The Play

by Karina Halle

  “Brigs said you were on the streets,” she says quietly, and I can’t tell if she’s disgusted or if she’s in shock.

  “Aye,” I say with a nod. “When you pawn your adopted parents’ shit for drugs, their patience for you grows real thin. They did what they could. I put them through literal hell before I put myself through literal hell. There were fights, always. I would scream and cry. I was such a fucking wanker it was unbelievable. Just a pathetic piece of shit. I can’t…I can’t even tell you how much I hate myself, that me, that person I was, and all that I did. They did the right thing, you know. They gave me an ultimatum. This is how you repay us for taking you in? Then get clean or get out. And I chose to get out. That’s what I always deserved, anyway. The mean streets. And that’s where I lived for a few years.”

  “A few years?” she says with a gasp.

  I can’t even swallow down the shame. “Yes. Sometimes in shelters, sometimes on the streets. Me and the strays, you know, we were the same. But a dog is just trying to live, trying to survive. I wasn’t trying to live. I was trying to die.”

  And I almost did die. Charlie happened. Charlie died. It could have been me. It should have been me. But I can’t even bear to utter his name.

  “Fuck,” she swears, and she surprises me by putting her hand on my arm and giving it a squeeze. “I had no idea. I knew you had issues, I mean, even just from being given up for adoption. But this? This…I can’t,” she trails off and shakes her head. “You’re just so fucking strong.”

  I glance at her, frowning. “Strong?”

  “Yes,” she says emphatically. “You’re strong. You’re brave. And maybe magic. How the fuck did you get from there to here, to right now? With your career and your Range Rover? How did that happen?”

  I tilt my head. “It happened. It wasn’t overnight.” But it was overnight. One horrible night. “One day I just showed up at Jessica and Donald’s and told them I needed help. I begged them. On my knees I pleaded for them to save my life, to take me back. It was then that I finally realized I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. And if they were any other sort of people, they would have turned me away. I was never their son and they didn’t owe me anything. But they didn’t. They took me in. I went to rehab to get off of meth and other drugs. I focused my life on the physical. It happens a lot, you know, when you’ve abused your body so much that you want to make up for it. I became a fitness and health fanatic, and eventually joined a local rugby team. Rugby became my new obsession, you know? I had the speed, the strength, and that anger that I now know will never go away, and all of that combined was like a super fuel. I became really good, really fast. The rest is history.”

  “Some history,” she says. “I had no idea. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

  “I never wanted to tell you, obviously. I could have murdered Brigs for bringing it up like he did, even if his heart was in the right place.”

  “I can see why you’d want to keep it all inside, but…isn’t that tiring? Doesn’t that hurt you, to keep so much of who you are hidden from the world?”

  I shrug with one shoulder. “Maybe.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” she says, shifting in her seat and running her hand through my hair. “I don’t want you to ever be afraid to be honest with me.”

  “Even when it means you might run the other way?”

  “I will never, ever run from you, Lachlan. I’ll only run toward you. Always.”

  God, what I would give for that to be true.

  When we finally get back to the city, I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. Kayla tells me to get in bed, that she’ll walk the dogs. I want to protest, but I can see in her eyes that she wants to do this for me, such a simple thing that means so much. She fucking cares about me. She’s not running away. I don’t even know how to process any of it.

  I get into bed and force myself awake long enough for her to get back from the walk. I can hear her talking to the dogs in the other room as they settle down on the couch to sleep before they later move onto the dog bed or our bed. There’s something so comforting, so peaceful, about hearing her in there, shutting it all down and preparing for the night. In another world, a merciful world, it wouldn’t be the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. All these nights would stretch on and on and on, and she would fall asleep in my arms with all my darkness and all my demons and all my ugliness stored safely in her heart. In a perfect world, she would hold it there, away from me, so she could understand me better, so I would never be harmed again.

  She would willingly harbor my truth inside her.

  I would willingly let her try.

