Once Upon a Player

by Christina Phillips

“Yes, of course we are.” Are we? Even if we’re not, I’m not telling them right before Mum’s due to go in for her surgery. She doesn’t need to worry about me, on top of everything else. “Things are, you know, hectic.”

  Is that why he hasn’t called me, then? Because he’s been too busy?

  If he wanted to find the time, he would’ve.

  “He seems a nice bloke,” Dad concedes. “Genuine.”

  I really don’t want to talk about Lucas, but it’ll be suspicious if I change the subject. “Yes, he is.”

  My whole chest hurts, and I wrap my arms around a cushion and hug it hard, but it doesn’t help ease the ache in my heart.

  Nice. It was the first thing I thought about him after we got to know each other.

  And kind.

  My eyes burn, and I blink furiously. Shit, I can’t start crying.

  Even when I said I was leaving, bailing on his party, what was his reaction?

  To contact Chad, to make sure I got home safely. Except I was too upset to see that, and jumped all over him, like he was being a controlling dickwad.

  I told him not to be so stupid.

  Heat bursts through me, and I clutch the cushion as though it’s my lifeline. Lucas hardly spoke to me after that, except to say call me.

  Fuck, he didn’t really think I meant it, did he? It’s just a common phrase. I didn’t expect him to take it literally.

  But is that what he thought? He’s got such a warped vision of things because of his brilliant family. Can’t he see how brilliant he is himself?

  And I’m not talking about his football.

  Horror fills me. He thinks I don’t believe in him.

  My vision blurs as I remember the bleak expression on his face before we went to speak to the captain. It vanished instantly, and I barely even registered it at the time, but now it’s all I can see in my head.

  I didn’t mean it.

  I drag out my phone and search for the King’s Crest Hotel. I know of it, it’s not that far from here, but I want to find out what time the press conference is.

  Two p.m. And right there and then, I make a snap decision. Tomorrow I’m going to see him and sort this out.

  …

  Lucas

  Late Saturday afternoon I park on the driveway of my family home. I’m not sure why I’m here, but it was like I had to say another goodbye to Dad before I leave the country. Which is crazy, because I’ll be flying back to England on a regular basis, and it’s not as though I won’t be seeing him again.

  “Hello, Lucas.” Dad greets me as though it’s not unheard of for me to turn up unexpectedly at three in the afternoon. “I’m just about to put the kettle on. Want something?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “Mackenzie’s out with friends. You’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

  I don’t remember the last time Dad and I had dinner by ourselves.

  When he goes into the kitchen, I almost follow him, except something stops me.

  Don’t do it.

  But I have to. I hesitate for a second outside Mum’s office before squaring my shoulders and opening the door.

  It’s like slipping back in time. Nothing has changed, and it’s too easy to imagine Mum’s just stepped out for a while and will be back, writing her papers, at any moment.

  “Sometimes I still expect to see her.” There’s a wistful note in Dad’s voice as he stands beside me, and I hastily brush the dampness from my eyes before he notices.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s not been easy, carrying on without her.”

  Fuck, this is awful. I give him a gentle punch on the shoulder, and he smiles at me. “I couldn’t have made it without the three of you. We were very lucky with our children.”

  “Even me?” I attempt to grin, but it’s hard, and not just because I was always the odd one out in a family of brilliant academics.

  He blinks as if he doesn’t understand, and then pushes his glasses onto the top of his head, just like Harry does. “Even you?”

  I sigh. “My choice of career isn’t exactly what you expected, is it?” It’s not really a question, but it sounds like one, regardless.

  “Huh.” He even sounds like my twin when he does that. “It’s true you and Harry went in different directions than your mum and I imagined. We never really understood the appeal of online games or football. But all we ever wanted was for you to be happy in your careers.”

  Hang on, did he just link the genius of Blitz with my ability to score goals?

  “Not sure me being good at football is in the same league as developing a phenomenal RPG that’s taking over the world.”

  “Why not?” There’s a perplexed frown on his forehead, and the smile slips from my face. Jesus, he’s serious.

  I don’t have an answer, so lean against the doorframe and once again gaze into Mum’s office.

  My parents never compared me unfavorably with my brother. It was just my perception of things, reinforced when the press circled the blood in the water when our mum died and they discovered how different I was from my twin.

  Am I that different, though?

  Maybe not.

  I turn to my dad. “I’ll stay for dinner.”

  When Harry opens his front door to me later that night, his surprise is almost comical. I should’ve called first, but I was already here before that occurred to me.

  “Bad time?” I inject an upbeat tone into my voice which I’m far from feeling.

  “Uh, no.” He stands back so I can go inside. “I didn’t know you were a fan of zombies.”

  I stare at him. Despite his genius brain, I usually understand most things my brother says, unless he gets technical, but this comment beats me. “Zombies?”

  “Yeah.” He grins. “We’re introducing Alice to the zombie world tonight.”

  We? Shit. And I should’ve guessed Alice would be here.

  Should’ve thought this through, shouldn’t you?

  “It’s okay, man. It’s not important. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Before he can respond, Alice comes into the hall. “Lucas, how lovely to see you. Are you all set for Tuesday?”

