Playing To Win: The Complete King Brothers Collection (A Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  I take my coffee and sip, wasn’t quite expecting it to be a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. “Have you ever been in love?” I ask, hoping the deflect.

  Nolan keeps on eating. “With Mario Kart, UFC, neon mac-and-cheese, my dick, sure, but a girl? Hell no.” He taps his chest with his fork. “Ain’t no one getting in here but a heart surgeon, and I’m hoping that’s a long way off yet.”

  My coffee’s gone from nuclear to scalding, but it’s drinkable. “You don’t believe in it?”

  “When your father’s had more wives than Jupiter has moons? It’s kind of hard to see something intangible like love when you’ve had an upbringing like we have. I just don’t see myself settling. Why have one when you can have them all?”

  I consider if this is how Titus thinks, or thought. I rack my brain. What did I do, specifically, that knocked him out of the mindset all these brothers seem to share? Except Peyton. He’s the one who’s bucked the trend here, and it proves there’s hope… for all of them.

  Just not for you.

  “Maya?”

  I snap out of my daydream and smile back at Nolan with wet eyes. “Sorry?”

  “It’s okay to walk out of someone’s life if you don’t feel like you belong in it anymore. You will survive.”

  I don’t have any quick quip for that because, damn him, he’s probably on point. “Thank you.”

  “I’m done,” comes a call from upstairs.

  I check my watch. That was quick—super quick.

  Nolan points his fork upwards. “Go get ’im.”

  Normally you descend into purgatory, but each time I ascend these stairs it’s all the same. I have to sit here right next to him and pretend we weren’t together, that we shared things I’ve never told anyone, created a bond I thought could never be broken.

  Yet here we are, even after sex, strangers.

  I want to claw my eyes out in frustration.

  Titus slides the test across to me. “Here you go.”

  I push everything aside and focus on the test, taking out a pen ready to correct but finding he’s completely nailed it. There’s not a single mistake. In fact, he’s even corrected one of the questions—something I’d missed completely.

  I fold the test over and look to him. “Flawless.”

  “I know,” he replies smugly, sitting back in his chair.

  It dawns on me this is it. I no longer serve a purpose here. I’m running out of time, maybe already have, to jog his memory.

  I open my mouth about to tell him I love him, that he said the same thing to me not that long ago, but then I remember how he withdrew from me last night and uncertainty floods in. The hard truth is I’m not sure he’d believe me.

  The rest of the study session becomes more and more uncomfortable as the day goes on. I can’t even get close to him. All that progress has been wiped away in the space of a night. It’s like I’ve jumped in a time machine and gone back a week. I wouldn’t be surprised if Marty McFly was about to burst in and ask for his flying car back.

  It is clear that as far as his critical thinking goes, Titus is more or less back to form. I throw everything at him, but he churns through it without issue, a focus I haven’t seen since the accident returning.

  He’s distant with me and it’s not just my imagination. There’s no attempt to flirt, no coy euphemisms or locker room suggestions. He’s not even trying.

  Maybe he’s punishing you, I consider. But the Titus I know wouldn’t be that cruel.

  But do you really know him anymore?

  I’ve done so much Googling on amnesia it’s not even funny. I could probably switch to a medical major at this rate, but all the reading I’ve done suggests that while the memory might be absent, the core of the person, who they are at a base level, remains the same. They don’t just wake up a new person.

  The sun’s getting low outside, the shadows drawing longer across the wall. I’ve run out of coursework, out of any good reason to stay.

  I pack up and sit there waiting for Titus to ask me to hang around, to finally let me back in, but he’s blank and emotionless.

  “I guess I’ll be going then,” I state, trying to make it sound like a question.

  “Sure,” he replies.

  I stand and can’t help a sudden surge of anger—at him, at this stupid injury, at myself for being unable to untangle it all. I’ve barely moved two steps towards the door when it becomes a blinding wall of red, of heated, acidic fury I can’t contain any longer.