  But the world isn’t perfect.

  I just don’t know what kind of world we have now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kayla

  “So are you sure no one is going to pull down your pants?” I ask Lachlan as we get out of the Range Rover. I have to admit, I’m nervous as fuck about seeing him play, though he doesn’t have to know that. Actually, I’m anxious about a lot of things, but he doesn’t have to know that either.

  “No promises,” he says, and jerks his chin toward the massive stadium in front of us. “There she is. Home of Edinburgh Rugby.”

  I have to admit, I was surprised this morning when Lachlan asked me to watch him practice. After the night we had last night, the dinner at his adopted family’s, and the stark confession in the car, I expected him to pull away from me, to put up barriers and increase the distance.

  But that didn’t happen at all. He was hungry for me and extremely affectionate in the morning, and even though morning wood wasn’t uncommon in the last seven days that I’d been in Edinburgh, this time there was something different. I felt he wanted not to just possess my body but everything that came with it. The way his gaze burned me was akin to the greatest thirst.

  Obviously, I had no complaints. After what happened last night, I needed to feel closer to him myself.

  I can’t lie. What he said scared me, and while I thought I had him figured out at least a little bit, the whole being addicted to meth and living on the streets completely took me for a ride. It was far, far worse than I ever could have imagined, and my heart broke with every single heartfelt, raw word that came out of his mouth. No wonder he was so intense, so broken, so misunderstood. The man had gone through hell and back, and even though he rose like a phoenix from the ashes to become the man he is, that smoke still clings to him. I can smell it.

  And that’s what scares me. It’s the fear that it’s not all over. Because how can it be over? How can a person go through all of that and just brush it off? You can’t. Not even with the best therapy and the best medication can you ever get over being abandoned, adopted, on drugs, homeless. It’s one terrible thing after another, and just the fact that he’s alive and well has me completely dumbfounded.

  But I don’t want to live in fear for him, and I don’t want to believe that he could slip up at any moment, even though I’m not naïve enough to ignore certain things, like his relationship with alcohol. I want him to keep being strong, powerful, noble. A proud beast. I want him to not be ashamed of who he was because it’s only made him the amazing person that he is. Though I know he thinks the opposite, learning the truth about Lachlan made my respect for him go through the roof.

  And now, now I really understand his passion for the dogs, for rescuing the “bad dogs” who are cast aside and forgotten. He literally was just like them, depending on the kindness of strangers.

  Yet here is, and here I am, about to head into the stadium where I’ll witness just how he pulled himself out of the rubble.

  “Now I must warn you,” he says to me as he slides a key card into one of the back entrances. “You might fall asleep. We’re not going all out quite yet. I’ll be working on my sidestepping today, especially since I have a tendency to just plow through people.”

  “Oh, I know,” I say brightly. “I read it on your Wikipedia page.”

  He groans. “I ha
ve one of those?”

  “That only means you’ve made it.”

  “Bloody hell. Anyway, I can’t really run people over anymore without risking injury to myself, so that’s where the sidestepping comes in handy.”

  “Will I at least see you in a scrum?” I ask as we walk down a dank, cement tunnel toward the lit green field at the end.

  “Nah. As the wing you just watch the scrum. Wait and see what happens.” He gives me a wry look, pursing those lush lips together. “Don’t you remember any of that rugby I taught you?”

  I laugh sharply. “Let’s be honest. I was just trying to flirt with you, maybe get a good feel of your ass.”

  “If I recall correctly, you were definitely flirting with me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, you didn’t seem to know it at the time.”

  He stops and pulls me to him. “I knew it at the time, love. Just had to work up the courage to do something about it.” He kisses me on the forehead, and we continue on our way.

  We’re a bit early so he leads me up into the stands where he selects a good seat for me. “You’re close enough to hear Alan, our coach, yelling at us, and at me especially, and you’ll be able to see everyone. I better go check in on the locker room.”

