Hard to Hold

by K. Bromberg

  My heart sighs the softest of sighs as our feet begin to move.

  Body to body.

  Heart to heart.

  Another memory to cling to.

  And when I rest my head against his chest, I allow a lone tear to slide down my cheek and go undetected.

  Just one.

  Because Johnny was right. Tomorrow, I’ll begin to keep Rush at arm’s length.

  “Lennox,” Rush calls in his slurred voice from where he’s sprawled on the couch—legs spread, arms over the back of it, sunglasses on even though it’s nighttime. “Leave all of it and come and give me some loving.”

  “Let me just pick up some of these glasses and bottles,” I say as I survey the damage. It was a heavy night of drinking, but not heavy enough for everyone but Rush to want to go out and continue the party elsewhere. “It’s the last thing I’m going to want to do in the morning.”

  “Leave it.” Rush’s feet clomp across the floor. “Johnny has maids. Hell, I have maids. Do you have maids?” he asks as he grabs me by the waist and playfully pulls me against him. “If you don’t, you deserve one. I’ll make sure you have one.”

  “Thanks.” I laugh as his hands roam up and over my breasts while I try to keep walking. “But my place is small and I’m rarely there.”

  “Lennox,” he says repeating my name in a chant as I pick up the ice bucket and a few glasses beside it. “You’re ignoring me.” He pouts like a child as he steps in front of me to block my path.

  “Let me pick up, drunk boy.”

  “You Americans and your ice,” he says, plucking an ice cube out of the bucket in my hands before trying to toss it down my top. “You’re in love with your ice more than you’re in love with me.”

  And while I hear the words, I take them for what they are: he’s drunk and the word love is meant just how he says it. But a tiny part of me dies at the sound of it. The part of me who’d love to hear it for real.

  “You all kept saying I’d fall in love with ice, but other than hurting my teeth, I think you’re crazy.”

  A small smile plays over my lips as an idea comes to mind. “I bet I can make you love it right now.”

  “You’re mad.”

  But when I drop to my knees in front of him, I definitely have his attention.

  “Nox?”

  “Mmm?” I undo his shorts and pull them down over his hips so his hardening cock springs free.

  “What are you doing?” His smile is playful as he reaches down and grabs the base of his shaft.

  “Sucking your cock to shut you up.”

  “In that case, I’ll start talking.”

  But when I place my lips around his cock and apply the warm, wet heat of my mouth and tongue, his words fail him until only a strangled cry fills the room.

  “Nox. Yes.” His hand finds its way to the back of my head and tightens around my ponytail as I take him as deep as I can before sucking as hard as I can on the way back out.

  Moaning as the taste of him hits my tongue, I lick the slit at his crest before starting the whole process all over again.

  I work him slowly to the point where his breathing is shallow, his hand is helping guide my head, and he leans against the wall at his back for support.

  With one hand sliding over his length, I use my other to dip into the ice bucket and bring a cube of ice to my lips.

  Rush’s eyes meet mine. A hiss fills the room when I slide him back into my mouth with the ice cube on my tongue.

  Fire and ice.

  Pleasure and pain.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but loses his words to the onslaught of sensations. His head falls back and his hand tenses against my scalp.

  He’s gorgeous from my position between his thighs. He’s sex and desire and temptation and . . . love.

  And just when the realization hits me and the tears well—as I understand how devastated I’m going to be when he leaves—he urges me to move faster, to suck harder. Then his whole body tenses, and he empties himself in the back of my throat.

  I watch his chest heave and his muscles ease one by one until he looks down at me, seeing his cock still in my hand and a smile on my somewhat swollen lips.

  “What are your feelings about ice now?” I ask coyly.

  His laugh rings out so that his dick bobs up and down before he helps me to my feet and kisses me soundly on the lips. “Why, Miss Kincade, I do believe I’ve had a change of heart on the subject.”

  LENNOX

  “SO THAT’S IT? YOU TAKE the contract, you take my money, and you don’t deliver on any promises?”

  When I look up, I expect to find Cannon standing there with a smile on his lips, but he’s dead serious, and it startles me.

  “Excuse me?” I partly laugh the words out. “I told you quite candidly that I understood your desire to get Rush, but I didn’t think it would work. You told me to try anyway. I tried, Cannon. I truly did, but his heart is elsewhere.” And I can’t blame him. “I’m sorry for that, but I do think we made some positive headway in player advocacy for the league. The plans we created will have some great benefits—”

  “So you’re not as good as they said you were.” There’s anger to his voice I never would have expected.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not following—”

  “I hired you because of the rumors. Finn told me you slept with players and played bullshit games to steal them. What he hates you for, I was depending on. And I guess you weren’t that great, because even after Rush had you, he’s still not staying.”

  I stand there, jaw lax, anger firing in every fiber of my body. “You hired me to what?” My voice is barely a whisper.

  “Sleep with him. Use that magical whatever you have to keep him here. Make him fall hard enough that he’d take the bait. Hell, I couldn’t care less if you broke up with him the minute he signed . . . but isn’t that the least you could have done?”

