Played (Playing Games Book 2)

by Rebecca Barber

  “Hey, are you okay, Em?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You’ve got something on your…” He started rubbing his cheek, and I wanted to melt into the couch cushions.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered, getting up from the couch and stomping into the kitchen to find a tea towel to clean myself up.

  Bryce replied, “I would if I could.” At least that’s what I thought I heard as I set the phone on the bench and scrubbed at my face.

  Picking up the phone again, I plastered on a smile and pretended like the last couple of minutes never happened. “So, hi.”

  “What was for dinner?”

  “Um…”

  “Spill it, Em.”

  “Fine. I was eating ice cream if you must know,” I admitted. No point lying. I was still wearing the evidence.

  “That’s not a healthy dinner, Em. You need to take care of yourself,” Bryce chided.

  Getting my back up, I snapped, “What do you care? You’re not my boyfriend!”

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I’d said that out loud. I hadn’t meant to. This is why I was better with plants not people. Plants didn’t make me blurt out stupid shit. Plants didn’t make me want to drown my head in the tub of ice cream and wait until the humiliation passed, which in this case might be by the time I was eighty but I wasn’t betting on that either.

  “Emma, what’s going on in that head of yours? Talk to me,” Bryce invited, ignoring the bitchiness I was projecting.

  “Nothing. I’m just being a bitch,” I dodged as I stumbled into my bedroom and flopped on the bed dramatically.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I am. I know I am.”

  “Talk to me. Who pissed you off today? Or was it me?”

  I didn’t answer and Bryce took my silence as saying something I wasn’t. “Okay, so it was me. Wanna tell me what I did?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Em. If we have any chance at all you have to talk to me. And right now, I need you to tell me what I did to upset you and what I can do to fix it.” He wasn’t even angry. He should be.

  “You didn’t do anything. It’s me. It’s all on me.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “Oh, trust me, it is.”

  “Well, if you insist it’s you, tell me why you think that?”

  “I’m not good at this.”

  “Good at what?” Bryce asked as he flopped back on his bed, bouncing a little.

  “Talking. Flirting. Guys. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or what I’m supposed to say,” I admitted, turning the camera away from me.

  “Emma! Emma, show me your face.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Look at me, Em. Please.”

  Rolling over on my bed, I pulled the blanket up to my chin in an attempt to hide the stains on my shirt. “I’m here,” I mumbled.

  “Hey. There’s my girl.”

  My stomach lurched at his term of endearment. I don’t even know if he meant it. Or knew that he said it but once it was out there I couldn’t unhear it.

  “Now, wipe your eyes and talk to me. That’s all you need to do. Talk to me.”

  “It’s that easy?” I doubted it.

  “If we want it to be. It can be.”

  Bryce Masters was an enigma. He seemed so sure of himself. He could play the role of the cocky, arrogant, sure-of-himself player – that was the person the world thought he was. Then there was this other side, this side of him he was showing me, and it was like it was our little secret.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I agreed. “Okay.”

  For the next three hours we talked. About everything. About nothing at all. It was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time. Well, it was as much fun as you could have on your own. By the time my battery was running flat, the little red light flashing telling me time was up, I was yawning anyway and after a long, drawn-out goodnight, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

  Waking up, the smile was still there. Despite the late night, I felt refreshed and energised and ready to take on the world.

  All it took was one message to ruin everything.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BRYCE

  Logan: Were you dropped on your head as a baby?

  My phone buzzing and going ballistic woke me before my alarm. I should’ve been tired after spending most of the night talking to Emma, but I wasn’t. I actually felt pretty good.

  Bryce: Morning to you too, dickwad.

  Logan: Seriously? Are you an idiot?

  Bryce: What?

  Logan obviously had a bug up his arse about something and until I dealt with his drama, I had little chance of getting my day started.