  “Guess you’ll be off to Kelly then.” I say, furious, but I say it in such a snappish, quiet manner it’s ten times more venomous.

  “Wait,” he says.

  I turn, seething, holding my satchel in front of me.

  He approaches me. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  Now he shows some emotion. “You think I’m going to Kelly? Are you fucking serious?”

  Good.

  “Fucking Kelly?” he continues, shaking his head.

  “You do remember her, don’t you?”

  I see him fight with himself, struggle to bring back the memory. “I mean, yeah, of course.”

  “Do you?” I push, knowing I’m getting under his skin but oddly blasé about it. “You know, the girl from the bar you were so blatantly flirting with, the girl you left with.” I’m on a roll and I can’t stop myself. “I’m asking if that’s where you’re going, back to her and her prissy bottle-blonde bullshit of a life and big ol’ titties because what? She’s brainless and an easy lay and I can actually put two-and-two together and stand up to you, tell you this isn’t right.”

  “You done?”

  “Tell me, Titus.”

  His eyes are hard and steely, searching the room, for what I don’t know.

  I turn shaking my head. “I’m out of here.”

  “Wait,” he says, and I pull up again.

  “Ti—”

  “I remember. I left with her, you’re right, went to her place, but I couldn’t sleep with her.”

  “Why not?” I ask cautiously.

  He scratches at his shoulder. “It didn’t feel right. Something was off and I just couldn’t fucking do it. Cock-blocked by the invisible man, so to speak.”

  Or woman. Read: me. In your head. Right there if only you’d find me.

  That familiar rush of hope fills me once more. He’s going to remember why. He’s going to remember he thought of me when he was with Kelly, but the longer I wait for this revelation, the colder that hope becomes.

  “Titus,” I push, “why couldn’t you sleep with Kelly? You’ve got to tell me. Be specific.”

  He breaks. “I don’t know, okay? Jesus. This is hard enough.”

  And I’m back to treading on broken ice. The anger has dissipated because, okay, he didn’t sleep with her, which is a plus, right? There could be other reasons, and it would have been nice if he at least partially remembered me when he was with Kelly, but this is progress however small.”

  I don’t want to go, but I know pushing him is only going to make this worse, and the doctor couldn’t have been clearer about that. If I go too hard, I risk having him flip on me completely. That would be a most undesirable outcome. No, I’ve got to have faith.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, readjusting the tone of my voice. “It’s been a long day and you’ve done really well. I shouldn’t have started this.”

  He takes a seat on his bed, turning to lie down holding his head.

  I attempt a smile. “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He nods loosely at that, which I know is as good as I’m going to get.

  I leave the room, quietly closing the door behind me and sneaking out before one of the others has a chance to corner me. I’m in no mood for King shenanigans.

  Outside, the sky a pastel wash above, I can’t sort out my feelings because they’re so damn contradictory. I’m hopeful, confused, relieved and worried all at the same time.

  I walk, trying to block it out an
d concentrate on being present instead.

  I breathe in deeper, close my eyes, and take in the smell of BBQ cooking on the wind, the drone of a plane flying above. A mother’s calling her child in for dinner to my left. To my right a car passes by, suspension squeaking as it hits a pothole.

  And somehow, thinking of all this and nothing at all makes it better.

  For a moment.

  A second.

  Maybe more.

  Maybe less.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  TITUS

  The hole that opened when Maya left has turned into a chasm. I’ve been shifting around my room for hours and still no closer to working out how the fuck this has all gone so wrong.

  I made the wrong decision not asking her to stay. I’d say that’s pretty clear, but it’s the why I’m worried about. Usually it’s my dick that does the talking, and thinking, but it’s completely out of the equation here. This is all head.

  All heart, it adds.

  What would I know about heart? The closest I get to emotion is out there in the dirt sending a slugger to the sky and heading for home. The crowd roars and something special happens. Being with Maya, I get that same high—the feeling you can do absolutely anything, that your path is solid and righteous and headed in the right direction.

