The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  I swallow, not knowing what to say, so I stall, a nervous huff of laughter escaping my lips. “I haven’t even met your family.”

  “And if you’re lucky, you never will,” he replies, his eyes darkening into a hard glare. “I’m not asking you to marry my family, Jordan. Just me.”

  I should say no. That would be the logical, smart thing to do, and I’ve always been logical and smart. We’re both young. We both have careers. We haven’t even graduated college. Yet I can’t bring myself to form the two-letter word. I swallow, my mouth dry. “I need to think about it.”

  After a pause, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “That’s not a no.”

  Jordan

  “What?” The word explodes from my brother’s lips via the screen of my laptop. “Fuck no!” He leans in, as if seeing the furrow of fury on his brow up close will force me to comply. “You are not marrying some college footballer. This is not going—”

  I cut him off when he begins to finger jab, warming himself up to a full-blown rant. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and spoke to Leah about it instead, but marriage is a life altering decision, and one I wanted my twin to weigh in on. Just not so heavily. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

  Nicky rears back like I punched him clear in the nose. “I’m your twin. You should be telling me everything.” His eyes narrow. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m not keeping anything from you,” I lie, because really, there are just some things you can’t share with a brother, twin or not.

  He shakes his head. “The time for your career is now, while you’re young. You won’t get another shot at it, and if you don’t take that shot now, you’re going to live a life of ‘what ifs’ and regrets, and you’ll always look back wondering what could’ve been. How far you could’ve gone.” My stomach sinks because I know his words come from his own experience. He gave his shot away for me, and now his mind will always wonder what could’ve been. “Relationships, marriage, all that bullshit can wait. Soccer can’t, Jordan.” He rakes fingers through his hair and sits back in a huff. “I can’t believe I even have to tell you that.” My lips press together in a tight line. Nicky’s right. I can’t believe he has to tell me either. “When did he ask you?”

  “Dinner two nights ago. It was completely out of the blue. We’ve never even talked about it before then,” I add, so he knows I wasn’t keeping him out of the Elliot Circle of Trust.

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d think about it.”

  Nicky curses under his breath but I still hear him. “And after you thought about it, you told him no, right? Tell me you said no.”

  For a second I want to show defiance and tell him I said yes, just because I hate the way Nicky acts like my parent. Sometimes it would be nice to have the fun-loving, mischief-making twin back that he used to be before we lost everything. Instead my eyes drop to the keyboard. “I said no.”

  “Good.” He tips his head back against his high-back chair. “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  With Nicky’s words reverberating in my head, I focus on nothing but soccer for the next week. Every morning I wake exhausted, as if I’ve done drills in my sleep. Trials with Seattle Reign go better than I hope and my spirits are high when they call to discuss a contract. It’s really happening. I’m moving to Seattle at the end of the semester, the very next day in fact, and going to training camp with the best team in the NWSL.

  Brody trains just as hard for the draft, and we keep up the tutoring. It’s not a huge success. There are some beautiful highs and very ugly lows, but he scrapes by in the last of his subjects. At least he doesn’t have the dark cloud of Kyle Davis hanging over his head. Brody won’t talk about it, but I know Kyle tried laying charges of assault that didn’t stick. Jaxon told me. What else happened I don’t know, except Kyle didn’t spend his last semester at Colton Park University. The college grapevine says he finished up his final semester in San Antonio. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

  With the end of senior year arriving, Brody is the number six draft pick in the first round, signing with the Houston Wranglers where he can remain relatively close to his sister. It’s a big deal. Huge. And the media storm rains down, leaving us with little time to talk about our future.

  It’s when I’m at Austin airport, having come full circle, that the magnitude of leaving Brody hits. He’s dropped me off and gone to park the car. Tears burn my eyes as I check in at the counter.

  “Fuck,” I mutter coarsely and wipe fingers beneath my eyes. Any other word simply won’t do. Not for this.

  “It’s teeming rain in Seattle,” the ticket lady tells me with a sympathetic smile. “I’d be crying too.”

  “It is?” I didn’t even know but it feels fitting.

