And that’s what he had done. He made our connection something that was closed off from the world. I never met Jude or Kingston, the closest people to him aside from me. I felt like a shameful part of his life, even when he told me he loved me.
One of the final straws had been when I asked him to the twelfth year formal, and he declined. Told me it was a daft tradition, that he had more important things to focus on like his future and being the best keeper in all of England.
Vance Morley is dedicated to everything he does and everyone he feels deserves it. Except for me.
Perhaps it had been in his best interest to keep this under wraps … Lord knows he’s done it in the past.
“Thank you for driving all this way.”
That gruff voice, the one that can still send cravings for him running through my veins, speaks at my back. I turn, and there he is in all of his Goliath glory. The wind-swept hair, the shade of midnight, and a gray wool coat that probably cost more than a few months’ rent on my flat pulled around his muscled physique.
“It’s better than meeting in Brighton.” I nod curtly, because his stealth planning saves me a lot of trouble.
What would the community say if they knew Vance is the father of my son?
Since before Vance arrived, I set Mason on his feet. He’s currently trying to chase a squirrel up a tree and giggling wildly in the process.
“My gosh, he’s gotten bigger since I saw him. And that was only weeks ago,” Vance mutters next to me.
“The child could eat me out of house and home. He requires a new pair of shoes practically every week.” I chuckle, looking in the same direction as Vance, admiring my son.
Our son.
Suddenly, the man who used to hold my heart in his hands turns to me, a stricken look on his face.
“Whatever he needs, let me help you with it. I owe so much, I didn’t know …”
The organ in my chest, the one that wears a worn out tattoo of his name on it, practically cracks in half. I may harbor a lot of resentment, but you’d be a monster not to understand the emotions Vance is going through.
I lay a hand on his arm, and the warmth that spreads up my fingers makes my eyelids flutter closed for a second too long.
“You’re right, you didn’t know. There should, then, be no guilt on your part. I don’t expect anything from you; I’m not struggling; it was merely a joke, a teasing gripe about parenthood. Vance, clearly, I’m not after your money. I hope you know I never was. Otherwise, wouldn’t we be in a very different situation?”
We watch as Mason spins, his head tilted back, the sky his focal point. Without warning, he stops, the dizziness rushing to his head, and he almost topples over but catches himself at the last minute.
“The things that children find amusing.” I shake my head.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Truly, Lara, why?” His tone is the definition of hurt.
I sigh, trying to put my jumbled, frayed emotions in order. The answer is simple, though.
“I was heartbroken. You left me. When I decided to keep him, I told myself that he was mine. He’s the one purely amazing thing that came out of the pain we caused each other. And that’s what I’ve kept telling myself every day since he was born.”
“And what do you tell yourself about us? What do you think about what I told you in the café?”
8
Lara
“And what do you tell yourself about us? What do you think about what I told you in the cafe?”
His words hang between us, the emotion of them vibrating through my chest. They catch me off guard, and as usual, I feel as if Vance Morley is always trying to one-up me.
Vance didn’t want to bring me into his world, once upon a time, but I also never wanted to be a part of it. Yes, I fought him tooth and nail to bring me to fancy parties, or introduce me to his elite friends. For a time, I thought it would be fun to pretend that the upper-crust universe he was making a name for himself in could be my tier, too.
But in the end, I didn’t want that life any more than he wanted to give it. I’m a homebody, a girl who grew up near the ocean in a small bungalow-style home with her single mother raising her. We never had much, and that had been all right. More than all right … it was ace. I’m simple, with average tastes and no visions of grandeur. Most people in this world are looking for a way to have more, to get ahead, to come out on top.
Me? I’m content with a little space of my own, people who love me, and a job I rather like.
Even if Vance kept me hidden, making it a point not to bring me around his posh friends … I hadn’t wanted all that came with the life of an athlete’s girl. Aside from the constant rat race to keep up with the other females trying to take your spot or compete with you, the lifestyle is one I didn’t envy. Traveling all the time, staying up just to glimpse your man for twelve seconds before he had to leave again. Spending holidays alone, worrying about what he was doing on the road, the loneliness of being with a man who put his career before you. Eventually, I’d have had to raise a family on my own. How ironic that I ended up in the same lot.
“Vance, I’m engaged. To marry another man.” Thrusting my hands out, I hope the body language conveys how ridiculous his earlier statement about winning me back is.
“Do you love him?” he fires back, catching me off guard again.
I nod slowly. “He’s been there for me since before Mason was born.”
One corner of Vance’s mouth turns up, and I only know the bastard is smiling because that damn dimple winks at me. “That’s not a declaration of undying devotion. You couldn’t even tell me you were in love with the man. Which means you’re not.”
That statement feels like a bullet to the chest. I’m not accustomed to this version of Vance—the one that’s almost cocky in demeanor. Self-assured, brutish, selfish—I don’t know this man. Yes, he had some of these tendencies, but the boy I grew up across the street from was gentle and misunderstood.
“I do love him.” I have to refrain from stamping my foot, my voice already giving away the slight pitch I’m using to convince myself of my words.
