The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  “Pancakes, Daddy!” Hadley shrieks up the stairs.

  Brody ends the kiss and draws back, pressing his forehead against mine with a deep growl of frustration.

  I can’t help the chuckle. “You better go. Your world needs you.”

  Brody spins me around and slaps my ass before giving it a loving grope. “Tonight,” he vows as I lean inside the shower, flicking on the taps.

  I turn, slowly pulling my tank top up and over my head, dropping it to the tiled floor. It leaves me standing in nothing but a simple pair of hot pink panties.

  His nostrils flare. “You don’t play nice.”

  “I don’t,” I reply, smirking as I pile all my hair up into a knot on top of my head, “but if you can’t handle the game, then get the hell off the field.”

  Brody runs his gaze down the length of me before flicking back up, his eyes intense and hot. “Never.”

  Brody

  I jog down the stairs to the kitchen, the image of a half-naked Jordan still imprinted in my vision. I love my two little girls but they seriously need to work on their timing. I need to fuck my wife.

  Soon, I tell myself. I wasn’t making empty promises when I told her tonight. My brother-in-law is arriving for his four-week annual holiday this afternoon and jetlag or not, he’s taking care of the twins. Nicky won’t mind. He adores the girls. They have him wrapped around their little fingers. Me, not so much. Our relationship has travelled a long and rocky path, especially after the hell I put his sister through, but the arrival of Hadley and Avery won him over. We’re a solid family unit now, and Jordan’s never been happier. Of course I like to think I have a lot to do with that. Making her happy is my number one priority, and I know Nicky sees that.

  Usually his visits find us out on the back deck with beers in hand, manning the grill while arguing over the merits of football versus soccer, but not tonight. I’m whisking my wife away for a surprise night in the city at a fancy hotel. Dinner, a cabaret performance, and then me, and so help me god if she snores through the show like she did the last time I organized a night out, I’m going to cry like a fucking baby.

  Thor and Jon Snow scramble when I hit the bottom step and the fight is on to see who reaches me first. Jon Snow wins and he treats the backs of my calves to little licks as I make my way into the kitchen.

  “Daddy!” Hadley screams from the living area. “I want chocolate chips in mine!”

  “Me too!” Avery shrieks.

  “Okay,” I call back, willing to give them whatever they want if it shuts them up for even a minute.

  I make a quick detour to the French doors that lead out onto the back deck. The dogs spin in circles while I pour food in their bowls. Jordan taught them to chase their tail for a treat. Now every time they get something to eat they orbit each other until I’m sure they’re going to pass out.

  When I reach the kitchen a knock comes at the door. Seriously? It’s Saturday morning, and early.

  “I’ll get it,” Hadley cries out, excitement in her voice. Any visitor is a good visitor in her eyes, and if she gets to show them her princess pony collection, it makes them a great visitor.

  “You will not answer that door, Haddie,” I call back sternly as I head her off at the pass. She grumbles but walks back to Avery, settling on the floor but keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the door.

  Twisting the handle, I swing the door wide. Annabelle is standing on the front porch, arm up and ready to knock again. Over her shoulder I see my mother reversing out the drive, not bothering to stop in and say hello.

  My parents separated not long after I left the hospital. Mom and Annabelle moved to Houston at my little sister’s insistence. Liam (I don’t call him my father anymore) moved on to a bigger house with a younger woman, his political career soaring despite the drug scandal overtaking the news for weeks. I don’t talk to him. I barely talk to my mother. During my counseling sessions with Doug, I was told forgiveness is the key to moving forward with my life, but it’s a stretch.

  At the least I can understand why they are the way they are. I’m not Liam’s son. Married to my mother, he was trapped into raising me, and he did it the same way his father raised him—with harsh words, a violent temper, and constant disapproval. I know my mother loved him once. She told me that years ago after one too many glasses of wine. But their marriage came second to his career and over time it molded my mom into the cold, bitter woman she is today.