  Still holding my phone, I went to text Emma good morning. I had no idea if she was awake or not yet, but I wanted to remind her to have a good day. Last night had been interesting to say the least. Even after we hung up, I lay in bed replaying our conversation. She was confusing. She was like a puzzle that I was determined to figure out. But even after everything she did say, there was still something she wasn’t. Something she was holding back. And that was okay, I guess. We didn’t know each other that well. Not yet anyway. All I could do was hope that in time she’d trust me enough to spill her secrets – or maybe it was her fears. Either way, I’d protect her.

  Before I could get the message sent, though, Logan’s photo message popped up.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I grunted, tossing the blankets off and throwing myself out of bed.

  It was a photo of a newspaper article.

  Featuring me.

  And Madeline.

  And if a picture said a thousand words, then this one was telling the wrong fucking story.

  “Fuck!” I yelled, kicking a pair of shoes sitting by the door.

  Bryce: Where’d this come from?

  Logan: It was sent to Tash. It’s all over the Sydney papers.

  Bryce: Fuck!

  Logan: Have you warned Emma?

  “Fuck you, Logan! Just ‘cause you’re getting fucking married doesn’t mean you know every damn fucking thing,” I ranted into my empty apartment.

  The problem was he was right.

  I needed to warn her.

  I needed to explain.

  I needed her to understand.

  I needed her to not jump to the wrong conclusion.

  The urge to board a plane and fly to Sydney was almost too hard to resist.

  Instead of texting her, which up until five minutes ago had been my plan, I called. When my call was directed straight to voicemail it wasn’t a good sign. I waited a minute. Then I counted to five. Then I tried again. And again, I was sent straight to voicemail.

  I hated losing. I was the world’s worst loser. I pouted when we lost a game, I sulked when Logan beat me in NBA Live and I’d been known to chuck a tantrum when Seth beat me in handball and gloated about it.

  Bryce: Morning, Beautiful.

  Bryce: Not sure if you’ve seen the paper, but I promise you it’s not what it looks like.

  Bryce: I know that sounds bad but it’s true.

  Bryce: Please, Em, just call me. I wanna talk to you.

  I looked like a pathetic, whiny girl and I did not give a shit. Emma could screenshot my texts and show the whole world what a loser I was, and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at this point.

  Sulking at her silence, I set my phone on the bathroom counter and jumped in the shower. It was barely six in the morning and already I felt like I’d run a marathon and climbed a mountain only to get punched in the face by a drop bear.

  Climbing out, I checked my phone, dripping all over the place. After towelling off, I pulled on some workout clothes and headed out to the kitchen to grab something to eat. After whizzing up a protein shake, I started gulping it down when my phone rang.

  For something I’d been checking so obsessively for the last half an hour, why was it that now it was ringing I couldn’t find the damn thing? Knocking over the jar of protein powd
er, I stubbed my toe on the corner of the bench and as I fell forward yanked the tea towel off the counter. Unfortunately, the milk must’ve been balanced on the tea towel, because as I rubbed my toe, willing the pain away, I watched it in almost slow motion as the carton tipped over, spilling milk everywhere. As it dribbled down the front of the kitchen cupboards I swore loudly. It would’ve been comical if it was happening to anyone but me. Right now, though, it was just another thing to add to the shit show that was my Wednesday morning.

  Spying my phone lying in a puddle of milk, I snatched it up. “Hello,” I said breathlessly.

  “Bryce? Are you okay?”

  Fuck! It was Emma. As much as I thought I wanted to talk to her, now I had her on the line, I had absolutely no idea what it was I wanted to say.

  “Yeah, sorry. I just stubbed my toe,” I complained. She didn’t need to know about the war zone that was currently my kitchen.

  “Oh. Okay then. Hey, you rang? I was getting ready for work.”

  Of course, she was. Why I expected Emma’s whole world to revolve around me was ridiculous. I was acting like the selfish bitch who kept causing these issues.

  “Ah, yeah. You got a minute?”

  “Only a couple. I gotta head out in about ten. Gotta love Sydney morning traffic.”

