The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  “Great.” I wave a hand around my stark hospital room. “Look how far I’ve come.”

  “So I see.” Putting my chart away, Doug takes a seat on the edge of the chair Jordan vacated just two short hours earlier. Resting elbows on his knees, he leans forward and looks me in the eye. “Tell me, Brody. Why am I here?”

  I take a deep breath. “Because I need to prove myself wrong.”

  He nods again, liking my answer. “Just you. No one else. When you do that, you’ll find your way, kiddo.” Standing, he ruffles my hair and buzzes the nurse again. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “You packed my bags?” I ask, flicking back the covers.

  “You’re all set.”

  A grunt slips out when I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Doug steps back, letting me do my thing. I respect that. Panting with effort, I rise to my feet, dizzy and sore.

  When I catch my breath, I look at Doug, my face grim and sweaty. Please don’t hate me, Jordan. I need to do this for the both of us. It’s the only way. “Let’s blow this joint.”

  Jordan

  Four weeks later

  Present day…

  North Sydney Oval, Australia

  I step on the bus. It pulls out as I walk down the aisle checking for an empty seat. My eyes fall outside the window to my brother walking to his car.

  Two years ago he waved me goodbye at the airport. I left this country with stars in my eyes and determination welded deep inside my heart. Now I’m back a lifetime later, successful, two lucrative endorsements under my belt, and utterly alone.

  Finding a seat, I put my headphones on, kick back, and stare out the window into the darkness. Our wedding song hits my ears, and I realize I pressed the wrong playlist. Instead of changing it, I let it play, silent tears falling down my cheeks.

  Where are you, Brody? Why won’t you answer my calls, or my messages and emails? Why do you have to do this alone?

  And the one that keeps me awake at night. Are you okay out there?

  He just upped and left. There one minute, and the next … gone. An empty hospital room. An empty bed. And no answers. Nothing left behind, not even a note. Just a broken heart. I returned to our house in Houston and I waited, twiddling my thumbs, dodging pitying looks from Eddie, but I knew he wasn’t coming back. Two weeks after arriving home, I booked my ticket for Australia. It was what he wanted. If he couldn’t be with me, then I would at least give him this.

  I wipe my face as the bus deposits the FIFA team back at the Sydney Intercontinental hotel. They laugh and joke with each other, making plans for a late dinner as we walk toward the bank of elevators, keeping me excluded. I can’t bring myself to care about their petty bullshit. They don’t know, nobody knows, just how incredible Brody Madden is—or what he went through.

  One of the girls hits the up button on the elevators and we mill around to wait.

  “Killer!”

  No. Way.

  I spin around, searching for the face that belongs to the American voice. It’s coming from the direction of the hotel bar. I scan the busy crowd. It’s Friday night. The masses are dressed in business attire, winding down after a long week of work. My eyes land on the only guy dressed in jeans and a thin tee shirt. It has no collar, so he’s managed to charm his way in despite the dress code.

  Jax stands when I reach him. Without a word he hugs me tight. I hang on, because somehow I’m lost here in Australia, and Jaxon is more home to me now then my own country.

  “What are you doing here?” I mumble into his chest.

  “I’m here to bag a hot Aussie chick.”

  A huff of empty laughter escapes me.

  Jax draws back but doesn’t let go. I look up at him. “Where is he, Jax? He’s not returning my calls or emails. His social media is completely shut down. He’s dropped off the face of the earth.”

  Without answering, he turns and tosses a few notes down on the bar. Taking my arm, he leads me toward the elevators. “Let’s go to your room. We can talk there.”

  Taking the elevator to the eighteenth floor, we step out and walk down the hallway to my room. Swiping my card, we step inside and I dump my heavy training bag on the floor by my bed.

  When I turn around, Jax is checking his watch. He looks at me, and then nods toward the bathroom. “Go take your shower. We can talk after that.”

  My brows rise. “Are you saying I stink?”