  “That your man?” she asks. I turn my head. Brody’s standing off to the left of the line behind me, stuck signing autographs. He gives me a wink from under his cap, but I see the frustration in his eyes. Our time is now measured by mere minutes and strangers are stealing it away from us. “Mmm-mmm, he is fiiiine,” she drawls. “I’ve seen you both in the papers. Such a cute couple.” I’m handed my ticket. “Be a doll and get me his autograph?”

  I force a smile, tugging at my ticket when she holds it hostage. “I’ll ask him to stop by your counter on his way out.”

  Her eyes light up. “Do that.” My ticket is released. “And if Darlene is on the counter while I’m on break,” she calls after me, “tell him she can buzz me from the rec room!”

  My back is turned and I’m already walking away, but I wave my ticket in response. Brody’s eyes lift as I stride toward him. He’s different from the day I first met him over a year ago. He’s a little older now, bigger and harder, his body automatically adopting the role of seasoned professional football player he’s just signed on to be.

  He’s still surrounded by people, a pen in his right hand as he signs someone’s plane ticket, but Brody’s dark brown eyes lock with mine, not letting go of them. He gives back the autographed ticket to the man beside him wearing a Wranglers tee shirt. The man grins, slapping Brody on the back before turning away, and the next fan takes his place.

  “Getting a drink,” I mouth before reaching his side, nodding my head toward the café on the left.

  He nods, resigned.

  I buy two Gatorades, dropping them in my carry-on along with my purse. Shouldering the bag, I turn back. Another crowd of fans has him surrounded like the last chip at a seagull party.

  “Sorry guys.” Handing over another autograph, he pushes through them, his lips pressed tight in a polite smile. “Really. I have to go.”

  Brody finally reaches my side, all golden skin, intense eyes, and light brown hair curling from beneath his cap. His presence is extreme, a giant magnet that draws everyone toward him like metal. Eyes follow him, and the more zealous fans begin their approach. He latches on to my elbow and steers me toward my departure gate.

  “All set?” he asks, moving us along quickly, his vibe screaming ‘back off and leave us the hell alone.’

  “Yep,” I say, aiming for casual as we reach the gate, but the solitary word comes out a hot mess, strangled by the huge lump in my throat.

  “Baby.” His voice cracks, and my bag drops to the floor by my side when he wraps me in his arms, holding me so tight my feet lift off the ground. I burrow against Brody’s chest and his body shudders. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears stream down my face now, a tidal wave of emotion I can’t hold back. My eyes will be red, my face splotchy, and I’m no doubt leaving a trail of snot all over his shirt. I don’t care. I hold on like there’s no tomorrow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I chant into his chest where my face is mashed. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m staying. I’ll tell Seattle I made a mistake. Houston Dash will still take me. I won’t leave them any choice.”

  He huffs a sad laugh, his warm chest vibrating against my cheek. �
��You know I want that. More than anything. But Seattle won’t wait for you. I will.” The announcement booms around us that my flight is boarding. “You know you have to go,” Brody says, yet his arms lock tighter, belying his words.

  “Six weeks.”

  His clamp on me loosens, just enough for him to draw back and look down into my eyes. Six weeks is how long his pre-camp training is. When he’s done I’m flying back into Austin. But just for the weekend. After that, training begins to get serious. For both of us. He nods. “Six weeks.”

  My flight is called again.

  “Brody,” I whisper. This is it. I’m not ready. My breath hitches, and both my head and heart begin to thump in perfect symphony. From this moment our relationship status is on long-distance time. Phone calls. Skype. Messenger. This is our life now. Indefinitely. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. So much.” Brody ducks his head, his lips meeting mine in a long, deep kiss that leaves me hot and flustered. “We can do this.” He slips a piece of paper into the pocket of my tiny denim shorts.

  I glance down as he tugs his hand free from the tight confines. “What’s that?”

  “A message from Leah. She wants you to read it the second the plane lifts off the ground, okay?”

  Leah.

