Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance

by Christina Clark

  “I said I would. You were terrific tonight. That redhead on the violin, too – that dude was epic.”

  “Oh, that's Charlie,” said Farrah. That smile on her face wasn't going anywhere. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. This really means more than you think.”

  “Don't worry about it...”

  My eyes drifted past Farrah's head over to the older couple on the opposite end of the auditorium. The suited man was tall with a bald, egg-shaped head. His wife looked like she'd just stepped out of the salon, with fluffy graying hair and a radiant face lined with soft wrinkles. She held onto her husband's arm, fingering her pearl necklace.

  “Sorry, Farrah. I gotta go, but I think you've got company.”

  Farrah stirred, her smile faltering. But when she peeked over her shoulder, it was like she'd forgotten I was even there. She bolted towards her parents, flowers swinging in hand.

  I made my way out of the auditorium, walking as quickly as I could to avoid run-ins with college-aged fans or haters. Whistling wind blew past me, ruffling the flaps of my jacket. I jammed my fists into my pockets as I headed for my car, which was parked 3 blocks away from campus.

  When I found my car in front of the closed antiques shop, just where I'd left it, I took out my keys.

  “King! Stop right there.”

  I furrowed my brows, turning around slowly. Ivanka marched down the sidewalk in her clunky heels. The wind whipped her light hair out of her face. A blast of ice ripped across my chest at the look in her wide, unblinking eyes. The look when she raised that cleaver over her head was nearly one and the same.

  “Ivanka? What are you – how'd you know where I was?”

  “Never mind that,” Ivanka barked. She halted by the curb, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “You haven't been answering my calls again –”

  “I left my phone at home,” I interjected coldly. This shit was draining. “Why didn't you just get one of your other booty calls to come over –”

  “I know you went to see that bitch after work yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I did. Look, Ivanka, you need to lay off with this possessive bullshit – we're not even married –”

  Ivanka's cheeks went red with embarrassment, her eyes bouncing back and forth as she struggled to think of a comeback. When I turned my back on her, she let out a whine that sounded like an injured weasel. I unlocked my car, reaching for the door.

  “Mark my words, King. If I can turn everyone on Carrie, I can easily do the same to you or any other skank that comes your way.”

  I paused, my gut churning as my twitchy eye started acting up.

  “It was you.” I turned towards her slowly, my jaw unlocking in my disbelief. “Where'd you even hear –”

  Ivanka looked torn, as if she knew she'd said too much, but wasn't ready to back down.

  “I – I go to spin class with Valentina D'Angelo.”

  D'Angelo – that was the last name of one of the mobsters that paid me off. I gulped, licking my lips. When Ivanka noticed my hesitation, she continued. She smiled, her words picking up as her confidence returned.

  “Luca's niece. That's right. You boneheaded thugs are too stupid to realize that a woman is always 2 steps ahead of you. I've always known, and unlike you silly men, I choose the perfect time to play my pieces. My connections will never run dry. I have friends in all the right places, eyes and ears in all walls you come across. So if you think you're –”

  “Yeah, you're fucking nuttier than squirrel shit. Do what you gotta do, Ivanka, but this shit's over.” I yanked open my car door and slipped inside.

  “What? But, no, King, just wait –”

  I warmed up the engine and turned my music up full volume, drowning out Ivanka's pleas before backing out of my spot.

  If Ivanka wanted to play dirty, game on. This psycho had no fucking clue who she was dealing with. Nobody was going to fuck with The King and get away with it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Carrie

  “Jilted Fan Claims Justin Styles is Her Baby Daddy!”

  I stared at the empty canvas of the Word document below the headline. With my muses either suffering from bronchitis, or simply too uppity to cooperate with the mindless reporting, I was drawing a complete blank. The screeching laughter of the preppy teenagers sitting in the table next to me wasn't helping my writer's block, either.