  “To high-fucking heaven. Now go.” He reaches for the hotel phone. “I’ll order you up some food.” Because I know he’s right, I make my way into the bathroom. “Oh and, Killer?” I half turn, my hand on the doorframe. He winks. “Put something sexy on when you’re done.”

  I shake my head as I give him the middle finger.

  He gasps and holds a hand to his heart. “That hurts.”

  I’m shutting the door when he speaks into the phone. “Yes, room service? Can I order …”

  His words fade out as I reach in and turn the water on. After a steaming shower that turns my skin raw, I dry off, put on a tank top and sweats, and step out to five different plates of food. Burgers, steak and chips, pancakes, pasta, and a pizza. Jax grins, a beer in his hand. “I didn’t know what you wanted.”

  “There’s no way I can eat all of this,” I say, looking at all the plates as I towel dry my hair.

  “I’d be impressed if you did. Seriously. But what you won’t eat, I will.” He pats his firm belly. “I’m a growing boy.”

  I snort. “Hopefully you’re growing a brain in there somewhere too.”

  “Har, har,” he retorts as I settle on a slice of pizza. Nibbling on the end, I back up until I hit the bed and sit down. Jax grabs a slice for himself and takes a seat beside me, taking a huge bite. He waves his bottle of beer. “Want a drink?”

  I swallow a mouthful, my eyes shifting to the little bottles of spirits over by the mini bar. Would such a small bottle take the edge off everything I’m feeling? There’s an urge to find out. “Not allowed.”

  He shakes his head. “The life of a jock. You’re all such bores, eating nothing but chicken and rice and drinking vile protein shakes.”

  “Hey, I’m eating pizza.”

  Jax looks at my small bite, and then at his slice almost gone in one mouthful. “And you’re doing a miserable job of it.”

  I try to laugh but it falls flat.

  “Christ, I flew all this way and you can’t even crack a smile.”

  “You did fly all this way, Jax.” I half turn on the bed, facing him. He’s stuffing the last half of pizza in his mouth. It bulges out the sides of his cheeks. “And I’m so happy to see you, but … why are you here?”

  Rather than speak, Jax checks his watch again and then picks up the remote. He points it at the television as he chews, fiddling with buttons until he finds the channel he’s looking for.

  “Jax?” My gaze turns to the screen and my next breath lodges in my lungs, almost making me choke. It’s Brody on ESPN. He’s taking a seat at a dais, his agent on his left, coach and team manager on his right. Adjusting the microphone, he leans in and looks at the cameras ahead of him.

  Flashbulbs are going off in a frenzy and reporters are yelling questions. Through it all Brody holds a piece of paper in his hand, his expression unreadable to those looking at him. Except me. I know that face. He’s exhausted and tense and doing whatever he can to hide it.

  “Brody knows,” I breathe. I look at Jax. “He knew I was talking to the media tomorrow.”

  “Of course he did.”

  Frustration builds. I stand and toss my pizza slice back in the box, my appetite gone. Turning to face Jax, I fold my arms. “And he sent you here to stop me from doing it.”

  Brody clears his throat. It draws our attention back to the screen, saving Jax from a response. “I’m going to read a brief statement.” He exhales and looks down at his page before looking back up again. “First I want to confirm that yes, I was in hospital from excessive drug use. This has put me in a Stage II violation of the N
FL’s Substance Abuse Program. Second I want to stress that I acted alone. Those closest to me were not involved, nor aware of what I was taking. The NFL has issued a four game suspension, along with a substantial fine. I will not be appealing the decision. In fact…” Brody hesitates “…I’m retiring from the NFL, effective immediately. Thanks for your time.”

  He stands to leave. I cover half my face with both hands as I sag back on the edge of the bed, speechless with shock. He’s giving up everything he worked for. His dream. Oh, Brody.

  Reporters explode.

  “Why retire?”

  “Why don’t you just take the suspension?”

  “What drugs were you taking?”

  Half out of his seat, Brody leans in to the microphone and stares out at the sea of reporters. “I’ve chosen to retire because remaining in that kind of pressure-packed environment would be detrimental to my recovery.”

