Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  “Way to ruin the surprise, you jerk!”

  I pause in adding to Lily’s stack. “Sophie?”

  “Yes! Let me in!”

  I fly to my feet and unlock the deadbolt. When I see my string bean friend, her blonde curls twisting everywhere and her black-rimmed glasses flashing with my reflection, I squeal and throw myself into her arms. “Sophie!”

  “Ack!” She falls back with my weight, but her arms come around.

  “You’re here?” I pull away so I can see her better. “How are you here?”

  “Because I’m your friend,” she says as if it’s that simple. “And the way you’ve sounded on the phone…I hate to say it’s been like you’re going to a funeral, because of Paige and all, but it’s honestly how you sound. Dead inside. And I only just got you crawling out of the first grave.”

  Sophie, in all her frankness, has me set to cry again. I pull her into another hug. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  Lily, finally drawing her attention away from toppling over every stack I’ve crafted for her screams gets up on her feet, and wanders to Sophie.

  “Oh-em-gee, she walks!” Sophie claps, begging Lily to come closer and coming down to her level. “Hi, baby! Or should I say, small lady, since you’re sashaying now!”

  Lily babbles and tips over into Sophie’s arms. Sophie stands and lifts Lily over her head.

  “Come in, come in,” I usher Sophie inside, and only now notice that all she has with her is an unbuttoned plaid shirt, a white tee, and black jeans. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “Downstairs. It’s a lot to lug up.” Sophie sets Lily down.

  “How long are you planning on staying for?” I ask.

  “A few days, or however long you need me.” Sophie finds my hand and squeezes. “I didn’t want to impose, but I also couldn’t leave you here, alone. Especially when you…well.” She gestures to Lily.

  “When I board my own flight,” I finish quietly.

  “Come. Come help,” Sophie says, pulling me to the door. “Lily’s fine on the floor for five seconds.”

  We fly down the stairs, where I see a light blue duffel and—and a wrapped-up painting.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  Sophie grabs it and starts heaving it up the stairs. “Grab my bag, would ya?”

  I do, but it’s on automatic. “Soph, what did you bring?”

  “A painting you told me not to ship you.”

  I nearly miss a stair. “And you thought to bring it personally instead?”

  “It’s beautiful, you know. And while you don’t think it is, I know someone that might.”

  We’ve reached the top, where Lily, distracted once again by her blocks, has her back to us. But Sophie sets the wrapped painting next to her.

  “I…that was painted in pure grief. Lily deserves more than that.”

  Sophie stares at me levelly, then begins ripping the paper from the canvas.

  “Soph, please don’t—”

  “Cold, harsh action. That’s what you need, and it’s exactly what I’m here for. Unless you’d rather I splash ice water in your face instead.” She continues tearing.

  I hold out a hand, but it’s weak. I have so little fight left.

  In mere seconds, Sophie exposes the very face I’ve dreamed of, had nightmares about, and desperately wish was still with me.

  Paige. Oh, Paige.

  I forged her from water out of a sunset. Purple, pink, gold hues from the moment just before night hits. Mostly navy, mostly reflected stars. Her hair cascades with the coasting waves, the whitecaps forming each tendril.

  She’s blue, so blue, and her eyes are closed. But she’s healthy, because I created her from memory, from the times we pulled all-nighters for exams, woke up hungover together, went to movies or binge-watched shows on our computer. Times when all I had to do was look across the room, and I’d see her.

  “It’s too sad,” I choke out.

  I’m rooted to the spot, turning to stone as Paige’s face comes to life in this apartment, in front of her daughter.

  Lily, intrigued, smacks a hand against the canvas, then tries to climb it.

  “Not the purpose of a painting, silly,” Sophie says, gently pushing Lily away. Sophie says to me, “I think Lily deserves this picture of her mother, don’t you?”

  I’m unsure. I’m also well aware that Paige isn’t really anywhere in this apartment, except in ashes.