  I did learn something from them though. I learned how important it is to define myself, rather than let other people define me. I learned that no one is perfect. I learned how to find strength to pick myself up off the ground when I fall, and to embrace my own future in all its uncertainty.

  I learned how important it is to raise my girls with acceptance. I want them to succeed in whatever they choose to do, but I also want them to fail and learn how to get over it. I want them to feel free to be themselves, and to ignore those that don’t accept them for who they are.

  In our house there’s laughter and joy, and tears and tantrums, but most of all there’s love. Our lives are perfectly imperfect, just how they’re supposed to be.

  “Aunt Moo Moo!” Hadley shrieks.

  Both girls scramble off the floor and race for the door. My sister is instantly surrounded by screaming little banshees. She crouches and hugs them close.

  “Pick me up,” Hadley demands.

  “Me first,” Avery argues.

  I grin down at Annabelle. “They’re all yours,” I tell her and make a quick escape for the kitchen, going straight for the coffee. Eventually my sister untangles herself, and after visiting their bedrooms and dispensing loving pats to Thor and Jon Snow, she settles into a seat at the breakfast counter to watch me flip pancakes.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, pouring fresh batter into the pan.

  “It’s your big game today. Like I’d miss it.”

  Nervous twinges fill my stomach. “It’s just a football game.”

  “It’s not just a football game,” she argues as I check underneath the pancake to see it browning nicely. “This is the beginning of a whole new level in your career. Everyone is coming to watch. I can’t wait.”

  After flipping it, I look up, my jaw set. “Who’s everyone?”

  Like my words are a catalyst, another knock comes at the door. The twins commence their excited shrieks and the dogs race from their lazy spot in the sun to the front entryway. Somehow a ball gets thrown and breaks the lamp in the corner. Avery starts to cry. And all before I’ve even left the kitchen.

  The front door opens, bringing Eddie, Jaxon, and Carter inside.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  My gaze shifts to the stairs and lust punches me in the gut. Jordan’s ready and her gaze is taking in the chaos where moments earlier there was peace. Skinny jeans wrap around her long legs, and a black blouse—one that’s entirely too low cut so she’ll have to change—shows off the cleavage she’s so proud of. Tousled waves spill over her shoulders and the dark crap around her eyes makes the blue in them burn brighter. My wife is fucking hot.

  “Come here,” I order.

  But Avery’s already running for her, her little arms wrapping around her mommy’s legs, the same ones I want wrapping around me right now. “Mommy, Haddie stole my football!”

  “I did not!” Hadley yells, running over to my friends and telling them all about the banana pancakes she’s having for breakfast. She then throws me under the bus by telling them I’m adding chocolate chips.

  I don’t miss the narrowing of Jordan’s eyes, but Eddie saves me by leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. Then he reaches down and grabs Avery, picking her up. “What’s going on, sweet stuff?” he asks her, settling her on his hip. He scoops the football up with his free hand and herds both twins outside along with Annabelle.

  Meanwhile I watch Jaxon and Carter take turns in kissing my wife. “Are y’all done there?” I growl.

  “Not quite.” Jaxon grabs Jordan by the
hips, pulling her toward him with a smirk. She lets out a little shriek when he dips her. Her hands grab at his shirt, clinging so she doesn’t fall. “Did I hear banana was on the breakfast menu this morning?” he says, a grin on his face as he looks down at her.

  Jordan bursts into laughter, but I don’t get the joke. I point my spatula at my cousin. “Leave my wife alone. What are y’all doing here anyway?”

  Carter slaps me on the back, reaching around the front of me to grab a handful of chocolate chips from the bowl on the counter. “Heard there was a big game today.”

  My gaze shifts to Jordan. “Did you tell everyone?”

  “I did.” She walks into the kitchen where I finish flipping the last pancake. It’s a little black around the edges so I set that aside for Jaxon. Jordan takes hold of my chin, turning my face to hers. “Because I’m proud of you,” she says, “and I want the whole world to know.”

  My lips press together. “The media is going to descend, aren’t they?”

