Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  “Come back for me,” He says, and then I’m screaming as the men drag him back to ground.

  And then I’m running. I’m screaming, and fighting back the tears, and I’m running.

  One of us has to get Logan…Come back for me.

  I don’t see the car until it practically hits me. I lunge out of the way as it comes screeching to a stop right in front of me, and it’s then that I look up with wild eyes and see the jet-black hair, and the blood-red lips of the woman behind the wheel.

  Sasha.

  She flings the drivers side door open and steps out, looking more afraid than I’ve yet to see in her always-cool demeanor; “Get in the car.”

  The gun in my hand is cocked and held right out towards her in a flash. Red rage starts to cloud my vision as one singular thought thunders in my head.

  She sold us out.

  “You!” I’m bellowing at her; “You led us right into-”

  But Sasha only rolls her eyes; “Get in the fucking car, Peyton.” Her eyes dart over my shoulder towards the plaza I’ve just come running out of; “And please, if I lead you into a trap, you won’t know until you’re dead.” She narrows her dark eyes at me; “You want to get him back?”

  I tense my jaw, but slowly, I’m lowering the gun.

  “Get in the damn car, Miss Rivers. I’m about to save your life, and then I’m going to help you save your brother and your boyfriend.”

  25

  Bryce

  This place is old.

  The church, which is really more of a fortress than anything else, is easily a thousand years old; probably from the Crusades or something. And I’m sitting in the oldest part of it, down in the dungeons chained to a chair like some scene out of Braveheart. There’s a dim light that comes in through the window of the heavy wooden door, showing old wood beams in the ceiling, old crumbling plaster on the walls.

  Like I said, ancient. Old architecture, old walls…

  Old foes.

  “Long time no see, Connors.” The overhead lights snaps on, making me wince and squint in the sudden brightness, however dim. Benson stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame and nodding slowly at me, as if appraising me sitting there shackled to the chair in the middle of the room; gloating at me.

  “Long time,” I say, my voice leaden.

  “Jesus, Connors; I mean, you don’t call, you don’t write?” He makes a tsking sound and shakes his head as he steps into the room. The door stays open, but it’s an empty hope; not like I’m getting far with handcuffs securing my arms and legs to the metal-frame chair. Benson moves in front of me to lean against a table full of tools; tools that I know are there to scare me into wondering what they’re there for.

  “You know, a guy could get to thinking you just don’t care, buddy.”

  “What do you want, Benson?”

  He sighs and rolls his eyes; “Jesus Christ, what, we can’t just catch up? I gotta Facebook you or some shit to make conversation? C’mon, Connors, you know that’s just not me. I’m not up on the tech stuff like you kids.”

  I’m silent, my jaw tight as I just level my gaze at the man in front of me who I used to know. He’s older now of course, but he looks older than five years should have taken; goatee silvered, his stomach a bit rounder than it used to be.

  But his eyes are still just as cagey and just as sharp as they always were.

  He shrugs; “Alright, fine, let’s be uncivilized.” He reaches back and picks up a hammer, weighing it in his hand and turning it in his fingers as he grins at me; “So-”

  “You need to lead with the questions first.”

  He frowns; “Excuse me?”

  “The questions, Benson; I mean when you’re trying to interrogate someone. You don’t just jump right into showing them the scary fucking tools; it puts them on edge and makes them clam up.”

  His lips pull back in a wicked looking grin and he shakes his head at me; “I don’t know if I like this new sober ‘funny man’, Bryce. You know, I think I liked you better when you were that zombie junky you used to be.” When I don’t respond, he shrugs and drops the hammer back on the table with clang; “Alright you little prick, we’ll do questions first. Where the fuck are they?”

  “Where the fuck are what?”

  “Don’t be smart, kid. I was there, you little shit; we found them together.”

  “The fuck do you need diamonds for, Benson? You guys are the like the largest DOD contractor in the system.”

  “The heart wants, my little friend; the heart wants.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want bigger, and better.” He narrows his eyes at me; “I want a William Archer life; a charmed Bryce Conners life.”

  “Trust me it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  We stare at each other like that for a moment; two soldiers, facing off; “So this is all for the money?”

  Benson laughs; “Of course it is, the whole fucking world’s about money.”

  Well, this sounds familiar.

  He glares at me; “So where are they?”

  I shrug, shaking my head; “I don’t know.”

  Benson lets out a long a long sigh as he turns and picks what looks like an electric razor off the table; “Want to try that again, Brycey-boy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wrong fucking answer.” The device in his hands sparks blue light, and I suddenly realize it’s a damned taser in his hands.

  Well, shit; this is about to get a whole lot less fun.

  Benson’s arm jerks forward, and I can’t help but scream when the thing makes contact with my shoulder. The taser is like twisting, biting heat lancing through me, clenching my muscles into painful knots and knocking the wind from my lungs .

  Benson hoots as he draws his arm back; “Man, technology is a motherfucker, huh! Who needs creepy old tools anyways?” He laughs; “So you want me to keep asking until you piss yourself, or do you just wanna tell me now?”

  “I’ve got no idea-”

  The taser connects with my skin again, making me roar out a scream as the pain thunders through my nervous system, shorting out my brain for a second as my thoughts go numb.

