A Different Game: A Wrong Game Novel

by Matthews, Charlie M.

  “Yeah? Well, you’re not the one getting prodded by hot pokers everywhere you turn,” I shot back, grabbing another bear from the bag and biting its head off. “I’m telling you now, it’s like a witch hunt out there,” I said between bites.

  “True,” Frankie agreed. “Seeing as you’re here for now,” she continued as I scowled, “shouldn’t you be thinking about getting ready? We have some serious partying to do tonight.” I tossed the bag down. If I ate any more of those little pieces of heaven, I would throw up.

  For once, I didn’t feel like going out.

  I sighed, wishing I’d just said no to partying that night. But I hadn’t. Frankie needed me.

  Frankie’s gran Elizabeth had been diagnosed with bowel cancer a few years back. She had beaten it the first time, but now it was back and it was so aggressive the doctors had given her just twelve months to live. I felt bad for leaving Frankie when she already had so much going on in her life. The only comfort I had was knowing that her parents lived just a few streets away so she wouldn’t have to go through it alone. I’d mentioned my concerns to Frankie, but she’d insisted she would be fine—even though she made it perfectly clear that she really didn’t want me to leave—and that we’d only be a plane journey away. I still had my doubts, but I knew that staying in Winslow would only destroy me. I needed to leave. While I was stuck, though, I was determined to make the most of the time Frankie and I had together. If that meant going to a club when all I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa and watch crappy television, then I would do it. I would do it because she needed me.

  The short, emerald green dress that hung from the wardrobe door no longer enticed me. Sure, I could put it on, slip my feet into a killer pair of heels that hurt my toes and pretend that my life was perfect. It wouldn’t change who I was, though. The girl who’d thrown on skimpy clothes and danced the night away in some club, hoping, just hoping, someone would pay her enough attention that she forgot who she was. The one who hurt others to make herself feel better. It didn’t matter how much I’d changed since leaving college. The past would always be there, clawing away at me, refusing to allow me to forget my wrongdoings. Just like everyone else in Winslow.

  “You’ve got five minutes or I’m leaving without you,” Frankie bellowed from the other side of the door. I eyed the dress again and sighed.

  Frankie and I had met during a night out last summer. I had taken an instant liking to her no-nonsense attitude. I’d thought she was like me; obnoxious, reckless, insensitive, and a party animal. I’d been wrong. Well, except for that last part. Frankie could drink me under the table and still insist on going out the next night. I needed at least two days to recover from one bender before I even considered another session. No, Frankie and I weren’t exactly alike at all. I was a horrible person who didn’t know the first thing about being a loyal friend. One who people couldn’t stand to be around. Frankie had tattoos that covered her arms like a second skin and made her appear unapproachable and scary, but she was one of the sweetest, most loyal friends I’d ever had.

  From the first night we’d met, after many shots, our friendship had been sealed, and she hadn’t gotten rid of me since. I practically lived at her apartment those days. Although I technically lived with my parents, having moved back after finishing college, it didn’t feel like home anymore. It was cold and unwelcoming, and at times it was as if I’d never lived there at all. Being with Frankie, I didn’t feel alone. I also never felt as though she were judging me. At first, I hadn’t been used to the kindness she’d shown, but eventually I stopped questioning it. It was like Frankie could see something worthy in me. Whatever that was.

  Frankie’s head popped around the door just as I finished zipping up the dress. With her hair having been wrapped in a towel earlier, I hadn’t noticed the change in style. “You changed your hair?” I smirked. It was such a Frankie cut. Her once shoulder-length hair was now slashed into a sleek bob, angled lower at the front. “I like it. It’s so… you.”

  She shrugged. “Fancied a change.”

  I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. “When did you get that tattoo?” I pointed to the python that wrapped around her neck. The fine detailing was so intricate it was almost too hard to focus on just one spot.