  I lower my head and nod. My best friend blubbered when I left this morning. In a fit of nostalgia, she insisted I leave the apartment the same way I arrived. So I did. A final match of MLB with Hayden ensued. He asked me what goodbye was in ‘Australian.’ I told him, and after getting squeezed by the great, big, bloody Viking, he said, “Hoo roo, mate,” and grinned. “Have a good one.”

  My eyes swam in response, blurring him in front of me.

  After giving Leah back my key, she crouched, wrapped both arms around my legs just under my butt, hoisted me up, and carried me out the door. No spills. We rolled my suitcases down the tiled stairs together, the wheels hitting each one with a loud thump. Reaching the parking lot, we hugged for an eternity while Brody stowed my bags in his car.

  I’m jolted from the memory by Brody whispering, “Go,” in my ear. He nudges me in the back, toward the boarding ramp. “Seriously. Go, before I stop you.”

  My legs move on autopilot, taking me down the ramp to the airplane door. I don’t look back, even though I know he’s standing there. I feel him watching me, his words lingering in my head. We can do this. Apprehension prickles along my skin. I’m not sure we can. Nothing between us has felt one hundred percent since I found the bottle of Adderall in his bag. I tried talking to him, but we were both so busy.

  Busy is no excuse, my inner voice chides.

  And the voice is right.

  I’m not sure I tried hard enough.

  My stomach dips when the plane lifts off the ground. Remembering the note, I tug it from my pocket. Elliott. Look out the window to the airport parking lot. Leah xo

  I turn my head but we’re climbing and I can’t see the airport behind us. After a few minutes the plane banks right and I see it. A giant, white banner held out by a bunch of human specks. Leah must have used at least six king-sized sheets to make it. It jiggles up and down, and I’ve no doubt the entire soccer team is there, waving it above them.

  A smile breaks across my face, even as tears burn my eyes. I love Leah. I love that Leah has Hayden. And I hate leaving them both. But the memories hurt beautifully. When I can no longer see them anymore, I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes.

  Five weeks pass as I learn my way around a new city. My limited knowledge of Seattle is that it always rains—daily downpours that turn streets into raging rapids, with natives dressed in raincoats and galoshes, running along the sidewalks holding inside-out umbrellas smashed by gale force winds.

  There was a minor sprinkle on my arrival, sort of a ‘welcome, here’s some light precipitation in honor of your arrival,’ but since then it’s been the Sahara freaking Desert. I’m unprepared for the dry air that sears my lungs, and the warm sweeping winds that toss the soccer ball in every direction but where I need it to go.

  My contract provides accommodation. Unfortunately it means sharing a two-bedroom apartment with Dani, the Reign’s team goalie. I’ve taken the room Valeena lived in until injury forced her from the team. Dani takes it as a personal insult. My arrival is not met with a welcome mat, but more of a ‘screw up and I will cut you’ mentality. Fortunately, she’s never here, and I spend my nights on Skype with any friendly face willing to talk to me: Nicky, Leah, Hayden, Paige, and Jaxon, but most of all, Brody.

  Sitting on my bed, pillows propped behind my back, I take in the four barren walls of my room. I can’t bring myself to decorate the space and pretend it’s home. Without Brody, Seattle will never be home. It’s merely just another stepping stone in my career, the same way Texas was supposed to be.

  Opening the lid of my laptop, I click on Skype, dialing Brody for our scheduled call. He answers almost instantly—his chest bare and lower half encased in nothing but black football pants. My blood hums at the display and a whimper escapes my lips. I’m awarded a bright smile, making me hate myself and what I’m about to do.

  “Bitch,” I mumble under my breath.

  But this is what sacrifice means. This is what it takes to be the best. He’ll understand. More than anyone else, Brody will get it, I tell myself. It doesn’t stop the sharp pang of guilt.

  “One more week,” are the first words from his lips.

  I give a faint smile of apology. “About that …”

  When I trail off, his brows pull together.

  I glance down at the keyboard, noting my letter E has a smudge on it. I rub at it, slowly realizing it’s not a smudge. The key’s worn. Huh. I guess E is my most popular letter.

  “Jordan?”

  I draw a deep breath of air into my lungs and speak in a rush. “I’mnotgoingtobeabletomakeit.”

