won’t. I promise.”

  Morgan left.

  She was gone.

  Far away.

  I closed my eyes, wishing she’d go.

  “Let me make you feel better,” Marla pleaded, lifting my shirt over my head. “Let me, Lucas. Please.”

  Then she was kissing me. And I was letting her.

  Morgan was gone.

  I was fucking everything up. What was one more thing?

  Marla stroked my cock. It felt wrong. I hated her touching me.

  But right then I sort of hated myself.

  “Oh god,” she groaned, rubbing against me. I shed my jeans. I let her take off my boxers.

  Morgan was gone.

  God, I missed her.

  I wanted her so much I thought I’d lose my mind.

  I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone as much as I missed her.

  Anna was right, I was depressed.

  And Marla was still kissing me. Touching me. She was trying to get a reaction out of me. I wasn’t getting hard. Not for her.

  Never for her.

  Because I didn’t want her to touch me. I didn’t want to touch any woman that wasn’t Morgan.

  Morgan…

  “No, Marla. Stop,” I said, trying to get her off me.

  “Please, Lucas,” she whined.

  “No!” I shouted, shoving her hard enough that she nearly toppled off the bed.

  Then my door was opening.

  “Mate, you in here?” Alan asked, walking into my room and turning on the light. Anna and Craig were right behind him.

  “What the fuck?” Craig roared.

  Downstairs the party went quiet.

  Marla scrambled for her clothes. “Craig, baby, this is nothing. I swear.”

  Alan’s eyes were as big as saucers. Anna looked away and I realized my flaccid cock was in plain view. I pulled on my boxers and stood up.

  “Craig, mate, she just showed up. I was passed out and then I woke up and she was here. Naked.”

  Craig clenched his fists and then punched me square in the jaw. I stumbled back, falling on the bed.

  “Craig, stop it.” Alan grabbed our teammate’s arm but he wrenched away.

  He turned on his wife. “What the hell are you doing here? Do you honestly think he’d want to fuck you? That he’d give you the time of day?”

  “He already has,” Marla spat out, covering her breasts.

  Craig looked as though she had kicked him the gut. He turned to me.

  “Look, it was once. A long time ago. We didn’t know each other very well. It was the first week I was with the club. I was wasted and she came on to me. It was a weak and stupid thing to do and I regret it every single day,” I told my friend, hoping he believed me.

  Craig shook his head. “I knew about that already. You’re not still sleeping with her are you?”

  “I am not sleeping with your wife, mate. I swear it,” I told him, though I kept a distance between us. I didn’t want him to deck me again. Craig had a hell of a right hook.

  “I believe you,” Craig said, shocking the hell out of me. He continued to look at his wife. His expression was a mixture of anger, sadness, and resignation. Because I could tell he knew exactly what his wife was up to all along.

  He wasn’t an idiot.

  But he loved her.

  So maybe that made him something worse.

  Marla was finally dressed and trying to talk to Craig. “Baby, please, let’s go home and talk about this.”

  “I have nothing to talk about with you. I think things are perfectly clear. I heard the whispers. The way people talk behind my back.” Craig looked at both Alan and me and I felt a deep sense of shame. “Just leave. I fucking loved you, Marla. I gave you everything I had. Now I don’t want to even look at you.”

  “Craig—”

  “Go!” he shouted and Marla hurried from the room.

  “I’ll make sure she leaves. And I’m kicking out everyone else,” Anna muttered, following Marla’s retreating back.

  “I’ll help you,” Alan called out, leaving Craig and I alone.

  “You’ve got a mean jab, Craig,” I said, rubbing my jaw.

  Craig shook his head, sitting down heavily on the bed. “I’m such an idiot. I knew she was sleeping around. But I loved her, so I pretended that it wasn’t happening.”

  I sat down beside him. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

  Craig snorted. “You should have told me that years ago, mate.”

  “Hey I tried to if you remember,” I pointed out; relieved he was taking the whole thing a lot better than I would have.

  Craig laughed without humor. “Yeah, you did. Sorry I didn’t listen.”

  “What are you going to do about her then?”

  Craig shrugged. “Who the hell knows.” He looked at me. “You smell like a brewery. How much have you had to drink?”

  “Uh…”

  “If you can’t remember, it’s time to go on the wagon.”

  “I know. I’m a fucking mess.” I hung my head. Tonight, I didn’t feel anything but empty.

  “And what about Morgan? Have you spoken to her?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m an arsehole,” I admitted.

  Craig and I didn’t say anything for a while.

  “Morgan’s a good girl,” Craig said.

  “She is. The best,” I agreed, my heart wanting what it couldn’t have.

  “Then don’t settle for anything less, mate. Talk to her.”

  “She’s in bloody America, Craig.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow
. “Lucky for you we’re coming up on an international break.”

  My stomach flipped. “Yeah, we are.”

  Craig clasped my shoulder. “Go see her. Make things right. Then get back here and make things right with the rest of your life. Including the team.”

  “They hate me. After what Frenchie said—”

  “They’ll get over it. You’re our captain. We need you. Just no more red cards.”

  “Thanks, Craig. And I’m sorry about Marla.”

  Craig’s mouth set into a hard line. “Yeah, me too.”

  Morgan

  “Here you go, Mom.” I handed her a ham sandwich. She was sitting on the couch, watching her favorite soap opera.

  I was home for lunch from the local cable station where I was able to get a job doing tech support. It wasn’t the most stimulating job in the world, but it paid the bills.

  We had fallen into some sort of normalcy.

  And I hated every minute of it.

  Mom’s recovery was slow. I still had to come back to the house several times during the day to check on her. I had spoken with our neighbor, Mrs. Barton, and she agreed to come by throughout the day to make sure Mom was okay. So far things had worked where I hadn’t needed to hire anyone to care for her. Which was good because I still couldn’t afford it.

  And every night as I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come, I thought of Lucas. I would put on that stupid, beautiful necklace he bought me in London. How appropriate that it was a heart. He had ripped mine from my body and stomped on it.

  Then I’d cry until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open. I’d wake up in the morning with a heavy heart and do it all over again.

  I went to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea. I had looked everywhere for an electric kettle and finally found a cheap one at the hardware store. Americans weren’t renowned for their tea making. Shelly, my friend from high school, had suggested I nuke the water in the microwave when I had complained about it.

  “Microwave it?” I had gasped in horror as if she had said there was no such thing as global warning.

  “What’s wrong with that?” she had asked.

  “It’s just wrong.”

  “You’ve changed,” Shelly had commented.