by Teagan Kade
“You didn’t bring one for me?” I ask.
Phoenix shrugs. “Man, you couldn’t swing a bat to save your life. Besides, don’t you have like fifty hockey sticks in the trunk?”
He’s right.
“Small problem,” says Peyton, looking over to the house and its massive double doors. “How the fuck are we going to get in? Ram raid?”
“And ruin a perfectly good car?” I reply, checking my watch. I spot the van coming up the street. “Right on time.”
Peyton swivels to look. “You dragged Dan into this?”
Dan is one of Crestfall’s finest hockey players…and delivery driver in his spare time.
I turn around in my seat to face my brothers. “Dan will drive up with a box.” I point to the walls at the driveway. “We’ll be behind those walls, waiting. As soon as the front door opens, we’re going to sprint like all hell to get inside, got it?”
Phoenix is eyeing up the distance. “That’s, what, ten, fifteen yards to cover?”
Peyton smiles, hands gripping and releasing the baseball bat. “Easy-peasy, or have you forgotten how to use those legs of yours since you stopped playing?”
Phoenix scoffs. “Bro, I could run rings around you when I was six. Nothing has changed.”
I pop my door open, watching the van pull into the drive. “Let’s go.”
The time for joking is over. It’s instant focus all around, the three of us moving to the edge of the wall, myself and Phoenix on one side, Peyton on the other.
I look around the corner and squeeze the grip of the hockey stick, adrenaline starting to flow. Linnea is all that matters. We get it, we get her, we get out.
Simple.
I hear the side door of the courier van slide open, spot Dan winking at me as he takes out a random package and heads for the front doors of the house.
I nod, whispering, “Get ready.”
The three of us tense, prepared for action.
I hold my hand up, wait for the front door to open and what looks like a maid to appear.
“Now!”
We duck and move fast together, using the van for cover and then spreading out around it.
Peyton’s quick. He whisks around behind Dan and straight past the maid. Shock lights up her face, her hand moving to close the door.
It’s too late.
Phoenix runs ahead of me, pushes the door wider as he passes, ducking under the maid’s arm.
I follow and suddenly we’re inside.
A bodyguard emerges into the hallway clearly surprised to see Peyton, who swings the bat into his stomach. It’s brutal, even watching it from a distance. The bodyguard goes down and I hear Peyton call out. “Where is she?” in the room beyond.
I almost miss the second bodyguard, a massive guy who’s running at my side from somewhere to the right.
I shift my weight and drive down and upwards, checking him hard into a small alcove. He collides with a pedestal, a vase falling to shatter on the floor.
I don’t know why, but Phoenix swings for the matching vase on the other side of the room, pieces of porcelain spraying out around him.
So much for the element of surprise.
We come into a large room, open at the back where the pool is. I notice a pink, inflatable flamingo in the water, and can’t get over how at odds it seems with everything else.
Linnea is at the table, Peyton on top of another bodyguard, holding him down, while Phoenix rushes to the second standing behind her, dropping the bat and collecting the poor bastard around the knees, lifting him high into the air before dropping him into the middle of the table with a thud.
Rex, on the other side of the table, stands back with enough force to knock his chair over, the pretty boy beside him doing likewise, the two of them looking like some strange comedy duo.
Linnea’s already up, rushing to my side. I tuck her under my arm. “Let’s get you out of here,” I say, nodding to the others.
“You think you can just take her?” says Rex, anger ringing clear in his voice.
I point my stick at him. “That’s rich coming from you, asshole. Just let us leave. No one has to get hurt.”
Pretty Boy looks like he wants to pounce, but he’s soft as butter. He won’t make a move. I’m more concerned about the two we left in the front of the house, but Phoenix is on it, bat swinging around in readiness. “Let’s move.”
The bodyguard Peyton has pinned to the floor is squirming. “You’re dead, all of you.”
Peyton laughs, adding more pressure to the spot between his shoulder blades. “So people keep telling us, yet here we are.”
I turn and start running with Linnea for the front of the house, Phoenix falling in behind us. There’s a grunt as Peyton lifts off the goon he was pinning down, running full tilt for our position. “Go!” he shouts.
The four of us make it to the front door, the two bodyguards in the front still on the floor.
A voice booms, and I know it’s Rex yelling out some ‘You’ll pay!’ supervillain nonsense. He’s angry, all right. Screw him.
We’re halfway across the road when the first shot rings out. It’s close enough for me to shove Linnea in front of me, one hand pressing her head down as I look back.
The bodyguard Peyton was pinning down is standing on the front steps, pistol raised. He lets another shot off, this one wide. I hear Rex shouting about something to stop, not to hit Linnea, but a final shot shatters the driver-side window of the Beemer.
I open the door and pull it wide, pushing Linnea in first, the other two already sliding across the back seat.
I jump into the driver’s seat, ass in a pool of safety glass, and slot the key home. I reach for the door handle and slam it closed, the glass that was left in the window frame tinkling to the road.
I turn the key and select first, drop the clutch and take off, fish-tailing away
The bodyguard who fired at us appears in the rear-view, lifts the pistol.