  “Yeah, that’s one thing I don’t miss about Melbourne.”

  “Anyway, what’s up? I’m sure you didn’t call to talk to me about traffic.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. So anyway, there’s a photo doing the rounds this morning that I wanted to give you the heads up about,” I heard myself mumbling.

  “You mean the one of you and Madeline from Sunday?”

  “You’ve already seen it?” What the hell was going on? Emma had already seen it and she was still talking to me. I was confused as fuck, but I wasn’t about to question it.

  “Yeah. A friend sent it to me this morning.”

  As much as I didn’t want to ask, I knew I had to. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “You’re okay with it?”

  I was starting to wonder if there were two Emmas I’d been hanging out with. One that was sure of herself, asked for what she wanted and took no shit from anyone. And another that was unsure, nervous and worried what people would think of her. She was definitely a conundrum. It was something that should scare me, but if anything, it excited and intrigued me.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m okay with it exactly, but I know what it is. From what I read, Madeline is suggesting that you two had a romantic brunch with your family while you were in town on Sunday before you agreed to accompany her to tomorrow night’s movie premiere.”

  “You read the article?”

  “Ah, yeah.”

  I hadn’t even done that. The headline and the photo had been enough to piss me off; I hadn’t even bothered to dig any deeper. I probably should’ve.

  “I just wanted to make sure you knew it was bullshit.”

  “I do. But, Bryce, the photo?” Without coming out and demanding it, she was asking for an explanation. One she rightly deserved.

  I filled in the gaps for her, leaving nothing out. Maybe I should’ve told her about it when it happened but as soon as I’d caught up with Emma and Seth at the dodgem cars, all thoughts of Madeline and her ridiculous invitation were instantly forgotten.

  After promising to call her tonight, a call that Emma promised she’d answer without chocolate sauce all over her face, I let her get on with her day.

  Bryce: Spoke to Emma. All good.

  Logan must’ve been sitting on his phone. His reply was lightning fast.

  Logan: Thank fuck for that. Tash was going to kick your arse.

  Bryce: She wishes

  Logan: Don’t test her. I’m living with Bridezilla.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Tash was the last person in the world I would ever think could possibly turn into Bridezilla.

  Bryce: She know you call her that?

  Logan: I’m still breathing, aren’t I?

  ***

  After the crazy morning, I eventually managed to get everything cleaned up and get out of the house. By the time I got to the club, it was pouring with rain and miserable as fuck. Dumping my shit in the locker room, I headed straight for the treadmill. If I couldn’t run the frustrations out on the field, this was the next best thing.

  I don’t even know how long I’d been at it when Travis stepped up onto the treadmill beside me. Being polite, I tugged one of the ear buds from my ear.

  “Morning,” I panted before grabbing my water bottle from the holder and slurping it down, not even caring that half of it missed my mouth and instead ended up covering my sweat-soaked shirt.

  “Dude! How long have you been running for?”

  Glancing down at the display in front of me, I almost forgot to put one foot in front of the other as I read the information. Forty-five minutes I’d been going at it at the highest speed and incline the machine could handle. It was no wonder my brain was barely functioning and my legs were starting to feel like jelly.

  Slowing the machine, I wiped the sweat from my face with the bottom of my shirt.

  “You trying to kill yourself or something?” Travis questioned as he started out with a nice, slow-paced jog.

  When the machine descended to flat again, I jogged alongside of him, trying to cool down. I might not have all cylinders firing this morning, but I wasn’t dumb enough to go from flat-out to stationery.

  “Nah. Just leave behind some frustrations,” I admitted.

  Travis was one guy at the club I really liked. We didn’t have much in common though, which is why we didn’t really spend any time outside the walls of the club together. We just lived different lives. He was married with the most adorable twin girls I’d ever seen. Only a few weeks back he’d had them here on game day and they were dressed in shorts and jerseys with Travis’s number plastered across the back.

