The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

  Hailing a taxi, I get in and direct the driver to the airport. As we zoom off into the quiet, dark night, I pull a pill bottle from my bag. It’s labeled as ‘Percocet’ but that’s not what’s inside. I shake out a couple of downers along with some Ambien, trying to counteract the effects of Adderall so I can sleep. It works. After boarding, I pass out on the flight home.

  “What the fuck did you give him?” Jaxon shouts somewhere near my ear.

  At least I think it’s him screeching like a pissed off barn owl. My eyes are closed and opening them is a feat of mammoth proportions. So I don’t. I shoot out an arm and swat at where I think he might be. My efforts prove futile when I encounter air and I giggle. Then I giggle because I’m giggling, and only girls do that.

  “I’m a fucking girl,” I slur.

  “Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. He’s my best bud. My roommate. Together forever. “In electric dreams,” I wail loudly, breaking out in song. It’s an oldie but my sister loves the song. Fucking loves it. I know that’s supposed to make me sad, but I giggle again.

  A hand smacks me across the face, cutting me off. It doesn’t hurt. I can’t feel a thing. I’m epic. I’m Captain America.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” I warn whoever it was. Just because I can’t feel shit doesn’t mean I’m everyone’s punching bag.

  “What did you give him?” Jax growls.

  “Just some ecstasy,” Damien says.

  “Ecstasy,” he echoes flatly. He says it again, only this time he shouts it. “Just some fucking ecstasy? You gave Brody hard drugs?”

  His voice reverberates through my head like a gong. “Cool it, Barn Owl.”

  My eyes flutter open. Jaxon is standing above me. His face is screwed up and red, veins popping on his neck. He looks a bit angry. “Barn Owl?”

  “Dude.” I cover both ears with my hands. That’s when I realize I’m flat out on the floor in the living room of my house. I look from Jaxon to Damien, who’s hovering on the other side of me. Damien shrugs. I tilt my head and look in front of me. Eddie’s standing at my feet. I’m surrounded by morons. I look between Jax and Damien again. “What are you both doing here?”

  Jax scowls. “We’ve been here all weekend.”

  I scowl. “Well how would I know? I’ve been in Seattle with Jordan.”

  He shakes his head. “We were here before you left, remember?”

  “Shit, you’re wasted,” is Damien’s epic contribution.

  “And it’s your fault.” Jaxon jabs a finger in his chest. “I can’t believe you gave him ecstasy. What are you doing with that shit? And why the hell are you giving it to Brody? It’s going to fuck with his head and fuck with his career.” Jaxon plants both hands on Damien’s chest and shoves hard, shouting, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  I roll over and my face encounters carpet. “Ugh.” Getting up on my hands and knees, I start crawling away. It’s a slow process and I don’t know which direction I’m headed in. Hopefully it’s the kitchen. I’m thirsty. Really thirsty. Like I could drink all the water in Lake Michigan.

  “I wasn’t, okay?” Damien shouts back. “He needed something and that’s all I had!”

  Suddenly I’m airborne. Eddie has me in a fireman’s hold and he’s carrying me somewhere. My room, I realize, when I flop down uselessly on my bed.

  “You’re an idiot!” Jaxon yells, their argument going strong from the living room.

  “What the hell is going on, Madden?” Eddie asks.

  “My dad’s an asshole, is what’s going on.” My teeth feel funny. I lift a hand to rub at them but my muscles are lax and my arm flops by my side. I continue talking. “I fucked up. Remember that time I beat the crap out of Davis? Well apparently that was the last straw. That and the drugs. I’m bad news, Eddie.” He lifts my legs, swinging them over the bed. They collapse down on the sheets as if they aren’t connected to my body. “Dad won’t let me see my sister anymore. Maybe he’s right. I’m no good to anyone. Not even Jordan. She’s an oak tree. Did you know that? Don’t tell her I told you.” No girl wants to be compared to a tree. It’s not sexy. “She tutored me because I’m stupid.” My eyes close, bringing blessed darkness. “I think that’s about it.”

  I pass out.

