A Brit Player

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Oh, okay.” I twirl my vodka tonic on the wooden table. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Why you’ve ghosted me the past twelve years.” All of the ease is gone from Max’s expression.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take another sip of my vodka tonic in an attempt to look casual. Inside, though, that corkscrew in my stomach feels like it’s tearing through metal.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Max holds my gaze and doesn’t let up.

  My mind races and finally I settle on, “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?”

  “No.” Max leans back and stretches his legs out. “And you wouldn’t believe you if you were me either.”

  No, I wouldn’t. But how do I answer him without telling him everything?

  I’m saved from answering by a waiter coming over to take our order. Bonus: he wants Max’s autograph. Then they talk about Norcastle’s team standings for a bit. It buys me time, but it’s not enough. But let’s face it, if twelve years hasn’t been enough time for me to figure out how to answer that question, a few minutes is nothing.

  The waiter walks away and Max turns back to me like we haven’t been interrupted. I don’t wait for him to speak before saying, “First of all, I haven’t ghosted you. You left and I felt like we couldn’t possibly have anything in common anymore. You had this whole other life that was so far away from Bishop’s Blue Coat, and it seemed like keeping up for nostalgia’s sake wouldn’t be good for either one of us.”

  I’m surprised to feel the tightness in my throat when I finish speaking, but I make myself hold Max’s gaze. It’s way harder than it should be.

  “But it wouldn’t have been keeping up for nostalgia’s sake.” Max furrows his brow. “I mean, Jesus, T. I loved you.”

  Ooof.

  His words hit me like I’ve just taken a goal kick in the stomach.

  “I know.” My voice is small. “But all the more reason. We wouldn’t have lasted anyway and you know it.”

  “So dropping out of my life was your solution?” Max is the most even-keeled person I’ve ever known, but his voice has a definite edge now. “I texted Will and Harry, but you were the only person at Bishop’s I ever really talked to. There I was in Spain. I didn’t speak Spanish and my so-called football skills weren’t at the same level as the other players. Never mind that I missed you so much it felt like I’d cut off a limb. I emailed you that I wanted to come home because I didn’t think I could do it. I was sore all the time from training and feeling stupid homesick, and I needed you to tell me to suck it up, which you did. Then I never heard from you again.”

  Because what if next time I told you to do it? To come home? To be there with me and hold my hand as I tried to navigate the nightmare turn my life had taken? How would I live with myself?

  “I was afraid I’d give you the wrong advice.” I can’t talk about how much I missed Max, too. I just can’t. “And I knew that once you found your feet, you’d be amazing, which you were.”

  “Truth.” Max gives a reluctant grin.

  “See? Modesty has always been your strong suit.” I let my shoulders relax a little. He doesn’t know. He can’t tell I’m faking it. The realization makes me drop my shoulders another notch.

  “But then you moved and didn’t tell me.” The edge is back in his voice now. “I came home and Will said you moved over to the Lake District. You didn’t even leave a forwarding address.”

  Not true. Rina knew my address, but she was under strict instructions not to share. Aloud I say, “My dad got a new job and we moved pretty quickly so I didn’t miss any school. It sucked, but it was better than leaving in Year Eleven. And I met Scarlett, so it turned out all right in the end.”

  “It turned out all right in the end.” Max’s mouth is set in a firm line and I feel frustration roil in my stomach.

  “Don’t tell me it didn’t. You’re living your dream, Max.”

  “One of them.” Max looks down in his lap and I hold my breath. I feel like reminding him he paid a lot of money for a night out with me to spend it arguing. I see the minute he decides not to continue and when he looks back up at me, his expression is almost friendly again. “Where are your parents now? Are they still up here?”

  “No, they’re over by Leeds now. My dad’s gone into business with his brother, which is good. They like being closer to family. How about your mum?” I ask, although I know the answer to this. Talking about parents is safe. Rina told me years ago that one of the first things Max did when he went pro was to buy his mum a house and put her on his payroll. It kind of made my heart melt.

