The Striker's Chance

by Rebecca Crowley

  But inspiring? That had been reserved for the handful of British players that had emerged from poor backgrounds, not the middle-class South African with an aggressive nickname and an unfortunate reputation.

  “I’m flattered,” he said honestly, looking to Holly for help as he was suddenly lost for words.

  “The merch guy gave us a shirt for you to sign, if that’s okay?” she asked. “Then we’ll let you go, you must be exhausted.”

  “Sure,” he replied dumbly, accepting the T-shirt and thick black marker. He signed his name, adding his jersey number and the date, and handed it to Danny, who held the cotton shirt as if it were made of priceless crystal.

  “Thank you again,” Jim effused, but Kepler dismissed his gratitude with a shake of his head.

  “Thank you for coming out to support us. And keep working on those midfielding skills, Danny. Maybe we’ll see you starting for Discovery in a few years.”

  “I need to grab Kepler for a second, but security will point the way back out,” Holly instructed. After a few more thank-yous thrown in for good measure, Jim ushered Danny to the door, the boy still clutching the T-shirt to his chest.

  “This way.” She gestured Kepler behind a stretch of wall that supported the angle where the tunnel opened onto the pitch.

  “Let me guess, is this where the camera crew was secretly filming that whole encounter?”

  She shook her head. “No camera crew, no photo op. Just a good deed, plain and simple.”

  “I’m happy to do that sort of thing more often, if you think—”

  The words died in his throat as Holly fisted her hand in the front of his shirt and pulled him in tightly, then planted a hot, lingering kiss on his unsuspecting mouth.

  “What was that for?” he asked once she’d released him. He glanced over his shoulder, but no one was around. Their secret was safe.

  “For being amazing. For being you.”

  For a moment he simply stared at her, dumbstruck.

  For being you.

  Could she have any idea how much those words meant to him?

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then started backing out toward the tunnel traffic. “I’ll text you when I’m free.”

  Kepler rejoined his teammates as they made their way to the dressing room, fully aware he was grinning like an idiot.

  * * *

  Holly held her high heels in her hand as she slipped barefoot down the hotel corridor, not wanting to alert even the slightest interest with the sound of her footsteps. When she reached Kepler’s room, she used the key card to open it without bothering to knock and carefully and quietly shut it behind her.

  “Hello, gorgeous.”

  Kepler beamed at her from his place on the bed. He was wearing nothing but his boxers, with one ice pack balanced on his shoulder and another tucked beneath his hamstring. The television was tuned to a nature documentary about the Great Barrier Reef, and he patted the space next to him as she stepped farther into the room.

  “Saturday night in New York City, and you’re sitting in your underwear watching fish swim on TV,” she chided, climbing up beside him.

  “Simple man, simple tastes.” He shrugged, and as he guided her chin in for a kiss, the revelation struck Holly like a hard, unyielding slap in the face.

  He was all she needed, all she wanted. All the trappings she’d dreamt of—flashy apartment, big-city lifestyle, a desk in a skyscraper—were nothing compared to the self-acceptance, heady passion and anchoring fulfillment he’d given her. Kepler burned brighter in her life than the New York skyline ever could.

  It was so simple, she couldn’t believe it had only just registered.

  She was in love with Kepler de Klerk.

  His bitter-chocolate gaze fixed on her. “Is everything all right? You look like you’re thinking hard about something.”

  She shook her head, blinking back the grateful tears that suddenly began to well in her eyes.

  “I’m glad to see you, that’s all.”

  He stroked his thumb along her cheek and brushed another soft kiss over her lips. “I’m glad to see you too. I think about you all the time,” he confessed.

  “Only good thoughts, I hope,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. Still rocking from her realization, she wasn’t ready to share it with him yet. She needed to come to grips with it on her own terms and figure out its implications for the rest of her life.

  “Of course.” He gave her that charming million-watt grin she’d first seen on the park bench all those weeks ago. She struggled to return it, her mind already swirling with plans and conjectures. She couldn’t take the job in New York and keep her relationship with Kepler—could she?

  Not if LKC Energy sold him to some team in California or Germany or who-knows-where. And not if he knew that she hadn’t just kept the planned sale from him, she’d played an active role in making it possible.

  A sickening weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

  What had she done?

  He frowned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She nodded weakly, but before she could speak he interjected, “I was just icing while I waited for you, but I can get dressed if you want to go out. We can sneak into a taxi, buy some overpriced cocktails, stumble around Manhattan looking for somewhere that will seat us on a Saturday night without a reservation.”

  Kepler’s expression was relaxed, his smile broad, but Holly could see the way pain tightened his brow and the set of his jaw. She knew he would limp around the city until dawn without complaint if that’s what she wanted, and although she couldn’t think of a better way to spend a night in New York than with this gorgeous athlete at her side, she had to act in his best interest.

  “I’m absolutely starving,” she lied, “and I’m totally exhausted after my meetings today. I was thinking of something more along the lines of room service and ordering a movie.”

  “That sounds great,” he agreed, relief audible in his voice.