  “Eh… last week. Why? Do you want one?” Her eyes held a daring twinkle in them and I quickly shook my head, causing her to laugh. “Baby,” she taunted.

  “My skin is pure. I plan on keeping it that way, thank you very much.”

  I had thought about getting one, I just didn’t know what I wanted. I knew that if I did mark my body for life, it would be with something of importance, something that meant something to me. I wouldn’t tell Frankie that, though. She’d have me down the tattoo shop before I had the chance to blink in protest.

  She shot me a wink. “We’ll see. Let’s get out of here.”

  2

  It was funny how so much could change in a year when I wasn’t really paying that much attention. Change was an everyday occurrence. Some of them were noticeable the moment they happened, yet seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of life. Changes like the exterior of a building switching from one colour to the next, or the suddenly empty spot at the end of the street where the bus shelter once sat. Other changes were built in subtle increments that weren’t seen, but rather felt. They started off small, barely noticeable, shattering and creating the pieces that made me, until eventually I became a different person altogether. And it was only when I sat back and reevaluated life that I was finally able to notice the magnitude of those changes.

  As I stared into the distance watching as Mrs. Clements fiddled wither her umbrella, struggling to pop it open, I wondered how I could have missed everything around me. Her eyes, once alive and carefree, now held a sullen emptiness as she flashed a brief smile my way from across the street. When Mr. Clements passed away the previous spring, he’d taken the bigger part of his wife’s soul with him. She was no longer the same old lady who graced us with fresh lemonade during the hot summer days. She no longer sent over a flask of soup for the gardener during the winter months, knowing my parents wouldn’t have been around. The way her chin seemed to always be permanently angled towards the ground beneath her proved just how sad she now was. I watched as the umbrella sprang free and her tired feet carried her down the street, one step and bend of the knee at a time.

  I shook away the dark thoughts that I found myself drowning in and headed through the back gate that lead to the grounds of my parents’ property. It was one of only five houses on the gated street.

  When I finished college I’d decided it was time to move out. It seemed silly to rent an apartment somewhere else when there was a small apartment at the back of the house that had been unused since it had been built. It was far away from the main house and had its own entrance. I could come and go without interference from my parents. I would be responsible for the bills and maintenance, which meant I wasn’t relying on my father’s money. Nearly everything about it was like a rental, anyway, so it made sense to move in there. Or maybe it just seemed easier. I was rarely home since I’d joined Winslow Town Football Club on a season long deal after college. It was easier to crash out on a mate’s couch than travel the forty minutes back home after a long day of training. At least that’s what I told myself.

  College seemed like a lifetime ago now. Back then life had been pretty easy. I didn’t have to worry about what I would do after finishing college—something I definitely took for granted. Life was much harder now. The persistent worry of whether I’d be kept on at Winslow F.C. for another season was a constant reminder of that. After suffering a knee injury at the beginning of last season, I was benched with no indication when I’d be out on the field again. Coach never thought I’d performed well enough in practice, even when I was cleared for fitness. The boss simply showed no interest in keeping me on the first team. I was left on the bench, frustrated and worried, wondering if I would ever get to play football again. I didn�
��t have my father's money to fall back on or his ties to pretty much everyone he had ever encountered to guarantee a career. Well, I did, but when my father’s affair had been made public last year, I decided I no longer needed or wanted anything from him. Call me stubborn, but finding out that that affair had also created a love child was more than I could mentally handle. Our father-son relationship hadn’t been the same since.

  I knew I wasn’t alone with my feelings. My mum had known about the affair all along, and while she continued to stay with my father, it was clear that she still held resentment towards him. I couldn’t understand how she continued to go on as though everything was normal. Family dinners weren’t easy, especially with Taylor continually making his presence known around the place. But my mum was strong. She had me… most of the time. Something my father no longer had at all.