“Get down!” I shout, but the shot never comes.
“I thought you said they weren’t armed,” shouts Phoenix.
I shake my head and take the corner late, the back of the car swinging out. “Sorry.”
I finally get a chance to look across to Linnea. She’s white as a sheet but otherwise unharmed. “You okay?” I ask.
She nods, turning to the others. “Thank you, all of you.”
At that, the two of them do their best to look casual, like saving kidnap victims is a daily occurrence.
“It was nothing,” shrugs Phoenix. “Anything for a lady.”
“I’m no lady,” laughs Linnea, though it’s unsteady. “But thank you. I mean it.”
Peyton just nods and places the bat he’s holding down. “Can’t say I woke up this morning expecting that.”
I can still hear Rex yelling in my head. I’m surprised he let her go so easily, not that he had much of a choice. I’d like to think this would be the end of it, but I saw the way he looked at us. That was a man who is not used to losing—at anything. A creature of the most dangerous kind.
*
We arrive back at the house. I park the Beemer around back and meet the others inside. I’ve already arranged for extra security, detailed them on what’s happening. Unless Rex decides to send an army, we should be fine.
Soon the others have headed off to their respective soulmates, no doubt to speak of their exploits. I don’t think either of them actually informed their better halves what they were doing. They’ll probably wind up with a kick to the ass instead.
I sit with Linnea in the kitchen. She’s eating a BLT Phoenix prepared, can barely hold the sandwich with two hands.
“You should stay here,” I tell her. “It’s not safe to go back to your place. We can call your mom, let her know what’s going on.”
“I can’t impose on you guys like that.”
I laugh, looking around. “The place is big enough for a hundred people. You’ll be fine. I insist.”
“You do, do
you?”
I nod. “Afraid so.”
She places the sandwich down. “What if I try and leave?”
“I’ll have to tie you up.”
“You make it sound worthwhile.”
I let her eat, smiling.
She agrees with some reluctance, not wanting Rex to even marginally control her life but seeing no hardship about staying here with me.
I’m looking forward to it, but when we get ready for bed, she doesn’t try to initiate sex like I expect, happy instead to lie there and cuddle.
I’m not complaining. I pull her close, tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear that had fallen in front of her face.
Her legs are tangled with mine below the covers, the hot length of her body comforting in a way that’s more than sexual, more than anything I’ve experienced.
We’ve got our head on the same pillow, barely an inch apart. “What was it like?” she asks. “Growing up as a King?”
I take a moment to consider my response. “If you’re asking did I feel pressure to perform, to live up to the family name, of course, but it’s more than that.”
“It’s what?”
“My father was there, he was around us, but he was never really there there, you know?
“I understand, but my father wasn’t a legend like yours.”
“That’s just it. Sports were everything. It’s hard to let that competitiveness not poison your entire life. Everything becomes win or lose. It has taken me a long time to realize there’s black and white in there, but the gray area between them is where life, true life, is lived.”
She whistles. “Wow, that’s deep.”
“If we’re comparing fathers, I have a feeling you’ll chalk up the win.”
“I never really knew him…as a father. Getting away was the best thing my mother ever did, for both of us, but it came at a cost. All his money and influence, that went by the wayside.”
“How the hell did she afford the Academy?”
“Scholarship,” she replies, trying not to look smug but failing miserably.
“I didn’t think Crestfall offered scholarships.”
“Not officially,” she smiles, tugging me closer, hands around my neck. “But for exceptional players…”
I roll my eyes. “I suppose I can let that slide.”
“If…?”
“If you kiss me.”
She leans forward and wets her lips. “Deal.”
CHAPTER TEN
LINNEA
I wake up a little after sunrise. The blinds are down but even in the semi-light Nolan looks angelic—as much as an angel can inked up and cut to perfection.
And he’s all yours, I think to myself.
It’s an unusual concept. I’ve never had any kind of lasting relationship before. I’m sure if you dig deeper there’s a whole lot of psychological scarring that probably makes me hate all men ra-ra-ra, but Nolan is different. I never expected to fall for him so hard.
But that sudden squirt of dopamine is undercut by what went down yesterday with my father. It’s destroying the moment, tugging me out of the happiness I so need, and damn well deserve, right now.
‘Take action,’ I hear my mother say.
She’s right. I’ve got to get out on the front foot here.
I climb out of bed and dress, silently pad my way downstairs and open one of the French doors leading to the pool outside, the water shimmery and golden from the rising sun.
I sit on the edge of a deck chair and toss my cell in my hand trying to work up a game plan of how this is going to run. I need to find out what my father is up to. That’s the key.
I dial, bring the cell to my ear and wait.
He answers on the second ring. “Linnea.”
“Father,” I reply, doing my best to keep the acid bite out of my voice.
“I hope you’re not upset about yesterday.”
“I should press charges.”
I picture him smiling. “My men are well trained. I can’t imagine anyone saw you being—” he chooses his words “—taxied here.”
I laugh, shaking my head at how ridiculous he sounds. “Your men missed the cell phone in my pocket. You’re over there acting like Tony Montana but you can’t even get the basics right.”
