The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  He shakes his head at me, disappointment so sharp in his eyes I feel the stab of it clear across the room. I glare for a brief second before shifting my gaze away.

  “Soccer is a clean sport,” Coach retorts, the veins in his neck pulsing angrily. “My girls are elite athletes who train hard and train right. If you start casting aspersions on any member of this team I’ll have you thrown out of this room.”

  Cameras return to me when the next question is called out from somewhere in the back. “Jordan, did you know Brody Madden was taking drugs? And do you think his fine and suspension is fair, despite his decision to retire? Professional athletes are in the spotlight and should be setting an example for the younger generation. It seems to me that more should be done about the use of drugs in sport. Instead they’re getting minimal punishment and having it swept beneath the rug.”

  The room falls silent, the only noise coming from the click of cameras and light whirr of the microphone. They want an answer and I’m prepared to give it to them. My only hope is that Brody is watching and can hear my words.

  I draw a deep breath and lean forward. “It’s not about what’s fair. It’s about what it takes to be the best, and every expectation that comes with it.” I glance across at my coach. He closes his eyes for a second, resigned. “It takes everything you have. People put you up here,” I say, holding my hand up high. “But being up there is hard, and it’s lonely. And if you fall, it’s a long way down and no one’s waiting at the bottom to catch you.” My voice cracks and I have to pause for a moment. Jax gives me a silent thumbs-up from the back of the room, encouraging me to keep going. “The pressure to live up to that is immense. So immense that sometimes people do whatever it takes not to bow underneath it, or god forbid, break. And if they do, it’s only because they were human. People make mistakes. Every single day. It doesn’t mean they aren’t strong enough, or didn’t give enough. It means they gave too much and they tried too hard. It means they deserve forgiveness from those who were expecting too much, and from those who were supposed to be there supporting them when it got too hard.”

  Please hear what I’m telling you, Brody. I’m not angry. I’m heartbroken. I need you to forgive me for not being there when you needed me.

  The media regroup and a reporter from the front catches my eye. “Jordan, how do you feel about being selected for the team?”

  I break out in a blinding smile at her question. More camera flashes fill the room. “I’m excited and I’m thankful to be here right now, to be a part of the Australian soccer team, to be selected for something so great,” I answer. “And when I go out there and give my best, I won’t be doing it just for myself or my country, I’ll be doing it for Brody too, because he’s still a good person, and maybe he isn’t the best in your eyes anymore, but he still is in mine.” My eyes fill with tears and that’s okay. I don’t care if they see them. “He’s still the best in mine.”

  My phone rings later that night, waking me from an exhausted sleep. Training that day was long and rough, and I was so glad to get back to the hotel, to have Jaxon there to laugh and joke with, and pretend for just one night that everything was fine.

  I reach for the phone from the bedside table and answer without checking the screen, my voice husky with sleep. “Hello?”

  “Jordan.”

  I hear the quiver in Brody’s voice. My grip tightens on the phone. I shoot into a sitting position, wide-awake in a single instant. “Brody?”

  He sucks in a sharp breath as if hearing me speak his name hurts. “Yeah. It’s me.”

  “You asshole!” I shout. “Do you know what I’ve been through? You just up and left. You left me! And what, it takes me talking to the media for you get in touch? Screw you, Brody,” I hiss. “If you’re phoning just because you’re pissed for what I said then you can just hang up right now.” My chest is thumping with anger. “In fact, I’m going to do it for you.”

  I jab the red button, ending the call, and as I sit there in the dark, my breathing harsh and my body trembling, panic begins to claw its way up my throat. What did I just do? With shaky fingers, I go to my recent calls list to hit redial but the number listed is unknown. I can’t phone him back.

  Before I can scream my frustration, it rings in my hand. Wild with relief, I press the green button and put the phone to my ear. “Brody? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just—”

  “Stop. Please.”

  I press my lips together. Silence reigns for a long moment before Brody speaks again. “I watched your press conference.”

  “Yeah? I watched yours too.”

