Playing Dirty (Sydney Smoke Rugby)

by Amy Andrews

  Her hands shook as she fished in her pocket for her phone—she needed to do some damage control.

  She rang Kyle. He’d be in the middle of training, but just in case… He didn’t answer, so she texted him. Then she rang her father. She knew he definitely wouldn’t answer, but left a message on his message bank for later.

  Val glanced at the three trays of croissants ready to go into the oven and knew they wouldn’t be going in today. The sooner the food ran out, the sooner she could shut the doors and get to Henley. Because she needed to be there when Kyle came off the field. Needed to be there to intervene in case things got out of hand between her father and Kyle.

  To be the cool sensible one.

  She had a feeling she was going to be needed.

  Val ran into the stadium at just after one o’clock, her heart tripping, enough adrenaline sloshing around in her system to stun a bull. She’d hoped to get here a bit earlier, had left Sticky Fingers in plenty of time. But there’d been a car accident, and traffic had been a nightmare. Every minute that had ticked by while she’d sat in a line of unmoving traffic had stretched her nerves tighter.

  She skidded into the locker room, hoping desperately to find Kyle there first, to warn him. But, as about a dozen sets of eyes full of compassion and pity landed on her, she realised his wasn’t one of them. She noticed some of the guys couldn’t make eye contact at all.

  They knew. They all knew. Which meant so did Kyle. And her father.

  “Val?” Tanner stepped forward and gave her forearm a gentle squeeze.

  “Kyle?” she demanded, a little out of breath from her mad dash from the car park. She didn’t need his compassion or his pity or his gentle arm squeezes.

  She needed to sort this shit out for once and for all.

  A sudden smashing from somewhere in the hallway behind her reverberated around the locker room. “He’s with Griff.”

  Great. She turned to go, but Tanner grabbed her by the arm.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t?”

  “Yeah.” Dono stepped forward. “Just…let ’em work it out for a bit.”

  Val glared at him, then at Tanner, who hastily let go of her arm, then at all the other guys, who were nodding their heads in agreement despite her stabbing eyes.

  Seriously? How was it that men ruled the world?

  Another smashing sound shot straight through to her spine. The urge to smash things herself was becoming startlingly strong. Maybe she’d start with their heads. “And that’s them working it out, is it?”

  Dono shrugged. “Guys.”

  Val rolled her eyes. Jesus. Underneath it all, they really were just Neanderthals, weren’t they? “I love him, you idiots.”

  They all seemed to visibly draw back at her frank emotional admission, regarding her warily in case she did something else emotional like burst into tears. Val would have laughed had she not been so startled.

  She did love him. She didn’t think she loved him. Or that she might be falling for him. Suddenly it was as clear as an end-of-game hooter, cutting through all the noise in her head. She actually loved him. She didn’t know what that meant for their future, and she didn’t have time to think about it now, but the sudden urge to grin was strong.

  She fought it back. The guys all looked wary enough without coming across as unhinged.

  Leaving them to chew on her announcement for a while, Val turned on her heel and stormed toward her father’s office. The door was closed, but two raised male voices made it possible for her to hear every word.

  “This is where you need to decide, Leighton. Rugby or Val. Because you can’t have both. Not if you want to play for me.”

  Val paused, her hand on the doorknob, her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering frantically against her ribs. She knew she should just storm in there and break it up, but something held her back.

  She was beyond horrified that her father was throwing around ultimatums. But there was some sick, morbid, very female fascination about how Kyle would answer.

  Because she wanted him to choose her. Because she loved him. Even though it would be a monumentally stupid career move.

  There was silence inside the room. A silence that stretched and took her already taut nerves with it. Each second that passed jabbed thousands of tiny daggers into her heart.

  She heard a low murmur then. Her father’s voice. But she couldn’t make out the words. Val pressed her ear to the door. What was he saying? Was he threatening bodily harm? Talking about hit men?