  “Fuck!” I shake my head as Benson draws back, trying to clear the thudding fog from my senses; “Jesus Christ, Benson, you knew me back then. I was a fucking waste-case; I was high out of my fucking mind. I’ve got no idea where we put them.”

  Benson scowls at me, his lips drawing back from his teeth; “Oh I know where we put them, Connors. Problem is, the day you left, they weren’t there anymore.”

  “It was a war -zone dickhead, anything could have happened to them.”

  He’s grinning at me, but his eyes are anything but smiling as he leans closer to me; “You’re selling me bullshit, Connors, and I’m not buying.”

  He turns his back to me, reaching for something else out of sight on the table; “How about a trade.”

  “What?”

  He turns, his hands wrapped around something and that wicked glint in his eyes as he grins pure evil at me.

  I don’t like this.

  “I said, how about a trade.” He opens his hands, and I can feel my whole heart go numb as my eyes narrow in on the syringe in his hands. I’m drawn to it, like a moth to flame; unable to look away or even fucking blink. Five years clean, and I want it; I want it so bad I can fucking taste it. Five years without a drop of poison in my system, and I’m practically aroused just looking at the fucking thing.

  That’s addiction for you.

  “So, how about it, Connors?”

  My eyes linger on the silver and glass weapon in his hand before I finally tear my eyes away to look up into his face; “I’m clean, Benson; I don’t want it.”

  He smiles, his eyes narrowing even further at me; “Oh, I know you don’t.”

  A very cold feeling begins to spread through me, choking the blood to ice in my veins and seizing up my chest.

&nbs
p; And I’m scared.

  Benson sees it like the predator that he is, and takes a step towards me; “Yeah, thats right, you don’t want this at all, do you you little fucking junky.”

  He moves his arm out, the needle moving closer and closer to my outstretched, tied-down arm, and I can feel every muscle in my body tense up. And there’s a war being fought inside my head, between the part of me that wants to run screaming from this nightmare and the part that craves every single fucking drop in the needle.

  The room starts to fade around me, the edge of my vision growing darker as Benson moves his hand closer, until the cold metal of the needlepoint is against my skin. I’m drowning, my head swimming as the freezing chill of it all starts to claw it’s way up my throat. He draws the point of it up and down the skin of my inner arm, and I’m losing control.

  I’m drowning.

  “Where are the diamonds, Connors.”

  I want to tell myself not to break, not to give in. But the worse part is, there’s nothing to tell anyways; no answer that he wants to hear.

  “Tell me.”

  I’m drowning, my throat closing up inside, and the demon inside is raging. He’s tearing at his cage; ripping at the floorboards, shattering the bars, and screaming like a fucking banshee roar inside my head; I WANT IT. I FUCKING WANT IT!

  The needle pulls away, and suddenly, I can breath.

  I gasp, letting the air fill my lungs as the blackness in the corners of my eyes begins to fade; the rampaging demon inside crawling back to his cage.

  Benson laughs; “Jesus Christ, once a junky, huh?” He shakes his head as he walks to the door and knocks on it until a man in black comes to open it. He turns and waves the needle in his hands at me; “I’m gonna ask you again tomorrow, buddy-boy,” He says evenly; “And after that, I’m gonna keep asking you.” A wicked grin creeps across his face; “But Bryce, after tomorrow, you’re not gonna be worried about what happens if I do stick you with this.” He looks hard into my face; “You’re going to be a whole lot more worried about what’s gonna happen when I don’t.”

  26

  Peyton

  We’re silent as we sit across the table from one another; each trying to weigh out the other, as if we’re both looking for a weak point.

  Sasha’s dark red lips turn up slightly in the corners, an almost imperceptible smirk on her face as she arches an eyebrow. Her eyes never leave mine, both of us locked in this ridiculous staring contest as she reaches for the silver case on the table and draws out a cigarette. She only looks away to light it, the curling tendrils of smoke in stark contrast to her jet-black hair drifting lazily up under the dim glow of the overhead light.

  I’m still trying to convince myself that coming here with her, or trusting her for that matter, wasn’t a massive mistake. But, here I am, and as for the second part, what choice do I have?

  Because I’m fresh out of options.

  Sasha finally rolls her eyes as she blows a trail of smoke from her lips; “OK, this is getting absurd. Let’s just lay it out on the table, shall we?”

  I glare at her; “Where were you?”

  “My cover was blown, I told you that.”

  “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

  A look flashes across her eyes, her usually obnoxiously smirking face suddenly dark and unsmiling; “I’m going to need you to trust me if we’re going to do this, you know. And right now, I can tell that you very much do not.”

  Oh, was I that obvious? I grumble inside, saying nothing out loud as I purse my lips tightly together.

  “And I think I know why, you know,” She says, that smirk finding its way back to her lips; “It’s Bryce, isn’t it?”

  Keep it up, bitch. I narrow my eyes even more at her, feeling my jaw tighten as I burn holes in her face with my pupils.

  Sasha rolls her eyes dramatically; “I never slept with your little boyfriend there, you know.”