  “Are you saying you couldn’t handle the pressure?”

  My hands fist in my lap. Assholes! Damn them.

  “Jesus,” Jax breathes as Brody sits back down.

  “Pressure in the NFL is about being better, faster, stronger. Not just against the other teams, but your own. For me, I had something to prove to everyone but myself, and the problem was that I was willing to do whatever it took. That was wrong. All I can do now is apologize to those who looked up to me and expected better than what I could give.”

  “What will you do now?”

  Brody remains strong and calm when he answers, “I don’t know. Right now I want to focus on being healthy and finding what makes me happy.”

  “What about Jordan? Your soccer star wife has started training in Australia for the FIFA tournament. Have you split? Was your wife taking drugs too?

  Brody’s eyes turn hard with anger, his first full show of emotion. “As I said earlier,” he bites out, “I acted alone. Those closest to me were not involved. Further, the subject of my wife is not up for discussion. Again, thanks for your time.”

  With that he stands and disappears from view, reporters yelling questions in his wake.

  Jax and I sit there in silent unity for several moments, our eyes stuck on the screen and my heart pounding harder than a jackhammer. “Did you know he was going to retire?” I eventually croak.

  Picking up the remote, Jax switches the television off, the corners of his mouth turned down. He takes his time answering, as if recovering from his own sense of shock. “No.”

  A stab of hurt hits me, just under the breastbone. It grows until my body quivers with it. Jax reaches for my hand. Taking it in his, he threads our fingers together, his skin warm against the chill of mine.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Am I okay?” How is that even a question? “Brody just retired from the NFL, and I had no idea he was going to do it because he’s not talking to me. He’s making important life decisions without me, and for all I know, they’re ones that don’t include me anymore.” My voice rises, matching my hurt. I snatch my hand free and stand. “How does any part of that make me okay?”

  He picks up the glass of water from the table by the bed and holds it out. “Just take a few deep breaths and—”

  “I don’t need to fucking breathe!” I yell irrationally. I grab the glass of water from his hand and turn, hurling it at the wall. It smashes on impact, sending shards of glass in every direction. “And I don’t need a fucking drink of water!”

  “Whoa!” Jax stands, approaching me like I’m a wild animal to tame. “I know rock stars like to trash their hotel rooms, but jocks? That’s gotta be new.”

  I bring a trembling hand to my forehead, unable to deal. My eyes feel raw and bitter when they meet his. “Do you have to make a joke out of everything?”

  Pausing, Jax shrugs. “It’s how I cope.”

  “Shit.” Dropping to a crouch, I wipe tears from my face and sniff noisily as I begin picking up the largest of the glass shards from the floor. Jax drops beside me, plucking up some of the smaller, sharper ones. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

  “He’s doing this to protect you, Jordan.”

  I rise and walk to the small bin in the corner of my suite. “I don’t need to be protected.”

  Dropping the smashed pieces of glass inside, I turn back to pick up more but Jax has got most of them. The rest will need vacuuming. He drops them in the bin. “It’s what you do for those you love.”

  “Exactly. So why can’t I do that for him too? Damn his double standards.” Stalking to the mini bar, I reach for a tiny bottle of vodka. Unscrewing the cap I pour half into a shot glass from the little bench.

  Jax grabs my hand when the glass is halfway to my lips. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m having a drink,” I retort. Shrugging free, I toss the liquid down my throat. My eyes water and I gasp at the burn. Jax raises his brows at me. I point at him with the same hand still holding the empty shot glass. “I’m also still doing the press conference tomorrow. If Brody thought speaking first would stop me, he was wrong.”

  “Jordan—”

  “Don’t even,” I snap angrily.

  His mouth closes and his brow furrows in obvious frustration. “Right. Well, I’m just going to use the bathroom and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  Jax slams the door behind him. I empty the rest of the little bottle into the shot glass and down that too. When I’m done, I shuffle to my bag, pull out a pair of purple bed socks, and tug them up over my cold toes.