  “Sure am.” I glance between them, and then over Alice’s shoulder, a couple of guys from Harry’s work wander out, munching on slices of pizza. “Well, right. I’ll be off, then.”

  “Okay.” Harry frowns, obviously bemused.

  “Lucas, hang on.” Alice turns and smiles at Harry, and a sharp pain knifes through my chest. Violet used to smile at me like that. “Harry, why don’t you and Lucas go into your study for a chat? We won’t start the movie without you.”

  “Honestly, it’s fine.” This was a fucking stupid idea.

  “I’d really appreciate the reprieve.” Alice gives a fake shiver. “I’m still not sure about this zombie night.”

  “Come on.” Harry punches my arm. “Let’s talk.”

  I’m having serious second thoughts about the whole thing. What possessed me to drive over here tonight? I should’ve taken up Dad’s offer to sleep over in my old bedroom.

  I know why. Dad asked after Violet, and I made up some shit so it sounded like everything was great between us, when the truth is I don’t even know if we’re still together.

  There’s a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach every time I think about the conversation Violet and I had about her moving to Madrid with me.

  I never said that. Move to Madrid? How can I do that?

  I thought you wanted a long-distance relationship.

  At the time, I was so fucking up myself that I couldn’t believe she was turning me down, and I was so sure she’d just changed her mind about the whole thing.

  But she hadn’t changed her mind, because I never bloody asked her, did I? I assumed she’d fall in with my plans, no question, because why wouldn’t she?

  It was like I’d offered her something disgusting, instead of telling her that I want her to be by my side as I face the next big challenge in my life.


  Did I tell her that, though?

  Unformed guilt eats through me, twisting my gut, as the stricken expression on her face fills my mind. Why did she look at me like that?

  If she were just pissed with me, she would’ve told me. I’m missing something…

  What about my jobs? I can’t just let people down.

  She was worried about her commitments, and all I could focus on was the fact she didn’t throw herself into my arms, totally stoked by my offer.

  Fuck. I said some shit about how her job was only temporary. As if it wasn’t important. That’s not what I meant at all.

  I’ve fucked up mightily and heave a silent sigh as I follow my brother into his study. It’s kind of awesome, with a curved wall and floating staircase that leads up to a conservatory.

  Violet would love Harry’s apartment.

  He shuts the door behind us. “What’s up?”

  I’ve no idea where to start. Except Harry’s the only guy I know who managed to get back with the girl of his dreams after he thought he’d ruined it with her.

  So, Violet’s the girl of my dreams? I don’t think that’s even up for discussion.

  “How did you get Alice back?”

  He doesn’t answer straight away, and his lengthy silence kills me. But I can see his brain working, so I keep my mouth shut. Give me a miracle, bro.

  “Have you fucked things up with Violet?”

  So much for a miracle. “Yeah.”

  “How bad is it?”

  What kind of question’s that? “We haven’t spoken in two days.”

  Is it only two days? Feels a hell of a lot longer.

  “She’s ignoring your calls?”

  I feel judged. “I haven’t contacted her.”

  Harry grunts. I’m right. He’s judging the shit out of me. “I’m waiting for her to call me.”

  “Why?”

  What? “Because…” I flounder. Chicks always phone me when I ask them to. Somehow, I know my brother isn’t going to think much of that. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Harry gives a long-suffering sigh. “It explains why you haven’t spoken.”

  Jesus, does he have to be so literal? I sit on the Queen Anne chair he inherited from Mum, rest my forearms across my thighs, and slump forward. “Not helping.”

  He pulls out his swivel chair, rolls it across the room, and sits in front of me, like he’s a shrink. “I don’t know how I can help unless you give me more info. And unless it involves you being a total wanker by thinking Violet’s hooking up with me behind your back, then I have zero experience to call on.”

  I take a deep breath. It’s way harder to push out the words than I thought it’d be. “I behaved like a dick the other night. Assumed she’d give up her jobs without a second thought and move to Madrid with me. She gave me a right bollocking and then said her mum wasn’t well.”

  Why did she say that, though?

  “Huh.” Harry frowns. “What’s up with her mum?”

  Trust Harry to miss the bloody obvious. “There’s nothing wrong—” The words lodge in my throat as a terrible suspicion hits me.

  Fuck. What have I done? I can’t remember what I said to her when she told me that on Thursday, but it wasn’t good.

  What the hell is wrong with her mother? I should’ve asked her. She mentioned it a couple of times, and I just let it go because I assumed she was recovering from a cold, or something.

  The fuck you did, Carter.

  I just didn’t bloody think at all.

  Why didn’t Bec say anything? Except Bec never discusses her family with her clients. I don’t even know if she’s aware I’m dating Violet. I certainly haven’t told her.

  “Bollocks.” I drop my head into my hands and spear my fingers through my hair.

  “Lightbulb moment?” Harry says helpfully.

  “Yeah.” I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. No wonder she’d kept looking at her phone. All I could think about that night was how my plans were falling apart, when she had so much more on her mind. How sick is her mum if Violet’s that worried about her?

  “Huh.” This time my brother sounds chuffed, like he’s now a relationship guru. “All right, then. So, you want to get Violet back?”