  “Turn over,” she instructed, drawing a circle with her finger. “You earned a pre-dinner backrub today, striker.”

  His eyes lit up and within seconds he’d ditched the ice packs and was stretching out on his stomach, crossing his hands beneath his chin.

  “If I’d known this was on offer, I would’ve scored at least two more goals,” he murmured as Holly hiked her skirt up around her thighs and straddled his hips. Her breath caught as she gazed across the tanned expanse of his back, smooth skin taut over ridged muscle, narrow at the waist before broadening into wide, solid shoulders.

  And there, interrupting that perfect physical symmetry, was his tattoo. The badge of his birthplace and that resonant word, Ubuntu. His tribute to everyone who helped make him what he was.

  She didn’t know how or what she was going to do, but she knew one thing for certain: she’d be damned if she was going to play a part in tearing him down.

  She leaned forward and pressed her fingers into the tense muscles above his shoulder blades, eliciting a grateful moan. She increased the pressure, and as she kneaded her way down his back, Holly began mentally composing her letter of resignation.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hallway was silent as Holly slipped out just after dawn. Although she suspected the Discovery players slumbering behind closed doors were in the deep sleep of the very hung over, she walked on tiptoe nonetheless.

  “Well, isn’t this a surprise.”

  An icy chill froze her to the spot. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying she’d made it up. He couldn’t really be here, not in New York, not now.

  “I thought the story I came here for was big.” Evan Barstow tsked. “But this adds a juicy angle I hadn’t thought of.”

  She spun to see him emerging from around the corner where he’d been hiding. His beady eyes glinted with triumph, and before she could register his movement he held up his phone and snapped a photo of her.

  Anger replaced fear as she stomped up to him. “What do you want, you sleazy lit
tle man? An exclusive? An interview? What is it?”

  His calm chuckle only further infuriated her. “That’s the beauty of it, Holly. I don’t need you this time. I already have the story. I just wanted some candid comment from the great Killer de Klerk himself.”

  “What are you talking about? There is no story, everything is—”

  The door she’d only just closed swung open and Kepler appeared in the hall, having hastily pulled on jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Barstow.” Kepler practically spat his name. “What are you doing here?”

  Evan crossed his arms with a smug smile. “I’m here to get your reaction to Charlotte Discovery’s plan to sell you to Lucrezio in Rome.”

  Holly felt like her heart stopped beating. Every second seemed to last a lifetime as Kepler’s expression changed from shock to bewilderment to suspicion.

  “I’m not moving to Rome,” he scoffed, but his tone was laced with uncertainty.

  “That’s not what I heard,” Evan replied gleefully, snapping another photo.

  Kepler blinked in the flash and knocked Evan’s hand out of the way, sending the phone skidding down the hallway.

  “Don’t take my word for it,” Evan said as he scrambled to retrieve his phone. “Ask your girlfriend, she knows all about it.”

  “No I don’t.” Holly held up her palms.

  “Sure she does.” Evan straightened. “She was at LKC Energy’s offices all day yesterday. And according to my sources, she’ll be spending a lot of time there once she accepts their job offer. They’ve got a desk reserved and everything.”

  Kepler turned to her. “Is this true?”

  His eyes begged her to deny it. Her voice caught in her throat and she stared at the floor.

  “Kepler,” she whispered, and the next thing she knew he had grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back into the hotel room, shutting the door behind them.

  When she could bring herself to look at him, she found him peering at her with such fearsome intensity that even though he would never, ever raise a hand to her, she was frightened by the sheer magnitude of his tightly contained fury.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on,” he commanded, his accent more pronounced and his voice more unyielding than she’d ever heard it. “All of it.”

  She looked up at the first man she’d ever loved, took in his rumpled hair, his chiseled features, those sensuous lips that only minutes earlier had been pressing farewell kisses against her own.

  He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she’d betrayed him. She’d sold him out for some tawdry illusion of success.

  She would never have anything like this again, she thought with a hitch in her breath. And she didn’t deserve to.

  “Kepler.” Her voice broke on the second syllable. She paused to draw a deep, heartening breath.

  She owed him the truth.

  “It’s true. LKC Energy offered me a job, and yesterday I went to their offices to finalize the conditions.” Kepler stared at her, his face inscrutable, so she continued, “I didn’t know about Lucrezio, but I knew they wanted to sell you at the end of this season. I knew there were offers on the table.”

  She watched him nervously, expecting him to storm and rage and pace and shout like he did when the referee made a bad call.

  Instead he remained absolutely still, his dark eyes searching hers for a long, agonizing moment.

  Finally he exhaled heavily, a sound so defeated that Holly felt a wrenching pain deep in her chest.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was going to,” she pleaded, suddenly overrun with desperation. “I swear, I was going to tell you as soon as I figured out how I could resign from LKC Energy and still stay on as your PR manager, so maybe I could exert some pressure on Sven and—”

  Kepler took a decisive step backward. “And this—” he gestured to the two of them, “—was this even real? Or was this more of your PR?”