  I want to play it neutral, as if nothing she says can affect me either way, but I can’t hide the sudden look of surprise in my eyes. I know she spots it as she grins; “Yeah, I figured that was it.” She shakes her head, leaning back in her chair and tapping her cigarette ash onto the floor; “Look, not for lack of trying, mind you, but it never happened. We were junkies, we both cared much more about the H than we did about that. I mean, I-” She looks away then, that shadow darting back across her face; “We felt differently about many things,” She says quietly.

  Part of me wants to feel bad for her, even if it’s a very, very small part. This woman obviously had feelings for him as well, and even if the thought of her with him makes my blood boil, I’m hardly in a place to judge someone for liking someone they shouldn’t.

  “It’s in the past, you need to know that,” She says evenly, her eyes locked on mine; “That went away with my addictions.”

  I nod, still silent, and still skeptical, even if she is baring it all here to me.

  “Being one of - what, two women I believe there were - in a mercenary unit is challenging, to say the least. Rude jokes turned to ruder gestures and then even ruder attempts. But Bryce was always the one to step in; always the one to step between the weak or outnumbered and the bullies and the predators. Even when he was in his lowest point, mind you; even when it was doubtful that anything else in the world but the smack mattered to him.”

  She looks at me sharply; “Finding someone in this world who cares, someone who actually gives a shit about more than just keeping their own head above the water is a rarity, Peyton. But, I’m betting someone like yourself already knows that.”

  I look away, stubbornly not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing how right I know she is.

  Sasha laughs; “Look, would it help if I mentioned that I haven’t dated men in four years?”

  I jerk my gaze to hers, arching an eyebrow, and she laughs; “You can relax, darling. I’d have more of an interest in sleeping with you then your boyfriend these days, if you weren’t such a cold fucking bitch all the time.”

  She grins at me, and I can’t stop my own lips from curling up at the corners; “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be, I’d do the same in your position. Bryce is a…a complex man, but he’s one of the good ones, and you obviously care very much for him.”

  “It’s-” I shake my head; “It’s complicated I guess.”

  “Oh it always is, darling; it always is. Welcome to the world.”

  I snort a laugh and blush as I look away. I don’t “open up” like this even with people I know, let alone relative strangers like Sasha. But it feels good; it feels good to let the guard down.

  “So does this mean you’re willing to hear me out and maybe throw a little trust my way?”

  I laugh, and even though the two most important people in my life are currently missing and locked up, there’s a feeling almost like a weight being lifted from my shoulders as I look at her and realize there’s someone else to share all this with; “Alright, let’s do this.”

  She smiles, and for once, it’s not that needling smirk; “Excellent. Think we can work together to figure out a way to get your boys out of there now?”

  I grin; “I believe we can.”

  “Good, let’s get to work then, because I haven’t the slightest idea how to get us in there, especially now that my cover is blown.”

  I frown as I look down and smooth out the map of the area strewn across the table between us. My eyes narrow on the monastery where everything I hold dear in this world is locked away, and I can feel the heat rising inside. But suddenly, my eyes move over the faded paper, down to a familiar looking name on the map not far away.

  The idea that hits me suddenly is insane, but this woman sitting across from me just might be crazy enough to get on board with it.

  “What?” She says, furrowing her brow at the wild look in my eyes.

  “What do you know about driving a diesel stick shift?”

  She grins, clasping her hands together; “Ooo, I knew I was going to l
ike you.”

  27

  Bryce

  “Take a hit.”

  “I’m clean now.”

  The laugh, the same laugh that’s in every dream; “The fuck you are. Take the fucking hit, Connors.”

  The laughing skull holds up a disembodied hand, the needle primed and ready. A single drop of cloudy-white bliss bleeds from the tip, and I can feel every single atom in my body craving it at the same time, like this screaming chorus of NOW.

  “I’m clean.”

  The skull starts to laugh; louder and louder, it’s mouth opening wider and wider until the fracture lines start to etch their way across it’s jaw; “Take the hit, Connors!”

  The skull is screaming now, cracking and fissuring under the strain of it’s own demonic laugh.

  I’m scared now, my mouth dry and my head pounding as I try and move away. But of course, I can’t; same as every night. My feet won’t move, or won’t let me move, and the skull gets bigger, it’s jaw wider as the screaming laughter hits a fever note ringing in my ears.

  “TAKE THE HIT, CONNORS!”

  I’m screaming then, as the skull’s cracking jaw roars wide and just fucking explodes into a million stinging white, bone-dust pieces.

  I’m awake with a start. The skull is gone, but the pounding in my head is still there, along with the grimy dryness in my mouth.

  Fuck, and here I was thinking it’d been awhile since I had that dream.

  I blink awake, moving to stand before realizing I’m stuck to the chair I’m currently sitting in; my arms and legs bound to it. And then it all comes rushing back to me in this sickening wave. Peyton, Benson, the needle, the threat; all of it.

  “Hell of rescue, bud.”

  I freeze at the sudden voice in the darkness of the room, not quite trusting that I’m not still dreaming; “Logan?”

  The room is barely lighter than pure darkness, but I’m peering into it, turning my head and trying to decipher where his voice came from.