Balls: The Complete Players Collection (Sports Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  But walking away when we’re right here, only a few steps away from having it all…

  Fuck.

  I envy men who aren’t plagued by a conscience.

  “I’d like to stay,” I tell her, “but I think we both know I should leave.”

  She nods. Doesn’t say a word.

  And so I do, torn between wanting to hear her say something, anything, and wanting to inflict bodily damage on myself for letting an opportunity like this pass up.

  Damn it.

  Instead of taking the elevator down to my own room, I use the service stairs. It’s one of the few good choices I’ve made lately. That extra little bit of exercise gets my blood pumping and calms me down, so to speak, which makes it easier to think. It’s my brain that needs blood, definitely not my dick.

  I arrive at my floor and cross the corner. That’s when I spot him.

  Baylor.

  Leaning against the door to my room, looking like he’s about to doze off.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  My shoe scrapes against the floor, squeaking loudly. Baylor’s eyes open immediately. Whatever disorientation he experiences only lasts a fraction of a second before he’s staring right at me.

  “There you are.” He yawns. “I tried your cell phone, and your doorbell, and then your cell phone again. Rinse. Repeat. Yadda-yadda.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “I must have switched it off.”

  “It didn’t go to voice mail.”

  “Dude, lay off me,” I say, a little more abrasive than I intend. “Sorry. Headache.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Walking,” I lie. “What’s up? Want to come in?”

  “Yeah. I wanted to run something by you…” He starts prattling on about expectations versus reality and how sometimes we all must change our plans, lest we have to weather our unmet whatevers.

  Something like that. I admit he lost me somewhere between the thirtieth and fiftieth time he said the word ‘expectations.’

  “Okay…” I say. “I’m a bit lost.”

  “I’m saying maybe I should rethink this whole Rachel and me getting married in a big to-do. You know?”

  Oh, praise the Lord. Halle-fucking-llujah. Is it actually possible he’s thinking about calling it off?

  “Dude, that’s so—”

  “Why wait and spend so much money and energy and time planning for a huge party that’s more for the benefit of everyone else than for us?” Baylor continues.

  “I completely agree with you.” I pat him on the back. “Wow. I’m proud of you for coming to this conclusion.”

  “Yeah?” He turns to look at me, seemingly searching for affirmation. “You’ve thought the same?”

  “Yeah, absolutely.” I yawn, my exhaustion catching up to me. “I just think you deserve—”

  “Something more me, right? And a big thing isn’t me. I don’t think it’s very Rachel either.” Baylor shakes his head. “I’m thinking about talking to Rachel. Seeing if she agrees to elope next weekend. We’ll be in Vegas for the game, right? The timing couldn’t be better. Plus, with it being a game and all, she’ll have the perfect cover to travel with us. You know how her father is.”

  If your twenty-something-year-old fiancée can’t go on a weekend getaway with you without needing some lie to justify it to her father, marriage might not be such a good idea.

  That’s what I want to say.

  That’s what I should say.

  But honestly? I don’t have it in me. I can predict how Baylor will take something like that: poorly.

  Still, the escalation of the timeline is alarming. I consider sending Joey a quick text because I could use the backup in trying to undo this. Then I remember how we left things off just an hour or so again and I discard the thought. She won’t be in any mood or good frame of mind to deal with this either.

  “So?” Baylor looks at me expectantly. “What do you think?”

  “Well, I agree with you that a big church with all the bells and whistles feels unnecessary and expensive. But… eloping in Vegas? A week from now?” I try to use my most neutral tone so he doesn’t feel attacked. As one can imagine, this isn’t the easiest topic to take the position I’m taking. “Why the... rush, I guess?”

  A cloud of anger darkens Baylor’s expression. “Dude, what the hell?”

  “What?”

  “I thought you’d be happy for me. Rachel and I getting married. Next weekend, yes. Why the fuck not?”