  “Please.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “Please believe me, Kepler. You’re more important to me than any job could ever be. I thought I could fix this before you found out. I never wanted to lie to you.”

  Kepler tore his gaze from her and began to move restlessly, shoving his hand through his hair, shifting his weight from foot to foot, finally flattening a steadying palm on the low dresser that held the TV.

  “Rome.” He shook his head. “I just bought a house.” Holly grasped for his arm, but he jerked out of her reach and turned his back. “I think you should go.”

  The icy words didn’t surprise her, yet she felt each one like a fierce punch in the gut regardless.

  “Kepler, is there anything—”

  “Just go.”

  Her lower lip trembled as she turned away from the best man she’d ever known. She let herself out of the room without another word.

  Evan had gone, and the hallway was empty. Holly sniffed and swiped at her eyes as she trudged to the elevator bank, her shoulders sagging with grim resignation.

  This time tomorrow the photos would be all over the Charlotte papers. The Lucrezio transfer would be leaked and LKC Energy would know she was sleeping with their prized striker.

  The elevator doors swished open and Holly stepped inside. She stared at the buttons blindly. Which one did she press to start over?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kepler was sitting on the steps inside his house, staring at the front door, when the newspaper thudded onto his front walk some time before dawn on Monday.

  He heaved a weary sigh as the buzzing engine of the delivery boy’s scooter receded up the street. Unable to sleep, he’d been sitting on the wooden step for over an hour, waiting for this moment. Yet now that it was here, he hesitated.

  He knew that the moment he opened that paper, the numb, sleepwalking state of limbo he’d been in for the last twenty-four hours would be split wide open.

  He’d been through this before, after the accident. After the blurry chaos of the crash, the urgent shouts and ambulance sirens, the nauseating pain and the flashing emergency lights that punctuated the inky black night, he’d found himself alone in a hospital room in the hushed pre-dawn hours. The painkillers that had reduced his agony to a dull ache made his thoughts hazy and sluggish, yet even in the disorienting fog of trauma he knew it was just a matter of time until the press got wind of what had happened.

  He’d been right.

  After an hour of the onslaught he’d switched his phone off completely, past caring that it would cost him a couple of calls from his family. A quick glimpse at the TV revealed that the story had made it to the top of the slow news day headers, and both the channel announcers and the scrolling ticker at the bottom of the screen seemed to delight in reminding the nation that he’d been driving, that his teammate was in critical condition and that it was “not yet known whether drugs or alcohol were involved.”

  On that night more than a year and a half ago, Kepler had lain in silence, staring up at the white ceiling without a clue as to what the future held. Now he was alone in his too-large house and he knew exactly what was—and wasn’t—in store for him, and he almost longed for that old uncertainty.

  He hauled himself to his feet, wincing as his lower back complained about his extended, unmoving period on the hard stairs.

  Lucrezio. LKC Energy must have told a pretty grand story to get that deal on the table. The truth was that Lucrezio was an ultra-competitive team with a lot of exciting young players, and he was an almost thirty-one-year-old who would never really get back to the level where he was before his catastrophic injury. Lucrezio had plenty of power up front already—a life there would be a life lived mainly on the bench. He would attend practices, travel to matches, hit the field a handful of times and quietly retire without anyone noticing the difference.

  Discovery might not have much of a reputation, but it would’ve been a good place for a final season. He could’ve continued to work with the midfielders to give him the support he needed and relied on the
steadily improving defenders to absorb some of the pressure when it came to holding down the score. Tyson got better every time he set foot on the pitch, and Kepler would’ve liked to have retired knowing that he was leaving the striker’s position in the younger man’s capable hands.

  Maybe he would keep the house, rent it out while he was in Rome and then come back to it. He liked it, and he liked Charlotte. South Africa wasn’t going anywhere, he didn’t need to rush back. Maybe he could spend some time here in the States, put down roots—

  Kepler’s thoughts skidded to a halt as he put his hand on the doorknob.

  He liked Charlotte because it was where Holly lived. He liked this house because it seemed occupied and lively when she was in it. He wanted to put down roots because he’d thought he finally found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  Without her, there was nothing for him here.

  Kepler paused and gritted his teeth as the wave of crippling grief rolled over him.

  This is how it had been for the last twenty-four hours. He felt fine if somewhat disengaged, occasionally but only slightly worried about Barstow’s exposé, and then something would trigger the memory of Holly’s betrayal and the staggering heartbreak almost brought him to his knees.

  He shoved the feelings of shock and hurt to the back of his mind, willing himself to push through. What might have been was gone. No point in looking back. He had to focus on the future now. He had to move on.

  He pulled open the heavy door, retrieved the newspaper and carried it into the kitchen without unrolling it. He made a cup of coffee and set it down on the table beside his phone. Then he settled himself in a chair and slid the rubber band from the Recorder, his jaw tensing with anticipation as he spread it out in front of him.

  Nothing on the front page—a good start.

  Kepler flipped to the sports section. There he found a photo of himself on the first page, but not the one he’d expected.