  He huffs. It’s followed by another length of silence. “It was …” Brody trails off before trying again. “I didn’t deserve what you said, but it was beautiful.”

  “I meant every word.”

  “I know you did, baby. I know.” That he understood what I was saying lightens the heavy weight from my shoulders. I slump back against my pillows, and when Brody speaks again his voice is rueful. “I should’ve known.”

  “Known what?”

  “You looked so calm up there. So strong. You didn’t let them mess with you. Not a single bit. I thought leaving would protect you. I know it hasn’t. But you never needed me to.”

  “What are you saying?” Does he think I don’t need him? The thought sets off a shiver of fear. I pull the covers up, burrowing into their warmth. “That you think I don’t need you? Because I do. It’s so dark and cold without you.”

  Brody chuckles. “That’s because it’s just gone midnight there in Australia, and it’s winter, right?”

  “Really? You’re going to—”

  “Going to what?” Brody prompts.

  “Nothing.” I decide to ask him straight out. “Are we done? Is that why you’re calling, to tell me we’re over?”

  “God, no!” he bursts out. “Jordan, baby, I’m calling because there’s something I need to ask you.”

  “What?”

  Another long pause follows before he speaks, his voice low and soft. “Wait for me.”

  I close my eyes. “Wait for you?” I whisper.

  “I know I let you down, but I’m trying to make it right. I’m getting help. I’m doing everything I can to fix the mess I made, but I’ve realized I can only do so much without you. Jordan … we all need that one person who sees us. The one who gives it to us straight and tells us how it is. We need that one person who isn’t afraid to get in our face and scream back. That one person who won’t ever hesitate to call you on your shit because they love you. That one person who’ll be there for you no matter what. You’re that person.” He draws in a shaky breath. This is hard for him. I can hear it. And it breaks me apart and puts me back together all at the same time because I believe him. I believe in him. “You’re it for me, Jordan. My end game. So yes, I’m asking you to wait for me. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll wait for you, Brody Abraham Madden.” I swallow the thick lump caught in my throat knowing that wait is going to hurt. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”

  Jordan

  Five years later…

  Houston, Texas

  The alarm goes off with an ear-piercing shriek. Is it morning already? For the love of god, I only just went to sleep. I shift my head a fraction on the pillow and it starts pounding like a bass drum. A pathetic whimper leaves my throat. I’m not even hungover, I’m just damn tired.

  “Make the shrieking stop,” I mumble.

  A heavy arm reaches over the top of me. It’s followed by the sound of a loud slap and a crash. The shrieking stops. Peace reigns. I moan my thanks.

  “I love you so much,” I say to my heavenly pillow as I burrow my head beneath it.

  “Of course you do,” my pillow replies with a deep male voice.

  Interesting. I nudge the fluffy cushion with my nose and encounter armpit, the hair beneath it tickling my skin. I scrunch my nose as I roll to my back and an arm follows me, settling across my chest. The warm, calloused hand at
tached to the end of it gives my breast an experimental squeeze over my tank top. “The question is,” the voice comes again, “just how much?”

  Despite my stubborn determination to get another ten minutes, my nipple betrays me, peaking at the touch. A thumb brushes over it and the pleased groan of aroused male reaches my ears. Heat begins a steady throb between my thighs.

  “Daddy!”

  It’s Brody’s turn to whimper. His hand shifts down to settle on my ribcage with reluctance. “Pretend we’re asleep,” he mutters to me.

  “I am asleep,” is my muffled reply as I grab my real pillow and shove it over my face.

  “Daddy!” The screech is getting closer, as is the sound of feet pitter-pattering across the thick timber flooring and into our room. “It’s game day!”

  We both remain studiously still. Brody jostles beside me, and I know it’s Hadley shoving at him. She’s the more demanding of our two girls.

  “Wake up!” she shouts.

  I swallow the chuckle when he gives up without a fight. My bed dips beside me as he shifts up on an elbow. “I’m awake, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not sweetheart. I’m Haddie.”