  I try to remember when Baylor wasn’t like this. When he was fun and funny and didn’t induce so much stress. When I felt like I could speak my mind without sugar coating anything or having to use a filter or kid gloves. What the fuck happened?

  “I support you.” It’s easier to get along. I’m choosing the path of least resistance because in the end, my opinion won’t change his mind. Like I said, I don’t have it in me to deal with another meltdown or a struggle session. “I was just… I figured you’d appreciate hearing my thoughts.”

  “Yeah.” Baylor gets up without looking at me. “Thanks, dude.”

  He leaves my room without saying anything else, letting the door slam behind him on his way out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOEY

  I’m not sure what went down between Baylor and Kieran after Kieran vamoosed out of my room last night, but it’s clear something happened. Any conversation that takes place uses me as a buffer between the two.

  I’ll be the first to say I’m getting too old for this shit. Twenty-two and already I’m at that stage with their antics.

  Go figure.

  We’re in the home team’s arena, watching the field professionals get things in order for the game tonight. If things stay true to tradition, it’ll be a slam dunk win for our team. Even the crew running over the grass and testing the lights seem aware of that. They’re lacking that pre-game spirit in their step.

  Or maybe I’m projecting.

  “The only thing that doesn’t suck about these assholes and their setup are those cheerleaders,” Baylor quips. I think he’s trying to lighten the mood.

  Conversely, that’s one comment he can make that does get my attention. Mainly because I’m curious about how Kieran will respond.

  “Hmm,” I say, the way I usually do when they start talking about women in front of me.

  Baylor laughs and slaps Kieran on the shoulder playfully. Like it’s all a sport, which it is, but still.

  Say something, Kieran.

  “Not my scene,” Kieran finally responds. His tone is as noncommittal as his expression. For a brief second, I think I see him steal a peek at me but it happens so quickly (if it happened at all) I can’t be sure.

  “Since when?” Baylor challenges. He has on that face that screams ‘I’m calling bullshit.’ Though he doesn’t say it, of course.

  Is he trying to goad Kieran into saying something that will prove nothing is going on between me and him?

  “I’m going to go for a walk,” I announce, rising to my feet. “It’s nice out.”

  Okay, so ‘nice’ is a generous way of putting it. The day is a gray skyscape that perfectly captures my emotions, but that is neither here nor there. After two hours of witnessing and occasionally refereeing the stilted conversation between those two knuckleheads, I figure I can use some time to myself. Some privacy will also do me some good as I try to parse how I feel about everything that happened with Kieran last night. It’s a minor miracle I’m able to be this close to him without sputtering or making a fool of myself.

  Let’s keep it that way.

  I grab the rail and sweep my hand over it as I make my way to the aisle. Kieran’s stare burns holes through my back. I’m assuming that’s the intensity I feel, the one that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I’m not going to turn around to see.

  “Hey!” Baylor calls.

  I pause and sigh. Of course, for that I will need to turn back.

  “Yeah?”

  Baylor rains an en
ergy drink on his face, getting about five percent of it in his mouth. The rest douses his nose and neck. He looks like an asshole doing it, but what else is new?

  I just want to stress how bad my current mood is. None of my thoughts should be used as an indictment of my character.

  “Baylor?” I tap my foot against the metal floor. A cold wind blows, sending my hair in disarray all over my face. “You need something?”

  “We have a game in like an hour or so.” He stares at me like that’s supposed to mean something to me.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “What about the pre-game food or whatever?”

  “The equipment crew, the coach, and my assistant are all well-equipped in handling a power bar you should all eat before going out on the field,” I deadpan.

  That earns me a chortle from Kieran. I ignore it, and so does Baylor, who looks considerably less amused.

  “Well, I wanted to share something with you.” He screws the cap back into the bottle of the energy drink he emptied and tosses it off over the railing in front of him. Again, like the epitome of an entitled jackass. Under his breath, but just audible enough he has to know I can hear him, he adds, “Before you go brood or PMS or what-the-fuck-ever.”