  “Jesus.” Kyle again, audible now but still not loud, necessitating Val to push her ear harder against the door. “You know, maybe if you’d given your daughter an ounce of fucking attention, she wouldn’t have picked me up in a bar and screwed everything up for some kind of sick daddy revenge.”

  Val sucked in a breath as the daggers dug a little deeper. Oh, he didn’t just say that…

  A massive thud like a fist on wood shook the door and Val recoiled. “Val or rugby,” her father roared.

  There was a long pause. “Rugby. I choose rugby.” It wasn’t raised or angry, more defeated than anything, but the daggers were right through to the centre of her chest now, and she was bleeding everywhere.

  She should have known this. He had, after all, chosen rugby that day of Bailee’s party when she’d suggested they out themselves as a couple. This shouldn’t be a surprise.

  He really did choose rugby.

  She wouldn’t burst into tears out here in the corridor, though. Or run away home with her tail between her legs. She’d tackle it head on, damn it.

  Like a good little rugby soldier.

  Because she was blindingly angry right now and she wasn’t going to stand here while these two men treated her like she was some possession that could be fought over or traded or used as some bargaining chip.

  It was official. She was sick of men and their shit.

  Val turned the handle and burst into the room. Both occupants started, then gaped at her entry, clearly horrified by her presence and, she assumed, by what she might have heard.

  Kyle started toward her. “Val, I—”

  She threw up her hand in a stopping motion, hardening herself against the stricken expression twisting his face. “Sick daddy revenge?” she demanded.

  “I—”

  “Save it.” Her voice cracked like a whip into the tense atmosphere.

  She absently noted that the coffee mug with the broken handle that usually sat on her father’s desk was now in pieces on the floor near the wall and the wall had a dent in it. The pens that usually sat in the mug were strewn across his desk. The broken remnants of another mug sat in a puddle of spilt, muddy coffee, along with what looked like torn pages of newspaper.

  “Valerie—”

  “You, too.” She turned to glare at her father. “I’m speaking now.” Both men blinked at her but zipped it. “I wonder if either of you realised while you were in here fighting over me, treating me like some prize in your pissing competition, that you actually have no say over my life. I get to say what I do with my life, and you know what? I don’t want either of you in it.”

  She turned then and stormed out, slamming the door for good measure behind her, the sound bolstering and comforting her until about three-quarters of the way home when its finality hit her.

  And then the tears came.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two weeks later, Kyle wouldn’t have thought it possible to feel this miserable. He was wrong.

  He was so miserable, not even playing rugby for the Sydney Smoke helped. In fact, that suffered, too. Between him and Griff snapping and snarling at each other and everyone else, they’d lost two games in a row, taking them from the top of the ladder to just scraping into the top eight going through to the finals comp.

  Rugby had been his all since he’d been identified as talented by a scout at the age of fifteen. And now everything was going to hell. He was dropping balls and missing tackles and each step on the field was like pushing a
gainst a hurricane, his muscles screaming, his lungs howling, his heart dying.

  Kyle’s first instinct that dreadful day had been to rush to Val’s side. Go to her flat, belt on her door, make her hear him out. And he had. But she’d refused to open the door. Refused to even answer him, and he’d left, his brain stewing on ways he could make her listen, make her see he’d chosen rugby for her.

  But, once his fervour had cooled, he realised it was better this way. For Val.

  A quick, decisive blow.

  Of course, he’d have preferred for it to have not happened at all, to have bided their time, kept things quiet until the end of the season, waiting for her to work her magic with her father. Griff had definitely given her an in, and there was no way he’d be able to hold out long against the sheer delight and determination of his daughter.

  But it had. And her thinking the worst of him was probably for the best now. Because when Griff had lowered his voice and looked at him with anguished eyes that day in his office and said please, please give me space to get to know my daughter again, Kyle understood what it had taken, and he knew he couldn’t stand in the man’s way. As someone who was used to giving his all to family no matter the circumstances, how could he not sacrifice for Val? For the woman he loved?