  At first, I didn’t blame Taylor for sticking around and trying his hand at the family thing. All his life he’d been led to believe that my Uncle Tom had been his father, and when Tom was sent to prison, Taylor completely lost it. He drank himself stupid most days and rarely made it to college back then. Not only did his grades drop, he no longer cared about the team, either. The rare times he’d shown his face at college, he was so out of it that I’d had to take him home to sober up. Watching Taylor go through that was fucking hard, and looking back I wasn’t sure how I managed to pull him back from Hell, but somehow I did. I’d managed to stop him from making a massive mistake, and for a while he was Taylor again. Smart. A decent fucking striker. Arrogant, but as loyal as they came. He was the cousin I’d always looked up to. However, it wasn’t long before a secret came to light and sent him into another tailspin, this time with the knowledge that his entire life had been a lie. Tom wasn’t Taylor’s real father. My dad was. My dad. My dad had had an affair with Taylor's mum Marie—my mum’s sister—resulting in a secret love child. Taylor and I had been raised as cousins our entire lives, when we were actually half-brothers. Taylor went nuts when he learned the truth. Under any other circumstances, I would have been the one to once again pull him back from Hell, but things had been weird since the family secret had been revealed, and I wasn’t doing great myself. Then there was Taylor who had just learned to accept that his father was a criminal, only to realise he had another one who not only rejected him as a kid, but who happened to be a liar, too. Both of my parents were liars, one of them suffering from a betrayal she'd buried years ago. I tried to accept it all. I tried to be there for Taylor, but it was as if he didn't feel like he could talk to me about the deep shit that was going on in his head anymore because it affected me, too. I understood how he felt. I hadn't wanted to talk to him about that stuff either. In the end, it was Lola who had pulled Taylor from the edge. Now they were joined at the hip. Unbreakable. I hadn’t been so lucky. The only person I had to offload to was my mum, and I couldn’t do that to her. She was going through her own battles and learning to accept that my dad had another kid who was now in his life for good.

  I pulled my keys from the back pocket of my jeans and unlocked the door before dumping my bag onto the floor and heading into the sitting room. I slumped back onto my leather recliner and kicked my feet up, staring blankly at the white walls that met me.

  Mum had messaged me earlier to ask what my plans were for the weekend now that the season was over. I hadn’t told her I was coming home. I knew the second I did she would leave work early and jump on the next train back. I loved my mum, but since I’d learned of the affair, she had become overbearing. It was as if she was trying to protect me from it all, but it was a little too late for that now. I just wanted to get on with my life and forget it ever happened, which of course, I couldn’t. Reminders of the affair were there every day, right in my face—constant reminders of just how fucked up the world really was. A world where a man would sleep with his wife’s sister and create a love child, then spend the next twenty or so years acting as though that child never existed, and still come out smelling of roses.

  I needed to find a way to keep myself busy until the call came in… the one that would define who I was. One call and my life would be mapped out for me. Winslow F.C. would say they were letting me go and a new club would offer me a contract. I would say yes, as if I had a choice, and that would be it. I’d pack up my shit and head to whichever stadium I would be spending the next season. I had no choice but to take whatever was offered to me—if I was offered anything at all—because I wasn’t Taylor. I didn’t have the world at my feet, a handful of clubs there for the taking. No, Taylor was the talented brother. He was the one every club wanted.

  I was proud of him. I’d always known he had the talent to make it big. Growing up I’d been his biggest supporter, standing on the sidelines watching him destroy everything in sight. But for once, just once, I wanted a glimpse of the good stuff, to feel the buzz around me knowing I’d been the reason for it. For once, I wanted what he had. For once, I wanted to be wanted.

  I tossed my head back against the cushion and groaned.

  What the fuck had happened to me in one year alone?