  “She’s in Norcastle. She more or less works for me?” Max looks a bit sheepish. “I have a few investment properties, so she helps with those, and she helps organize stuff for me during the season. That probably sounds bad, but I swear she wants to do it. I’d be happy to take care of all of her living expenses and she could chill, but she says she’d be bored senseless.”

  “I think it’s nice.” I reach over and put my hand on top of Max’s without thinking. The second I realize, I try to jerk it away, but he threads his fingers through mine before I can.

  I pray he can’t feel my pulse through my fingertips. For all the care I took to avoid touching Max getting into his car and then to casually reach for him now is a mistake of the highest order. Because my instinct isn’t to let go, it’s to curl my fingers around his and hold on. Tight.

  “Do you remember that time your brother caught us making out in the street?” Max asks, his voice low. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

  “Oh, if anyone was going to die, it would have been me. I got a stern talking to that day.” Tariq had told me Max was nothing but a player and I’d regret hooking up with him. Tariq was right. I regretted it all in the end. This thought makes me slip my hand out of Max’s and put it in my lap. My voice is soft when I say, “That was a long time ago. Tariq has mellowed since then.”

  Max studies my face for what feels like an hour, but he chooses not to ask about whatever he sees there and fixes a half smile on his face as he says, “I would hope so. You are an adult, after all.”

  “Tariq has his own family now. He has a little girl whom he adores.”

  Max grins and for the next hour – all the way through starters and mains – we trade stories, catching up. It’s mostly surface level conversation, but it’s like Max knows I’m not capable of more right now. He tells me about some of the practical jokes he and his teammates have played on each other. I tell him about work at WS Consulting and my latest design for a pub renovation. It’s outside the scope of what I normally do but restoring listed buildings has become an unexpected area of expertise for me, and it’s an area in high demand.

  “So basically, you get to geek out on the history, as well as the design?” Max asks.

  “Basically. Bradley, the owner of WS, is great at providing his employees opportunities they didn’t know they were looking for. He knew this would be right up my street way before I did.”

  “It sounds like a great job. You’re lucky,” Max says.

  “Says the professional footballer.” I glance around. “Speaking of, this place is bound to get pretty packed since it’s Saturday night, if you’re worried about staying under the radar.”

  “In other words, you want to get out of here before the masses descend?” Max asks, the corner of his mouth turning up.

  “Yeah, something like that. Plus, I don’t feel like being on the gossip sites tomorrow. Scarlett’s friend, Claire, dates Greyson Vaughn and I’ve heard some horror stories.”

  “You know Greyson Vaughn is a major Hollywood actor?” Max asks while signalling for the bill. “It’s a little different.”

  “It is, but still.” I don’t want to be linked to Max online and have people start digging to try to find out about his mystery woman. Neither one of us need that.

  God knows what they’d uncover.

  Chapter Fifteen
<
br />   Twelve Years Ago

  “What do you think about coming to my game on Saturday?” Max asks as we walk home from school on Thursday. “It would be great to see you there.”

  It’s not like I’ve never gone to one of Max’s games, but I haven’t gone since we’ve been doing whatever it is that we’re doing.

  The fact that I refuse to name it speaks volumes.

  “Uh, maybe? What time does it start?” It’s not that I don’t want to go. I do. But I’m wary going as Max’s…whatever.

  “Ten.” Max makes a face. “Maybe we can grab lunch after? I have practice at three in Manchester, but I won’t have to leave until two.”

  “Aren’t you going to die with a game and practice on the same day?”

  “I am a fine physical specimen, thank you very much.” Max laughs, then his smile fades. “That said I probably will die. Coach Wright is pissed that I’m playing for Bishops in the morning.”

  “Why? He knows you play for the school team?”