  The toilet flushes and after hearing the sound of Jax washing his hands, the door opens. By then I’m tucked in bed on my side, lights off, covers up to my shoulders, and the late night local news playing out on the television.

  For a brief moment the room is flooded with light until he flicks the bathroom switch, bringing back the low, artificial glow from the television.

  “Jax?”

  I sense him pause before coming toward me. He crouches by the side of the bed, bringing us to eye level. “What’s up, Killer?”

  “How long are you here for?”

  “Two days.”

  “Really?” It’s a thirty-four-hour round trip flight, and it’s not cheap. “You flew all this way just to hold my hand for one weekend?”

  Jax nods. “I did. And it’s lucky because you look like crap. You’re not sleeping or eating are you?”

  “I’m trying but it’s not working. I’m so tired.” My eyes fill and my stomach gurgles, not liking alcohol on an empty stomach. “And I miss him.”

  I reach up, brushing hair out of my face. Jax takes over the task, tucking the strands behind my ear with care. When he’s done, his eyes return to mine. “That makes you lucky. You have someone in your life worth missing.”

  When did Jax get so sweet? My voice lowers to a whisper. “You’re going to make some girl very lucky one day.”

  His grin is wicked. “I plan on making lots of girls lucky.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You would be if I was the one making you lucky.”

  My chuckle is tired. “Thank you for being here with me, Jax.” Moving my arm from beneath the covers, I take his hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “I’m a shitty friend right now and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a good one when it’s staring me in the face.”

  “You know what they’re going to ask you,” Coach Riley says as we walk toward the conference room, our team captain and vice-captain following behind.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “We need to discuss how you’re going to answer.”

  “I know how you want me to answer,” I retort.

  Coach takes my arm, forcing me to pause. I look up, my jaw set. “Elliott, I know your situation, and wanting to stand up for Brody is truly admirable, but you’re just going to get sucked inside the circus. This will only tarnish your reputation further. Is that what you want?”

  “It’s not about what I want,” I hiss harshly. “It’s about doing what’s right.”

  “Ah hell, Ellio
tt.” Coach Riley lets go of my arm and rubs his brow the same way he does every time the opposition gets through our defense and scores. He’s already tried debating my stance without success. It’s too late for last-ditch efforts.

  I reach for the door of the private entryway and swing it wide, holding it open. “Let’s just do this.”

  Coach walks through first, followed by our captains. I bring up the rear, stepping up onto the platform and taking a seat at the end of the long table. Nervous flurries fill my stomach as I look out at the media. They’re impatient, having been kept waiting for over half an hour. I lift my chin, ignoring the flash of cameras.

  Coach Riley begins with a brief opening statement. He follows it up with details of our training preparation, exhibition matches, and FIFA tournament schedule. I barely hear a word he speaks until he opens up the floor for questions.

  Cameras, microphones, and eyes, all shoot my way. I brace, my heart pounding.

  “Jordan, can you tell us where Brody Madden is? Is he on his way to Australia to be with you?”

  I lean into the microphone and give my one word answer. “No.”

  Coach Riley grants a brief nod of approval before another question is yelled my way. “Have you spoken to Brody since he announced his retirement from the NFL?”

  “No,” I answer again.

  My teammates relax beside me when I don’t expand further.

  “Are you and Brody still together?”

  Seriously? A proud, strong man has been forced to his knees with the public reveling in his downfall and I’m supposed to just abandon him? It’s all I can do to keep the tremors of fury from my voice. “Yes, of course we—”

  My coach butts in. “That has no bearing on why we’re here today.”

  The media gives him their attention. “Just how vigorous is drug testing in the Australian teams, Coach Riley? Is the entire team undergoing rigorous screening? Has Jordan Elliott been tested?”

  I want to close my eyes because they were all right. I’ve had hate mail, vicious messages, slurs from teammates, and now the media is joining in. I lift my chin and straighten my shoulders, and as my eyes scan the room they land on my brother standing at the back. He’s leaning against the wall beside Jax.