I take a deep breath of sea air, relishing this rare moment of peace. Between my new job and my extracurricular activities with Maddox, I barely have a second to myself these days. I don’t mind being busy, but this quiet morning is really hitting the spot for me. It’s incredible how at ease I feel with Maddox Walcott by now. We can easily share a silence together, without worrying over small talk or etiquette. I don’t feel like I have to perform anything for him. I can just be myself.
And what’s more, I actually like the person I am around Mad. That’s much more than I can say for my relationship with Jason, which was mostly comprised of self-loathing and self-pity in turn. Luckily, I haven’t heard from Jason again since the night Mad broke his nose. And after that ugly scene my ex caused a few weeks back, I’d be happy never to hear from him again.
“Why do you look like you’ve just swallowed a bug?” Mad asks me.
“Just thinking of something unpleasant,” I laugh, glancing up at him.
Every once in a while, Mad’s gorgeousness knocks the wind out of me, even after all this time. Looking up at him now, I can barely breathe as I take in his brooding, expressive face. The strong set of his scruffy jaw, the high arches of his cheekbones, his bottomless grey eyes, the thick brown hair blown across his forehead by the sea breeze…it’s almost too much to take in at once. But hell if I won’t try anyway.
“Why dwell on the crap, Poppy?” Maddox goes on, laying his arm across my shoulder, “Life’s no fun that way.”
I glance behind us, making sure no one’s there to see this show of affection.
“Life’s no fun when you’re paranoid as hell, either,” he presses, giving me a little nudge.
“Sorry,” I mutter, bringing my eyes back to his, “I just have a feeling that this thing we have is going to have to end. Something’s going to go wrong. I don’t know whether we should be honest about it and just tell the team, or whether we should keep it under wraps, or—”
“Come on, Poppy,” Maddox says firmly, stopping in his tracks and looking down at me, “We’ve barely even started. No need to be worried about the end.”
“But what about—”
“Would you shut up for a second?” he murmurs, laying his strong hand on my cheek, “Just let what’s going to happen happen. Can you do that for me?”
And with that, he draws my lips to his, kissing me hard and deep right there in the open, beneath the sprawling sky. I melt against him, unable to summon a care in the world outside of Maddox Walcott. That’s the effect he has on me. Sometimes the depth of my absorption with him is even a little scary. But just because something is scary, doesn’t mean you should run from it. In fact, quite often, it means you should embrace it.
Chapter Seventeen
Maddox
When Monday rolls around, it’s right back to work for Poppy and me both. We’ve got an away game coming up this Friday, a rematch against the team we drew early in the season. Our record is still strong, especially for an expansion team, but I’m eager to get even further ahead in the standings. The more ground we can gain early in the season, the better a shot we have at making the playoffs. New teams hardly ever make it to the finals their first year in MLS, but hey—most new teams don’t have Maddox Walcott racking up goals for them, do they?
The guys and I go hard for the first leg of the week. I don’t even get to lay eyes on Poppy outside of the stadium until mid-week. And in my book, going 48 hours without seeing Poppy Abrams naked is a bloody travesty. This woman has got me thirsty as fuck. Not only do I find myself waking up next to her more often than not, I haven’t even glanced at another broad since I started sleeping with Poppy. Does New Jersey pump some monogamy-inducing chemical into their water supply or something?
Luckily, my guests from back home don’t demand much of my attention. Rosie is more than capable of amusing herself with the insane number of outlet shops here in Atlantic City. And Charlie? Honestly, the less I know about what Charlie gets up to all day the better. I love the guy, but he’s like a dog with a bone about The Firm. He seems to think my being here in Atlantic City means he can make some new “business connections” for the guys back home. I don’t press for too many details, better to retain some plausible deniability. But that doesn’t mean I’m not wary as fuck about the whole thing.
By Thursday, I am pumped and ready for Friday’s game. Coming to MLS, I figured I could just take my foot off the gas and go on cruise control for the whole season. But I should have known myself better than to think I’d be content just skirting by. I’m someone who needs to be constantly pushing myself to be better. And now that I’m feeling a little more at home here in the States, I’m ready to take this league by storm.
I spot Poppy slipping into her office as I head for the locker room after practice Thursday afternoon. The second I get a glimpse of her, I feel my body start to respond. I’m on a hair trigger with this one. Maybe part of the reason I’m starting to give a fuck about this league is because she does? Jesus. I must be getting soft at my ripe old age of twenty-seven. America’s turning me into a softie.
“Walcott!” I hear Chris Glover roar, just as I’m about to step into the locker room.
I glance down the hallway only to spot Glover hauling arse in my direction, a newspaper clenched in his fist. He storms toward me, looking like he could punch a hole in the cinder block wall. Good Christ, what’s crawled up his arse now?
“What is it, then?” I ask coolly, waiting for actual steam to pour out of my manager’s ears. “Did I accidentally steal your parking space or something?”
“Get in my office,” Glover growls, “Now.”
I glance around at the rest of the squad. Barlow, Carrera, and the others are all looking back and forth between me and Glover, taken aback by the scene.