  I anxiously grab his arm. “What, you’re leaving already?”

  “I’ll be right back. Down there.” He points to the field. “Try and stay awake.”

  He trots off down the stairs and I watch the muscles in his ass bounce as he goes. After a few minutes, when I realize it might be a while before it all starts, I bring out my phone and start emailing people. I email Steph and Nicola, wanting so bad to tell them what Lachlan told me, but knowing it isn’t their place to know or even understand. It’s Lachlan’s past that he entrusted me with, and I cling to that with reverence.

  I email my mom too. The last email I got from her was a few days ago. She said she misses me, which hurt like hell, but that she was fine and that Toshio and Sean had been over. She hadn’t mentioned my other brothers, Nikko, Paul or Brian, at all, so I also drop an email to Toshio to see if he can remind them. After everything that Lachlan told me, I feel strangely weak and shaky inside, and my need to know that everyone will be okay is stronger than ever. I wish there was a teleporting machine so I could go back, just for a moment, and give my mother a long hug. Those kind of hugs fix everything.

  But that doesn’t exist, and instead I’m on the bleachers of an empty stadium waiting for a man that I’ve grown hopelessly, helplessly in love with. I hate that I can’t have everything, and I hate that it’s human nature to want more when you finally have it.

  Finally there’s shouting from below, and I stop emailing to crane my neck down to see a bunch of big burly men in tight shirts and shorts heading out onto the field. Lachlan is at the back of the pack, talking to a shorter man in a windbreaker that’s nearly as wide as he is. I assume that’s Alan, the coach.

  I can’t deny that my heart does a double back flip at the sight of Lachlan on the field, in those clothes that show off every thick, sinewy inch of his muscles. He’s a fucking god and a god I’m fucking. I have to pinch myself, even though my own pulse is threatening to step out of bounds.

  Though he walks with a familiar swagger, he holds himself differently here. Proud. He’s beyond confident. He acts like he owns the field, owns the very game. If I was a girl living here, I’d be at every single game watching him. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what half the stadium consists of—girls wanting to get their Lachlan McGregor on.

  The practice itself isn’t very interesting. There’s about a dozen or so people on the field, and the coach alternates between having them play each other full on for a few minutes, then pairing players off to work on exercises. Just as Lachlan said, he spends a lot of time running with the ball, dodging players coming at him. He sidesteps them, sometimes causing the other player to fall flat on their face, sometimes spinning off a tackle. Sometimes he doesn’t sidestep at all and just goes for the opponent’s shoulder. I can tell he pulls back at the last second and doesn’t hit with all his strength. If it were an actual game and that wasn’t his teammate he was slamming into, I bet he wouldn’t hold back at all. He really is a beast.

  And he’s fucking fast. Though he’s not used all the time and often spends a lot of the game hanging at the edges of the team, when he is passed the ball, he takes off down that field like he’s about to take flight. It’s amazing how a man of his stature can run so damn fast, those muscular legs pumping like a machine.

  I could literally sit here for hours watching him. I can’t take my eyes away. He’s so into the game that he only looks up in the stands a few times. But when he sees me, he gives me a nod, and I find myself waving shyly like a school girl.

  It’s hard to even imagine him skinny and scrawny on the streets, doing drugs and feeling so hopeless. What a different man he is on the field.

  Eventually practice ends, and as everyone heads back under the bleachers and to the locker rooms, he runs up the stairs toward me, tireless and taking the steps two at a time.

  “How you doing?” he asks, sweat glistening on his scrunched brow as he stands over me.

  “Good,” I tell him. “You’re like…a rugby machine.”

  He looks over at the field, wincing while he wipes his arm across his forehead. “Yeah? Didn’t feel like it.”

  “Well, you look like it. I’m…lucky. I’m lucky. You’re amazing. You’ve impressed the pants off of me.”

  He looks at me, the corner of his mouth lifting up. “Is that so?”

  “I’ve never wanted to screw you more,” I tell him honestly.

