by K. Bromberg
I’m not sure why it gets to me when she does it, but it does. That lump in my throat grows even bigger.
“I’m sorry.” We both say it at the same exact time. Her lips—that I desperately want to lean down and kiss—turn into a ghost of a smile.
“I’m sorry, Nox.” And I don’t think I’ve ever spoken truer words.
“I didn’t mean what I asked. I phrased it wrong. You don’t owe me any explanat—”
“Shh,” I murmur. “I do. And—I . . . sometimes you do things because you have to. They’re not always what you want to do, but they’re the right thing to do.”
“Help me understand. Why would you—” Her confused sigh finishes her sentence for her. “How could you risk . . . how could you let people think you did something like this?”
“It doesn’t matter what people think about me. I learned a long time ago that people believe what they want even when the truth is looking them straight in the face.”
Like I am you right now.
“But it does matter. It’s a battle worth fighting. Finn. Your publicist. Your lawyers. Your teammates. They should be screaming at the top of their lungs, vouching for you, setting everyone straight.”
“I gave up hoping anyone would go to battle for me a long time ago,” I whisper as I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “And I’m okay with that. The only person you can completely depend on is yourself.”
“You pay these people,” she says, disbelief ringing in her tone. “They better fight for you.”
She doesn’t understand, and I’m not sure how to make her. “I’m a kid from the wrong side of town who got a chance of a lifetime and ran with it. Everything I’ve done I’ve had to work and fight for myself.” I lean down and press a kiss to her lips, needing her touch. Needing that connection. “That’s not going to change now. I’ve got it under control. It’ll all work out.”
“Rush.”
I deepen the kiss to distract her, because what else can I say? That the only father figure I’ve known—who I thought was in my corner—betrayed my trust? The man, who should have been there for his flesh-and-blood son, proved himself more selfish than I thought, demanding I pay back what he gave me?
I feel cheated. Wronged. Used in the weirdest sense of the word.
Lennox is also right about my agent, my publicist, my teammates. Well, apart from Louie. Christ. It’s like none of them have any faith in me.
“You’re the rebel they expect this from. The man who brawls in pubs and changes women like you do your socks and doesn’t give a fuck who sees or knows.”
Or maybe I’m just finally seeing it because . . . Lennox has faith in me.
“You don’t have to fight this on your own. Let me help you. Let me—” A gasp falls from her lips as my fingers make my way between her thighs.
“No one’s ever fought for me before because they thought I was worth it.” Another kiss to quiet the doubt. “I stopped hoping for that a long time ago.”
LENNOX
WE WERE SILENT THE WHOLE ride back due to the wind and the convertible, much like we were on the way up to Montecito, but this time there’s an added weight around us.
We had a fight.
I let the thoughts in the back of my head get the best of me, got a little too relaxed, and those thoughts spilled out. Maybe I didn’t mean to ask the question how it came out, but my curiosity sure as hell did.
And sure, he woke me up and apologized, but there was so much left unsaid on my part, so much that I feel he silenced with his kiss and then the sex that followed.
But I let him distract me because I was too damn afraid to ruin whatever this is between us. Too scared to rock the boat. But then I realize there is no boat. There’s just this small space of time where Rush and I are going to be together. It’s perfectly natural to develop some feelings for a man I’m all but living, working, and having sex with. Normal on so many levels. There’s no need to overthink it since in the not-so-distant future, we’ll be parting ways to go back to our normal lives.
Brexton was right.
Rush is my perfect idea of a relationship. Quick, satisfying, and then over when we both move on.
But if that’s the case, why now, as we’re crawling through the Hollywood Hills back toward our reality-for-now home, does my head buzz with so many more thoughts and things I want to say? Why now, do I become nervous when Rush pulls the Mustang to a stop in the roundabout in front of Johnny’s house?
It’s because I’m lying to myself.
I’m lying to myself, and I’m not sure how to convince myself the lies are all true.
“So you got one thing ticked off your ‘American things’ to-do list, right?” I ask nervously. “What else was there? Tailgating and learning to appreciate why we Americans love our ice cubes? I’m sure there’s more. What else can you think of? I mean . . .” I wring my hands in my lap and look out the passenger side window as I try to figure out how to say what I want to say. I turn toward him. “About last night.”
“Forget about it.”
“No.” I reach for his hand to stop him from getting out of the car and wait for him to look at me. “I need to say this. I need to . . . please?”
Rush shuts the car door and turns to face me. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”
“It is because you planned this incredible getaway, and I ruined it.”
“You didn’t ruin it.” He reaches out, cups the side of my face, and runs a thumb over the line of my jaw. “You’ve gotten to know the real me, Lennox. All I can say is that I hope that’s enough for you to believe what I’m saying is true.”
I open my mouth and then pause. Just say what really matters, Kincade. “I hope you can hear me when I say this. You’re wrong in what you said last night. You can depend on me, Rush, and dammit, you’re more than worth fighting for.” I hate that my voice wavers on the last few words, but how sad to live a life feeling like you have to face every battle alone.
