Wicked Player (A Rough Riders Novel Book 3)

by Stacey Lynn

  Familiar. It took everything I had not to close my eyes, lean in and breathe him in. I knew that scent.

  My hands tightened into balls of fists so tight at my sides my nails would leave crescent-shaped moons in my palms.

  “Elizabeth?”

  Oh no. I was gaping at him like a moron and it took an effort to get my mouth to move. To release my fists and reach out for the ball.

  I took it from him, my every movement robotic and forced. My fingers, sweaty, hot and trembling brushed the tips of his as he held out the ball. I turned and plopped it into the net in front of me.

  “I’m fine,” I croaked. My hand went to my throat and rubbed it. I needed water. Air. To be far away from him before I accused him of something so improper it risked getting me fired.

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  He was still standing too close. I couldn’t bring myself to check the room to see if we were garnering attention.

  My scalp pricked like a thousand eyes were on me anyway, even if there were only a dozen people there.

  Do I know you?

  That was not the question to ask.

  But his voice was almost knowing…like he expected me to ask the question.

  It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

  “Yes.” I cleared my throat. Turning, I dug into my purse at my side and grabbed my water bottle. I needed to get a grip and seriously fast before I did something stupid, like shove my face into the crook of his neck to smell him. I took a long drink of water, too long, based on the way Gage’s eyes crinkled at the edges. A smile played at the edges of his lips and the same time he bounced the basketball at his side.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  It matched the beat of the thunder raging through me.

  “If Harrison were here,” I asked, referencing his brother. Immediately the ball stopped bounced and his back straightened. “What would be his favorite thing to do in this room?”

  It was a personal question and a long shot. In my manila folder of events were strict instructions. No personal questions outside what he freely gave, and no exclusives.

  His eyes closed and that hint of a smile he wore evaporated. A mask slammed down into place and until he opened his eyes, black lashes rimming his eyes opening every so slowly, I fought against apologizing. I should have, but personal curiosity stopped me.

  He held up the ball in his hand. “Basketball. He’d be here as much as possible.”

  “Not football?” I gestured to the football game where a ball could be thrown through several different holes, each target a varying degree of points. “You told Brandon that was his favorite.”

  His steely eyes didn’t waver from mine. There was no hint of familiarity between us anymore. It’d frozen like a block of ice as soon as he closed his eyes.

  I wouldn’t think about why that hurt so much.

  “It was. Knew everything about the game, but more than knowing and loving something, he was a competitor.” He turned and threw the ball, swished it through the net again and ignored it as it rolled back to me. “On his healthy days, he would have been here, egging me on, giving me shit about how I’d never be able to beat him. On the days he was too sick to throw, he’d sit in a wheelchair next to me, challenging me to beat my time.”

  My brothers had that relationship. Always pushing each other. Always trying to outdo the other. “Brothers have a special bond,” I said, thinking of mine. There were times in my life when I was pretty irrelevant even if I was the third born. Older than Tanner and I by five years, Blake and Jaxon were born only eleven months apart. They were fiercely competitive in everything they did. Always trying to outplay and outlast. To say my home was like Survivor was putting it gently.

  “You have brothers.”

  It wasn’t a question and I nodded, grabbed the ball in front of me and shot it. It bounced off the rim, hit the backboard, swam in a circle and dropped in. It was a messy shot, but I bit my lip to keep from grinning.

  “Yeah. Three of them.”

  “What are they like?”

  My eyes slid to Gage. He was facing me, hands on his hips, head bent. Our voices were low and this conversation had jumped the track. I didn’t mind we’d gone off the rails.

  It fit how I’d been feeling for a week.

  “Fierce. Protective. Loud.” The ball rolled back to me and I picked it up and shot it again. I missed it by a mile. “Idiots. They’re all idiots.”

  “Most guys are.”

  “But not you?” I grinned at him. It couldn’t be helped. I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t a smartass at least once during a conversation.

  He tilted his chin and smirked. “I have my moments.”

  I tried for my most disappointed look. “Figures.”

  “Anything else you want to ask me?”

  “I’d like an exclusive.” The words popped out before I knew they were coming. Too fast for me to stop them and had I thought for a single second, I never would have said them.

  His arms crossed over his chest. Scowl slammed in place. “No.”

  He took a step back. It felt like a mile. I’d just crossed a line. All over the agenda and rules, we were made known two things. No personal questions. No exclusives. He’d give us what he gave of his personal life and nothing else.

  But I’d already crossed the line with asking about his brother. I blamed that brain fart on going for the other. Somehow I was too comfortable around him. Perhaps it was because he’d tried to pick glass out of my foot.

  “I apologize,” I said. “That went too far.”

  “Anything else?” His jaw jutted out ferociously.

  I felt like a steaming pile of dog shit. “No. I have everything I need.”

  He spun on his heel and left the room. I forced him to flee the entire wing and as he walked away, stalking like he needed to go hit something, all eyes in the room swung directly to me.

  Including Connor’s.

  “I think you screwed that up, Elizabeth,” Jason said.

  “No shit?”