  I slump farther over my knees. “I’m screwed.”

  “My best advice,” says my brother, sounding way too cheerful considering this is my fucking life we’re discussing, “is that you grovel. Big time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Violet

  No.

  The train I intended to catch is canceled, and although the next one is on time, it’s made me late, and it’s almost two-thirty when I arrive at the hotel.

  Please don’t have finished the interview early and left already.

  The hotel is clearly catering to the influx of fans, as they’ve opened a small conference room and are showing the interview live, on United’s cable TV channel.

  The room is packed, and I hover by the door, then I catch sight of a notice directing, presumably, the press to the interview itself. Even though I won’t be able to get into the room, I make my way along the wide, carpeted corridor, and there’s another notice on a stand, proclaiming that Lucas Carter is in conference room one.

  Sure enough, there are a couple of security guards. At the other end of the corridor.

  With their backs to me.

  My heart pounds, and my hands are sweaty. I’m not really going to do this, am I?

  Before I even answer my own question, I push open the door and slip inside. Instead of being safely at the back, where no one will notice me, the door opens halfway along the room. A few heads turn in my direction, and I stealthily shut the door behind me and try not to catch anyone’s glance.

  Talk about looking suspicious. Guilt leaks from me, but I’m not about to turn back now. Lucas is speaking, clearly answering a question I missed. His voice is a thousand times sexier than I remember and sets the butterflies off in my stomach. Not now, Vi. I straighten my shoulders and grip my phone. With a bit of luck, the journalists will think I’m recording.

  At least no one marches over and demands to know what I’m doing there, and I take a deep breath and swivel on my heels. I’m instantly transfixed by the sight of Lucas, who’s sitting behind a table with Bec and a couple of other people I don’t know at the front of the room.

  “So, Lucas,” one of the journalists says, although I can’t see who’s speaking. I can’t see anyone but Lucas. “There were some rumors you’d lost your heart to a gorgeous redhead over the summer. Any truth to that?”

  What the fuck? Heat blasts through me, and I have the terrible urge to slink back out of the room before anyone guesses she’s talking about me. Well, how many other redheads has Lucas dated over the last month?

  None. Although I don’t know about the losing your heart bit.

  This is awful. I don’t want to hear Lucas’s celebrity sound bite response. Sneaking in here was the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  But I’m rooted to the spot, needing to see this unravel until the bitter end.

  “I can tell you one thing, Stella.” Lucas sounds his usual flirty self, the way he’s sounded on countless TV interviews over the years. I steel my nerves, waiting for him to deny the fact he’s ever had a serious romance, let alone with me. “That wasn’t a rumor.”

  Oh, my God. He just said that on live cable TV.

  There’s an animated stir among everyone in the room, and hands shoot up, vying for the next question. Bec picks the lucky winner. “Is this mystery lady going with you to Spain?”

  I’m gripping my phone like it’s a good luck charm, and without quite meaning to, I edge my way around the couple of guys in front of me, so I have a better view of Lucas.

  He’s dressed in a casual shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying his famous VIII tattoo on the underside of his left forearm, and I can’t tear my mesmerized gaze away. Lucas, luckily, is focused on the guy who asked the question.


  “I want her to come with me. But I was a right prat to her.” He gives a small smile, nothing like his ever-ready camera beam, and his glance slides around the room.

  And slams to a halt as he sees me. Shock streaks across his face, gone in an instance, but it’s enough. He didn’t know I was here. He didn’t say that for my benefit. For endless seconds it’s like the rest of the room fades away, and it’s only me and him. And then intrigued murmurs around us get louder, but it’s like he doesn’t notice.

  Still holding my gaze, he says, “I don’t know if she can ever forgive me.”

  She’s forgiven you already.

  “Okay, then,” Bec says, “That just about wraps things up. Thank you for—”

  Before I can stop myself, I step forward, and Bec cuts off in midsentence. I’m right at the front of the room, where everyone can see me. Nerves churn through me, I desperately need the bathroom, and my fingers are scarily numb. What the hell are you doing, Violet? But it doesn’t matter how much I hate being the center of attention. This is something I have to do. Just say it. “Why don’t you ask her, Lucas?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see the guys next to me do a double take, as though they’re connecting the red hair and mystery lady comments. I don’t care. None of that matters. All that matters is what Lucas says next.

  He lifts his hand as though he’s about to twist his earring but stops and drags his palm over his jaw instead. “I know I don’t deserve it. I really screwed up and want to say how sorry I am. But do I get a second chance to make things right?”

  “I think so.” My voice is croaky, and I’ve no idea how he could hear me. But he pushes back his chair and strides around the table toward me. The journalists part before him, then form a semicircle behind him, obviously not wanting to miss a single word of the unfolding drama.

  Oh fuck, I’m on cable TV, too. My panic dies as Lucas stands in front of me, close enough that his seductive cologne sends my hormones into overdrive. But even so…not close enough.

  Not nearly close enough.

  …

  Lucas

  I can’t believe Violet came to see me after I was such a prick. I’d planned on going to see her at work tomorrow, waiting until her lunch break and then trying like hell to win her back.