A Brit Player (Castle Calder Book 4)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “If you don’t let me put your bag in my car, you’re going to miss your train,” Max says, grabbing my wrist. “Unless that’s your cunning plan.”

  “I have to get back, unfortunately.” I stick out my lower lip in a pout. “I have a meeting first thing.”

  The monthly staff meeting is tomorrow morning and my team is presenting. Which is almost enough reason to postpone going back because the presentations alternate between team-building exercises and sharing business best practices. It sounds dry, but it pays to make them engaging and fun – literally. Bradley sends out an anonymous survey after the meeting and based on feedback, there are incentives attached. Sometimes it’s as basic as a free pizza lunch. But one team got two extra vacation days for their presentation and implementation of a mentoring program with a local high school. There’s a waiting list of people waiting to be mentors, me included.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.” Max’s voice turns soft. “It’s been incredible having you here.”

  “It’s been incredible being here.” I let out a sigh. “But you’re right, tickling you isn’t going to get me to my train.”

  “Sorry.” Max sounds like he really is sorry.

  But not as much as I am. I hate that this is the end of our time together. I haven’t let myself think about that this weekend after our first hour, but I can’t help it now.

  “I’m sorry, too.” I manage to get the words out, but I have to bite my lip and turn away when I feel the prick of tears behind my eyes.

  Dammit. I will not cry. I knew the chance I was taking seeing Max again and getting emotional about the inevitable end isn’t going to help. At least we’ve had this time. Blah, blah, blah.

  For a minute during our quiet ride to the train station, I wonder what would happen if I told him. Right now. It’s not like I made a decision about the baby without him.

  But you would have.

  The little voice in the back of my head is louder than a whisper and it’s right. I don’t know what I would have chosen – even though by not making a choice, I was doing just that. For as much as I couldn’t wrap my head around having a baby, I doubly couldn’t comprehend terminating one. But Max didn’t factor into my decision-making. He was gone in every sense of the word, and I loved him too much for him to feel like he had to do the right thing.

  I still love him.

  Which is the other thing I’ve learned this weekend.

  Not that I had much doubt.

  Telling him about my pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage after all these years have passed wouldn’t help either one of us. There’s the risk that he wouldn’t forgive me or himself. But then there’s the risk that he would. And then what? I fall for him irrevocably until he’s gone again, recruited to play in Japan or America, and we’re left trying to stave off a slow, long-distance death? Sure, that might not happen for years. Hell, it might not happen at all. I’m not sixteen anymore – in theory, I could go with him. But Max has a tendency to move on without me. Whether he means to or not.

  I can’t go through that again.

  I won’t go through that again.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Max says.

  “I think they’re worth at least a pound.” I force the corner of my mouth to tilt up. “I’m thinking about the week and the million things I have to do.”

  “You always were a Sunday stresser.” Max gives me a sympathetic look.

  “It’s true.” I shake my head. “Remember all that stupid maths homework we’d get on a Friday? I blame Mr. Cavallini, full stop.”

  “That class was the worst. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have never made it.”

  “You could have, but it was a lot easier for you to get the answers from me.”

  “How else was I ever going to get you to talk to me?” Max laughs. “You were super brainy and I was a dumb jock.”

  “You were never dumb.” I give him a stern look, then tilt my head at him. “But seriously? ‘Get you to talk to me?’ What does that mean?”

  “I had the biggest crush on you. I told you that before.” Max scoffs.

  “Um, no you didn’t. Trust me, I would have remembered.”

  “Well, I did.” Max reaches over and places a hand on my thigh. “Still do, honestly.”

  Oh, Max.

  I squeeze his hand and my heart swells to the size of a football in my chest. I let it because we’re pulling into the train station and I know soon it will shrivel to the size of a pea.

  Max takes his hand away to pull into a short-term parking space and I steel myself. Goodbyes aren’t my strong suit and I feel positively weak in the knees over this one. Max shifts the car into park and turns off the engine, saying, “You ready?”

  “Yep. I think I have five minutes to spare.” I open the door and hop out before Max can look at me too long because tears are clogging my throat.

  The breeze is cool today and that helps. By the time we’re standing under the big clock inside the station, I’ve composed myself enough to give Max a genuine smile and wrap my arms around him, saying, “Thank you again for a lovely weekend.”

  “Thank you again for coming.” Max squeezes me to him. “We have a match next weekend, but I could make it to London the weekend after?”

  I nod because I don’t want to lie outright. Then I tilt up my head up to kiss Max goodbye. It’s soft and slow and nothing like our super steamy kisses this weekend, and it feels all the more poignant because of it. The football in my heart expands to beach ball size and I let my lips linger on Max’s for as long as possible. When the announcement for my train comes over the loudspeaker, I reluctantly pull away and head towards the tracks.

  I feel the ghost of Max’s lips on mine all the way home.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Max has texted me at least ten times – and that’s today alone. Between Sunday night and Monday, he easily tripled that. His tone has gone from easy to worried to pissed, and I’ve felt worse with every ding of my phone.

  “You can’t just ghost him,” Scarlett says.