“Now!” our manager bellows, all but shoving me into his office and slamming the door so hard that it rattles on its hinges.
“You gonna tell me what the fuck this is about?” I ask him, crossing my arms tightly across my chest, “I don’t much like being embarrassed in front of my teammates.”
“And I don’t much like being embarrassed in front of the entire goddamn world,” Glover spits back at me, slamming his crumpled-up paper down on the table. “Why don’t you take a look at the sports section?”
Trying not to let him see how bored I am by this bullshit, I flip open the paper and take a gander. I’m well used to the press writing all kinds of nonsense about me by this point, so I’m not too concerned about what some New Jersey rag has to say. That is, until I start reading.
Superstar or Ticking Time Bomb?
A Closer Look at The Empire’s “Mad Man” Walcott
by Gene Howard
ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY – No one in the soccer world imagined that Maddox Walcott would start behaving himself once he arrived on American shores. The notorious bad boy was banned from the UK’s Premier League for a slew of charges. His gang ties and violent behavior on the pitch were chief among his offenses, but the league seemed relieved to see the well-documented playboy and loose cannon go.
Now, Maddox “Mad Man” Walcott finds himself back on the pitch with the Atlantic City Empire, an expansion team founded by failed casino magnate Dale Tucker. Tucker may want to hang up gambling altogether after the truth about his latest risky bet—namely, Maddox Walcott—comes out. Though Walcott may be better at hiding his vices these days, no secrets can go undiscovered for long in Atlantic City…
I read on with mounting anger, then horror, as this Gene Howard wanker goes on with his allegations. He writes about my ties to The Firm, and the fact that Charlie Ainsworth has been spotted around town in questionable company. Apparently, Charlie’s had meetings with a slew of known gang members since arriving here, many of whom are suspected of gun running, drug trafficking, and worse. But it isn’t until I get down to the end of the article that I feel my stomach turn over.
And it isn’t just organized crime Walcott seems to have a penchan
t for. He’s also accused of acts that are criminal in their own right. Take, for instance, the account of one Jason Moore. Moore has stated on the record that Maddox Walcott assaulted him last month at the residence of Moore’s ex-wife (and the Empire’s Assistant Athletic Trainer) Poppy Abrams. According to Moore, he was just wrapping up a friendly visit with Ms. Abrams when Mr. Walcott appeared out of nowhere and assaulted Mr. Moore, breaking his nose with no provocation.
“He was three sheets to the wind,” Moore says of Walcott’s state that night, “And honestly, I’m pretty sure he was just being possessive over Poppy. You have to assume something’s going on there, don’t you?”
I let the newspaper fall onto the ground as my hands close into tight fists.
“That sonofabitch Moore is talking straight out of his arse,” I say to Glover, who stands glaring at me from across his desk, “He was about to hurt Poppy when I showed up that night. And he was the one who was wasted, not me—”
“And what the hell were you doing at Poppy’s house in the first place?” Glover cuts me off heatedly.
“I was giving her a ride to the bar,” I say without missing a beat.
“And that’s all?” Glover scoffs, “You expect me to believe that with your reputation?”
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business in the first place,” I tell him shortly.
“Really?” Glover presses, his fingers digging into the back of his office chair, “And do you think it might just be my business that one of my players is being linked to gang activity and organized crime? Again?”
“I’ve told you before, Chris,” I say slowly, “I’m not personally involved in the doings of The Firm. They helped me out when I was a kid, and I make sure to do right by them now. But that’s it.”
“What does that even mean, ‘do right by them’?” Chris roars, “Does that mean hosting gang-wide picnics? Or does that mean this club’s money is being used to put illegal guns on American streets?”
“Of course not,” I shout back, springing to my feet.
“How am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth if you won’t give me a single straight answer?” Glover returns, stepping around the desk toward me.
I stare back at my manager, blood boiling. I should have known that all of this—Charlie’s shady doings, my affair with Poppy, the altercation with Jason—would come out in the wash eventually. Guess I was just hoping that it would take a little longer. Poppy was right—there was no way we’d be allowed to carry on without the world stepping in to ruin everything.
Glover’s office door swings open, and I whip around to find none other than Poppy Abrams standing in the doorway with Barry O’Leary looming behind her. One look at her face, and I know that she’s seen the article, same as I have. And just like me, she has no idea what it’s going to mean for her place here at the Empire.
“Got her,” O’Leary growls, crowding Poppy into the room and closing the door sharply.
“Sit down, both of you,” Glover mutters, crossing his arms.
Poppy and I glance at each other as we settle into our chairs, facing our respective bosses. She’s holding it together remarkably well, though I don’t know what else I would have expected from her. Poppy is as solid as they come. If there’s anyone I’d choose to be at my side in the middle of this shit storm, it’s her.
“We seem to have ourselves a little situation, here,” Glover begins, “A situation involving the two of you, and what you get up to when you’re not on the clock.”
“How do we know they’re not screwing on the clock too?” O’Leary mutters. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a look of triumph under his scowling mug. What a prick.
“You can’t listen to a thing my ex says,” Poppy tells the senior men, “He’s out of his—”
“It’s not just one pull quote that has us worried,” Glover goes on, turning around his office laptop to face us.