His eyes never leave mine as he forces a swallow and nods. “Thank you.” His voice is barely a whisper but it shouts in my head.
He climbs out of the car without another word said.
The afternoon gets lost with me catching up on work and him training. The evening even more so as Johnny has some friends over who challenge Rush to a game of pool. Their echoes of laughter and trash-talking over winning and losing the ridiculous amounts of money being bet float up the stairs.
I try to read, but every time I get into the page, I hear Rush’s voice or laugh and am taken back to the idyllic rendezvous we just left. The rendezvous that at the time was incredible, because it was just the two of us, but now? I’m left feeling like it never happened.
Several times I think to call my oldest sister, Dekker, and talk to her. She’ll set me straight with her reasoning. But then that would open a can of worms, because they’ll know the man I’m supposed to be recruiting is slowly winning over my heart too.
And until now in my life, my heart has been one hundred percent off limits to anyone other than family.
I’m just about to fall asleep when I hear Rush brushing his teeth in our bathroom. A part of me, the needy part apparently, wants to call out to him and ask him to come and sleep in my bed with me. The sane part of me shuts my mouth and rolls onto my side to face the wall away from the door.
“Hey? Nox?” Rush whispers at my door, and I’m not sure why for the life of me I pretend to be asleep. Maybe it’s to quiet the needy part of me. Maybe it’s to prove I don’t need him, after all.
The last thing I need right now is more sex that confuses how it makes me feel physically with how it makes me feel emotionally.
I hear his feet on the floor and assume he’s walking away, but am surprised when I feel the covers lift and the bed dip at my back. Without another word, he slides in behind me, wraps his arms around me to pull my back to his front, and then murmurs, “Good night.”
“Hey,” I say in mock protest. “My bed.”
He
presses a kiss to my shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You can have the bathroom if I get to keep your bed.”
“Are we negotiating again?”
“Nah, this one’s already a done deal, love.”
And it’s the last thing he says before his breathing evens out.
I’m left wide awake, trying to figure out how to deal with an off-limits heart that wants to start playing the game. And why that’s with a man with a definite time limit and secrets that guard his heart and soul.
Why is it with someone just like me?
RUSH
7 Weeks Ago
THE CHANGING ROOM IS SILENT save for the groans from the guys tired after playing ninety minutes plus stoppage. And while it’s quiet, the boos of the crowd echo over and over in my head. The bullshit chants—the word cheater drawn out three times in a row followed by a quick, yes, he is—directed my way every time I was near the sidelines.
It doesn’t help that we played like shit. We can make the excuse it was a brutally physical game, seven yellow cards ought to tell anyone that, or that the calls didn’t go our way, but it was our fault we didn’t advance.
Plain and fucking simple.
We got our arses handed to us and we deserved it, because we played like individuals and not a team.
It doesn’t help that it’s been less than twenty-four hours since that fucking picture of Esme and Rory hit and owned every social media platform known to man.
Talk about fucking up team chemistry.
I steered clear of Seth as much as possible, but now? Now I fear it’s going to come to a head, and I’m so not ready for it.
I lean my head back against the wall, close my eyes, and make a conscious decision to ignore the stares my teammates keep angling my way.
The glares that say I just lost us the place to go to the Champions League.
“Fuck,” I groan to no one in particular.
“You sure know about fucking, don’t you, McKenzie?” Seth growls, and I open my eyes to find him standing right in front of me. “Since you seem to have no problem fucking my wife.”
The atmosphere of the changing room shifts in an instant. It seems like every guy on the team is there in a heartbeat, including Rory, standing a few meters behind Seth, staring bug-eyed at the situation.
“Just like you know about using your hands, right, Seth?” I say thinking of Rory’s account of Seth punching Esme. “Good thing you play a sport where you use your feet so you can save your hands for what you really do best.”
And from one breath to the next, Seth’s fist plows into my face. I return the favor before the two of us are rolling on the floor landing blow after blow.
At first the guys stand there, uncertain what to do, and then their attempts to break us up turn into them throwing punches as if we asked them to pick sides. The entire changing room becomes a brawl of fists and elbows and frustration and anger.
“That’s going to be some shiner,” Lloyd says as he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me.
“You should see the other guy,” I say with a chuckle that makes my ribs hurt like a bitch. I’d refuse to admit it if asked.
“You think this is fucking funny, Rush? You think any of this is? I have half a mind to—Fuck!” He barks the word out as he shoves up out of his seat to pace his frustration out. “We lost the fucking game tonight we were hands down favorites to win, and you sit here with a smirk and a smart-arse comeback like it has nothing to do with that picture in the bloody paper.”
I stare at him, at a loss for what to say. For what to do. Hell, how do I even keep up the charade? Because I’m fucking pissed off we won’t be going to the champions league. We’ve worked hard for that all year, and now because of a damn photo, LFC is out of the championship. So, yeah, I’m pissed all right. But my hands are fucking tied.