  I lick my lips. “You’re trying to get me to say yes, but all I know of this painting is how to cry.”

  “Lily doesn’t know that,” Sophie says lightly. “When she’s older, all she’ll see is a beautiful picture of her mom, created by you.”

  My molars clank together, but I don’t argue.

  “Settled, then,” Sophie says. “Where should I put it? Does Lil have a room?”

  “She does. Over there, on the right.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Sophie disappears with the painting, but I stay in place, Sophie’s duffel at my feet, gazing longingly at Lily.

  “There’s so much about you I don’t know yet,” I whisper. “How you’ll be when your older, the questions you’ll ask about your mom.”

  “Bah!”

  She lifts a laugh out of me. “Yes. Too right.”

  I get down on my knees, reaching to hug Lily when there’s another knock at the door.

  “Seriously?” I ask the air. I stand back up. “Who is it?”

  “Ash,” comes the response. “Locke needs me to grab some shit.”

  I roll my eyes, any effort at getting these men to stop swearing around Lily long diminished. “Hang on.”

  For the second time, I unlock the deadbolt. This time, it’s a hulking, mean-looking dude in my purview. Out of all of them, this one scares me the most, even though he’s been intimidating, but polite. I suppose it’s all his muscles and tattoos. And his buzzcut.

  “We’re just on our way to see him,” I say as Asher clunks in on motorcycle boots.

  “I’d offer you a ride,” he says as he scans the apartment for no reason I can decipher. “But I’m on a bike.”

  “Do you and Easton share?” I quip before I can stop myself. He pegs me over his shoulder.

  “Ain’t nobody touches my bike but me.”

  I raise my brows and say under my breath, “Duly noted.”

  “I’ll be a sec. Just going into Locke’s room—oh, hey, little dude!”

  Lily’s appeared from under the coffee table, crawling this time but giving an open-mouthed smile to Asher. Probably the only person in the world not in fear of him.

  He picks her up and asks me, “Does she hate on anybody?”

  It elicits a laugh. “Nope. She has a grin for anyone paying attention to her.”

  “That’s gonna be a problem for me when she’s older,” Asher says, then makes kissy-faces at Lily.

  I’m torn between laughing and taking a picture so I can use it to remind myself that Lily can even coax Asher into making a fool out of himself.

  Sophie picks that moment to come out of the nursery. “I’ve picked a corner, but feel free to move it if—who’re you?”

  Sophie stops midway into the room and rakes Asher up and down.

  “Who’re you?” Asher asks, settling Lily against his chest.

  “A person with permission to hold that tiny tyke. Can you say the same or are you here to kidnap her?”

  Asher says dryly, “Permission has been granted by her father.”

  “Ah. Suppose that’s okay then,” Sophie says, but cautiously sidles up near me.

  “You still haven’t told me who you are,” he says.

  “Don’t have to,” Sophie says, then turns to me. “Hungry? I can make us some sandwiches.”

  “Uh, sure.” I’m happy to have Sophie depart for the kitchen because Asher is staring at her ass in a weird way.

  “A Sophie Spectacular coming right up!” she says and makes her way to the fridge.

  Asher stares after her.

>   “Oh hell, hell no,” I say to him.

  He bats his eyes innocently at me, but it only emotes devilish sin. “Whatever am I doing?”

  I point toward Locke’s room. “Go. Grab what you need, then go.”

  “You don’t own this place.”

  “And you can’t touch my friend.”

  “Locke would sure be interested to know if you’re hosting friends here.”

  “Locke is going to meet her in about half an hour. He knows who she is.”

  “Has he said she could stay here?”

  “Why do you care?” I say, then realize my mistake.

  Asher gives an undertaker’s smile. “Because she can always stay with me.”

  “Damn it, Asher, get lost. Give me the baby and just…fuck off.”

  He tsk-tsks. “Not in front of Lily-belle.”

  The sound, the sheer use of Paige’s nickname for Lily and how it so blithely comes out of Asher’s mouth, has me losing all the blood from my face.