“Getting your boyfriend and his ape brothers to show up was a bold move, I’ll allow you that. Perhaps you haven’t fallen as far from the tree as I thought.”
God, he wants me want to throw up.
“Perhaps,” I counter, “you can start by telling me what the hell it is you want, because I sure don’t think you dragged me all that way to say hi. Spill it. What’s your play?”
“Hmm,” he muses, thinking it over. “All right. I need to secure a merger and let’s just say neither myself nor my counterpart are big on trust.”
I can’t quite fill it in yet. “And? How do I fit into any of this?”
“I need you to marry his son—a mutual insurance policy so we won’t screw each other over.”
Now it makes sense. Harry Brenton, the son, and the father, Ben Brenton, I recall.
“You should have skipped straight to the screwing-each-other part,” I say. “Save everyone the trouble because it is not happening. You’d have to cut my fucking finger off before I let you put a ring on it.”
A sigh of frustration. “That dirty mouth of yours is unbecoming, Linnea. Your mother knew that all too well.
He’s baiting me. “Leave her out of this.”
“You could do far worse than Harry Brenton, Linnea. You’d never want for a thing.”
“He didn’t exactly seem head-over-heels for me.”
“He’s willing to sacrifice his personal happiness for the greater good of his company and family, as should you.”
Now he’s getting to me. “Can you even hear yourself? I’m not a pawn or an object or part of your stupid corporate games and I never will be. I want no part of it, or this—anything to do with you.”
He’s not giving up. “Think about it, Linnea. The marriage is in your best interests.”
“Merger,” I correct.
“Semantics. What else are you going to do with your life? Pretend you’re a sports star, wind up in some back-alley school teaching whining brats to dribble?”
Enough. “The answer is no, not in a million years,” I tell him. “Stay out of my life.”
I hang up and place the cell down, looking out over the pool.
There’s a certain sense of satisfaction to be found in standing up to a man like Rex Marsden, but I worry my reluctance will only spur him on. He’s not one for letting things go so easily. I know how important this merger will be to him. But he can’t make me marry Harry.
He can’t make me do a damn thing.
*
“Another.”
Carrie tosses me a ball and I send it up, the resultant swish telling me I’ve hit home.
Carrie’s staring at me in disbelief. “That’s ten for ten. Where’d you find your mojo, superstar?”
I gesture for another, Carrie sending it to me. “In telling my father to fuck off out of my life.”
I shoot, score again.
“Guess we’ll have to find you some more fathers then,” says Carrie, reaching for the ball rack once more.
I’m about to shoot when Coach claps me on the back. “Marsden, looking good. Happy to see you took my advice on board.”
‘What advice?’ mouths Carrie to the side.
I suppress a laugh and smile. “Of course, Coach. You always know what’s best.”
Hamilton likes that. She goes sauntering off with a smile, clipboard in hand.
Carrie points to my face. “What’s that?”
I reach up. “What?”
Carrie squints. “Looks like you’ve got a bit of shit on your face there. You know, from burrowing so far up Hamilton’s ass just now.”
I fire the ball at her. “Says the World’s Biggest Kiss-Ass.”
Carrie shrugs. “Hey, you got to do what
you got to do to get ahead.”
“You’re sounding like my father.”
“Or Monica Lewinski.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on your knees.”
“Only in church.”
“Or at church, for that matter.”
“Hey.” She tosses the ball back, offended. “I’ll have you know I’m a good, Christian girl.”
“Who just last week told me she’d been in a threesome with those twins from the gymnastics team,” I finish.
She shrugs again. “They were flexible. You ever seen a guy put his legs behind his head? You should have seen what he could do with his mouth.”
I make a gagging motion as Carrie skips off for a lay-up.
After practice Coach asks me for a word in her office. I’d be concerned if there wasn’t more praise than yelling today. Usually Coach is looking for blood. I swear every coach at this place is a carbon copy of each other, scooped up from wherever washed-out drill sergeants go.
“Close the door, will you?” Hamilton asks.
I enter and seat myself. “You asked to see me?”
The smile’s a good start. “I like what I saw out there today, Marsden. You bring that to the next game and you’re going places—places far away from here.”
“I don’t think China’s scouting for American players at the moment.”
She levels her finger at me. “Which is precisely what I’m getting at here: You need to start looking for an agent.”
This I was not expecting. “You think so?”
“I’ve been here twenty years, believe it not. I’m practically baked into these boards and your talent I’ve only seen the likes of once or twice. It’s not just me, either. I’ve heard rumors from the scouts, your name mentioned in certain hallowed circles. You’re going to be a star Marsden and when you’re out there kicking ass, I expect you to mention me in your post-game interviews. But first, an agent.”
I can’t hide my excitement. “Yes, Coach.”
She pretends to look for paperwork and play despondent. “Better get going then.”
I stand and straighten myself, do my best to look business-like. “Yes, Coach. Thank you, Coach.”
Nolan’s waiting for me in the parking lot leaning against his car in a slim white tee and straight-cut 501s. Hang a cigarette from that mouth and you’d have yourself a modern-day James Dean.
