Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection)

by Ketley Allison

  Annoyingly, I can’t stop talking about Locke.

  On the last night, before I was told of Locke’s return, Sophie finally called me on it.

  “If you like him this much, why don’t you just tell him?”

  “That’s the thing, Soph. I already did. He, we, saw each other in all the ways you’re supposed to see someone you’re falling in love with. And still, he didn’t share the basic facts about himself.”

  “Have you asked him why?”

  “Do I need to? I was duped. Conned into bed with him. Made a fool. Worse, I’m no better than the many one-night stands he had before me. What did I think? I’d be the one to change him?”

  “Want to know what I think?” Sophie sipped her red wine carefully. She was conscious of spilling on someone else’s carpet. Ours, however, she was happy to stain.

  I take a large gulp from my own glass. “You’re not going to convince me to trust him again.”

  “You’re terrified.”

  I almost choke. The wine burns like vinegar in my throat. “Excuse me?”

  “Hear me out.” Sophie shuffles closer. “You’ve lost Paige. You’re coming to terms with losing Lily. Your parents and brother ignore you. Everyone you love goes away. This is classic textbook stuff.”

  I glare at her over the glass rim. “If you say I’m afraid to love, I’m throwing this in your face.”

  “Au contraire. You want to love. All these people? They have your love regardless. Paige’s death didn’t change that. Lily being in another state doesn’t change it. And Locke’s past, as slutty and secretive as it is, doesn’t change the fact that you love him.” Sophie rests a palm on my thigh. “You love him, Carter.”

  “No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “I’ve been lied to, shut out from, and betrayed by him. He probably made money off me. He and his friends probably bet he could sleep with me—”

  “All things you wouldn’t feel if you didn’t care deeply.” She pats my leg affectionately. “Think on it. I’m no shrink, but I’m so on the money with this.” She grimaces. “No pun intended. If they bet on you, I’ll cut their dicks off and serve it to them as stew.”

  “I’m leaving,” I say, mouth grim. “Moving back to Florida.”

  Sophie leans back in the crook of the cushion and couch’s arm. “Whatever you say.”

  As Sophie predicted, it’s all I can think about as I go to bed that night after lingering above Lily’s crib, taking in her round-faced innocence and beauty. Thoughts continue as I wake up the next morning before sunrise and fix Sophie and me a coffee (quietly, so as not to wake her before said caffeine hits her veins), and exactly what I ponder when the hospital calls and tells me Locke should be discharged around noon.

  I didn’t hear it from Locke himself, of course. He’s given up on anything except the most basic communication after I told him nothing connects us other than Lily.

  Liar.

  There hasn’t been a single text from him, and he was given his cell phone back. Barely cracks a smile when I walk into his room and meet his tired eyes. And the half-hearted wave good-bye when I leave? That one is the worst.

  Why am I so pissed? This is what I asked for. Even Sophie doesn’t have to bring that to light. Locke is doing precisely what I want him to do.

  It’s not his fault it’s making me feel like I weigh double, with most of it resting on my heart.

  I’m wiping down the kitchen counters as Sophie rouses, not a morning person but forced to become one when she decided to room with a baby. Before her eyes are fully open, I set a fragrant, steaming cup beside her. Her nostrils flare, and she smiles as she stretches. “Mmmmm.”

  “I’m going to wake the baby,” I whisper.

  “Mm-kay. I’ll help in a sec.”

  “No need,” I say, and disappear into the nursery to tend to Lily.

  When I come out, Sophie is weirdly alert and scrolling through her laptop. “I’m flying out today,” she says, then makes grabby motions for the baby. “Lemme hold her.”

  Lily, content with a bottle, settles into Paige’s arms.

  “Don’t you want to stay for her birthday in a few days?”

  “Right! This little chicken’s turning one! Can’t believe it.” She bops Lily’s nose with a finger. “You’re practically an angsty teenager.”

  “Stay,” I say, and mean it. I’m suddenly afraid of being in this apartment with Locke for the next few days. I’d much rather have Sophie as a buffer between us.

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I have to be back at work.” Sophie studies me for a moment. “Boss is asking about you.”