  He notices. “Carter? I’m kidding, all right? Swear all you want, I don’t know fuck-all about raising a kid.”

  I snap out of it. “Give Lily to me.”

  He does, but not without giving me a careful once-over. “This place is too small and crowded, anyway.”

  Asher’s insulted, but I don’t care. His use of Lily-belle unintentionally put a hole in my lungs, and I’m still getting my breath back.

  I hear Asher banging around Locke’s drawers and shoving things into a plastic bag. He appears in the doorway when he’s done, the thick chain links dangling from his jeans’ pocket clanging. He probably ties women up with it.

  “All finished,” he says, raising the bag as proof. He stalks past me, shoots one last look at the kitchen, then says, “See you at the hospital, I guess.”

  “‘Bye, Asher,” I say, practically pushing him out the door as he attempts another glimpse at Sophie.

  I slam it shut behind him.

  “Whew,” Sophie says, sandwiches ready on a plate. She’s even sliced pickles. “That was a sexy storm if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Oh, not you, too,” I say with disgust.

  “What?” Sophie’s gaze goes from the door, back to me. “Was he checking me out? Was that high heat, tropical hurricane checking me out?”

  “All of you,” I say flatly, “Every single one of you, need to fuck the hell off.”

  “Language, Carter!” Sophie admonishes, then lifts up a piece of sandwich and takes a perky bite.

  36

  Locke

  “Here are the briefs you refused to ask Carter to bring you,” Asher says as he enters my hospital room. He dumps a plastic bag on my chest.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” I grind out as I attempt to sit up.

  “Yeah, and for making me go through your underwear drawer instead.” Asher makes himself comfortable on the chair beside me. “So, you like red, huh?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Asher relaxes by placing one boot on my bed and crossing the other over. “I’m getting told that a lot lately.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who’s the latest chick who saw the light and decided to dump your ass?”

  “Yours. Carter.”

  I unlock my jaw. “She ain’t mine.”

  “Whatever she is, she’s in a fine mood.” Asher cocks his head. “The same kinda cranky as you. If I were a smarter man, I’d say it’s almost as if the two of you are mooning over each other and refuse to admit it.”

  “I said. Fuck. Off.”

  “She’s got another chick with her,” Asher says.

  I want to ignore him, maybe nap some more, but he’s piqued my interest, exactly as he’s intended. “Who?”

  “Someone named Sophie. Heard of her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Not your conquest.” I emit a warning growl, then trail off in a series of sore coughs.

  “Fuck, you and Carter, man. Seriously messing with my nuts.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll bury your nuts elsewhere.”

  Asher grins. “Funny you should mention, got one tonight. So, I can’t stay long. But Carter said she’d be here in a few, with your spawn.”

  I nod. “Good.”

  Asher, in an uncharacteristic show of concern, says, “You two should talk.”

  “She doesn’t want to.”

  “So? Who gives a fuck? Talk at her then. Tell her what really went on back then, with your baby mama. I dunno, explain to her how you feel and shit.” Asher twists his mouth like the very act of saying such a thing is foreign to him. And hell, it is. To me, too.

  “She made her feelings clear,” I say. “I’m not going to push her. I’m not that guy.”

  Asher shrugs. “Your call. But that could be the problem.”

  “Do expand, Dr. Whittaker. What could the issue be?”

  “Call me by my father’s name one more time, bro.”

  “I’ll fight you,” I say. “Even strapped to a gurney, I could still kick your ass.”

  “In your motherfucking dreams.” He lifts a boot. “I could step on you with this and win.”

  “I’ll ram this IV rod right up your dick.”

  Asher grins. “I’d still fuck better than you.”

  “She’s not going to listen,” I say.

  He takes the change in topic without a hitch. “But the question is, do you want her to listen? Is she worth it to you?”

  I suck on a tooth, staring at the far wall.