  “Yeah, but not when scouts are going to be there.” Max shrugs. “I think his exact words to me were something like, ‘It’s your funeral.’”

  “Is he right? Should you skive off the school game?” I know I couldn’t play one game of football, let alone two.

  “Probably, but it’s a cup game and it’s important, you know? And when you stop doing things that are important now in favor of something that might be important later, it’s kind of like cheating on yourself. Besides…” Max pulls me closer. “I want to show off in front of my girl.”

  I try to keep the little thrill I feel at his words at bay, but I can’t. I also can’t help grinning. “I never said I was coming to watch.”

  Max stops in the middle of the sidewalk and faces me, his arms around my waist. “Do you need convincing? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I think that’s exactly what I’m saying.” I can’t keep my smile from widening, so it means when Max bends down to kiss me he gets mostly teeth.

  Oh my God. When Max bends down to kiss me???

  It takes my mind a minute to catch up to what’s actually happening here, but it’s true. Max’s lips are on mine and I feel a thrill zing through my body. We’ve been way more affectionate since he asked me to Shake a Leg and a kiss seemed imminent, but you never know.

  Or at least I didn’t know.

  But now Max deepens our kiss. His lips are soft against mine and his tongue sweeps over my bottom lip as he tightens his grip on my back. I feel my stomach swoop, but before I can press myself against him fully someone shouts, “Get a room, mate.”

  Max pulls away slowly and shoves his fingers through his hair. He looks down at me and says, “Convinced yet?”

  “Not quite?” I stand on my tiptoes, eager for another kiss. Max is happy to participate and I’m lost in him when I feel a rough hand on my shoulder.

  “What the fuck, Tara?” My brother’s voice is harsh.

  I wrench myself away from both Max and Tariq. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

  “Not making out in the middle of the sidewalk. What if Mum or Dad go by and see you?” Tariq’s tone is still harsh as he darts his gaze around. “They’d kill you.”

  “They’re at work like they always are. They’re not going to go by,” I say.

  “I’m sorry,” Max says. “It’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not…” I start.

  “How do you think Mum and Dad will feel if they find out about this?” Tariq’s voice is flat, then he finally looks at Max. “No offense, man.”

  “None taken,” Max says, then turns his attention back to me. “Do your parents not know we’re hanging out?”

  Technically they know Max and I hang out. I’ve mentioned his name and they know we walk home from school together. But they don’t know our relationship has progressed.

  “Of course they know we hang out.” My voice sounds strained and I clear my throat. “I haven’t made it into a big deal, though. You know my mother.”

  Scratch that. Max doesn’t know my mother at all. Judging by the look on his face, he’s about to say this himself when Tariq interjects. “You should come for dinner on Saturday. Meet the fam.”

  What?

  My eyes get wide and I open and close my mouth like a guppy. Max coming to dinner ranks only slightly above getting my wisdom teeth out. Without anaesthetic.

  Max shifts his gaze between me and Tariq for a solid thirty seconds before nodding. “I’ll talk to Tara about it, but maybe. That would be nice.”

  “Tara makes a mean samosa. You should try to come.” Tariq grins, but there’s a hard edge to it as he turns to me. “See you at home.”

  I nod and give a weak wave, waiting until Tariq has turned the corner before daring to glance at Max again. “You don’t have to come. Tariq’s being a dick.”

  Tariq and I are not one of those sets of twins who complete each other’s thoughts and never have an unkind word to say about each other. I’d take a bullet for him, yes. But I can also call a spade a spade. Or a twin brother a dick.

  “What if I want to?” Max shrugs and looks a little sheepish. “I mean, I won’t, obviously, if you don’t want me to. But it would be cool, yeah?”

  Cool is not the word I’d use. Mortifying. Horrifying. Excruciating. All of those are more apt. But, dammit, does Max really want to “meet the fam?” Aloud, I say, “Uh, I mean, yeah. I…I mean…we…I mean…you should come. But what about your practice in Manchester? Didn’t you say you have practice on Saturday?”