  Fourteen

  Gage

  A shadow darkening the screen in front of me made me jump.

  Ripping off my noise-canceling headphones, I wasn’t at all shocked to see Beaux Hale, our quarterback, standing off to my side, arms crossed over his chest, eyes flicking from me to the screen.

  “What?” I’d been a jerk all day at practice. Sullen and for God’s sake I’d even been pouty.

  Why? Because freaking Elizabeth Hayes asked for an exclusive. All reporters did, but I hadn’t expected it from her, not when I‘d clearly stated I didn’t give them. Ever.

  Too many reporters dug too deep into personal things I refused to discuss and when I said no comment, I was the one who ended up looking like a jerk.

  That Elizabeth had already crossed a line in asking about Harrison already made me wary of her. But it’d felt so damn good to talk about him, too. It didn’t matter he’d been gone for over twenty years. He was and always would be my brother.

  “Hard day,” Beaux said. He pointed at the screen where I paused it. It was a pass from last week’s game. Damn ball slipped right through my fingers. I was double-teamed, but I still should have caught it. I was still pissed I missed it. Probably because before the play had started, someone had called me a pussy. Which had made me think of burying my dick in Elizabeth so I was a half-second slow jumping off the line. “You figuring your shit out?”

  “Yup.”

  Beaux was a decent guy. One of the best. He had way too much fun in life, enjoying the ride and the high of not only his career but his new wife, Paige. They were married in the off-season and watching him get married, some guy who’d gone through way too much crap in his life, find the woman he wanted to spend the rest of it with, somewhere deep, that had splintered inside of me. Opened a yearning I’d always figured would never come.

  Beaux also wasn’t good at letting crap go when he had something to say. He walked around the tables in the film room and pulle
d up a chair next to me. Sliding on his own headphones, he left them hanging around his neck.

  He didn’t look at me as he linked his hands together. “Next couple weeks are going to be rough for you I would imagine.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Really?” Doubt and sarcasm rang thick in my ears. “Because if it was me, having to spend a few weeks constantly thinking of my mom and how she died and if there was anything I could have done to make her life better when she was alive, any joy I could have given her, any way I could have been less of a dick when she was truly sick.” He shrugged, played it off like it was no big deal. Beneath my skin, ants started marching. Fire ants with tiny, vicious bites. “Well, that’d fuck up my game. You must be a better man that I am.”

  “It’s not Harrison or the hospital screwing my game. And we won didn’t we?”

  “Yeah because Jones picked up your side.”

  Kolby Jones was always his second target. After I’d missed that pass, he became Hale’s first target when he wasn’t lobbing it to Powell in the end zone.

  “Fuck off, Hale.”

  He drummed his hands on the table. “See…you mention fucking, and the fact it’s not Harrison who has your nuts twisted, and I’m thinking it’s a woman who’s got you all screwed up. Man, been there.”

  He still hadn’t even glanced at me. But what in the hell was with the pep talk from hell? I’d still had over one hundred receiving yards. So what if Kolby became his prime target in the second half. We won the damn game.

  I was not talking to him about Elizabeth. I wasn’t talking to anyone about her. Ever.

  I grabbed my headphones, intent on sliding them back on and drowning him out when he said, “It was a great party last weekend. Paige and Shannon loved it. Had so much fun Powell and I had to carry them to the cars at the end of the night.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Yeah.” He faced me then and his blue eyes gleamed with something I knew I wouldn’t like. “But see my favorite part of the night was watching you on your knees in front of a sexy little reporter. And I think, she’s a tiny thing, maybe not quite your type, but damn…if I was single, I would have been jumping all over that.”

  Yup. I’d called it. A fire punched my chest so fast so quick I didn’t have time to school my reaction to one of disinterest. “Watch it.”

  Beaux threw his head back and laughed, ran a hand through his blond hair. “Knew it. Fucking knew you had something going on with her.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Last night I left pissed after our time together when she screamed John as she came. I’d wanted it to be mine, just to see her face pinched with pleasure, exploding into ecstasy and hear my name roll from her lips with a guttural groan. I’d felt like a jerk after. Wanted to somehow make it better today even if she didn’t know it’d been me that treated her like she was nothing.

  But then she looked so damn cute, struck mute when I walked up. She’d flipped on her reporter hat and flashed me her professional smile and that had pissed me off more.

  Not that she asked, but how in the hell could she not put it together that I was the man who had his hands all over every single inch of her body?

  Did it mean anything to her?

  “Yeah, I said that about Paige a time or two as well. Didn’t work though.”

  “Seriously, Beaux. Drop it.”

  He didn’t relent. I shouldn’t have thought he would. He wasn’t our quarterback and leader of our team for nothing. “Why don’t you date?”

  “Seriously?” I turned to him. He was exasperating as hell. “We’re going to do this girlie shit? I’m trying to watch films.”

  “It’s ten o’clock and you’ve been watching films for six hours.”

  His brows arched. Damn. Had I really been sitting in this dark room for so long? No wonder he figured there was something wrong with me.

  “Don’t have time to date.”

