Playing To Win: The Complete King Brothers Collection (A Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  It’s right.

  I know it.

  So, so very right it hurts.

  *

  I enter the ice hockey arena. There are people everywhere, the rink filled with the sound of sticks slapping against the ice and someone dialing out insults at the top of their lungs.

  I pick the nearest player, a bulky guy trying to chat up the blonde at the front desk that I only vaguely remember.

  He looks irritated when I approach. “Nolan King?” I ask.

  He points right. “Gym. Right down the end, but don’t let Coach catch you.”

  I maneuver my way down there with as much stealth as I can muster, a few bemused looks from players passing me by.

  I enter the gym.

  It’s an impressive set-up they’ve got here at The Turtle, the best of the best equipment. You’d be lucky not to get tetanus using the stuff over at the basketball arena.

  Nolan is doing pull-ups at the back. He doesn’t see me enter.

  I creep up slowly and snake my arms around him.

  He lowers himself slowly. “If that’s you, Phoenix, you’re going for a swim when I get home.”

  I let my hands fall lower, squeeze the bulge in his sweats. “I didn’t take your brothers for the affectionate type.”

  Nolan drops and spins around to face me, his own hands filled with my ass. “I must say, it’s a far nicer surprise to find you here than one of those idiots.”

  He looks over my shoulder to the other one or two guys lifting weights up front. “Can you give us five?” he shouts.

  They reply with some smartass comment about Nolan benching me, then leave through the front door.

  Nolan waits until we’re alone before speaking. “Why the visit? You didn’t come here alone, did you?”

  He sees the look on my face.

  “Shit. Baby, I told you—”

  I cut him off. “I’ve thought about your question.”

  I press a hand into the center of his chest, the thud-thud-thud of his heart reassuring.

  Nolan backs up, sits himself on the end of the nearby bench and takes my hands, drawing me to him so I’m standing between his legs. “Thought I should sit down for this.”

  I’m doing my best not to let my excitement show, but I know my composure is slipping. I can’t help it. I’m just that happy.

  “So?” he presses. “What’s your answer?”

  “It starts with ‘Y’ and ends in ‘S’.”

  “What do yacks have to do with this?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m saying, you idiot, let’s get married. Let’s do this thing and grow old together.”

  He smiles wide and proud, a fresh sparkle in his eye that wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “You’ll still want me when I’m old and gray, when my balls are somewhere around my feet?”

  I lower myself so I’m sitting right on the edge of the bench, the two of us twined together. “Droopy balls and all, but until then…” I kiss him and it’s sweet and perfect and nothing sexual, but it’s all the confirmation I need that this is the right decision.

  Nolan’s practically glowing when he breaks apart. He presses his tongue into his cheek to stave off another smile. “We should elope tonight, do a Titus.”

  “Married by the King in Vegas? No, I want a real wedding. After all, I only plan on doing this once.”

  He reaches for my hair. “So do I.”

  “How about a compromise?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “One week, to put it all together. I don’t want to wait and I don’t think you do either. We’ve got resources between us. We could do it.”

  Nolan seems receptive to the idea. “That we do. You’re sure about this?”

  I twist my lips together and let my eyebrows jump. “Sure as I’ve ever been about anything. As MJ himself said, ‘Some people want it to happen, some wish it would happen, others make it happen.’ So, I’m telling you, soon to be husband of mine, let’s do this. Let’s make it happen.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NOLAN

  We meet with Alissa at the chocolate café on Main Street the following morning.

  It was my idea to bring her on board. To be honest, I haven’t had much to do with her until now, thinking her status in the King family was purely ornamental, or was it one of my brothers who said that? I can’t recall, but contrary to her airy demeanor, she’s far more focused and articulate than I gave her credit for.

  My father… Well, he wasn’t completely on board with the idea at first, but he came around when I explained the situation, the danger Linnea was in. After Phoenix, Ti, and Pey, I don’t think he had much choice, probably happy to see the last of his sons married off.