  “Agreed,” says Gemma. “That’s shitty no matter how you look at it.”

  I’m at dinner with Scarlett and Gemma, and even though I was the one who suggested it, I’m seriously second guessing myself. I called them for back up and a distraction, not judgement.

  “I don’t want to ghost him. I don’t know what to say.” Everything I think of is lame and half-hearted.

  “How about ‘I’m too chickenshit to break things off with you and I was hoping you’d take the hint. Since you haven’t, this is me breaking up with you.’” Scarlett takes another sip of her beer and gives me one of her looks.

  “I don’t understand why you’re breaking up with him in the first place,” says Gemma. “He sounds great.”

  I haven’t told Gemma the whole story about what happened between Max and me in high school and I’m not going to. Especially not in a crowded restaurant on Brick Lane. Everyone seems to be minding their own business, but I learned my lesson from the five minutes of anonymous fame that came with Max’s lunch note.

  “It’s not going to work out.” I shrug and my stomach churns with how disingenuous it feels.

  “Then tell him that,” says Gemma as she takes another forkful of her rogan josh.

  I nod and pick up my phone from the table. I scroll through Max’s messages from the last three days and I feel awful. I know I’ve handled this badly and if I had any doubt the proof is on the screen. Not only has he texted me loads, but he’s called me as well. I can’t bring myself to listen to his messages again.

  My fingers pick at the letters on the screen as I type: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you or make you mad. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m really sorry.

  It’s horrible and I hate it, but I can’t think of what else to say. I reread my words twice, conscious of Scarlett’s measured gaze out of the corner of my eye, and press send. Then I turn my phone off and stash
it at the bottom of my bag.

  “Do you feel better now?” Scarlett’s tone is flat.

  “No.” I turn to Gemma and plaster a smile on my face as I change the subject. “Any insight as to how the presentation went on Monday? Did we get a pizza, a day off, or neither?”

  “The surveys are still coming back, but they’re good. I doubt you’ll get a day off, though.” Gemma grins, then says to Scarlett, “I’m sure Bradley has an idea of what this month’s incentive is going to be.”

  “He does.” Scarlett mimics zipping her lips shut. “But I’m sworn to secrecy.”

  “Scarlett’s very thin on the inside information, all things considered,” I tell Gemma. “But it’s probably only fair.”

  “Bradley and I don’t interfere in each other’s professional lives. It’s a recipe for disaster otherwise,” says Scarlett.

  “I can only imagine,” Gemma says as her phone rings. She glances at the screen and rises from her chair. “Speak of the devil. This is the guy I’ve been trying to get in touch with all day for that man of yours. I need to take this. I’ll be back in a second.”

  Gemma brings her phone to her ear with an enthusiastic hello, and I glance after her until she walks out the front door of the crowded restaurant before turning to face Scarlett. I invited Gemma as a buffer and now that she’s gone…

  “I’m mad at you,” says Scarlett. “Let’s get that out there first.”

  “Thanks. I can tell.” I roll my eyes.

  “You’re making bad decisions based on worse assumptions. Take it from me, assumptions are usually wrong.”

  Scarlett speaks from experience. I know this. When she was trying to decide whether to leave WS or take Bradley’s job offer, he was completely unavailable. Scarlett assumed it was because he didn’t care which way her decision went. In reality, it was the opposite. He cared too much but didn’t feel like he should try to sway her.

  “The thing with Max is totally different. You and Bradley had a relationship.”

  “Not different. You and Max had a relationship, too.”

  “Years ago.” I shake my head. “It’s not the same.”

  “Do you love him?”

  The chicken I’m chewing suddenly feels like paper in my mouth. I hate that question and I sure as hell don’t want to answer it. So I don’t. I take a sip of water and then another bite, pointing to my closed mouth and shaking my head.

  “You do. Bloody hell, Tara. You love him and you’re throwing him away?”

  I finally manage to swallow and say, “He was only ever going to be a fling, remember?”

  “You think telling him the truth would be that bad?” Scarlett’s tone softens.

  “I do.” My pea-sized heart gives a hollow ping in my chest. “I’d rather have this little slice of good and let it go.”

  “You’d rather have this little slice of good than do the hard work to get through it and have something better?” Scarlett leans across the table. “Even if this thing with Max is really over, have you ever considered talking to someone about this professionally?”

  “You mean, like, a therapist?”

  “It’s not a bad thing, you know. Maybe it would help?”

  I nod because I have thought about it. But if I haven’t dealt with it in this long, why now? It was easy to convince myself I didn’t need it.

  “I’ve thought of it, but…”

  Scarlett pulls her phone out of her bag and scrolls until she finds something, then holds it across the table to me. It’s a name, address, and phone number. “I’m going to send you this contact. Allison is a counselor I met through yoga and she’s great. I think you two will really get on.”

  “I don’t know.” I lean back like the phone might bite me.

  “Mention my name when you call. I’m sure she can squeeze you in.” Scarlett presses send on the contact. “There’s no harm in getting in touch with her, at the very least.”

  “I ended things with Max. It’s not going to make a difference.”