  “Dude,” Kieran says.

  Ah, so he is alive after all.

  “Oh, fuck off.” I pivot and start marching down the rest of the way until I get to the steps leading down to the exit.

  “Wait, Joey!” Kieran yells. He chases after me, grabbing me by the wrist and forcing me to an abrupt stop. “He’s in a bad mood because of Rachel. You know how it’s been for him.”

  I roll my eyes. “We have to stop giving Baylor passes because of that… thing.”

  “Now isn’t the time to be taking stands on those grounds,” Kieran says gently. “Hey.”

  I look into his eyes. He’s so earnest, so kind, even though I have been a complete bitch, it’s enough to soften me.

  Just a little.

  I shake my head and offer him the tiniest smile. “Hey.”

  He returns my smile with a big, broad one of his own. “Give him a little leeway. He also probably wants to share the latest developments with you, so… Word to the wise, better to brace yourself. It’s the kind kids these days call a ‘doozy’.”

  “Uh-oh.” My smile freezes on my face. “Do I want to know what he or she or they have done now?”

  “Hey, you two!” Baylor calls.

  Like marionettes, we both turn to look at once. My brother jumps to his feet and nears us.

  Instinctively, we both take a step away from each other.

  “Don’t forget about me,” Baylor says. “Now, where were we? Joey, you’ll never guess.”

  I really won’t.

  “Yeah?” I say cautiously. “What’s up?”

  “I told Kieran about this last night but wanted to tell you in person rather than over text…” He takes a deep breath and breaks out his all-American, all-star smile that has caused many an all-American sweethearts to swoon. (Rachel not included.) His blue eyes, standing in such stark contrast with the rest of the grey-fueled backdrop we find ourselves in, sparkle. The image of him is such a reminder of the Baylor I know and love, the big brother who was always stepping up to take care of me when we were growing up and Mom had to work. My pain-in-the-ass but fiercely loyal older brother who is the most dependable person I have ever met.

  “I’m listening,” I say.

  The wind blows again and I happen to be glancing at Kieran when it does. The way his hair shifts, splashing all over his face, makes my heart skip a beat. It can’t be normal to be this into someone. It just can’t. And despite the fact I keep noticing just how hot he is, that’s nothing compared to the connection I feel with him—the invisible little bonds that tie us to different people we meet in the course of our lives and that, against all odds, match every single point of compatibility you don’t even know you have.

  “Are you?” Baylor flickers his gaze, alternating between Kieran and me.

  “Yes.” I swallow hard. “What’s up?”

  “Well…” He looks like he expects drumrolls to sound off in the background. “I had the best idea yesterday. What if instead of putting the wedding off for ages and spending a massive amount on money on what’s essentially me buying dinner for everyone I know, what if instead of all that I invite Rachel to come to Vegas with us next week and elope?”

  One could probably hear a needle drop a thousand miles away with the silence that follows.

  I don’t even know where to begin. I just don’t.

  Yesterday he was blowing hot, tomorrow he’ll be blowing cold, but one thing you can count on is that the temperature in the relationship that exists between Baylor and Rachel will never be fucking normal.

  The words form, dangling at the tip of my tongue, how outrageous the idea is. How it’s a mistake. How he should be running in the opposite direction of all of that rather than scrambling headfirst into the biggest cluster-fuck he can possibly conjure.

  Kieran’s staring intently at me. The impression I get is that I should keep my opinion out of it.

  “Joey?” Baylor waves his hand in front of my face.

  “Wow,” I finally say.

  “Good wow or bad wow?” From the tone of his voice, I guess that he already knows. He inhales sharply. “Kieran told me he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Don’t tell me you agree with him.”

  “Well…” I trail off, scouring my mind for the magic words that’ll convey exactly what I mean in the nicest possible way.