  Still, this was leaps and bounds better than suffering Jamie's moody wrath at home. Jamie had been out of work for a little over a week, and her attitude with me worsened with every passing day. At least Jamie came to her senses the day after she went ballistic on Jackson, and had been spending all her time apologizing and trying to make it up to him. I would've greatly preferred if she'd spend more than just 20 minutes of every morning scrolling through Craigslist for a job, but I was going to give her another week before I was going to start getting on her case about it. Though it was well-deserved and a little expected from my end, Jamie was coping with the loss of her job the Jamie way. As per usual, this entailed multiple status updates on Jackson, as well as “empowering” selfies lambasting “The Man” and minimum wage with dumb hashtags.

  I picked up my weightless mug, frowning as I peered inside the frothy, empty contents. Clucking my tongue, I set it back down and reached for another forkful of my pistachio crepe cake. Who was I kidding? The real reason I got out of the house was so I could have a reason to have one of these scrumptious bad boys. As I deconstructed the creamy green layers with my tongue, a distinctive pair of size 14 Nikes appeared next to my table.

  “Bad time?”

  Kingsley pushed aside my empty mug, replacing it with a fresh cup of coffee. I crossed my foot over the other under the table. Accosted with the thoughts of my last “me time” session, my heart fluttered in my chest.

  “It's fine, I guess.” I slid up in my seat, playing with the ends of my college hoodie. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “No problem.” Kingsley pulled up the chair across me. He laid a tube of Bengay and a bottle of Ambien on the table. “Just to be clear, I wasn't following you or anything. My folks are in town, and they asked me to come out and run a few errands while they sleep off their jet -lag.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The urge to smile at Kingsley's presence quickly faded when I thought of him and Ivanka. Feeling the sting crawling through my chest once more, I closed my laptop and leaned back in my chair. I folded my arms, holding onto my elbows.

  “I don't think I'm going to be able to get any work done, anyway. So. I'm here, you're here. Let's get this done with. What's up?”

  Kingsley looked around him, lowering his voice.

  “I'm sorry, Carrie. I never meant to hurt you, just hear me out. I'm not asking for anything in return – all I'm asking for is a chance to explain myself.”

  “Go on.”

  “Ivanka told me everything, and I'm sorry for not only hurting you, I –”

  “Hurt me? Don't flatter yourself. I'm just pissed off,” I lied blatantly, and the look on Kingsley's face told me he didn't believe it, either.

  “Right. I'm sorry, Carrie – for everything. You deserve better than that. I tried breaking it off with Ivanka, believe me, I did, but the crazy bitch threatened to accuse me of rape if I stopped seeing her. Yeah, I know how it sounds, but –”

  “What? I don't understand.” My mouth was getting drier by the second. “Why didn't you tell me? If – if you would have just been honest with me – I don't...”

  I shook my head sadly, stowing my laptop back into its bag.

  “Doesn't matter. Thank you for the apology and the explanation, and I hope you got out of that, but I gotta go.” I swung my laptop bag over my shoulder and slipped my purse onto the other. “I'm meeting Val for dinner tonight, and I need to go home and get ready. And nope, not one peep out of you.”

  Just as I was about to heft myself off my chair, my phone started ringing. I blew a raspberry out my lips, setting my things back down. Kingsley stared at me from across the
table, saying nothing as he sipped from his smoothie. I answered my phone with more emotion than I'd intended.

  “What? I'm sorry, I mean, hi –”

  “Carrie?”

  Nurse Samantha sounded calm, but the lack of life in her voice sent a chill shivering down my spine.

  “Yes?”

  “It's Jackson. He's just been admitted to the ICU. When can you get over here?”

  “What?” I squeaked, my arms shaking. “What's wrong –”

  “We don't know yet, Carrie. All I can tell you is that his condition is critical. Just please, get here as soon as you can.”

  “I'm – I'm on my way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Carrie

  Everything was going to be fine. That's all I could keep telling myself. I needed to hold myself together just a little while longer...

  None of this felt real – or rather, I didn't want it to be. My cheeks were still damp, but I couldn't even remember shedding any tears. I felt like my own ghost chasing after my undead corpse as it mechanically lumbered up the cement walkway of Bellevue. I hadn't felt this hollow since that night I waited until 4AM for Mom and Dad to come home, only to be greeted by a cop at the door.

  “Flowers, miss?”