  He chuckles. “All right. Well that can be arranged. You don’t mind if I have a shower first?”

  I frown. “Are you actually serious about having sex with me?”

  “Love, I am always serious about having sex with you. And yeah. Maybe a locker room shag has always been a fantasy of mine.”

  Fuck. Sign me up. As if I wasn’t already turned on watching him get all sweaty on the field, asserting his dominance, now he’s staring at me with a gaze that can only be described as molten.

  “What about your teammates? I’m not that much of an exhibitionist.”

  “Glad to hear that,” he says. “There’s another room for the opposing team. It’s probably open.” He reaches down and grabs my arm, pulling me to my feet. “By the way, tonight, Thierry, my good mate on the team, invited us to a pub. He wants to meet you. That all right?”

  I’m totally flattered that his teammates even know about me. “Sure.”

  “Good,” he says, kissing me softly on the lips and letting out an agreeable noise. “I want to show you off to everyone I’ve ever known and ever met,” he whispers against my mouth.

  I practically melt and kiss him back eagerly, our lips and tongues hot, wanting him to feel just how he makes me feel. I’m not even sure how to describe just how he does me in.

  He leads me down the stairs and across the field, toward the tunnel on the opposite end. I pause in the middle, looking around me, imagining what it would be like to be Lachlan, to step out here among thousands of fans staring down at me, cheering me on. I don’t know how he does it, he must get into some kind of zone.

  I think he does that with me sometimes. It’s like he sees me and nothing else, like I’m his whole world, the only thing in his existence.

  Even now, the way he’s glancing at me as he takes me into the darkened tunnel, I feel enslaved by his intensity. Fuck it. I’m enslaved by everything about him. His beauty, his darkness. His cock. Definitely his cock.

  And definitely now.

  He takes me toward a door and tries the knob but it won’t budge. He pushes me back a bit, looks both ways up and down the tunnel, then kicks the door in.

  “Wow, are you sure this –” I start to say but the look in his eyes shuts me up and he practically throws me in the room. He closes the door behind him and flicks on the lights.

&nb
sp; It looks pretty much like any locker room I’ve ever seen. Lockers, benches, showers at the end. And, thankfully, empty. I look back at Lachlan and he’s already peeling off his sweaty shirt and tossing it to the cement floor. His shoes, socks, shorts go next. Totally commando.

  “I, uh, thought you always wore your underwear when you played,” I say to him, my eyes drawn to his massive erection that he’s holding in his fist, stroking it slowly, up and down and burning into me with dangerous eyes. “You know. Because of the shorts being pulled down thing...”

  But my words are trailing off because the sight of him in the locker room, his rugby kit discarded on the floor beside him, all his gorgeous tattoos and primed muscles on full display, makes me stupid. God, the fact that I just saw all that his body can do on the field, and now he’s going to show me all he can do to me in here…I’m practically panting for it, and I know I’m wet as sin already.

  “I like to mix it up,” he says unapologetically.

  I unbutton my jeans, sliding them down my hips in front of him, about to step out.

  “No,” he says hoarsely, a gleam in his eyes. “Leave them around your ankles.”

  I tilt my head and blink at him. Just what does he have in mind?

  His strides past me, cock in hand and goes all the way to the showers. He turns one of them on and steps in, letting the water stream over his massive body. His stroking increases and I watch, tantalized, as his fist slides from the thick base to his purple, swollen tip.

  “Just watch,” he says through a groan, his head back, the beads of water pouring down his throat, down between the hard mounds of his chest, following the carved path of his stomach. “I want you to beg for it.”

  “I am begging for it,” I tell him, feeling slightly ridiculous that I’m standing here, with my jeans and underwear around my feet, watching him jerk off in the shower. I want more than anything to get down on my knees, put that delicious dick in my mouth, let the water cascade over me. I don’t care if I get wet. I want to make him come. Preferably in my mouth, but I’ll take what I can get.