Well, that is on my mind—the only thing on my mind. It’s only been two days since our secret meeting in the park, the one outside Brighton that I’d found so Lara wouldn’t be uncomfortable. If it were up to me, I would have met her and our son on the bloody beach that we’d first fallen in love on, for all the world to see. I want to shout from the rooftops that Mason is my child, but I know it’s more complicated than that. Lara needs time to process, to digest the things I’m telling her. So, I agreed to speak to my son for the first time in a location outside of our hometown.
In the first week since I’d been back in Brighton, I’ve seen Lara twice, and Mason once. I spilled my heart to her, told her everything I’ve been bottling up since the initial discovery that I have a son. Everything I could possibly do thus far to get the woman I love, and my family, back well, I’ve done it. I’ve warred with myself about my future in football, and if need be,
I’ll walk away.
That’s how hard this has all hit me. I was a bastard once, giving up on her because of the game I love. I won’t do it again.
But I won’t walk away from my son. Just thinking about him, my little mini-me, and the way his smile lights up his entire face. How small his hand had been in mine when he’d taken the small football from me. The way his energy powers the world around him, when his little legs carried him across the grass. I hear his laughter in my ears all the time now.
I can’t stand the thought of not being his father, of not having him in my life.
“I’m not sure, mate. I have one week left to convince her I’m worth complicating her entire life. Popping up unexpectedly with you two arseholes might throw a wrench in it.”
“Mate, we don’t care. You kept her hidden long enough. It’s time for us to be uncles.” Jude nods at me, solemnly.
I blow out a sigh. “It’s not that simple. She’s engaged to someone else, and I just found out that no one in Brighton knows I’m Mason’s father.”
“Wait, she hasn’t told anyone that you’re the daddy? Your parents don’t know?” The octave of Kingston’s voice reaches new heights with every word uttered.
“What the bloody hell?” Jude says at exactly the same time. “So, she lied to you about having a son for a year and a half, and now, come to find out, she’s lied to everyone else, too? That bitch—”
“Enough,” I roar. I point at Jude, “You won’t talk about Lara like that. Neither of you will, or I’ll break your kicking foot.”
“Harsh, mate,” Kingston curses under his breath.
“I’m not pleased with her actions … bloody hell, I’m furious. But, I never told you the entire story. When we were together, it wasn’t our schedules that kept me from bringing her around. It wasn’t her commitment issues that barred her from meeting you. It was me. I kept her a secret, kept our relationship this private thing with ridiculous rules. Lara is somewhat justified in all she’s done, and she did it to protect her son. If I can forgive that and look past it, you will too.”
They both look stunned, their jaws slack and wobbling.
“Shite, you’re really in love with this bird.” Jude’s expression goes from somber to smirking in half a second.
“And you’re a wanker for keeping her away from us. I can’t believe you, Vance!” Kingston smacks my pec, as if he’s anyone to talk about respecting females.
“There is no keeping us away now. Take us to her. It’s time we meet.” Jude stamps his foot like a petulant child.
“Mate, she’s working. She’s a teacher.” A fact I found out from some extensive Internet sleuthing.
“I don’t care. If you don’t take us, we’ll cause chaos around town trying to find her. Poor fiancé, we’re about to turn his world to shite.” Kingston grins that devilish grin he gets when he’s about to pull a prank.
Immediately, I grab my coat from where it hangs on the back of a chair. “Fine, I’ll take you. But you have to promise to behave.”
Jude nods. “Fine. But on the way, you’re telling us more about exactly what went down between you two. I think I may need to teach you about the art of wooing.”
10
Lara
Slumped over my desk, I re-read, for the fifth time, a sentence one of my students wrote.
No one tells you, when you get into education, that this is some of the hardest work. I love working with young minds, discussing with them and teaching on a personal level in the classroom. But the grading, the endless nights of checking tests and correcting mistakes long after putting Mason down for bed, this is the part of my job that I despise.
It’s mindless and lonely, and while I do enjoy reading the thoughts and inner-workings of my student’s brains, there are some papers that just flat-out miss the mark. Case in point, this theory on David Copperfield being an undercover Russian spy. I want to roll my eyes at every other word.
My classroom door bangs against the back wall, and my head whips up, the noise jolting me from my lackadaisical focus.
“Is it time for a martini yet?”
Stefania strolls into my classroom, her inky black hair making an entrance of its own. My best mate at work started around the same time I did, transferring to Brighton from her home country of Spain simply because she was bored and wanted to branch out. That was Stef for you, impulsive, aggressively beautiful, and incapable of being tied down. She’s like the sand beneath the shoreline in our town; just when you think you have her, she slips through your fingers.
At least, with men, she seems to adopt that method. As a friend, she is splendid. My babysitter when I need her, my shoulder when the tears came, and my drinking partner on the rare night off from motherhood.
“I have to get home. Louis wants to discuss wedding plans.” I try to keep the anxiety from creeping into my voice.
“When are you going to dump that dodgy bloke?” She pretends to cringe.
“Bugger off, that’s my fiancé.” I chuckle, refraining from flipping up my middle finger at her.