  3

  I knew going out had been a bad idea. With Frankie engaged in all things Seb—her new fuck buddy—I was left to make awkward conversation with his two friends. One of who currently had his hand curled around my thigh rather possessively. His breath had been brushing against my neck for the past twenty minutes as he spoke incoherently at me. I say at because I’d hardly gotten a word in edgeways. I laughed, even though I had no idea what I was laughing at, and I nodded while feigning interest. He wasn’t my type of guy at all. Blonde, spiky hair, bright blue eyes and olive skin weren’t what usually attracted me to a guy, and in this case they still didn’t. But my taste in men wasn’t really the issue. It was the way he touched me and grinned as though I were a sure thing. I tried looking to Frankie for help, but she was oblivious to everything and everyone but the man who gripped her at the waist whilst he nuzzled into her neck.

  I wondered how long she’d keep up the pretence. Frankie never kept any guy around for too long, even if a part of her wanted to. I never understood what the problem was. The guys she seemed to attract weren't all bad. In fact, I’d say they were pretty decent in comparison to the guys I’d met at college. Still, I gave up trying to work Frankie out a long time ago and decided to just go with it. I wasn't going to judge her. I knew what being judged felt like.

  I pulled my gaze from Frankie when I felt a set of fingers squeeze my thigh. The guy whose name I couldn’t remember didn’t seem to take the hint, even when I retreated, shook away his hand from my knee and frowned with disinterest. He leaned into me, his breath hitting me in the face as he did. I tried not to gag at the way it smelt as I lifted the champagne flute in the air and pressed it to my lips before taking a small sip.

  “There’s plenty more where that came from back at my place,” he drawled.

  I swallowed the liquid I had in my mouth and shook my head. “I’m sure there is, but I was always taught never to go home with strangers,” I told him, hoping he would see beyond the lie.

  He smirked and tapped the base of my champagne flute with the tip of his finger, his eyes twinkling. “Now I know that’s not true.”

  A sick knot formed in the very pit of my stomach. I wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That he had no idea what he was talking about and I wasn’t like that. Only he was right. They all were. It didn’t matter what they looked like, whether they were rich, poor, ugly or ridiculously good-looking. As long as they wanted me, that was all that mattered.

  I wasn’t that girl anymore, though, was I?

  I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.

  A year ago I’d thought things were finally shifting for me, that I’d found my reason for changing. I’d been wrong then, fooling myself into believing there was someone out there who saw me differently. A month later, I was proven wrong yet again. Men never settled down with, talked about having kids with, or planned a future with me. I was the girl mothe
rs warned their sons about. I was a quickie on the football field after a heavy night of drinking and a promise of a call that would never happen. That was all I was good for.

  That was why I needed to get away. Get out of Winslow and start afresh someplace else where I could find a job I loved and maybe, just maybe, find someone to love me for me, instead of using me for what they thought I could give them.

  I closed my eyes and tried to delve into that happy place. The one where everything was perfect, uncomplicated, and serene…

  Just as I finally touched the edge of happiness, a familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts and reminded me why I could never be truly happy again.

  “I’d steer clear of that one if I were you,” he said.

  It was a voice I knew all too well. One I often dreamed of, yet never thought I would hear again.

  “Jake?” I breathed when I finally opened my eyes to see him standing just a few feet away from me, leaning against the bar.

  “I see some things never change.” He shook his head, causing me to cringe internally, willing the floor to swallow me up.

  My heart hammered in my chest. I wasn’t ready to see him again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  It wasn’t his words that had my heart dropping. God, no. I’d heard a hell of a lot worse over the years. It was the coldness that met me when I eventually looked into his eyes. I mean really looked into his eyes. Nothing but hatred and disdain stared back at me. Cruel, menacing hatred that looked odd on the Jake I’d once known.

  I swallowed again as he shook his head and turned his back on me before heading over to the other side of the bar.

  “And I’m guessing that’s the scorned ex?” The guy beside me laughed with amusement.

  I blinked and shook my head slightly. “What? No. Not exactly,” I replied. My voice was unusually shaky and off-key. What the hell was Jake doing here? I’d hoped I’d be long gone from Winslow before he returned home.