  Flicking my gaze up quickly, I gauge his reaction. It takes a moment for my rushed words to sink in. I know the second they do. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. The happiness in his eyes simply disappears.

  “I’m so sorry. We have an exhibition match, and—”

  Brody holds up a palm, cutting off my hurried explanation. “I understand.”

  Just like that. Like I knew he would.

  “How’s camp going?” I ask, changing the subject.

  He rubs a hand across his brow and then down the side of his face, scratching at the faint gold stubble on his jaw. There’s weariness in the gesture. “It’s hard. These guys are good. Damn good. I knew they would be. This is the pros, right? But shit, Jordan, sometimes I wake up wondering what I’m doing on the team. What do they want with me? It’s a whole other league to college. I never expected to feel that. Not with football. It’s what I’m best at. All I’m best at.”

  “Brody.” I shake my head, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “You need to give it time. You’re on the team because they saw something special in you. I’m not sure I can even explain what it is. It’s like you’re made up of puzzle pieces, and when you’re on the field they all click together, creating a beautiful picture no one can look away from.”

  Brody quirks a brow. “You mean you can’t look away from. Because I’m hot.” He nods his head and rubs his chest suggestively, his hand sliding across a thick wall of muscle to circle a nipple with his finger. “You know you want some of this.”

  I laugh out loud.

  “Laugh it up now, chuckles, because you won’t be later at the pathetic orgasm your vibrator gives you.” His lids lower. So does his hand. “Nothing beats the real thing.”

  I squirm uncomfortably on the bed, the pulse between my thighs now a raging ache.

  “Hurry up and get some time off, baby.” Brody draws back a little, and I see his palm stroking along the swollen crotch of his fitted football pants. I suck in a breath. “I need to fuck you.”

  Four weeks later I get two days. I book my flight online, pack a bag, and leaving an hour earlier than I need
to for my flight, I instruct the cab driver to drop me off at Northgate Mall. Shrugging my carry-on bag over my shoulder, I make my way inside, straight toward Victoria’s Secret. Once inside I stop dead. Lace, satin, and silk assault me no matter where I look, and the prettiest man-child I’ve ever seen sweeps toward me with fixed purpose. He’s taking in my deer-caught-in-headlights expression and appears ready to wrestle me to the ground. Maybe it’s a slow sales week.

  “I know you,” he says.

  “You do?” I ask as my elbow is grabbed and I’m hustled right into the belly of the beast.

  “My boyfriend watches all kinds of sport. It’s his religion,” my accoster explains excitedly, jostling racks of underwear with his hands. “Even women’s soccer.”

  His slight insult is one I’m used to hearing, so I grit my teeth and smile. He introduces himself as ‘John Darling, the underwear stylist, but everyone just calls me Darling, or Johnny.’

  “So today you’re looking for …” he trails off, waving a hand for me to expand.

  My face heats with the intensity of a brush fire.

  Johnny nods knowingly. “Something sexy.” He strides off. I think I’m expected to follow, so I do. “What kind of sexy are we after?”

  “There are different kinds?”

  Brows wing up. “Of course.” Johnny expands. “Innocent sexy. Hardcore sexy. Flirty sexy. First date sexy. Third date sexy. We’ve been together too long sexy,” he rattles off and sucks in a breath to continue. “We’ve been apart too long sexy, I—”

  “That one!” I shout, relieved there’s a sexy in there somewhere that fits my exact needs.

  Johnny pauses to confirm. “We’ve been apart too long sexy?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Oh my god.” His eyes brighten. “That’s the best kind of sexy.”

  “It is?”

  “Uh huh.” Johnny starts toward the racks. I follow. He starts shoving hangers of bras and panties at me without questioning my size, leaving me to assume he’s an underwear savant. I grab them before they fall. “It needs to make an impact. Sex factor ten. Something his eyes can devour in a matter of mere moments before getting down to business. It also needs to be a little bit filthy, and a lot more flimsy,” more scraps of lace hit the growing pile in my arms, “because that’s when the ripping can commence.”