  “You’re my sweet Hadley.”

  “I’m not sweet. Sweet is for girls.”

  I shake my head. Uncle Nicky has been getting in her ear.

  “You are a girl,” he argues.

  Another shout comes from near the bedroom door.

  “Avery, do not throw—” Brody begins as I’m lifting my head from underneath the pillow, just in time for a football to smack me up the side of my face. “—that.”

  “Game day!” Avery yells.

  The alarm begins to shriek again as I fall back on the bed, holding a hand to my cheekbone. Great. It’s going to swell and bruise, and I’m going to look like ass for Brody’s big day.

  “Baby, you okay?”

  I open my eyes to mere slits, finding my husband hovering above me with concern furrowing his brow.

  “Fine,” I mutter as he reaches across me to turn the alarm off for a second time.

  I’m used to it. It’s just another morning in the Madden household. Chaotic. Crazy. Exhausting. That’s what happens when you end up with twins. They’re three years old, and still Avery won’t sleep through the night. Why is it she wakes up at all hours screaming for me (no one else will do), but it’s her daddy she seeks out during the day? It’s unfair how he gets such a lovely, unbroken sleep, waking up all refreshed while I resemble the living dead. All I want is one night of uninterrupted bliss and when the possibility of one looms bright on the horizon, Brody takes advantage. His hands and tongue are too skilled to ignore, try as I might. In no time at all he gets me hot and bothered and suddenly I’m all, ‘who needs sleep anyway?’

  “Sorry, Mommy.”

  I turn my head. Avery is standing on my side of the bed, her curls a tangled mess and her weapon now tucked safely beneath her arm.

  “No throwing the ball in the house,” I instruct for the millionth time. “Who gave you that anyway?” I ask, my cheek throbbing. “Where’s your soccer ball?”

  Haddie bounces onto the bed, half landing on her daddy. A loud “oomphf” escapes him. “Daddy kicked it over the back fence,” she informs me.

  My brow arches and my lips pinch as I turn to look at him. “Oh he did, did he?”

  “But I’m not ’sposed to tell you that.”

  Brody shrugs, eyes wide with feigned innocence as Avery climbs on the bed alongside Hadley. “I didn’t mean to. I can’t help it if I can kick a soccer ball further than you.”

  “Is that so?” I look from him to the girls. They’re not identical, and for that I’m pathetically grateful. Hadley’s hair is long and smooth like mine, the color a rich honey. Avery’s hair is white-blond chaos. Both girls have their daddy’s brown eyes and also his deep affinity for football. After having the twins, I signed a new contract with the Houston Dash and while Brody brings them to watch my home games, it’s gridiron that gets them excited and jumping in their seats. “Well your daddy was telling me just last night that he was going to make you banana pancakes for breakfast this morning!”

  They both clap and squeal while my husband groans. It sets our two mini dachshunds barking from somewhere downstairs. I hear the tick-tack of their claws on the floor, and I know they’re scrambling for the stairs. They know we’re awake now and that means food.

  “I’ll make some for you too,” Brody says in retaliation as I scoot from the bed. He knows full well warm banana is the one food that makes my stomach pitch. I’m retching at the very thought before I even make it off the bed.

  “You just try it, pal, and you’ll be wearing them on your face.” And with that lovely threat, I escape bedlam for the sanctity of our half bathroom, shutting the door just as Thor and Jon Snow race in, hope in their eyes and tails rotating like helicopter blades.

  I take a nice deep breath and lean over the vanity, inspecting my face in the mirror. The right side is swollen and red. Awesome. Today is going to be great. After a mere ten seconds of peace the door opens, injecting chaos into the little sanctuary. I actually think I might cry.

  “Please,” I whimper, the sound drowned out by screaming girls and barking dogs.

  “Mommy!” Avery shouts, because apparently I must be hard of hearing. “Daddy said we could wear our ballerina dresses to football!”