  Oh. My. God.

  Use that magical whatever you have to keep him here. Make him fall hard enough that he’d take the bait.

  What the actual fuck?

  Are there any men in sports management that actually have souls that aren’t godawful or reprehensible? He was actually fucking banking on Finn’s words coming true. He was a tiger lying in wait. Despicable.

  My dad was right. My sisters were right. Cannon is a contemptible bastard.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  He shrugs and smiles. “Don’t blame a man for playing the game.”

  “And don’t blame a woman for knowing an asshole when she sees one.”

  I grab my things as quickly but calmly as I can, because I don’t want him to think he’s gotten to me, and then I walk out of the office without looking back.

  It’s only when I’m in my car in the parking lot with my windows rolled up that I yell at the top of my lungs to let my anger out. He fucking tried to use me. Does he have any respect for me, or was he always just spewing bullshit?

  God, I’m glad Rush is going back to the UK and not involved in the MLS in any way. And I’ll be warning him against doing anything with the MLS in the future while Cannon Garner is there. The bastard.

  Just thinks of me as a fucking whore that he can—

  And then I realize something.

  Unknowingly, I just proved them all wrong.

  I slept with Rush but didn’t achieve anything professionally. I burst out laughing.

  And then I realize something else. I’m perfectly okay with being the one to have the last laugh about it.

  Asshat Garner just paid me a shitload of money for nothing.

  Oh my God, my sisters are going to love this.

  LENNOX

  “WHAT SHOULD WE DO TODAY?” I ask as I lie with my head tucked between Rush’s arm and chest staring at where both of our hands are pressed against each other’s.

  “I don’t care,” he murmurs as the early morning light filters through the breaks in the blinds. “This. Let’s do this all day.”

  “Wh
at?” I ask, my smile spreading, because this is exactly what I want to do all day—be with him. “There are plenty of things we could do. Like get lost in an art museum.”

  “Fuck no.” He rolls over so he’s partially on top of me. “I’d rather get lost in you.” He grins and then kisses me tenderly on the lips as if we have all the time in the world.

  But we don’t.

  We’re down to days. Ten to be exact. And when I reach out and brush his hair off his forehead, his expression softens, and he rests his forehead against mine.

  “Are we ever going to talk about this, Nox?” His lips brush against mine as he speaks, but he does lean back to meet my eyes. “Every time I try to talk to you, you turn it into a joke or kiss me till I’m quiet.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” I whisper. “You have an incredible life to get back to, a crowd to perform for, and I have mine to get back to as well. We knew what we were getting into when we started this, and it’s too late to change gears now.” I say the words with as much resolve as I can. My heart fractures a bit more in my chest.

  “We could meet up on breaks. Take holidays. I don’t know, but—”

  “And soon it would turn into phone calls where we make them simply so we don’t hurt the other’s feelings, and trips would be talked about but never planned.” I frame his face and push it off my forehead so he can meet my eyes. “I have no regrets, Rush. Maybe this was what we needed, when we needed it, to help us for the next stage in our lives. Maybe this was what we needed to heal and move forward.”

  “But what if—”

  I pull him into me and use my lips to smother his words. To quiet the empty promises and create a temporary salve to the ache in my chest.

  His hand runs up the side of my body, pushing my tank top with it.

  And then, both of our phones start ringing. And as soon as one stops, the other starts again.

  At first we laugh, but then with each sound, we realize something must be going on.

  Rush is the first one to reach for his phone.

  RUSH

  THE NAME ON THE SCREEN of my phone stops my heart.

  “Rory! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” And just as I’m yelling, I see Lennox pick up her phone and move to the other side of the room with her finger to her ear.

  “Have you seen the news? Social media? Has Finn called you?”

  “No. What are you—”

  And right then, Lennox holds her phone out in front of me.

  Oh God. Esme. There’s a picture of Esme with one eye black and blue and all but swollen shut. She’s not trying to hide it from the camera either.

  The image is shocking to say the least, but it’s the caption above it that stops my heart: Rush McKenzie Gets Physical.

  “No. No. No.” I shake my head as the words repeat over and over on my lips.

  “Rush? Are you there? Rush?”

  “I’m reading.” It’s all I say. All I can say as I take Lennox’s phone and begin to read.

  In the latest tale of the torrid affair between pop sensation Esme and football star Rush McKenzie that has rocked the Liverpool organization, comes a new and disturbing revelation. He likes to get physical in more places than just on the field.

  The Daily Mail caught up with Esme’s husband, Liverpool captain, Seth Haskins, for a statement. “When my wife was in Los Angeles for a benefit concert, she informed McKenzie that they were over. Told him to stop contacting her. His attempts to be with her are becoming quite desperate and constant. He became enraged when she told him that we’ve decided to work through our differences, and . . . well, you can see what he did to her as a consequence.”

  The Daily Mail cannot confirm nor deny Haskins’s accusations, but pictures emerged of McKenzie and Esme having a private moment together on a balcony in June. A moment that has since sent the Liverpool organization scrambling on how to keep their two stars on the same field without another rumored clubhouse brawl from happening again.