  A waitress arrives with our drinks, placing them on the table.

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” I ask Alissa.

  She smiles, shoulders so square and straight she could double as a dart board. “I’m perfectly fine. Shall we get down to business?”

  I lean back. “You really have been hanging around my father too long.”

  “A wedding is a party, not a performance,” Alissa says. “And parties I can do. What did you guys have in mind?”

  “I’m more than happy to let you two suss out the details,” I tell them.

  Linnea squeezes my hand. “Trying to escape already?”

  “The only thing I know about planning a wedding is to call in help.”

  Alissa takes out a notebook and clicks her pen. “I suppose you’re wondering why I married your father?”

  This question comes out of nowhere. I’m unprepared for it. “Ah, no. Not at all.”

  Cleary she wants to get it off her chest. “My mother once told me, ‘Never discount the idea of marriage. Yes, someone might tell you that marriage is just a piece of paper, but so is money, and what’s more affirming than cold, hard cash?’”

  “So you married my father for his money?”

  Linnea kicks me under the table.

  “In a sense,” she says. “But he’s come to mean a lot to me, as have you all. I hope you can see that.”

  I look to Linnea. “I just want to make this one happy. That’s it. If she wants pink flamingos walking the dancefloor and a twenty-one-gun salute when she says ‘I do’, I’m all for it. Whatever it takes.”

  “No, and no,” replies Linnea. “I’m far more practical than that.”

  I raise my mug of sweet, steaming hot chocolate. “A quiet, intimate ceremony sounds fine to me.”

  *

  “What’s got you looking so happy, King?”

  Denning, one of the team’s left wings, tries to whip me with his towel. I dodge right and smile. “You’re faster with a stick in your hand, Denning, but if you must know, I’m in love.”

  That gets a loud jeer from the three teammates left in the locker room. The rest of the team’s already on their way to the Steam Room looking to spend big tonight. I’m planning on spending my time with Linnea, perhaps wedding planning with our clothes off this time.

  Denning places his towel down and starts to dress at his locker. “What is the world coming to when the mighty King brothers have fallen to pussy, huh? Where does that leave the rest of us?”

  I zip up my jeans. “You’ve got your hand, don’t you?”

  Another jeer.

  Denning flips me off, reaching for his shirt from the hanger. “Mrs. Palmer and me go way back but she’s never asked for any kind of commitment.”

  “Do you blame her?” one of the others pipes up.

  Which is followed by laughter all around.

  I’m going to miss these assholes.

  Denning’s smiling to himself. He stuffs his gear into his bag and makes for the door. “Fuck you guys. I’ll see you at the Steam Room.”

  We nod in response, the others finishing up and saying their goodbyes on their way out.

  I’m doing up my shoelaces when I hear the door to the locker rooms swinging open again. “Back for more, Denning?” I call.
“’Cause I got more your momma jokes than you’ve got pubes.”

  “I suppose they call that locker room banter.”

  I turn and find Rex Marsden entering the room, two bodyguards fanning out into the corners. I straighten up, body tensing. “What the hell is this? How did you get in here?”

  Rex puts his hands up and approaches me. “There’s no need for alarm, Mr. King. I’m simply here with a proposition for you.”

  I walk forwards to meet him, the bodyguards moving until a raised hand from Rex sends them scurrying back to their posts. “And I am simply telling you to leave, right now, before I get campus security down here and watch them throw your ass out. Honestly, I’d appreciate the show.”

  Rex offers a smirk, but I see the simmer underneath. “All right then. Straight to business.”

  He reaches into his jacket pocket and removes a slip of paper, holding it out. “See for yourself.”

  I swipe the paper from his hand, a quick review showing it’s a check addressed to me, the sum quite significant. I hold it up. “What’s this?”

  “I need you to break up with Linnea. I don’t care how you do it only that she knows you’ll never be a thing, that it’s simply not going to work.”