  “They are, and they’re going to see how happy you are, and how good you are at what you do. Your team is going to kick ass, Brody, and we all want to be there cheering you on.”

  I give Jordan a quick kiss on the lips. My wife is my biggest champion. She always has been. “What would I do without you?” I whisper softly.

  The twins begin shrieking from outside. We both wince. Jordan follows it up with a chuckle. “Probably live a long and peaceful life.”

  “Peace is for old people. I’ll take the chaos.”

  Hadley runs inside. “Mom! Eddie kicked the football over the back fence.”

  “Good.” Jordan grins. “I happen to know there’s a soccer ball in the pool house. Go get that.”

  Another knock comes at the door as Hadley runs back outside. Jordan goes to answer as Eddie comes back inside to get a drink, leaving me to talk with my friends about their drunken escapades last night, Eddie included. He turns from the fridge where he’s grabbing water bottles, his face fire engine red as he blurts out, “I met someone.”

  “Who?” I ask, wanting to know who it is that managed to capture the soft gooey center of the Wranglers’ biggest linebacker.

  Jordan returns, bringing Leah and Hayden with her before I get an answer. “Mr. Crosby,” I say, shaking his hand. Leah steps around him and takes my shoulders, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mrs. Crosby,” I add. “Let me guess, you’re both here for the big game.”

  Leah’s brows fly up. “There’s a game?”

  “Don’t tease,” Jordan interjects. Her friend has always been tough on me. Not so much anymore, but it doesn’t bother me. Jordan couldn’t have picked a better friend if she tried. She and Jaxon barely left Jordan’s side during the World Cup. I watched every televised match and I was there for the final, surrounded by a proud bunch of screaming Australians when she kicked the goal that secured the win. I wanted to go to her then, be there for her the same way she always was for me, but I couldn’t move. My feet stuck to the ground and I choked, struggling with the fear that I’d left it too long, and it was too late.

  In the end it was Jordan that found me. I was on the sidelines of the football field in Houston. The grass was freshly mowed and the yard lines painted a rich, brilliant white. A breeze blew low, ruffling my hair. From the bench behind me, I grabbed my baseball cap and tugged it down on my head, shielding bright afternoon sun from my face.

  Jordan called my name then, the husky voice sending shivers curling up my spine. It was a voice I dreamed of hearing each night, leaving me awake and wondering if it was a sound I’d ever hear again.

  I turned around and there she was. All the longing I’d pushed down for months came rushing to the surface, leaving me short of air. A few short strides and I could’ve touched her, but my feet still wouldn’t move. I held her eyes instead, rooted to the ground as I faced my biggest fear—losing her. “Jordan.”

  A smile formed on her lips. It was hesitant and small, but there was hope in it, and love, and I knew then that everything was going to be okay. A beautiful sense of calm spread through my body where there was only blind panic just moments earlier.

  “Brody?” Jordan takes hold of my bicep, bringing me back to the present. “You okay?”

  I nod. “I’m good.”

  Paige, Jordan’s old college teammate, steps in the room behind Hayden and Leah and suddenly Eddie’s face burns brighter. I have my answer. It’s one I like.

  Grinning, I load up three big stacks of pancakes and hustle everyone out in the morning sun where the outdoor seating can fit us all. After breakfast and an impromptu game of soccer in the yard, I leave them all for the game. They’ll follow later.

  When nighttime falls, the Houston Hurricanes gather in the locker room, tension thick in the air. It’s the first game of the season and it’s always the biggest. It sets the tone for every game that follows. It sends a message to fans, to the media, and to every team opposing us, that this is who we are and this is how we play.

  I step inside the room, my second home.

  “Coach is in the house!” says Assistant Coach Dawson in a loud, sharp voice.

  The boys settle into silence when I step in front of them. “Take a knee,” I tell them. They all lower to the ground and lift their heads, looking at me, waiting for me to impart some magical wisdom that will help them win the game.