  “After what he’s done to my wife, I refuse to touch the field with him, and I’ve made sure the club knows this,” Haskins said.

  According to inside sources, Liverpool is set to make a comment on this new development by tomorrow morning. Seeing as they have a strict no tolerance of domestic violence, one could assume some changes might be in the mix.

  I stare at the article and read it again. When I look at Lennox, she’s on her computer typing furiously. Rory’s repeating my name over and over, which finally registers.

  “I have to call you back.”

  “No. Wait.”

  “Rory,” I snap.

  “Let me—”

  “Don’t you think you’ve done fucking enough?” I shout at him. “I have to call you back.”

  And when I drop the phone and close my eyes, I feel like my world is falling out from underneath me.

  I haven’t signed the contract yet.

  My mobile rings beside me on the bed.

  I. Haven’t. Signed. The. Contract.

  And it rings again.

  The world I thought that Lennox had helped me right, just turned upside down again. From elation to despair.

  And more ringing.

  I know the club’s stance on domestic violence. I’ve seen teammates’ contracts voided after convictions.

  All I can hear is the thunder of my pulse in my ears. All I can feel is my heart racing in my chest. The room sways around me.

  “It’s Finn. You need to answer.” Lennox shoves my phone back in my hand and pries hers from mine. “Look at me,” she says and puts her hands on either side of my face. “We’re going to figure this out and get the truth out there. You are not going to lose this contract.”

  I nod, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out.

  “Answer the phone, Rush.”

  With a stab of my finger, I answer. “Finn.”

  “What the fuck, man?” Now, I’m just pissed off.

  “What the hell do you mean, what the fuck? It’s a snow job, Finn. Haskins is pissed that Liverpool is keeping me and is trying to sabotage my contract so—”

  “She has a fucking black eye, McKenzie. She was in LA, Rush. How do you circle this square of public perception?” he shouts at the top of his lungs, frustration tinging every single syllable.

  “She was here three weeks ago. I didn’t see her when she was and if I did, the paparazzi would have been showing photos of that. Besides, do you really think if I’d laid my hands on her three weeks ago the bruises would be that fucking fresh?” I shove up off the bed and pace down the hallway, the anger and disbelief eating me up. “And fuck you for even giving credit to Haskins and this article.”

  “Well someone had to have done it.”

  “It was Seth!” I yell.

  “And how would you know that?”

  “Because I do. Because other players have seen him strike her before. Because . . .” Even if I said because Rory saw it, it would hold no damn weight anyway. “Just fucking trust me.”

  “Trust you? You need to fucking calm down.”

  “No. As my fucking agent, you need to believe me. I didn’t have an affair with Esme. And I didn’t fucking hit her.”

  “Rush—”

  “Fuck this. Get me every interview you can. I’m going to bury the motherfucker.”

  “No. What you’re not doing is going straight to the press. I need you to sit tight while I formulate a plan and figure out what the club is considering. Are you listening, Rush? Don’t do a single thing.”

  “Yeah. I hear you.” But when I end the call, I’m not as convinced that sitting tight this time is what needs to be done. Sure, I listened the first time and while everything worked out in the end, my name was never cleared. And now this. This is more than my reputation and career. This calls on who I am as a man.

  On my bloody character.

  I’m not a coward who hits women.

  Anger and disbelief like I’ve never known before owns and paralyzes every part of me.

>   I stand on the landing of the third story of Johnny’s house and simply stare out the window, hands braced against the railing, and head all over the fucking place.

  “Rush.” Lennox’s voice breaks through to me. I turn to find her walking toward me with a mobile to one ear and her laptop in her other hand. She’s still in the shorts set she sleeps in and her hair is a wild mess atop her head, but she’s all business.

  “I have a flight booked for you to Heathrow. You need to start packing, because it leaves in less than four hours and with LA traffic, it’ll be tight. I have people on the ground in London working on what’s going on with the Esme deal. Angles we can work to spin this and—”

  “Finn told me I needed to sit tight.”

  “Fuck Finn and his sit tight,” she says, pulling me by the arm back toward our wing of the house. “You need to be home right now so people can see you. The longer you’re out of sight, the easier it is for them to believe this bullshit. You need to hold a press conference the minute your feet are on the ground there.”

  “To say what? How do I suddenly acknowledge this when I didn’t acknowledge the photo before? How do I—”

  “Rory.”

  I stop and stare at her as she starts opening the closets in my room and pulling suitcases out. “I—”

  “Yes, Rush. You have to.”

  And I know she’s right. I know more than anything right now, that he’s the only one who can set this straight.

  “Lennox.” Her name is a resigned sigh and plea combined all into one. “I promised them,” I whisper. How do I betray my friend to save myself? How do I . . .

  Lennox walks over and looks me in the eye with a clarity and determination I’ve never seen before. “You told me once that no one has ever fought for you. Let me fight for you, Rush. Let me believe in you and fight with you.”

  Her words hit me deep down, somewhere in a place I thought had long ago died. I struggle to find words.