  Un-fucking-believable. I’m not going to back down. “So, let me get this straight, you’re trying to pay me off to stop seeing Linnea?”

  He remains matter-of-fact. “And they say you Kings are all brawn and no brain.”

  “You’re not helping your cause.”

  His hand goes up again, head bowing. “You’re right. My apologies, but I’d think surely, a King such as yourself would see the opportunity here, make the smart business decision.”

  I shake my head and shirt-front him, sensing him grow uneasy as I inch towards his ugly fucking face. I can’t see anything of Linnea in there. I’m not convinced they’re related, that something so perfect and good could come from something so rotten and vapid. “That says it all, doesn’t it? Your daughter, your own flesh and blood, is nothing but business to you.”

  “She has to see what is right for the family, for the Marsden name. She has to think beyond her own interests for once. That’s her mother’s doing, mollycoddling her and telling her she can do whatever the hell she wants. Look what’s happened!” he fumes.

  I shove him away, bodyguards creeping forward, and slowly, I tear the check into tiny pieces, letting them flutter through my fingers while I watch him. “That was more satisfying than you’ll know.”

  He reaches up and hooks a finger into the collar of shirt, loosening it. “That’s it then.”

  “That’s it,” I reply. “Take Dumb and Dumber there and get lost.”

  He chews on that. I know he’s desperate to get the final word in, but voices outside make him turn and snap his fingers, his bodyguards falling in line as they exit.

  The tension doesn’t ease when he’s gone. I wanted to tear more than that check up just now, but two-on-one wouldn’t have ended well. Rex? I don’t imagine that pearly skin of his has ever been broken.

  He’ll be back. Guys like him aren’t thwarted that easily. He’ll look for leverage, a way to get under my skin. I just need figure out what that is before he does.

  *

  “He fucking what?”

  Peyton is in a rage on the other side of the kitchen counter, storming behind Phoenix and Titus, the latter seems to find it all rather amusing.

  Titus flew in this morning for a surprise visit. He left Maya back in Boston with Amelie, told us he couldn’t resist a short detour from his game in Washington to see the gang. It looks set to be another fleeting visit.

  “And you tore this check up, right there in front of this dude’s face?” he confirms, clearly informed of the situation.

  I nod from the other side of the counter. “Damn straight.”

  The girls are busy with Linnea upstairs. I didn’t want to burden her with this. Not yet.

  “What are you thinking?” asks Phoenix, taking a seat and tapping the countertop. “I could round up the Crestfall boys, go all Clockwork Orange on his ass.”

  I shake my head. “No, nothing like that, but I think it’s best if I keep an eye on him, at least until Linnea and I are safely married.”

  “We,” corrects Peyton, standing behind the other two, the three of them staring at me like strange baby birds. “We’re in this with you, brother. You fuck with one King, you fuck with all of us.”

  “You sure about this?” I ask.

  Peyton reaches past the other two, putting his hand out. “I’m in. Who else?”

  Phoenix places his hand on Peyton’s. “Fuck yeah. I love a good showdown.”

  Titus adds his. “What do you say, Nol? One for all and all for one?”

  I place my hand on top. “All for one—always. Break.”

  “Break,” the others add in chorus, our hands going into the air…

  …Before we all fall into hysterics.

  Titus is leaning on Phoenix’s shoulder. “Fuck me. That was some cheesy telemovie shit. Thank god I’m flying out tomorrow.”

  “Real Mighty Ducks stuff,” adds Peyton.

  “Let’s, ah, never do that again,” says Phoenix.

  “Agreed,” I laugh.

  “Agreed,” the others reply.

  Phoenix stands, clapping his hands together. “Speaking of cheese, who’s up for one of my gruyere tarts?”

  Titus puts his hand up. “I’ll take two.”

  “What, nothing good to eat in Boston?”