“You do understand that your contract is currently being negotiated and you could be up for a transfer, right? Keep the future star of our club when he’s going to ruin it, because he can’t keep his fucking dick in his pants? Force management to put Seth up for transfer or go on loan to another club because he’s on the tail end of his prime? Or tell both of you to figure your shit out, because this is a business and your fucking team needs you too?”
It hits me. The severity of what I’ve agreed to do, and the fact that Rory was right: they would have cut him without giving it a single thought.
“I have no problem playing with Seth, mate. None at all.” I open my jaw wide and feel the pain in my cheek where his fist landed more than his fair share of punches. “I have a problem with the fact that he likes to plow his fist into more than just my face.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Not my business.
“Never mind? You’re fucking up my team. Your squad. And fucking over the club and its fans, and you’re going to tell me never mind? How about you tell me why the fuck you did this?” he shouts.
How about you tell me why the fuck you assume I did?
I want to scream the words at the top of my lungs. I may fuck things up outside of football, I might be reckless and not care about the consequences, but anyone who really knows me, would know I’d never fuck with my team. With my club. With this game I love more than anything else in the world.
And standing here staring at Lloyd—the man who I bust my arse for every damn day—and realizing he assumes I’m guilty like everyone else does—fucking guts me.
“I can play with Seth without incident,” I say in a low growl. “And I will bust my arse and win for this club like I always do. If you’ve never doubted me or my abilities, then don’t start now. I bleed Liverpool red. I have even before I came here.”
I stare at him for a long beat before turning on my heels and walking out, not giving my manager any chance to respond.
LENNOX
“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO GO to the event tonight?” Johnny asks as he plops down on the couch beside me and turns so he can put his feet in my lap.
“Um, excuse me. I’m not a footrest.”
He leans over to make a show of looking at his feet on my lap. “Looks to me like you are.” I give him the bird and a roll of my eyes. “So . . . should I be afraid to ask what’s going on between the two of you?”
Is it weird I wonder the same thing too? Since we’ve been back from Montecito, Rush slips into my bed every night to sleep. I feel like so much has been left unspoken.
It has to just be me. It has to be that I need to overthink less and enjoy him more.
“What’s going on between Rush and me? A little fun. A lot of sex. I don’t know.” I shrug.
Johnny chuckles in that you can’t pull this shit over on me way he has. “You don’t know? Woman, the way he looks at you says something altogether different. I’m not buying it. There’s more than sex. Nice try.”
“Can’t a woman and man just want to have some careless and much-needed fun?”
“Easier said than done.”
I laugh. “Remember who you’re talking to, John.”
“I forgot.” He snorts. “The queen heartbreaker herself.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Tell me the last guy you dated—er slept with, because you don’t really date—that lasted for more than three months.”
“Exactly. That’s why this is perfect.” If I keep telling myself the lie then maybe I’ll start believing it. “We’re over halfway into this contract, Rush will go home, and we’ll be done. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
“Your words are ringing hollow, Lenn.”
I glance over at him and am at a complete and utter loss of words for one of my oldest friends. “I don’t know what to say.”
“How about you admit you’re falling for him?” He immediately holds up his hand to prevent me from rejecting the notion completely. “And what’s so wrong with that if you are? He’s a good guy. You’re an awesome woman. You cl
icked. You had sex. And now, holy shit, there just might be something more there than just the physical. What’s wrong with that?”
I fight the tears burning in my eyes. The tears present because his words are what I’ve been telling myself but can’t seem to accept. “I can’t be falling for him.” My voice is all but a whisper.
“Why can’t you?”
“Because that’s not me. I’m not her. I don’t do hearts and flowers and gushy and—”
“That’s not always what love is. There’s no mold for it to fit in. It’s always give and take, but it’s also what each individual person needs it to be. My mom used to tell me everyone has their own love language. Everyone has a way they need to be loved and a way they give love. Whatever the fuck that means.”
“Did you actually just say everyone has their own love language?” I snicker.
He lifts a middle finger. “Give me a break here. I’m trying to act mature and give you advice you probably don’t want or need,” he says but his cheeks turn pink, and it’s the most adorable thing in the world.
“Mature? You? You should start a relationship blog and call it Dear Johnny.”
“And you should stop teasing or find somewhere else to stay,” he jokes.
But my sigh is heavy despite the smiles on our lips. “I’m not in love with him, Johnny.” I say the words but the knowing look and nod he gives me says he doesn’t buy it either. “How can I be? How can I have never had feelings for anyone and now all of a sudden have some? I mean, that’s just asinine.”
“Sure. Fine. You’re not.” His tone says everything, contrary to his nonchalance. “But I also know you use the word asinine when you get flustered.” He lifts his eyebrows.
“You’re frustrating.”
“Ditto,” he says and then his expression softens. “Don’t push him away because you’re scared. That’s all I’m going to say.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Just stubborn,” he says sarcastically, and I drop my head to the back of the couch and stare at the ceiling.