  And yet you basically kicked her out, this so-called muse of yours?

  There’s no denying it.

  I’m a fucking idiot.

  I decide to put my frustration to better use and head downstairs to the gym. Nolan’s there on the leg extension machine, quads looking like melons. “You should slow down your movements,” I tell him. “Good form….”

  “…Is everything,” he finishes, laughing through gritted teeth. “You can take your form and shove it.”

  I stand in front of the dip bars, holding onto the handles and lowering myself before pulling up. It’s the perfect alternative to a decline press. It does, however, require a bit more strength. “How’s the ice?”

  Unlike the rest of us, Nolan hasn’t worked his way through Crestfall’s female populace. He’s all business and that business is booming. On the ice he’s a superstar, maybe the best Crestfall’s ever seen.

  He kicks his head to the side. “Coach is so far up my ass I’m not sure if I’m practicing these days or getting a colonoscopy.”

  “Amen to that,” I reply, dipping back down and feeling a light, welcome burn in my upper arms.

  “How about you? Took you long enough to get back to it.”

  Fucking Nolan. I push up and stop, standing. “Oh really?”

  “Really.”

  He doesn’t press, but I feel compelled to explain myself. “Don’t know if you recall, but I suffered a traumatic head injury recently.”

  “You are a traumatic head injury. And it’s no excuse. You know it, I know it, and we both know it’s got to do with that girl.” You might have fooled the scouts with a little batting cage razzle-dazzle but your actual game is far from great. Admit it.”

  “Her name’s Maya, by the way.”

  “Michelle, Maddison, Mickey Mouse… Who fucking cares? The thing is, she’s doing more to your head than that damn fastball ever did. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  He’s not, which only makes it more infuriating. I’m definitely nowhere near the level I should be out there. I got lucky at practice, but come game time… “I suppose the great Nolan King doesn’t let affairs of the heart influence his game.”

  He curls his legs again, the machine whining. “You are damn right about that, but let’s face it, you were acting weird as shit before the head injury.”

  Another unwelcome sweep of déjà vu. I lean against the bars. “Funny, ’cause that’s exactly what Phoenix said. Care to elaborate, O wise one?”

  He lets his legs down, rocking forward just like Phoenix a few days prior. Hell, maybe I’ve had this whole conversation before stuck in some weird time loop, Doc Brown about to arrive and announce we’re headed back to the future.

  Nolan stops and locks eyes with me. Damn he’s good at that, can pin you right to the wall with that look. “I’m talking grade-A weird, man. You were disappearing all hours and kind of quiet, less, ah, douchey, if that’s a thing.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nods. “I’m being dead serious. It’s like you were,” he pauses, looking for the words in the air, “having an affair or something, almost certainly pussy-related.”

  “You need to be married to be having an affair, you know.” At least he doesn’t think I was running with a gang.

  He shrugs. “Then you’re spying for the Russians or something. I don’t know, but the whole clandestine, sneaky McSneaky thing was real, I’m telling you. You looked pretty damn happy about it all, actually.”

  “About sneaking around?”

  Nolan shakes his head. “About life, dipshit. I don’t know if this mystery girl you were seeing had a magical voodoo vagina or a mouth like Riley Reid, but it did something to you. We could all see it. Now, we going to work out or sit here like shrink and client trying to navigate our way through the cluttered universe that is the mind of Titus King?”

  “Fine, fine, fucker,” I tell him, easing myself back into a dip, “but I better see some proper reps. None of that LA Fitness soccer mom shit.”

  We work out in silence after that. My body knows the drill, but my mind wanders. Maybe I should start listening to these assholes. If I really was acting differently before the accident, maybe I was seeing Maya? Would it really be such an abstract concept?

  There’s only one to be sure.

  I have to see her.