  The whole drug mess causes a falling out between Jaxon and Damien. Both he and Eddie ban Damien from our house and from my phone. They blocked him on my social media. I’m cut off and I hate the panic it sets off in my chest. I can’t be who everyone needs me to be without a little help.

  I track down Damien on Facebook and send him a message.

  Brody: Sorry bout the shit storm bud.

  Damien: It’s cool dude. I fucked up.

  I type my next message, my fingers shaky on the keys.

  Brody: No. I did that all by myself. Do me a favor?

  Damien: Sure.

  Brody: Thanks bud. I need something.

  It takes him a half hour to respond. The wait leaves me coiled tighter than a spring. When his message finally comes through, the coil unravels, leaving me almost buoyant. A satisfied smile forms on my face.

  Damien: What do you need?

  Five weeks later, following a torn ligament during game time, I’m blindsided with another drug test.

  This time I fail and all hell breaks loose.

  Jordan

  Tucking the phone between my chin and shoulder, I rummage through the kitchen cupboards. I can’t bring myself to call them my cupboards. Or my apartment. Nor is Seattle my city. It’s a beautiful place to live, but I’m struggling to do this again. Start over. Open myself up to new friends when I’m missing the ones I’ve left behind.

  “… and Hayden agreed,” Leah says in my ear. “I mean, the place has six bedrooms and it’s right on the beach. It’s perfect. So are you in?”

  “What a bloody jerk,” I mutter under my breath, ignoring Leah’s question as my agitation bubbles over.

  “Elliott?”

  “I’m moving out,” I growl, slamming shut the last cupboard. My Milo is gone. It’s not sitting where I left it yesterday morning. It’s vanished. My last tin of beloved crunchy chocolate powder has simply ceased to exist. My eyes narrow on the rubbish bin. Dani’s taken great pains to make my stay here a living hell. One guess she’s tossed my Milo in the rubbish just because she knows I can’t live without it.

  “What’s she done now?”

  “What hasn’t she done?” Putting the lid on the blender, my finger jabs high speed and the blades roar to life. “She’s deliberately trying to piss me off!” I shout over the screaming noise.

  “You can’t move out.”

  “Why not?” I yell.

  “Because that’s what she wants you to do.”

  “So?” I switch the blender off and the apartment settles into stillness. “She wants me to move out. I want to move out. Something we’re actually both in complete agreement with.”

  My phone beeps. “Hang on,” I tell Leah. “I have another call.”

  Putting her on hold, I answer an incoming call from Jaxon.

  “What are you doing awake?” I ask. Putting the phone on the bench, I hit speaker and turn, grabbing a cup from the cupboard as I speak. “You do realize it’s just after five in the morning, don’t you? I know how much you need your beauty sleep, Jax.”

  “Har, har.”

  “If this is about Dani, I’ve told you, I’m not giving you her number. Seriously. I’m doing you a favor,” I tell him as I pour the thick protein shake out. Emptied, I carry the blender to the sink. “She’s scary. She will sleep with you—”

  “Elliott.”

  “—and then she’ll rip your head off and feed it to her young. Is that what you want? Because from where I’m standing—”

  “Elliott!”

  Turning on the tap, I start rinsing off the blades, which is more than Dani ever does. “What?”

  Charged silence follows. Flicking off the hot water, I turn back, brows drawn as I walk over to my phone. “What is it?”r />
  “How soon can you get here?”

  There’s something off in his voice. Something that makes my heart begin to pound. Thump, thump, thump. I stare at the phone. It stares back at me, a coiled snake waiting to strike. “Get where?”

  “Houston.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t talk about it on the phone.”

  I forget about Leah waiting for me on the other line. “Is Brody okay?”

  “Define okay.”

  Fear makes my voice sharp. “Is he hurt, Jax?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s going on?” Resting my backside against the kitchen counter, I fold my arms and stare at my feet. The left one is deep purple and green—bruised from being stomped on in training yesterday. “Why do you want me in Houston? I have a game in two days.”

  “Fuck your game.” Jaxon exhales sharply. “Brody needs you.”