  So he’d chosen rugby. For Griff. For Val. For the reconciliation she’d been yearning for these past twenty years. He’d done it automatically, without thinking, out of practise and muscle memory. It had been a reflex. It had been utterly stupid. He should have talked to her about it, but it was done now.

  Sure, she was mad at Griff at the moment, but he knew the prospect of their coming together would be too great a pull for Val. For a girl who’d craved her father’s love her entire life.

  Eventually she’d start talking to her dad again. And that’d be easier if Kyle wasn’t around. He wouldn’t risk screwing things up just because it felt like he was dying. Maybe one day…who knew? After things were solid between Griff and Val.

  Maybe then?

  His mother had urged him on the phone to go for it. To get her back. But he loved Val too much to mess with her finding the happiness she craved with her father.

  His cousin, on the other hand…

  Every time Kyle thought about Danny, he wanted to punch things. He knew it was Danny. He didn’t have any proof. But he knew it as surely as night followed day. Should have known that day at the party, when he’d told his cousin he wasn’t going to support his bid to get back into rugby, that Danny wouldn’t take it lying down.

  Because that was exactly the entitled little turd drugs and too many yes-men had turned him into.

  Unfortunately, his cousin had gone to ground. No doubt with his shady mates, snorting those thirty pieces of silver up his nose.

  Kyle was still heavily mired in his misery by the middle of the third week when he headed back to the locker room after training. They were in the week off between the end of the regular season and the start of the final season but, of course, Griff was riding them hard all the way to the end.

  Probably not a bad thing, considering their two losses.

  Every muscle in Kyle’s body protested. Everything ached. But it was nothing compared to the hot ball of ache burning in the centre of his chest. So mired was he, Kyle didn’t hear Tanner calling Griff into the room or notice the entire room going silent, until Tanner spoke his name.

  Kyle glanced over his shoulder and stiffened as Griff stood there, glaring at the guys all standing in a huddle, their arms folded.

  “What’s this bullshit?” Griff demanded.

  “It’s an intervention,” Linc, about the only guy who wasn’t looking deadly serious, announced proudly.

  “Looks more like a mutiny to me,” Griff said, his voice a low growl, his lips stiff, back erect.

  Kyle had to hand it to Griff, he sure knew how to intimidate. He’d known it as a player, too. But Tanner and the team stood their ground. Which spoke volumes about the level of frustration they were all feeling at the moment.

  “Either you two stay in here and sort your shit out, or the rest of us—every single one of us—will walk.” Griff snorted. But Tanner didn’t blink. “We’re serious, Griff. This crap has got to stop.”

  Griff’s jaw tightened, but Kyle could tell he was listening. The coach had a good relationship with his captain, and Kyle knew they had a deep and abiding mutual respect.

  “You two are out of control,” Tanner continued, eyeing them both in turn. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re about to go into a finals season, which you two almost lost us the chance of getting into.”

  “We’ll be fine.” The set of Griff’s jaw matched the tone of his voice—steely. He was as big and hard and cold as a slab of granite, standing there staring down the team who loved him like a father. “You’ve all just gotta give a bit more.”

  “More?” Tanner laughed, and it sounded weary as hell. “Us bleeding all over the field is not going to sort this shit out between you and him.” Tanner stabbed a finger in Kyle’s direction. “And it’s not going to repair your relationship with Val.”

  Kyle wouldn’t have thought it possible for Griff to get any stiffer, but he did, his lips flattening into a thin line.

  “That mess is on you, and it’s high fucking time you did some bleeding of your own.”

  There was a collective indrawn breath at Tanner’s bold statement. Kyle didn’t think any of the team had called Griff to account over his treatment of Val before. If there had ever been any doubt that the Smoke captain had balls, this proved it unequivocally.

  Big. Brass. Balls.

  “We’re going,” Tanner continued, not giving Griff a chance to respond. “And we’re locking the door after us. So forget coming out until this is over. Or one of you is dead.”