  He smiles. “The place is famous for baked beans, bro. I think that says it all.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LINNEA

  It’s been a whirlwind of a week, but now I’m here, standing at the altar. We opted for a small venue given we only invited close family and friends, but it’s beautiful and open, a large stained-glass window behind me casting shards of rainbow light across those gathered.

  Alissa’s busy to the right, speaking to the celebrant. She’s been incredible, organizing and flitting around town like a madwoman to put this together. We owe her big time.

  Stone’s here in the front row, as is my mother. She looks happier than I’ve seen her in years.

  I’ve got Carrie as my bridesmaid. Phoenix and Peyton are on the other side. I’m always surprised how good the King boys look in suits. They have their hands clasped in front of themselves trying to remain still and serious while we wait for Nolan. We didn’t want to do the traditional walk down the aisle, happy instead to gather together at the altar.

  “You can loosen up,” I tell the boys.

  Peyton exhales. “Thank God. I was starting to turn into a statue there.”

  I check my watch. Nolan’s five minutes late. He’s normally extremely punctual. It’s unlike him.

  Carrie places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, bare given the style of dress Erin helped me pick out. I didn’t want a bulbous ballgown with a hundred yards of lace. I went simple and elegant, the sight enough to send my mother into a ball of tears. Looking at myself in the mirror, even I had to admit that, hell, there was an actual woman staring back at me with curves and sexy stuff going on. It was…weird. Nice, but weird all the same.

  “He’ll be here,” Carrie whispers. “Don’t worry.”

  Another five minutes and I’m starting to sweat. Doubt starts to seep in, even with all my best efforts to keep it at bay.

  What if he was in a car accident?

  Does he know the address?

  Maybe he’s having second thoughts?

  Maybe I’m going to be abandoned at the altar.

  I swallow and realize my mouth is sandpaper dry.

  Peyton and Phoenix are trying to lighten the mood, but the tension’s becoming palpable.

  Another ten minutes and that doubt starts to turn to anger.

  He’s realized the enormity of what we’re doing and he doesn’t have the courage to face me, to tell me, I think to myself.

  I relay this to Peyton and Phoenix quie
tly, almost repeating my thoughts word for word, but they huddle in and speak low.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” says Peyton.

  “We know him,” adds Phoenix, “better than anyone. Peyton’s right. Something’s up.”

  Something is up all right—I’m being left here and it’s shaping up to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. Still, I try to find the logic in their words and nod along.

  Then ten minutes pass.

  “We’ll go look for him,” says Phoenix, tapping Peyton in the side with his elbow. “We’ll call as soon as we know anything.”

  “Thank you,” I say, but even those simple words are hard to get out.

  I see Alissa speaking to the brothers on the way out of the church. They leave and she rushes over to me, looks back to the guests. Even her composure is starting to slip. “Let’s get you into the side room while we wait.”

  Carrie joins to usher me away, Alissa saying to the guests, “We’re just going to take a half-hour break, everyone. Canapes and champagne outside.”

  I’m thankful to be in the side room away from everyone. Alissa looks to Carrie. I’ll give you two some privacy, let you know as soon as we have word. She leaves, and Carrie helps me into a chair, squatting to face me. “It’s going to be okay, babe. I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that,” I tell her.

  “Watch me, and if he does stand you up—” she makes a fist, shaking it “—so help me god I will rearrange his internal organs.”

  I can’t help laughing. Maybe it’s the nerves. I don’t know. “You couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a King.”

  She acts shocked. “Girl, you seen me on the court? Do I look like a pacifist out there?”

  “I suppose you are leading the team in personal fouls.”

  She nods proudly. “Damn straight, though I think Coach would prefer otherwise.”

  Silence falls and every second seems drawn out and painful.

  I just want to know what’s going on.

  That’s it. Is it too much to ask?

  “You’re marrying a King,” Christy tells me, back in mind-reader mode.

  “It was never going to be simple.”

  Truer words were never spoken.

  An hour later, with no sign of Nolan, no word on where he could be, we’re forced to send the guests home.