  For three years I coached the Peewee League and I loved it. I had the best of both worlds. It was where I first found my own passion. Where the game meant nothing else but the joy it brought to my heart. No pressure, just a field of green and a ball to run over the line.

  But I was good at coaching—too good—and I got poached. Now here I am, head coach for high school football team, the Houston Hurricanes. Being offered the position set off controversial opinions across the state of Texas. Most of them adamant that I didn’t deserve it, that it was the wrong decision, and that the fledging team I was charged with would suffer for it.

  As I stand before the boys, taking in their expressions of determination, I know I’m not here to prove all those people wrong. I’m here because I want these boys to learn from someone who knows the pressure that awaits them in college football and beyond. There’s no one more qualified than me to prepare them for what lies ahead.

  I open my mouth and deliver the best words I can. “Tonight is your game. Don’t let anyone in the stands or the media distract you,” I instruct them, concerned with public backlash for me being their coach. “Listen to what I tell you, run the plays I call, and have some fucking fun out there!” Cheers erupt and Dawson shouts for them to settle down. “One more thing,” I add. They quiet down and give me back their focus. “It’s not your opponent out there on the field that’s against you tonight. It’s yourself. You are your greatest competition. How can you defeat yourself? By believing. Believe in your team,” I tell the boys, my eyes grazing over each and every one of them. “Believe in why you’re here, believe in what you do, and believe in yourself, because when you do, everyone around you will start believing in you too.” I clap my hands and shout, “Let’s go!”

  The boys get to their feet, rowdy and fired up. They jog out of the tunnel, and I follow behind, cap set forward and pride in my heart. I turn, my eyes seeking Jordan in the stands. She’s standing front row, Avery and Hadley in front of her, Nicky and our close friends beside her. I press my index and middle finger to my lips and then hold them up high.

  She returns the gesture, a smile spreading wide on her face. Even from this far away I see the emotion burn in her eyes. It echoes in my own. It forms the image that gets splashed on the front page of the newspapers the next morning after we take a solid win against Texas City.

  I skim the article as I stand at the kitchen counter, smile on my face, coffee in my hand, and my girls causing chaos around me. My life is not my past anymore, it’s my present and my future, and right now? It’s pretty damn good.

  To my readers. Your support and enthusiasm for my books continuall
y blows my mind. Every comment, message, tag, email, and tweet, never fails to give me warm fuzzies. I’m so very honoured to have you reading and enjoying my work. Please feel free to stick around—there’s more to come!

  To all the bloggers who have helped spread the word about this book. There are no words to express the level of my gratitude and appreciation of your constant hard work and support. Thank you so very much.

  To Max. As always, you save the day. You are my magical unicorn with your stabby wit, sprinkling rainbow dust over my words and making them glitter! Don’t ever leave me (I will find you).

  To my betas:

  Tammy Zautner, Maree Hunter, Simone Nicole, Kim Anderson Bias, L.B. Simmons and Rachel Grey.

  Tammy - I adore you. Send me the hair-colouring bill for all the greys I added to your head while writing this book (and future books to come).

  Maree - your encouragement means more to me than you will ever know. You put up with all the crazy memes I continually send your way (even while you were trying to have a baby) and yet you still never stopped supporting me. That is the definition of a true friend.

  Simone thank you for letting me pick your brain on all the things related to dyslexia, and for basically putting up with me. I know I’m a handful, and crazy, but you are too.

  Kim, L.B. Simmons and Rachel, thanks for helping me with all things US related, including football and Texas. The knowledge and notes were invaluable, as is your support and friendship.

  To Kylie at Give Me Books. What would I do without you? You ensured The End Game got the best start out in the real world that was possible. There are not enough thank you’s in the world for me to send your way. I hope one will do. Thank you. Now let us drink.

  To Elaine at Allusion Book Formatting and Publishing. Thank you for making my baby pretty.

  And last but not least, to the members of the author groups I’m a part of. We laugh, we cry, we talk everything book-related, but most importantly, we support each other. You are all invaluable.