Stef has never warmed to Louis. She says there is something wonky about him, that she could sense his aura or feel his spirit. Some shite she was peddling about knowing these things in her bones, having had ancestors who were witch doctors. I think she’s simply a commitment-phobe who wants one of her only friends in town to be single and ready for a pint or a night dancing at the drop of a hat.
“For now.” She tips her head and winks. “Anyways, come have a drink with me first. I don’t think I can stand one more minute of grading inaccurate maths solutions.”
The advanced calculus teacher, Stef has a penchant for being one of the coolest staff members in school. She makes her class interesting in a way I never thought maths could be, and she’s bloody brilliant to boot.
Looking at the clock ticking on the wall behind my desk, I estimate that I have a good twenty-minute cushion to my arrival at home. I can run down the street with Stef, gulp down some liquid numbing, and then head home … possibly more relaxed to talk about walking down the aisle and everything that comes before it.
“All right, fine. But you have to hear my complaints, and promise not to pressure me into two drinks. I do not want to be hungover for first bell tomorrow.”
“I have never met a twenty-two-year-old who didn’t wish for a hangover or more drinks. You’re truly special, mi amor.”
Gathering my things, I follow Stef out to the street, the constant soundtrack of my life, the ocean lapping the shore, playing in the background.
“Am I playing wingwoman tonight?” I chuckle, trying to test her mood.
More than once, I’ve acted as Stef’s buffer or her pimp. There are nights when she feels like taking a man home, and other times where she’s cursed and shunned all men to the devil. She likes to tell me it depends on the position of the moon and mercury, but I like to think it depends on her drink count and menstrual cycle.
“If the right man comes along, I may need your flirting assistance.” A sly grin is thrown my way.
It’s
an inside joke between us, my flirt training her. Unlike so many of my peers, I never truly experienced a twenty-something life. I went from hiding my relationship in high school, to clawing my way out from under my parent’s roof to raise a baby on my own. I didn’t get the self-discovery phase, or the single, wild period. With Stef, and our odd night out, I get to let my hair down and forget about all the sacrifices I’ve made.
And so … I flirt through her. I tell her what I would do or say if a stranger approached me in a pub or club, and she acts it out. It’s a game for me, living vicariously through her.
It also assuages my guilt that I’m out on the town, wondering what it would feel like if someone other than Louis took interest.
“Um, is that Jude Davies?” Stef stops dead, leaving me to walk by myself until I look back to realize she is no longer with me.
Following her gaze, I land on three massive figures across the street. Brighton Secondary School is on the main road in Brighton. Not close to the shops, but farther down the road where only a couple of storefronts and eateries exist. It’s rare for this part of town to be crowded, and the pub we frequent is a teacher’s spot.
But sure enough, Vance is staring at me from the pavement, Jude Davies and Kingston Phillips flanking him.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, all of my organs twisting into knots.
My heart ricochets against my ribs, my stomach drops to my feet. I have to consciously press my hands at my sides to keep from smoothing my hair or pulling my sunglasses off my face.
“Am I dreaming? Is this a fantasy? Because I told you if the right man came along, I’d need help, and now it looks like the three horsemen of the apocalypse arrived and my knickers just croaked.” Stef is actively laughing, as if this situation can’t even be reality.
“No, it’s real all right. Unfortunately, they’re not here for the apocalypse. Just for my head.” My jaw clicks as I grind my teeth together.
“What is going on?” My friend gapes at me but follows as I cross the street to meet my fate.
Ignoring her question, I march straight up to Vance. “You really hunted me down at my place of work?”
His lips twitch, as if this whole thing is mildly hilarious, but those chocolate brown eyes are serious. And, of course, he doesn’t answer the questions but opts for silence.
“Hey, I’m Kingston. Heard a lot about you, and don’t nag him. This was my idea, so blame me. Just don’t kick me in the bollocks, or my kicking foot. Vance already threatened that, and I’m prepared.”
Kingston Phillips, England’s richest playboy and prankster, steps forward to extend his hand to me.
Stef starts to giggle beside me, and I know why. This is ludicrous. “Do you know them?”
I guess a lot of the full-time residents in Brighton, and many people I grew up with, don’t know of my connection to Vance. First off, we kept it under wraps, so why would they? But he also didn’t live here for much of his childhood. Yes, residents always touted this as the place he came from, but truth be told, Vance never spent a lot of time here.
“Sort of,” I address her, humiliated that they tracked me down and stunned that this is the way I am meeting his best mates for the first time.
I also have no idea what I am going to tell Stefania, but I suppose she’s the best person for this to happen in front of if it had to be anyone.
“It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t we go inside and sit down? A pint might take the edge off all of this.”
Just like that, Jude Davies, the pride of Britain’s football empire, was escorting me into my local pub to grab a bite.
11
Lara
“When I woke up today, I never thought in a million years that my day would end like this.”
Stef is still in a state of hypnotic hysteria, and I almost want to snap my fingers in front of her face. How many times have I played it cool for her in front of men? Lesson learned, she cannot return the favor.