  “Did he say that?” I ask, and immediately regret my question. If Jax says Brody needs me, then I know he means it. I should be pushing off the counter right now and heading for my room to pack a bag, but I can’t just up and walk out on the team right before a game. I’m contracted to play. It’s not that simple.

  “Brody happens to think your soccer is more important than he is right now. But it’s not, is it, Jordan?”

  His voice is a steely reprimand. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  But getting away before the game proved impossible. With current team injuries, my team would be left without a striker if I didn’t play.

  Heading from the field with another solid win under our belt, I shower quickly. Pulling on a pair of Seattle Reign sweats, I tug a brush through my wet hair, arrange a taxi, and head straight for the airport.

  I send Jax a message before boarding to let him know I’m on my way. Brody doesn’t know I’m coming. I’ve been trying to call him ever since I heard from Jaxon, but he’s not answering his phone. With no one telling me anything, my anxiety levels are through the roof by the time my plane touches down in Houston.

  The taxi drops me in front of Brody’s house later that night. It’s gated for privacy, but beyond the imposing barrier lies a welcoming house with a wide timber porch and lush, expansive gardens. There’s a pool out the back and enough yard space to kick a ball around. The outdoor seating area boasts a weatherproof sectional, an outdoor kitchen, and a mounted flat screen television so all sports coverage won’t be missed if Brody’s either cooking on the grill, or swimming in the pool. It’s idyllic and geared toward outdoor living, with French doors along the back of the house, always kept open to meld the indoor with the out.

  The house is a home. My home, and not because I helped him furnish it, but because Brody lives there.

  Using my key, I step inside, walking through the dark-timber floored entryway down to the back living area. I drop my overnight bag on the sofa and look around. Thanks to a regular cleaner the house is spotless, but it’s quiet.

  “Hello?”

  Jaxon steps through the laundry door which sits off the side of the kitchen. His hair is mussed. Not the messy, sexy kind that takes him hours to achieve, but dirty and lank. He glares at me through exhausted eyes, looking nothing like the flirty, carefree guy I met in college.

  “You’re here,” he says.

  “I’m here.”

  “Two days was the best you could do.”

  Jaxon’s anger is gone, replaced with flat disappointment which somehow feels worse. “Yes. It was. I told you they’d be short a striker and—”

  He cuts me off. “And nothing. Clearly you have your priorities, and Brody isn’t one of them.”

  My jaw ticks. “Are you finished? Because I’d like to know what the hell is going on. Where’s Brody?”

  Jaxon stalks to the kitchen counter. “You want to know what’s going on?” Bending low, he opens a bottom cupboard. Straightening, he sets a white, opaque pill bottle on the bench top with a loud clack.

  My blood chills to ice as I stare at it. Oh no. Please. My eyes hold Jaxon’s for a long moment, willing it not to be true, but all I see is resignation in his expression. Reaching across the counter from the opposite side, I take hold of the bottle and read the label, mouthing it silently. Ambien. Sleeping pills prescribed by the team doctor.

  But Jaxon isn’t finished. He sets another bottle on the counter. I put the Ambien down and pick the next one up. Percocet. Another medically prescribed drug. Before I can blink, Brody’s cousin sets another bottle down. Adderall. Then he tosses two separate plastic packets next to the growing hoard. They both hold more pills. Unlabeled ones. I close my eyes, devastation rocking me down to my very toes. Jaxon is quiet. When I open them I pick the sleeve of pills up, flipping it over in a shaky hand.

  “What are these?” I croak.

  Jax shrugs but his eyes are red and he’s battling the urge to cry. “Who the fuck knows? Uppers, downers, all kinds of fucked-up shit.”

  Deep, jagged cracks form in my heart. It hurts. It fucking hurts knowing he put all these deadly chemicals inside his beautiful, strong body—tainting it. That he would do this to himself. My eyes fill and a fat tear spills over, splattering to the counter below. My gaze falls on the Adderall. I pick it up. It doesn’t rattle, indicating the little plastic bottle is empty. I meet Jaxon’s brown eyes. “He was taking these in college.”