  *

  I expect Chrissy to answer when I knock on the door to Maya’s apartment, but it’s Maya herself who answers… in pajamas… pale blue with little sausage dogs on them… sausage dogs wearing pink bow ties. I take her in and have to admit I like what I see. “Nice PJs.”

  She’s blushing, cheeks hot, trying to pull-slash-brush her hair back into order. “Chrissy got them when she went to Sydney last year. Peter Alexander, I think.” She shakes her head, looking to the door. “And I don’t know why I told you that,” she laughs.

  I check my watch. “It’s eleven AM.”

  She reaches forward and shoves me playfully. “What are you, the PJ police? If I want to wear my weiner dog pajamas all day, I’m damn well going to do it.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Heck, I might just head into town like this.”

  I step aside. “Be my guest.”

  There’s a sudden, distinct shift in mood. “Why are you here, Titus?”

  I try to look past her. “Are you alone?”

  “Are you looking to get lucky?”

  “It’s not like that,” I reply. “Now, you going to leave me standing here with my dick in my hand or can I come in?”

  She looks down. “I see no dick and no hand.”

  “Please.”

  She steps aside. “Alright.”

  I walk past her into the apartment. She smells incredible as I pass, like Sunday mornings and fresh sheets, a sunshine girl who couldn’t bring rain if she tried.

  I hear the door close, Maya walking past me to sit on the back of the sofa with her arms folded. I’ve never seen anything so adorable, but I’m here with questions. I’ve got to remain focused. “I should have asked you to stay last night.”

  “Alright.”

  She’s giving me nothing, which is fair, I suppose.

  I start to pace, thinking aloud. “Let’s say maybe I’m starting to think we might have been a thing, how could you prove it?”

  Her face furrows. “Prove it? How do you prove something like that, something intangible?”

  “You’ve got to work with me here, Maya, because I’m in the dark and I’m trying really fucking hard to find the light switch.”

  “Our relationship, it’s hard to quantify, but you? Let me tell you about Titus King, who hit his first home run when he was five, whose father took him camping when he was nine only to set up the tent in a ri
verbed and almost have them swept away. The Titus King who told me he’s only cried once in his life, and it wasn’t because someone died. Whose first real crush was Taylor Swift, Rea era. Your dad didn’t give you that Mustang. You earned it by working all summer to outbid your brothers. How would I know all this, Titus?”

  I put my hands on my hips and keep pacing. “You’re not a fortune teller, soothsayer, any of the above? Because I got to say, you’re starting to reel me in.”

  She pushes off the sofa and comes up to me, hands against my chest. “What we shared, Titus, what we did, I think I know you better than you know yourself, and it kills me, breaks me in two that you can’t remember us.”

  “I don’t know,” I confess, taking her hands. “I’m still not sure.”

  “Don’t you feel it?”

  She’s pleading, her eyes glassy and desperate.

  “Am I attracted to you? Yes. I’ll admit it, but did we have a relationship before all this? I have to be honest, Maya. I don’t know.”

  I expect her to break down, but she nods with understanding. “Okay.”

  “Okay? Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” she smiles, “because I know one day, even if it’s not until you’re old and wrinkly and need me to wheel you around, you will remember and come back to me.”

  “I’m already here,” I tell her, because I may not remember what we had, but I sure as hell want to be with her now.

  The kiss is firmer than I intend but she returns it with equal relish.

  I take her face in my hands and push her forward until she hits the back of the sofa and we both go tumbling over it together, me on top and her laughing below, the light sound of it vibrating against my ribs.

  “I thought you said you didn’t come here to get lucky?” she teases, fingers walking down my chest.

  I place a finger on her lips. “Enough talk.”

  I shift down and take hold of her pajama pants, tugging them together with her panties off her legs, a split second to see the naked round of her ass below begging for my touch. I hook them off her ankles and toss them aside.

  Her eyes are wide. “Titus, what the hell. Chrissy could be back any second.”