Vance shakes his head, a smirk gracing his lips, as if he knows I’m lying.
And that’s when he steps toward me, neglecting all the laws of personal space and acceptable ex-boyfriend behavior.
“You’ve lied to me enough, it seems, so please don’t lie anymore. That ring on your finger is making you all twitchy. Let’s not do this. We’re not naïve to the way the world ceases to exist when we’re together.”
I want to pound on his chest and scream, maybe rip his hair out. Or my own. Because he can’t just do this. Come home and destroy everything I’ve so carefully constructed in my content little bubble.
My mind goes blank though, and I can do none of that, because Vance brings his hand to my cheek, cradling it in his palm. It’s just a small touch, nowhere near the lengths and bounds we used to go to.
“You can’t just waltz back into my life, say every romantic thing you’ve ever read in a book, and expect me to go weak at the knees,” I whisper, but my feet won’t move.
His hand is on my jaw, and I want so badly not to, but I lean into it. The roughness of his palm, the warmth of his hand, the sheer comfort of it makes me want to weep.
It’s like coming home.
Vance, his embrace, his innate knowledge of me, the way his eyes hold everything we can’t say …
Blimey, it devastates me. It all hurtles into me like a car crash, something I want so badly to turn away from but I can’t.
We’re in a trance, one that’s only broken when our son scrambles over, crying “Mummy!”
I jolt, backing away from Vance and his singular point of contact on my cheek as if he’s burned me. My heart beats irregularly, like it’s been taken out and put back, but not in the way it was supposed to be.
Vance’s attention is no longer on me, but solely directed at the little boy peering up at us.
“Hi, Mason.”
Vance’s voice is husky with a knot of emotion, as if he’s trying to talk past the lump in his throat.
Seeing them together, my son’s father crouched down beside him, it’s like looking in a mirror that predicts the future. Mason is Vance’s twin, a much younger version of the burly, dark-featured man trying to foster a relationship with his child.
I have to blink back the tears in my eyes.
Vance clears his throat. “I’m … Vance.”
There was a pause there, as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it. I gulp, because I can’t seem to move or talk. This moment is so precious, the first time they’re speaking.
I’ve dreamed of this day for a long time, even if I’ve kept that ember burning in the back of my brain, for only me to cherish. Idly, I wonder what Louis would think of this, of his all but adopted son meeting his biological father for the first time. What mess have I created by opening this Pandora’s box? Mason calls my fiancé Daddy.
“Vance!” Mason squeals, his fascination with saying people’s names a new trick he’s learning.
“That’s right!” his father responds, and I swear I can feel the glee in his words, it’s tangible. Vance pulls something out of his jacket. “I brought you a present.”
“Present!” Mason yelps again, because he knows and loves that word. “Pwease!”
Vance glances up at me, a smile stretching his face so wide that I can’t help but smile back. “The kid’s got manners.”
“Yes, he does.” I ruffle my son’s hair.
In his large hands, Vance holds a small football. Nothing near regulation size, but the Rogue Football Club logo is emblazoned on most of the hexagons and pentagons. He sets it down on the grass, between Mason and him.
“I’m not sure if you’re a football man, but I am, so I thought I’d teach you a little something. I’m going to pass it to you, and you pass it back.”
Mason’s entire body is vibrating with excitement, and I know it’s because Vance just placed a ball at his feet. I won’t share this with the man who is trying to wreck my world, but his son loves football. He has a tiny ball and goal at home that he punts into all day long.
“Okay, get ready, champ!” Vance crouches, so that he’s not standing at full height, and gently kicks the ball to nestle at Mason’s feet.
My son, his mocha eyes looking straight up at the matching pair, looks down at the ball and then back up. He’s contemplative for a moment, the act of playing with this stranger something new entirely. Then, as if a lightbulb switches on in his mind, he grins his gap-tooth grin and winds his leg up.
Mason sends the football soaring, misdirectioned, back to Vance, who has to lunge out to get control of it with his foot. As if it’s hard for him, he does this with all the grace of a jungle cat.
“Goallll! Great job, Mason!” Vance cries, and scoops my little guy up a in hug, lifting him off the ground.
Giggles burst from our son’s throat, and I swear my ovaries explode from the cuteness overload.
I’ve thought a lot about what he would be like as a father. The Vance I knew then compared to the Vance playing with his son right now in front of me—they don’t align. I thought Vance would be reserved, no-nonsense, and feared that if I did get him involved from the beginning of the baby’s life, that he would fail miserably at loving the child.
How wrong I’d been. Vance is a natural … anyone within a thousand-mile radius could feel the pure love radiating off of him. And if their small game of passing the football back and forth is any indication, Mason is taken with him, too.
He is his father’s son. And I’m in for a world of trouble.
9
Vance
“The cavalry has arrived!”
Kingston steps out of the white Rolls Royce he just drove into Brighton in, throwing his arms out as if this was a movie premier instead of he and Jude standing in my parent’s driveway.
“Bloody hell, if I’m forced to listen to one more minute of two thousands rap …” Jude snarls, rubbing at his temples.
“What’s that, old man? The ball and chain making you a dull bloke?” Kingston slaps him on the back and then moves to wrap me in a bear hug.