  All of the recent events with Rachel might paint a picture that makes it seem like I’m being too harsh on her—the jealous or just inexplicably hostile younger sister who hates her brother’s choice of partner. That’s a common thing that happens. You can even gain sympathy points if you frame it like that to people who don’t know all of the players involved.

  But the thing is, I know I’m right. I’m a damn good sister and I’m considerate of Baylor, even when it’s to my own detriment. I lived through all the thousand little slights Rachel threw my way. I witnessed her inappropriate behavior with other guys with my own eyes. I know she’s not hiding any good intentions but rather blatantly displaying all of her bad ones.

  And somehow, that’s obvious to every single person ever except Baylor.

  So, no, the prospect of him hastening their wedding doesn’t sit right with me. At all.

  “I don’t think you should do that,” I say quietly.

  Baylor inhales sharply again. “Why don’t you like her?”

  “Have you even figured out what happened to her yesterday? Do you want to live like this for the rest of your life? Being your fiancée’s keeper? Not having any peace? Besides, Vegas is so...” I search for the word, “tacky. Do you think that’s what Mom has always dreamed of with either one of us?”

  Invoking our mother gets his attention. “Joey, that’s not fair.”

  “Maybe it isn’t.” That’s right, I’ll acknowledge it. Who knows, maybe I am being unfair. “I just thought you should know how I really think.”

  “Is this about Vegas or is it about Rachel?”

  My gaze flickers to Kieran, whose expression is inscrutable.

  “It’s about Vegas,” I say carefully.

  Baylor purses his lips together. “Well then. I guess I know how both of you feel.”

  “We support you no matter what you decide to do,” Kieran chimes in. He pats my brother on the back, then hooks his arm around Baylor’s neck and pulls him in for a tight hug. “You know that, man.”

  But Baylor’s glum mood doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. He mutters something about appreciating that and then he’s off, taking the steps two at a time, until he’s at the landing down below. He disappears into the visiting team’s locker room, leaving Kieran and me all by ourselves.

  “That went well,” I quip.

  “I should have warned you before we met up today.” He stares off in the path my brother took.
“I should check up on him.” Kieran pulls his phone out of his pocket. “And get ready for the game. We have some serious ass to whoop. You’re gonna watch, right?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I say simply. I want to say more. I want to make some reference to last night, to let him know that despite being disappointed he left, that I’m still here. My feelings haven’t changed.

  “Good.”

  Kieran gives me a lingering look. I meet his gaze straight on. I could get lost in those green eyes of yours, mister. I want to say that, or anything that’ll lighten the tension that’s thickening the air around us, but the words don’t come.

  And then he’s off, following in Baylor’s wake. The opportunity to say anything evaporates like it was never there in the first place.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JOEY

  What was supposed to be the easiest win of the season turns into the most embarrassing loss. The kickoff was a disaster and throughout the whole thing it just kept getting worse. I could feel the tension rising in the crowd, from the moment the encouraging hollering turned to offensive shouts—almost all of them aimed at Baylor.

  When the end-game buzzer goes off I find myself alarmingly close to becoming a puddle on the floor. I’ve cowered lower and lower on my seat, as if subconsciously shielding myself the longer the Cardinals’ slaughter went on.

  Our crowds usually cheer and applaud at the end of a game, even if we don’t come out victorious. Not this time. There’s not even booing or anger. It’s just deafening, defeated silence.

  I wait for the guys outside the back exit of the visiting team’s locker room. One by one, the team comes out, freshly showered. Each one harbors barely concealed anger. Even Leroy, who’s the team clown, fails to mask his frustration.

  “You need to talk to your brother,” he says, pulling me in for a bear hug. “I don’t know what the fuck that was out there or who the hell it was, but it wasn’t good, and it wasn’t Baylor.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “I know.”

  “I think he’s going to get shitfaced tonight. Might wanna wait until tomorrow or when the coast is clear to talk to him.”