  I blinked, shifting my gaze to my left. A gentleman in a newsboy cap beamed at me warmly from behind his flower stand, holding out a pretty bouquet of pink and white carnations. I could do nothing but stare. My mind was lagging as I processed the break of unexpected beauty amidst this ugly reality I was trapped in.

  “No, thank you.”

  “No problem, miss.” He plucked a white carnation from the bouquet and handed it to me. “This one's on me. I hope you have a good day.”

  “I – thank you.” Not knowing what else to do, I accepted the carnation. I wrapped my fingers around the stem, clutching it to my chest as I wandered away from the stand. “Me too.”

  As I drifted back onto the walkway, I surveyed my surroundings. After days of gray skies and pouring rain, the sun had decided to come out of hiding and was shining brighter than ever. Giddy mothers pushed their strollers down the sidewalk. A group of laughing kids glided down the sidewalk with their colorful hoverboards. Leaning against a lamppost was a scruffy young man next to a cardboard sign and a styrofoam cup of change. He strummed his ukulele happily, filling the streets with a morbidly uplifting tune. His beautiful voice and cheerful lyrics were the only clear words I could make out amidst the Sunday afternoon chatter.

  “I'm never gonna look back, no. I'm never gonna give it up, no. Please don't wake me now. Ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh, this is gonna be the best day of my life...my li-i-i-i-i-i-ife.”

  It was at this moment that I truly grasped what it meant to be the insignificant speck that I was in a world that hosted billions – not to mention the indefinite number of others beyond the stratosphere. My little nephew, the sweetest, most beautiful boy you could ever meet, was up there fighting for his life right now, and the world was just simply going on as usual.

  Choking back a fresh batch of tears, I tore my eyes away from the painfully blissful scene. I hurried into the Bellevue entrance and made a beeline for the elevators. No more distractions – I needed to snap out of this mopey trance I was in. Jackson needed me, and that was what I needed to focus my energy on.

  As soon as the elevator dinged, I tossed the carnation into the trash and slipped through the doors.

  When the elevator doors opened to the 8th floor, I stirred in place. A mob of reporters with flashing phones and TV cameras crowded at the nurses' station. Val and Jamie stood in front of the counter, each facing a different collection of microphones. I was gawking so long the elevator doors began to close again. I kicked out just in time, the doors springing back as they came in contact with my foot.

  “Carrie!”

  Nurse Samantha flagged me down by the operating room doors. She appeared remarkably composed, but her pointy lips were pressed in a taut line. My shoulders shrank forward as I approached her, almost as if I were guarding myself from the news I knew she didn't want to deliver and I didn't want to hear.

  “What's going on?” I asked hoarsely. I exhaled loudly, only then realizing I'd been holding my breath.

  “Jamie brought Jackson in here about an hour ago, and he was unresponsive. Said he'd been having stomach pains all night. When she gave him breakfast this morning, he threw up all his food and started seizing.”

  “I knew he was feeling a little sick yesterday, but I thought it was nothing more than just a tummy ache from the extra scoop of ice cream he had. He gets those all the time...” My eyes rounded in alarm in the middle of my rambling. “Oh my god. I – I was the one who gave him that extra scoop. Do – do you think I –”

  “No, Carrie, I don't think it was anything you did –”

  “So what's wrong with him?” I demanded shakily. “Where is he? Can I see him now?”

  “Let's wait till the reporters leave.” Nurse Samantha squeezed my hand. “I'm sorry, Carrie, I know this is difficult, but we're still looking into it. The doctors were able to stop the seizures and get him stabilized, but as of now, Jackson's slipped into a coma. Now, I know that sounds scary, but we're confident...”

  I stopped listening after the word “coma.” It felt like my heart had stopped beating in my chest all at once, too. It had been thumping in my ears all day, but right then and there – nothing but agonizing silence. I took a deep breath, jabbing my chin at the reporters.

  “And what are they doing here?”

  “They must have found out that Val Presley was going to be here. He arrived around 15 minutes before you did,” Nurse Samantha explained. She folded her arms crossly. “And these vampires showed up not long after. I'm surprised you didn't run into one on your way up here. I've heard a couple talking about Kingsley Kelly coming over here later, too. I think that's why there's so many of them.”