  The team filed out.

  The door shut, then locked, and Griff, his hands clenched into fists, rounded on Kyle. “This is your fault.”

  Unlike the first time Griff and Kyle had argued in Griff’s office, Kyle was in no mood to hold back, to keep his temper in check. He was tired, and there wasn’t one part of his body that wasn’t bitching at him. But it was his heart—about as broken as was humanly possible—that was up for a fight.

  He had enormous respect for Griff as a player and a coach, but Tanner was right. This thing wasn’t about rugby. It wasn’t about Kyle Leighton. It was about so much more. No matter the reasons, Griff had been a lousy father, and if he couldn’t see his fractious relationship with his daughter was at the bottom of all this, it was about time somebody made him see.

  “No.” Kyle’s heart was pounding in his chest, his lungs tight, every muscle tensed as his body went into Neanderthal mode. This showdown had been a long time coming. And now that it was here, he wasn’t backing down from it. “It’s your fault.”

  Griff bristled with barely-suppressed rage, testosterone pouring off him in waves. But Kyle knew, without a doubt, he was also pumping it out.

  There was enough of it in the room to kill an entire paddock of bulls.

  Griff took three paces, until he was close enough to take a swing if he wanted. Kyle was pretty damn sure he wanted. Instead he held up his index finger and practically shoved it in Kyle’s face.

  “I have one rule.” Kyle swore he could hear Griff’s teeth grinding behind the grim slash of his mouth. “Stay away from my daughter. And you”—he poked Kyle so hard in the chest that he staggered back a step—“just couldn’t keep it in your pants, could you?”

  Kyle wasn’t going to repeat the obvious rebuttal that he hadn’t known who Val was when he’d first slept with her. Because, truth be told, he’d have probably done it anyway. She’d had him by the balls from that first night.

  “Why do you even care?” Kyle demanded. For a man who’d wanted nothing to do with his daughter, he seemed to care a hell of a lot about who she was seeing.

  Griff poked him again, harder. But Kyle was prepared for it this time, absorbing the shock of it without losing his
footing.

  “Because I know what goes on in the filthy mind of a bunch of jocks. I was one. And I want her to be with a guy who will treat her with respect. And because I love her,” he roared.

  “Could have fooled me.” Kyle knew that Griff had made some serious effort these last few weeks. But playing nice now didn’t let him off all his past bullshit. And Kyle was dying to call him on it.

  “When you get older, Leighton, you’ll understand that there’s more than one way to love a person.”

  “That’s bullshit. Not your kid. There’s only one way to love a kid.” His family might be a big loud rabble, but hell, at least they knew how to love each other. “All your love-you-from-a-distance-with-my-wallet crap did was fuck her up.”

  Kyle was done pulling his punches. Everything was amped up inside him. He was pumped. Blood pounded through his chest and his head and his loins. Provoking Griff wasn’t a smart move, but somebody had to. The truth was, they’d been spoiling for this fight since the night he’d slept with Val. He poked Griff for good measure. His finger practically bounced off the granite wall of his chest.

  Griff pushed him hard in response, and Kyle staggered back again. “She’s fine,” he growled.

  Kyle laughed. “She’s not fine. Hell, man, you didn’t kill just one kid that day. You killed two.”

  Kyle knew he’d stepped over the line even before he saw the flash of white-hot heat in Griff’s gaze a split second before he took a swing. It was enough warning to be able to move directly out of the line of fire, enough for the big fist to merely strike a glancing blow to the cheekbone rather than smash into it fully, the force driving him back into the lockers behind with a loud bang.

  And then it was as if the oxygen in the room suddenly ignited, a flare of heat vaporising the thick fugue of testosterone in a blinding flash. Something exploded inside Kyle’s chest—outrage, about a hundred suppressed conversations he hadn’t had with Griff, and a wounded kind of desperation to make a stand for Val.