  “This about that actress?” he asked.

  While I appreciated his blunt honesty, I didn’t want to think about Madeline and the shit she was causing. Nodding my agreement, I let him continue. “Be careful with her. She’s after something.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

  At the charity ball the other night Madeline and I had only spent maybe five minutes chatting with Travis and his wife Sarah before Madeline ushered us on, bored by the conversation about toilet training and play dates.

  “For some reason, I have no fucking clue why, Sarah is obsessed with those gossip columns. She reads them first thing in the morning like a normal person would read the news headlines.”

  “That’s sad. Truly. It is.” I chuckled as my treadmill came to a complete stop.

  “Oh, I know. But she was very quick to show me your photo headlining this morning’s section.”

  “Aren’t I lucky?” I mused ruefully.

  “Lucky probably wouldn’t be my take on it.”

  “Mine either, man. Mine either.”

  I climbed off the treadmill and left Travis to his workout. There was still a couple of hours until we had a skills session, so I had some free time. After a quick shower, I changed into some clean clothes and jumped in my car, heading over to the retirement village.

  No one knew that I visited here. I hadn’t even told Logan. I didn’t do it for the press or the good street cred, I did this because it was the right thing to do. Digging the novel out from under the driver’s seat where I kept it stashed out of sight, I locked the car and headed inside waving to Ashleigh as she buzzed me through the heavy glass doors.

  “Morning, Deb.” I smiled at the manager as she bumbled around.

  “Who you here to see today, Bryce?”

  Deb was a pain in my arse, but I loved her, and I was pretty sure that deep down she loved me too. Even if she pretended she didn’t.

  “I’m here to see you, Deb,” I replied as I moved past her and down the empty corridor.

  “Betty will
be happy to see you,” she acknowledged.

  “She always is,” I called back, offering her a wink before turning into Betty’s room.

  Her room was the same as all the others in every other nursing home I’d ever seen. Boring linoleum floor, sterile walls, a simple single bed and dresser with the smallest television screen I’d ever seen mounted from the roof. In the corner, sitting in an ugly green chair was Betty. Her wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose as she sat knitting; hopefully not another ugly sweater she was going to gift me then guilt me into wearing.

  “There’s my favourite girl,” I announced loudly, coming towards her.

  “Bryce!” Betty replied, immediately setting aside her knitting and looking up at me with eyes so pale blue they were almost translucent. “Did you bring the book?”

  “Would I ever let you down?”

  “Better not. What are you waiting for then? An invitation?” Geez she was sassy even despite her eighty-three years. Nothing got by her.

  “Did you want to go out into the common room?” I asked, looking around for somewhere to sit.

  Normally we’d go outside and sit in the garden in the sunshine while I read to her, but with the way the rain was bucketing down and the wind was howling there was no chance we were going out today.

  “Just sit on the bed. You’re wasting time,” she scolded.

  Moving the homemade quilt out of the way, I perched my butt on the edge of her bed and pulled the book out from under my jacket. I couldn’t believe I was reading this. If Betty weren’t so lovely, there’s no way I’d be carting a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey around a nursing home, let alone keeping it in my car. But after we’d finished Pride and Prejudice and Little Women, Betty had asked for this one. And like the good guy I am, I started searching online for a copy that could be delivered discreetly to my house. The last thing I needed was my teammates finding out I actually read books in the first place, but books like this would ensure I was mocked until I died. I definitely didn’t trust Logan with that sort of ammo. Opening to where we left off, I started reading about Christian and Ana and her inner goddess.

  Two chapters later and Betty had had enough. She tired quickly these days and even though I was the one doing the reading, it didn’t take long before she was nodding off. I helped her up onto her bed, covered her over with her blanket and waited for the three minutes it took for her to drift off. I couldn’t wait to get to Betty’s age to be able to nod off at the drop of a hat rather than tossing and turning for forty-five minutes while contemplating the world’s problems.