Both Kingston and Jude are engaged to the women they met while we were all still, mostly, in the academy together. Aria, Jude’s fiancée, is a recording artist with killer pipes and a bestselling album. I relate to her, but we’ve never connected much. Like me, Aria came from nothing and worked tooth and nail to get where she is now.
Poppy, on the other hand, is an international model who verbally bitch slapped Kingston the first time they ever met. I was there; it was glorious. Since they’ve gotten together, she’s come out as one of the assault victims of a famous photographer who is now behind bars. She and Kingston have a lot in common, and I’m happy that they’ve had each other to get through some difficult times in the past year.
“You still can’t pick me up, it never works.” I grunt as he tries to haul me off the ground.
“I’ve been slaying it in the gym. Dammit, I thought I would finally be able to do it,” Kingston protests as he moves away from me, huffing.
It’s been a running joke for years, his inability to lift me off my feet. “You’re simply no match.”
“Yeah, with your superhuman bones and Hagrid-like stature,” Jude jokes and they follow me into the house.
When they mentioned coming down to see me for a night, I protested. I have serious ground to make up here. But, they insisted, and per usual, I relented. Now that they’re here, spending the night at my parent’s place, I’m almost glad I let them wear me down. I’ve been in a pit of despair, stressing over all the decisions hanging over my head, and having my best mates here to cheer me up seems to be doing the trick.
I chuckle. “I see Aria still has you reading Harry Potter?”
Kingston elbows me. “If he doesn’t read a chapter a night, she doesn’t give up the goods. I’d read eight if it meant Poppy would give me more time between the sheets. Blimey, that woman is a goddess.”
“You’re one randy bastard. The other day she could hardly walk.” Jude scoffs.
Kingston pats himself on his own back. “What can I say, she does it for me.”
“I think it’s splendid you’re finally pulling off the caveman mask and actually indulging in an activity that requires brain power.” I smirk at Jude.
Back in academy, it was all I could do to drag them to our classes. They were mandatory, of course, since we lived our life for football and forewent traditional education. Throughout what would have been our primary and secondary schooling years, we were required to take the same curriculum on the Rogue campus. Kingston and Jude could have cared less if they ever learned multiplication tables … all they cared for was getting out onto the pitch.
Since football consumed me too, I couldn’t argue with that. But I was always the one of us who actually took pride in my schoolwork and found it interesting. While those two schemed how to sneak out of the dorms and down to the pub in Clavering, I laid on our couch with paperback versions of classic novels. I taught myself division and geometry and memorized the events of World War I, not only so I could relay that information to my mates and keep their grades in good standing, but because I truly enjoy learning.
“Oh, right, I forgot, you read for fun, too. I don’t understand that.” Kingston shakes his head, pretending to be disappointed in me.
“What book are you on? Who is your favorite character?” Not wanting to spook Jude, I shrug as if his answer doesn’t matter.
In reality, I’ve been waiting almost twelve years for either of my best friends to become Potterheads, and am giddy that I’ll finally have someone to discuss the books with.
Waving his hands in a ceasing motion, Kingston intervenes. “No, no, I outlaw that. No nerd talk, we’re here on a mission and reading will only take us off course.”
I have to admit, I’ve missed them. Our personalities mesh well together; King
ston is the showboat, the outgoing obnoxious one who keeps us light and laughing. Jude is the alpha, the pretty boy with a golden foot. And I’m the backbone, the silent, guiding glue that keeps us moving and supported.
“You worked out at Brighton, eh?” Kingston gives me a side-eye glance.
Is this the mission he’s here on? To get reconnaissance on my feelings about football clubs? Because right now, it’s the last thing on my mind.
“Yes. So?” I roll my eyes, but I’ve missed his ribbings.
Jude clears his throat. “Niles got word of it … I don’t think he’s happy about that, mate.”
Ire leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “I don’t bloody well care about his happiness, mate. This is a man who has, time and time again, passed me over. He can’t say shite about me conditioning at another facility, alone I might add, when he does nothing but leave me sitting in the academy.”
They’re both silent for a moment, and then Kingston doubles over laughing. “There’s the mean old grump I’ve been waiting for. Good to see you, Vance, glad you’re back. And you’re right, fuck him. I mean, I respect the guy and he literally owns my bollocks, but out of the three of us, he’s done you the dirtiest. And he sent me to football Siberia, so that’s saying a lot. Do whatever you want, brother.”
I nod, not knowing what else to add to the conversation.
“Do you want to play here? I mean, I just thought you’d end up playing with us for Rogue in London. That was the plan.” Jude still sounds bummed about the revelation that I may not join them.
“And that’s why you’re the dreamer of us,” I tell him, slapping him on the shoulder. “But it’s time to wake up. I’m twenty bloody two; time is wasting away. And I have other things to consider now.”
My two best mates exchange a look, and Kingston is the one to touch the elephant sitting in the room. “When do we get to meet her? And him?”
Ah, I understand now. They’re here to vet Lara and Mason.
The Mighty Anchor: Rogue Academy, Book Three Page 5