  “Practice is from three to five. I’ll be home by six, so unless you eat really early, it should be fine.”

  Damn. “No, we eat at seven, so that would work.”

  Max gives me that big grin of his and says, “Great. Let me know what I should bring.”

  Armor, maybe?

  “Um, just bring yourself. We always have more than enough at Saturday night dinners. It’s our big family meal of the week.”

  “That sounds fun.” Max kisses the side of my head. “As long as you’re sure it’s cool?”

  Nope. Not sure. Not cool.

  “Yeah. Yeah, it will be great.” I nod and paste on a smile. “I’m excited.”

  I’m also going to kill my brother. That, I’m excited about.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max invited me back to his hotel suite for a drink – an invitation I declined faster than a Formula One driver in the Monaco Grand Prix – so now we’re in the bar at Castle Calder. I’m trying to avoid eye contact with Scarlett and Tilly, who are making faces at me over Max’s shoulder. Bradley’s deep in conversation with Hannah, but if he wasn’t, Scarlett wouldn’t behave any differently. It’s one of the things I admire about their relationship, even if I sort of hate Scarlett right now for making me struggle not to giggle while Max is talking.

  On the one hand, it’s been a while since I giggled. On the other, Max is looking at me like I’ve got a third boob, with a fourth growing out my ear.

  Finally he says, “A lesser man would be paranoid as hell right now. What’s so funny?”

  “My friends are being asshats.” I point over his shoulder. When he turns to look, Scarlett and Tilly wave.

  “They should join us so I can be in on the joke. Unless I am the joke, in which case they should definitely join us,” Max says. Then he raises his voice and says, “Buy you a drink, ladies?”

  Scarlett and Tilly slip off their barstools and come over. “I thought you’d never ask,” Scarlett says as she extends her hand. “Scarlett St Julien. We met earlier.”

  “Of course I remember. I never forget a beautiful face.” Max shakes her hand and turns to Tilly. “And Tilly Whitmore, correct?”

  “Indeed. It’s lovely to see you again.” Tilly smiles and, no kidding, bats her eyelashes.

  It makes me roll my eyes, but Max eats it up. He smiles and buys all three of us a drink, then he and Tilly launch into a heated conversation about league tables. I tune out after only a few minutes and Sca
rlett nudges me.

  “So, how was dinner?” she murmurs.

  “Good. Nice.” Less fraught than I thought it would be.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  Oh God, we’re not even through tonight yet. I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

  “Why not?” Scarlett asks. “You said you had a good time.”

  “I had a good time with Mikhail, too. I don’t see you trying to convince me to see him again.”

  “I thought you and Mikhail had exhausted your – ahem – potential.” Scarlett fake coughs and raises a brow. “I didn’t realize you and Max had progressed to the same level.”

  “Max and I have no potential. We’re old friends. That’s it.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Scarlett asks.

  The corner of her mouth twists with the start of a smile, but before I get to ask her what she’s smiling about, I feel the weight of Max’s arm around my shoulders. It feels so familiar – still, after all this time – that for a second, I let myself sink into his side for old time’s sake. Then he pulls me closer and I realize what I’m doing. This Max is heavier and firmer than he used to be, but more importantly, he’s not the same person he was twelve years ago. And neither am I.

  I edge away, but not quite out of his reach as he says, “I need to go. Team curfew and such. When do I get to see you again, T?”

  “Team curfew? You don’t have a match tomorrow, do you?” I focus on this, hoping it’s enough to distract Max from his question.

  “No. It’s unofficial, but we all stick to it. When the alternative is playing less than one hundred percent, you’d be surprised how easy it is.” Max grins. “The days of hanging out at the Library until two a.m. the night before a match are a distant memory.”

  “The Library?” Tilly asks.

  “It was this high school party hot spot,” I explain. “Not an actual library.”