  “Get that. You’re committed to football. Helping others. Running your charities. But I’m just wondering when you’re going to stop living in the shadows of Harrison and what your parents want and finally go reaching for something for yourself.”

  “What the fuck?” The hell was his problem?

  He lifted his hand, but I slapped it away. I didn’t need his damn explanations. Crossing the line and bringing up my brother? My parents?

  “Hear me out,” Beaux said. He pushed off the chair and stood. I was right behind him, chest out, heart thundering, adrenaline rushing. Goddamn. I’d never wanted to punch my quarterback more.

  “No.”

  “Listen, I get it. I do. You think I didn’t want to do the same shit after my mom died? You think I didn’t care about Shannon more than I did myself? I get it, Bryant. Swear to you, I fucking get it. But you’re also over thirty years old and outside of football, you don’t have a damn life.”

  I had a damn life. In the private walls and rooms of Velvet and that was as much as I needed.

  “You seriously don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  He shrugged. Dropped his hands. “Maybe not. Maybe I’m wrong, but I know and Powell knows and half the men on the team will tell you that if you’re slaving away working only on your career, you’re only living half the life you deserve. Whatever it is you want and won’t reach for, whatever it is that has you looking like you’re going to pummel my face, reach for it, Gage. Fucking grab a hold and take it and I swear to you, life will only get better.”

  He spun and headed out of the room. I was breathing like a dragon long after he’d disappeared.

  Damn him. Beaux was a good guy, but I never realized how damn smart and wise he was. Still didn’t mean I was admitting it.

  But that didn’t mean he was wrong. I’d lived my entire life, even while Harrison was sick, making sure I never brought them any disappointment, any embarrassment, working twice as hard at being three times as good as anyone else to make their lives easier.

  When in the hell was I going to start thinking of my own wants and needs?

  Tuesdays were our off days during the season. We spent Mondays watching films of the previous games, getting screamed at whether we won or lose by Coach Pomville, and received our accolades where they were due.

  For my part, I’d been lucky to miss most of the encouraging in the form of shortening when I’d had to give the tour of the hospital. That’d been why I was at the facility so late watching films on my own. Just because I missed the day didn’t mean I got the day off.

  Tuesday was our day off, a day where players usually spent it with their families since they missed them on the long practice days and weekends we traveled.

  I didn’t take a day off. I still went to work, either at charities or for the last two years, working on the construction of the new wing.

  Now, with not a whole lot to do and nothing planned for the opening, I still found myself wandering down the hallways of the hospital.

  I got up at five thirty, early even for me and took off to the gym where I swam for an hour, lifted for another before I realized I had to chill the hell out or I’d overdo it.

  My sides were sore from a few hard tackles and while working out was important, most of our strength training occurred during the offseason.

  It was the offseason that made you better during the season. The training and work you put in when no one was looking that created your biggest improvement. I learned that from my Pop Warner coach when I was ten. It was still advice I lived by and believed accurate.

  But even after the grueling workout followed by a rest in the sauna, my second protein-rich meal of the day delivered courtesy of a local company who focused on meal prep delivery meals for athletes in the area, I still had too much rushing through my body.

  Too much distraction thinking of Elizabeth. Too much anger thinking of Beaux’s parting words. Too much guilt thinking of Harrison and what he never had. Too much of every damn thing.

  Which was why I figured a st
op to the children’s hospital would settle me down. Nothing made you more thankful for everything you had regardless of the sacrifice it took to get there than wandering rooms and talking to children who might not ever leave the depressing looking rooms.

  I took my time, hitting up as many rooms as possible. I dropped off signed footballs, a few stocking caps for the patients who were losing or would soon lose their hair from treatments. A few fleece blankets for smaller children to hug while they slept and more than a half-dozen signed jerseys for the pre-teens and teenagers who were too old for hats and blankies.

  By the time I hit Brandon’s room, my focus was more settled, my mind back in the right frame.

  Beaux was wrong. He knew nothing of what I’d lived. He lost his mom, but he was a teenager, not the little kid who grew up being forced to wash his hands and use disinfectant every time he came in from outside or wearing a face mask to school so I didn’t catch the flu or other common viruses and pass it to Harrison. He didn’t know the microscope I lived under, being the small town pastor’s ‘surviving’ child…not the son. Not the kid. The surviving one.

  Like last week when I saw Brandon, I peeked inside the window, expecting to see him sleeping, his pale and sunken in cheeks looking more ashen than pink.

  Instead, his mouth was wide open, throwing back a laugh and on the bed, his hands were animated. He paused, coughed into a bony fist, and then continued, excitedly telling a story.

  He was doing better. Which means as I opened his door without knocking, I expected to see Penny be the object of his fascinating story.

  But all I saw was that familiar haze of red in my vision.

  Damn her.

  Why was she suddenly taking over and invading every damn aspect of my life?

  Fifteen

  Elizabeth

  Brandon’s laugh was scratchy, but there was something so beautiful about it at the same time. His joy still shined through the hoarseness.

  “They really tried to do that?” He threw his hands to his face and dropped it, his bony shoulders shaking.