  “Well, they're gonna be waiting around forever, because I don't think he's coming –”

  “Carrie! There you are.”

  Val pushed past the crowd, starting a conga line of reporters. He threw his arms around me, holding me close to him. But with the blinding bursts of light and the grating microphone feedback, Val's chest felt suffocating. I wriggled away from him, but I let him hold onto my hand.

  “Carrie! Carrie, can you tell us what's going through your mind right now?”

  “Carrie, how long have you been going out with Val Presley?”

  “And is it true you were once involved with Kingsley Kelly, too? And is there any chance he'll be dropping by later?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the smarmy bucktoothed reporter brandishing his microphone under my nose. All I wanted to do was snatch that microphone out of his hands and beat him over the head with hit. Instead, I loosened my shoulders and took a step back.

  “No comment.”

  “Wait, Carrie –”

  “I think that's enough for now, fellas,” said Val courteously, waving at the reporters with a dazzling smile.

  Pulling away from Val, I rushed into the janitor's closet. I slammed the door, shutting out all the craziness. The closet stunk of bleach and provided almost no leg room with its fully stocked arsenal of brooms, industrial vacuums, cleaning chemicals, and other supplies, but the unorthodox haven was just what I needed. I flattened myself against a shelf and felt my sticky forehead with the back of my hand.

  Val slipped into the room, locking the door behind him.

  “Sorry, that was just a little overwhelming –”

  “It's fine, Carrie.” Val cozied up to me against the shelf. He lifted my chin and brushed away my tears, kissing me. “I understand. It's a lot to take. I came here as soon as you called. I'm really sorry about what's going on with Jefferson –”

  “Jackson.”

  “Of course. My mistake,” said Val hastily, swallowing.

  “That's okay.” I traced my fingers along his jaw, sighing. “Thank you so much for being here.”

  “I had
to come.” Val turned his head slightly to the side, moving my fingers to his lips. He kissed each fingertip as he spoke. “I really care about you, Carrie. I didn't think I'd feel this way about anyone else after my divorce.”

  When Val mentioned his divorce, I tensed up under his touch. What Kingsley said to me outside The Daily Dirt building seeped into my thoughts. I'd been keeping that on the back burner for a while. Part of me wanted to respect my new relationship with Val; it wouldn't be fair to do another background check on him behind his back now that we were involved and the project was complete. The other part was one I wasn't ready to acknowledge, the fear that I might actually find something the second time around. Then again, I wouldn't put it past Kingsley to lie to me. He's had plenty of experience in that department. It's not like he was best buddies with Val, anyway. More importantly, Val's been nothing but the perfect, respectful gentleman to me thus far...

  “Thank you. I –” I hesitated, stopping myself before I could complete a thought I wasn't even sure I meant. “I just – I hope he wakes up. I need him to wake up. He needs to be okay. He just has to be –”

  “Hey, hey.” Val's hot breath brushed my neck. “It's okay. I'm here now.”

  “I just –”

  “And I think I know exactly what needs to be done to get that sweet smile back on your face...”

  When I felt his lips grazing against the spot behind my ear, a chill tingled down my back.

  I reacted almost automatically, kissing him back as he mashed his lips against mine. His hands traveled down my spine, slithering under the hem of my top. I swallowed, my eyes following the shape of his hand bulging through my hoodie. He tickled a trail up my heaving stomach and found his way into the cup of my bra. I groaned, feeling him squeezing my breast in tender, circular motions, his fingertips pawing at the line of my cleavage.

  “You don't have to fight it.” Val sank his teeth into my bottom lip, nibbling between his words. “Trust me, I know what I'm doing here, and you're going to feel so good in a minute...”

  I tilted my head back, knocking over a broom with my shoulder. Val's words were sinfully tempting, but something just didn't feel right. He rolled my top up to my neck and lowered his head to my chest. As he started flicking his tongue against the nipple of my exposed breast, he angled his head to the side so he could peer up at me. I closed my eyes, allowing his wet tongue to smother my nipple with spit. But when I felt him guiding my hands between his legs, positioning my fingers around the stiff pole poking out of his dress pants, I eased him off me.