  I grip the edge of the vanity, trying to find my happy place. It proves elusive. “No, you’re not wearing those to the football.”

  Hadley interjects. “But Daddy said—”

  “—we could,” Avery finishes.

  Brody steps in behind the girls, taking up every inch of space with his wide frame. “I said no such thing.”

  “Oh? What did you say?” I ask, looking at him via his reflection in the mirror.

  The corners of his lips quirk up. “I told them to ask you.”

  My eyes narrow. “You couldn’t just say no?”

  He takes on the expression of the walking wounded. “And break their sweet little hearts?”

  “Mommy!” Hadley stomps her foot and frustration has me grinding my teeth. Why do I always have to be the bad guy? “I want to wear—”

  I give both girls a firm look. “No.”

  Hysterics ensue. Brody ushers them all out of the bathroom. “Cartoons are on the television. Go downstairs and I’ll be down in a minute to make your pancakes.”

  Appeased for the moment, they leave, their chatter and dog barks slowly fading. I let out a deep sigh and look again at Brody through the mirror. He steps up behind me, arms sliding around my waist and hands resting on my lower belly where a tiny bump is burgeoning. He rubs it lovingly as he lands a kiss on my shoulder. “How’s our little guy doing in there?”

  “You don’t know it’s a boy. I’m only twelve weeks along.”

  “It’s a boy.” His lips touch my shoulder again, eyes lifting to look at me in the mirror as he trails kisses up toward my neck. I tilt my head, giving him access without a second thought. “God wouldn’t be so cruel as to leave me alone in a house full of estrogen.”

  “That’s what Thor and Jon Snow are for.”

  Brody’s hands rise from my belly, roaming up over my ribcage until he’s cupping my breasts. They grew a full size after the birth of the twins and much to my delight they didn’t shrink again. I have cleavage. “But we never win anything. We’re a sucker for you girls with your pretty hair and scheming eyes.”

  I turn around, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. Brody grips my hips with his big hands, drawing me toward him until our hips press flush together. “And I’m a sucker for you.”

  The emotion in my eyes makes his own soften in response. “Aren’t you glad you waited for me all those years ago?”

  I bite down on my lip, the distant pain surfacing like it always does when I think of how he almost died. The months following were the best of my career, and some of the worst of my life. The media circus eventually faded away,
the next tantalizing story waiting around the corner.

  Our team won the FIFA World Cup, and I gained a new kind of attention. Fox Sports did a big feature on me, from where I came from to where I ended up, portraying me as some kind of survivor. It didn’t just make me cringe, it somehow made me into the darling of professional soccer.

  Interviews, soccer camps, and sponsors took all my time. Wherever I went I was signing soccer balls and jerseys. It was surreal and time consuming, and I buried myself in it. We don’t get paid anywhere near what male soccer players get, so taking advantage of every opportunity was a priority. I became the face of Chapstick lip balm and Nike sportswear. My face was everywhere, and when I began my contract as a forward with Houston Dash, they welcomed me with open arms.

  But I did it all alone. Brody had his own hell to deal with, pushing me out of it. It’s something I’m still struggling to get past. My husband recovered, eventually leaning on me for support. He built a life with me beside him. We created a family. We forged a future that’s brighter than any star shining down from the night sky. The price we paid for it was high, but our reward is incomparable. Brody proved to himself that he was worth all of it. I’ve never been prouder, happier, nor more in love with this man than I am right now.

  My eyes begin to swim, blurring Brody in front of me.

  “Don’t,” he says. “You waited when I had no right to ask it of you.” His hands cup my face, thumbs dashing away the tears when they spill over and down my cheeks. “And when you came back to Houston, you didn’t just bring yourself, you brought everything because you and the girls, this little guy…” he rubs my little bump, glancing down at it before staring into my eyes “…hell even the damn dogs, you’re all my world.”

  “You’re ours too, Brody.”

  He ducks his head, his lips meeting mine. They linger sweetly, but heat follows soon enough. My mouth opens beneath his and our tongues tangle.