I hear a small gasp escape Poppy’s lips as she stares up at the screen. I have to swallow hard to keep my own voice in check. There, on Glover’s laptop, is a slideshow of pictures featuring me and Poppy, taken all over the city. Beginning with that night at the Tangier, right before we fucked for the first time, the pictures span the entire course of our affair. Nothing explicit, thank Christ, but more than enough to implicate us both. There we are holding hands, kissing, tugging at each other’s clothes. There’s even one of us from the diner this weekend. Someone’s been keeping a close eye on us.
“Who posted these?” I demand.
“Just every gossip site the world over,” Glover says grimly, “Looks like the two of you have a very devoted paparazzo all to yourselves. These have been leaked to everyone.”
“Oh my god…” Poppy says softly, turning toward me with a steely gaze, “It’s got to be Jason. He did this.”
“Looks like your ex is upset about getting his nose broken, and this is how he’s choosing to deal with it,” Glover growls, showing us a dozen sites that are currently running stories about our affair. “That and threatening to bring a lawsuit against you personally, Mad.”
“He can’t do that,” Poppy says sharply, “Jason has a well-documented history of abuse. Maddox was protecting me that night.”
“You should have done better to protect yourselves against this kind of exploitation,” Glover cuts her off, “This Moore character wants is to get even. There’s no way to call him off. He won’t stop until the entire world is talking about Maddox Walcott’s illicit secret life.”
A long silence unfurls in the room, displacing all the breathable air until I can feel myself beginning to suffocate. Only one way forward, now.
“So we’re sleeping together,” I finally say, causing Poppy’s head to jerk towards me, “We’re both adults, aren’t we? Who gives a shit?”
“Mad,” Poppy hisses, “What are you doing?”
“You can’t seriously think we’d be OK with the two of you carrying on a relationship?” O’Leary scoffs, “Haven’t you ever heard of professionalism?”
“Believe it or not, Barry, but getting laid on the daily doesn’t actually keep you from doing your job,” I inform the Head Trainer. “Not that I imagine you would know that from experience, am I right?”
“Enough,” Glover roars, as Barry turns an alarming shade of red. “I don’t have time for this bullshit right now. I have a match to prepare for. Poppy, you’ll be staying behind for this one. We’ll have to make due without you.”
“What?!” Poppy exclaims, “Chris, it’s my job to be there for the guys.”
“Should have thought of that before you made yourself too available to them,” O’Leary shoots back at her.
“What did you just say to me?” she says, rising to her feet.
“Come on, Chris,” I intervene, “Don’t punish her because some stupid gossip mill is in a tizzy over two people fucking.”
I feel Poppy’s furious gaze swing my way as Glover sets his jaw.
“You’re staying behind too, Walcott,” he tells me, “I can’t have you out on the pitch with this storm cloud of bullshit hanging over you.”
My jaw drops open as Glover’s words hit me in the gut.
“You can’t be serious,” I exclaim, “I’ve been busting my arse in training all week. You need me out there, Chris.”
“What I need is for you to get your act together,” he returns, “Both of you. Try and sort yourselves out while we’re on the road. I’ll try and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with you both.”
Turning on her heel, Poppy tears open the office door and storms away, leaving me in the dust. With one last glare at my manager and trainer, I head off after her.
“You’re making a big mistake,” I tell the men, blood boiling.
“Looks like the mistake was trusting you to change your ways,” Glover returns.
Before I can stop myself, I grab a heavy office chair and toss it clear across the room. It cracks in two as it hits the back wall, falli
ng to pieces at once. O’Leary gapes at me as Glover gaze turns to steel.
“News flash, Chris. Changing my ways has never been my specialty,” I tell my manager, slamming his office door behind me.
Chapter Eighteen
Poppy
Do not cry. Don’t you dare cry, I command myself, all but sprinting toward the exit before the rest of the guys can see the tears in my eyes.
“Pops, wait up!” Hadrian Barlow calls out, trotting down the hallway to catch up with me, “What the hell happened in there?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” I say sarcastically, “Just boot up your computer and watch the gossip roll in.”
“Shit,” Barlow breathes, “Did someone find out about you and Mad?”
I stop dead in my tracks, spinning around toward the redheaded captain.
“How the hell do you know about that?” I gasp. “Did he tell you something?”
“What? No!” Barlow says, backpedaling as best he can, “It’s just…I mean…It’s kind of obvious, Poppy.”
An incredulous laugh escapes my lips as the wind is knocked out of me. “Great. That’s just great,” I mutter, backing away. “I’m glad you all think so much of me.”
“It’s not—” Barlow begins, but he’s cut off by a huge crash that rings out of Glover’s office. “What the hell was that?”
The office door wrenches open, and Maddox comes charging out toward me. The rest of the team starts spilling into the hallway to check out the action. Goddammit. The last thing I need is a big lover’s quarrel in front of the entire squad. Turning my back on the lot of them, I race toward the exit. Bursting out into the afternoon sunlight, I know that I can’t hold back my outraged tears any longer. I sink back against the wall of the stadium, letting the tears roll down my flushed face.
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