  “Look, Ben’s better at this shit, but here are my two cents.” Asher drops his feet to the floor and rests his elbows on his thighs. “I haven’t seen you this way with a chick. Fuck, you had a child with a woman, and I still didn’t see you in that kinda way with that chick. So, Carter means something to you. And if you let her fly off to our bumfuck college town without telling her how you really feel, well, that’s on you, bro.”

  “She’s seen all of me, Ash. Carter knows all there is to know. And she’s choosing to run in the other direction.”

  “You think that’s because she’s become aware of who you ‘really’ are?” Asher actually uses air quotes. “You can turn that shit around by simply having a conversation with her.”

  “Each time I do, I screw it up.” I drop my chin, exhausted. “Or I don’t say what I’m supposed to. How’m I supposed to know what’s right? When we met, Carter preferred to stay at a hostel in midtown than room with me. Was that the time to tell her, oh hey, I slept with your friend, who’s now dead after suffering through cancer and forced to leave her baby behind, on a bet, for ten hundys. But I’m totally ready to be that kid’s dad now.”

  I slump in the hospital bed as if I’m not currently slumped over like a limp prick.

  “How about…you relate to her with your mom?”

  I curl my lip at him and glance away.

  “It’s under the bridge, anyway. You and Carter are at this point now because of the both of you idiots. It’s neither one of your faults.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is. Numero uno, right here.”

  “Your pity party’s getting lame.”

  “What’s lame is being unable to accept that a girl doesn’t want me. But it really digs, the fact she’s the only woman who understands the real me.”

  “Dude, I’ve been with you at rock bottom. I’ve run with you to the top. In all those directions, I’ve never left, because I know you. You threw broken beer bottles at me, tried to stab me in the eye once.”

  “I did?”

  “Yup. I flushed all your pills down the toilet.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  That whole period of time, after my first knee surgery, was nothing but a drunken, drug-induced haze, and I was probably better off not recalling it in great detail.

  “Not the point. If Carter has seen the real you and wants nothing to do with it, her loss, man. Her fucking loss.” He sits straight. “‘Cause you’re fucking awesome. I wouldn’t be here, have willingly slogged through
the type of shit you dragged me into if you weren’t.”

  A smile plays at my mouth, but I stifle it. “Aw, Ash…”

  He points at me. “Never mention this again. Got it?”

  “So long as you tell no one about my preference for red briefs.”

  “It’s to hide the lipstick.” Ash winks as he stands. “I’m all for it.”

  I take a careful breath. I’m able to breathe deeper these days by only a fraction. “You said they’re on their way?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m leaving it up to Carter. If she chooses to end…whatever this is…then I’ll respect it.”

  Asher casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Dude, you really gotta work on your communication skills.”

  “Like you don’t?”

  “Yeah, but I’m comfortable with my inability to look deep inside a woman, other than the obvious. You’re clearly in love with this one. What’s she have, a nacho-flavored vagina?”

  I bare my teeth. “Don’t you fuckin’—”

  “See?” Asher shows all his teeth with a grin. “Told ya.”

  “Get lost.”

  “Gladly. This soap opera ain’t my kinda show. Catch you later, H.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Once he leaves, my head falls back into the airless pillows, and I curse at the ceiling.

  I’m pretty sure, after a good few years of trying, I’ve sunk as low as I can go.

  And it doesn’t feel as comfortably numb as I wish it would.

  37

  Carter

  Over the next few days, Sophie makes herself comfortable on the couch in Locke’s living room, and I remain in Lily’s nursery, cleaning when needed and ensuring Locke’s bedroom is made ready for him when he comes home.

  Because I just got the call. He’s being released this afternoon.

  For most of the week, I’ve settled into a concrete schedule of Lily’s naps, Locke’s hospital visits, and ensuring both ate their required amount of calories. Sophie was a welcome balm in the spaces between, uncorking a bottle of wine some evenings and patting the couch beside her, encouraging me to open up to her about all my woes.