  “Maybe not to you and Max, but it might make a difference to you and the next guy. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Scarlett grabs my wrist. “Promise me you’ll try.”

  I start off glaring at Scarlett, but there’s a little voice inside of me whispering that she’s right. Slowly, I nod and make myself choke out the words, “Okay. I’ll try.”

  Nothing else has worked. At this point, what have I got to lose?

  Chapter Forty

  “I’m trying to imagine wearing that.” Gemma scrunches up her nose, pointing to a pink sequined jacket with blue stripes in the display case.

  We’re at the V&A seeing the Elton John costume exhibit and, although I know Gemma genuinely wanted to come, I feel a little like she’s here out of pity because she changed plans with Oliver to come with me instead. The fact that I know this and let her come anyway makes me feel bad, but not bad enough to cancel.

  The prospect of a completely empty Saturday was looming large.

  And the prospect of the internet rabbit hole was looming even larger. I’ve forced myself not to google Max this week, but there are no guarantees what I could do if left unattended.

  “I think it would suit you. Although those…” I smile and point at a pair of pink sequined flared trousers. “Those are made for you.”

  “Ha. Let’s agree to disagree, shall we?” Gemma wanders to the next display case and says, “I wonder if Sir Elton drove the decisions about his costumes or if it was his marketing team?”

  “Maybe both? I mean, would you wear that entirely of your own accord?” I point to a rainbow striped jacket and matching hat.

  “I would if I was raking in the kind of money Elton John gets.” Gemma laughs. “Speaking of money, anything else from Max?”

  “That’s a smooth segue.” I narrow my eyes at her. “But no.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  No. Not even a little bit. But I have to be, don’t I?

  “It is what it is.” I shrug, then make my voice bright as I say, “Speaking of money – which we were mere moments ago – have you asked Bradley for a raise yet?”

  “No.” Gemma makes a face. “I hate things like that and I don’t know what to say.”

  “Something like ‘I think I deserve a raise’ would be a good start.”

  “I know, but he’s going to want a business case and I need to look up all of my performance metrics and show how I’ve exceeded them.” Gemma sticks her tongue out this time. “I hate stuff like that.”

  “You run his schedule with clockwork precision, you’re incredibly efficient, and you liaise with every team in the company. You’ve blown your performance metrics out of the water.”

  “That’s what Oliver said, too.” Gemma sighs. “I just…what if he says no?”

  “He’s not going to say no. The only reason he hasn’t offered you a raise himself is because he’s not thought of it. I guarantee it’s not because he doesn’t think you deserve it.”

  “Why? What do you know? I know you’re not friends with Bradley, per se, but you see him outside of work,” Gemma says eagerly.

  I’ve seen him a hell of a lot this week, especially since Scarlett’s made it her personal mission to babysit me every night. Wednesday, after we left Brick Lane, she convinced me to go home with her for ice cream. Thursday, she popped into the office and I ended up going out for drinks with her and Bradley. And last night she texted me at eight o’clock that they were at Borough Market and I should come down. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, until I finally went so she’d stop texting me.

  “The thing is, seeing Bradley outside of work means I’m seeing Scarlett and she’s the master of keeping everything on an even keel. We hardly even talk about work unless it’s a big all-consuming project.”

  “So, in other words, you have no insider info for me.” Gemma sticks out her lower lip in a pout.

  “I don’t, but I’ve been with WS for a while and have asked for a couple of raises myself. I
can help you get your business case together if you want.” I can’t believe I’m offering this, honestly, because this is the kind of work I hate. There’s a reason I didn’t become a project manager or a consultant.

  “You’d do that for me?” Gemma’s eyes widen. “I mean, I’d love it, but it’s dull enough when it’s your own.”

  “This is true, but I really think you deserve this.” Plus, it’s not like I’m doing anything else. I take a deep breath and say, “How about this? We’ll finish up here and then we can get sandwiches, go back to yours, and bang this out so you’re ready to present it at your Monday morning catch-up.”

  “I mean, if you’re up for it, I’m not going to say no.” Gemma bites her lip and I can tell she’s trying not to look too eager. “But are you sure you want to spend your Saturday putting together my business case for a raise?”

  “I have no other plans, but if you’d rather not –”

  “No. God, no. I’m not going to turn down free help.” This time Gemma grins outright. “Let’s let your lack of plans work to my advantage.”

  “They may as well work for someone.” I laugh, then my expression turns serious. “I’ve got only one condition.”

  “What?” Gemma’s grin fades.

  “Let’s call Oliver, too, and invite him. Two heads are always better than one with this kind of thing.” I don’t know Oliver at all, but judging by the way Gemma’s cheeks turn pink, my suspicions about her feelings for him are on the money.

  “Yeah, that could work,” she agrees, already pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ll text him.”

  I watch as Gemma’s fingers fly over the keyboard, a small smile on her face. I’ll be a third wheel again, like I’ve been with Bradley and Scarlett all week, but it’s starting to feel a little familiar. And, truthfully, I may as well get used to it. Because even though Max is out of my life again, my heart is in his hands.

  Again.

  Still.

  Always.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Twelve Years Ago