“This is Stefania, she teaches maths at our school. And apparently, is an undercover football fan.” My tone is all sarcasm.
We’ve never talked about sports, so I suppose I’m surprised at her reaction to the men sitting in a dingy, wooden booth across from us at the Brighton Blue Craw Pub.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Kingston winks at her.
It’s no secret he’s engaged, to the most famous supermodel in the world, obviously. The news was splashed across every tabloid and website in circulation. But apparently, he’s still a charming bugger and it shows. Because next to me, Stef sighs like one of those fainting damsels in a historical romance novel.
Vance has still not taken his eyes off of me, as we sit directly across from one another in the innermost section of the booth. Every hair follicle prickles with awareness, and I have to clench my thighs to keep from having the reaction my body so clearly wants me to have toward him.
We’ve exchanged messages a few times since his meeting Mason formally for the first time, and I know we have a lot to discuss. I just … don’t want to. I’m terrified of what he’ll say, what he’ll profess this time. Will he want to make things legal? A custody arrangement? My soul trembles with fear every time I think of it. Having to ship Mason off to wherever he’s playing for days at a time? I could break down into sobs right now just thinking about it.
Then Kingston turns to me. “I’m so glad we finally get to meet. I apologize on behalf of our daft giant here; it should have been a long time ago.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “As if I have much choice now.”
“You’ve got me there. I should have been paying more attention back then, but unfortunately, I was a wanker.”
“Some would say you still are.” Vance finally breaks his silence.
“Valid point. But now I’m a wanker with a conscience,” Kingston concedes.
“Now I understand what Vance meant when he said you are a smooth talker.” I pull a memory out of my brain, the image tinged with rose-tinted frames.
Even if he wouldn’t bring me around to meet them, Vance talked about his two friends all the time when we were together.
Stef eyes me like I’m in big trouble for not disclosing all the facts of my past to her, and I wave her off. Not right now, I try to say with my glance, but soon I’ll tell you.
Jude is pretending to glance at a menu, but what he’s truly doing is giving me a once-over. He’s assessing me, not in a sexual way, but in a protective way. Protective of his friend.
Despite fighting the feeling, it warms my heart. Vance doesn’t allow many people close to him, but he allowed these two to worm their way in. They look out for each other, and I know without knowing that he’s confessed many things to his friends about me. What I’d give to pick Kingston’s brain.
It occurs to me that these three lived a life together that not many people ever get to experience. Jet setting, endless amounts of money, exclusive parties, free merchandise … anything they wanted was within reach.
I’ve seen him on the cover of magazines, in paparazzi photos on Instagram, on the telly when the celebrity news portion of the morning show came on. Vance has been with a fair share of different women since we split, the leggy models draping off his arm like beautiful accessories. I wonder what his friends think of me, this dull girl from a nowhere town. I’m not London chic, I don’t come from posh society.
“You’re a tough bird; I like that.” Kingston pats my hand in a friendly gesture.
For the first time since I spotted them on the street, I relax marginally.
“I’d also really love a Guinness and some chips. We staked out your school for about an hour, I’m starving.” Kingston pats his washboard stomach.
Stef almost chokes on the martini she procured out of thin air. How did she get a drink but none of the people at the table who really need liquid courage right now received any handouts?
“What subject do you teach?” Jude asks, his eyes holding judgment.
The waitress, Nelly, walks up
to our table and asks for our orders before I can answer. She looks starstruck, as do many other patrons in the pub, but doesn’t have the courage to take it further than that. Even if they weren’t three of the most famous athletes in England, these men would attract attention. Devilishly handsome, the lot of them, and freakishly muscled and large in stature … there is no subtle magnetism to them. Their pull is like being thrown against a wall.
There is no way my coworkers aren’t going to hear about this. As it is, I spot two of them whispering in our direction from the other side of the pub. There will be questions after this, and my rage at Vance grows as swiftly as a tsunami. I can’t prepare for it, but it swamps me, drowning me in the feeling that, soon, everyone will know who the father of my son is.
When she walks away with our drink order, and the men’s ridiculous food order, I turn back to Jude.
“I teach English.” My answer is short and to the point.
He seems to weigh my words. “Have you ever read Harry Potter?”
My lips split into a smile. “Of course I have. Would I be a teacher from England who tells her students to read if I hadn’t read one of the greatest series of all times? By a British author, not to mention.”
Jude nods. “I find that answer acceptable. And you live in Brighton?”
“In a flat I rent all on my own. Any other questions? Do you want to see my medical history or credit score?” Cheeky is my defense setting.
Kingston snorts, foam from his beer splashing onto his hand. “I more than like you, Lara.”
Our conversation ventures into surface-level small talk, with Stef taking the reins. She and Kingston hold up the heavy end of the discussion, talking about anything and nothing at all. Jude asks about my job some more, and I inquire about their academy days, just for something less awkward to talk about. Though Stef doesn’t know it, we’re all skirting around the elephant in the room. No one wants to touch my relationship with Vance, or our son, with a ten-foot pole.
The Mighty Anchor: Rogue Academy, Book Three Page 6