  “I know. For study, right?”

  “But he stopped,” I whisper, putting the bottle back down as a sob builds inside my chest.

  Jaxon shakes his head.

  “He promised me!” I cry out, my stomach rolling with pain. I point at the Adderall and shout, “He promised me it was a one off. I believed him!”

  Did you believe him, Jordan, really? Or did you just want to?

  Oh god.

  “Brody lied to you. He lied to all of us.”

  The sob escapes. I sweep out an arm, scattering everything on the counter to the floor. “Why? Why would he do this?”

  But I know.

  He’s never deemed himself good enough. Not his entire life. Adderall was the temporary fix, giving him a reprieve from the struggle—only it escalated into this … this goddamn drug-infested nightmare. Why didn’t I see? Why didn’t I let myself see?

  My stomach cramps with regret.

  I was too busy worrying about myself and my own future. Jaxon is right. Brody needed me, and I wasn’t there for him. I was never fucking there for him.

  Jaxon reaches for me and I push him away. Wiping tears with a shaky hand, I croak, “Where is he?”

  His gaze moves toward the stairs. “In his room, sleeping.”

  I spin hurriedly, starting for the master suite. I need to see him. I need to see he’s okay.

  “Jordan, wait!” Jaxon calls after me. “There’s more.” I keep walking up the stairs, not sure I can handle more. “He failed his last drug test.”

  I pause on the middle step and turn, sucking in a breath.

  Oh no.

  Brody.

  “What are they going to do?”

  Jaxon runs fingers through his filthy hair and pulls them away with a grimace. “They’ve put him in an intervention program.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “It means he has to see the Medical Director to determine whether he needs treatment or not. If not, then he’s subject to regular testing for ninety days.”

  “That’s it?”

  He gives a single nod. “That’s it. Oh, and the media doesn’t know, thank fuck. If this got out, his dad would rain holy hell down on his head like you would not believe.”

  I’ve never met Brody’s father, but I know Jax is right. The last thing Brody needs is this getting splashed all over the papers.

  Making my way up the stairs toward the bedroom, I push open the door. It’s dark in the room, but I hear the rustle of sheets and see a body turn in the bed. “Jordan?”

  My name is hoarse on Brody’s lips. Making my way across the thick carpet, I reach for the bedside lamp and flic
k it on. Warm light floods the room. I turn to face Brody in the bed. His cheeks are flushed, his usually intense eyes dull and unfocused. “What are you …” Brody trails off when his gaze meets mine.

  He knows then that I know. I see the burst of anger and the bitter twist in his lips. Brody turns his head, nostrils flaring and body rigid. He’s bracing. Waiting for the same reaction he got when I first discovered Adderall in his gym bag.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take his hand. The muscles along his forearm pull tight, bunching with tension, as I drag it toward me. I turn it over and rest it on my thigh, exposing his calloused palm. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix what’s so clearly broken inside of him.

  I begin to trace the lines on his hand. It relaxes in my grip, and that’s when I feel the slight tremor beneath his skin. I open my mouth and speak, forcing out calm words instead of the hysteria I’m feeling. “They say your entire life is mapped out on the palm of your hand.” My finger trails along his heart line—the line at top, directly below his fingers. “I had mine read at the markets once.”

  A moment of silence follows. Then Brody turns his head, looking from his palm to my face. I don’t know if the disbelief in his raised brows is from me talking about mumbo jumbo fortune telling, or the fact that I’m not yelling at him. “You believe in that shit?”

  “I’m not really sure. At the time it was a bit of fun. Who would you marry? How many kids? That’s what my friends wanted to know. All I wanted to know was if I’d succeed in soccer. She said my success was tied deeply to my line of destiny.”

  My eyes follow Brody’s own line. It runs deep from his head and his heart line. “Your line is the same as mine,” I tell him, tracing it slowly with the pad of my index finger.

  “What does it mean?”

  I give him the answer she gave me. “It means success will be achieved at the end of your life.”

  “That’s good, right?”