  “Bert gave me my four weeks. What’s he threatening? Someone else to do the data-entry?”

  “Karen. He’s got Karen at your desk.”

  I make a face. “I dislike that woman.”

  “She dislikes you. And she’s hangry for your position.”

  I wave it off, and Sophie raises a brow. “I agree, sister. You’re better off painting.”

  “I’ve sold only one.”

  “So far.” Sophie bounces Lily on her knee, now that she’s tossed her empty bottle like a football across the room. She really is Locke’s. “And it’s made you happy.”

  “It doesn’t pay the rent.”

  Sophie’s about to respond, probably within the realm of if you’re even coming home to pay the rent, and I’m one second ahead with a denial when the buzzer sounds.

  “Hang on,” I say to her.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Hello?” I ask once I push the talk button by the apartment door.

  “This Lachlan Hayes’s place?”

  “It is. Who’s this?”

  “This is Coach Becks, from the high school down the road. He left something behind I’d like to return.”

  I frown, turn to Sophie. She shrugs, and I assume would become fairly squirrely if it turns out this is a robber. “Come on in.”

  Heavy footfalls sound almost immediately, and I open the door to meet a sturdy, bald man with tiny spectacles balanced on his nose and a tight grey polo shirt around his belly.

  “Hi, miss.”

  “Carter.” I offer my hand but see he can’t give his because he’s holding a stuffed toy.

  “Lily’s bunny rabbit!” I exclaim. It’s rude of me, but I grab for it. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere.”

  “AHBAH!”

  Lily’s shriek ricochets down the hallway, forcing Coach Becks back a step. “Oh, my.”

  “She’s been missing this dearly. Thank you so much for bringing it by,” I say. I toss it to Sophie, who catches it and is immediately arm-tackled by Lily.

  “It must’ve fallen underneath my desk at the school. Janitor scrounged it up this morning.”

  “She was in your office?”

  “Yes, with Mr. Hayes. He was interviewing for the part-time coaching position. I’m sorry for my impropriety, but are you his wife?”

  “Oh—no,” I say. “A friend.”

  I feel Sophie’s eyeballs against my back.

  “Well, tell him he only has twenty-four more hours to accept. I’ve been leaving messages, but he hasn’t called back.”

  “For the job?” I ask dumbly.

  “Well, yes.”

  “That’s…” I stop to laugh. “Amazing. I have to let him know.”

  “Please do. Whatever he’s doing, he’ll miss out on this opportunity if he doesn’t return my call.”

  My happy bubble dissipates. “Locke’s been in an accident, sir. He’s being discharged from the hospital today, but—”

  “My goodness. I didn’t know.”

  “He’s much better. Almost back to normal. I’ll tell him to give you a call as soon as—when did he interview with you?”

  “Last Friday morning.”

  I exhale. The morning before he passed out on the very stairs Coach Becks climbed seconds ago.

  “Thank you for coming by. Locke can tell you the specifics, but I’m sure he’ll contact you immediately.” />
  Coach Becks nods and tips his baseball cap to me, Sophie, and Lily individually. “Pleasure to meet you, ladies.”

  “You too, Coach Becks.” I smile and shut the door behind him.

  “Locke actually went,” I say to Sophie, once Coach Becks’ footsteps fade.

  “Went where?”

  “To an interview! He’s been so depressed in this apartment, thinking he’d never find anything as good as football, and I found a classified in the cafe where my paintings are—”

  Sophie’s eyes are glazing over, and instead of being annoyed, it brings clarity. Only Locke would care about this. He’s the only one who should because it gives him an end to his tunnel of black, a light to shine on a new future, still involving football, but in a whole new reflection of the sport.

  “We should go to the hospital soon,” I say, and start gathering Lily’s things, scattered on the floor.

  “Can’t. Flight, remember?”

  “Soph, I mean it, please stay.”

  “No way. After what I just witnessed, you two need to utilize the time you have left to figure your crap out.”

  I lift Lily off Sophie’s lap. “This doesn’t change anything.”

  “Spare me. I’m packing. Go. Be a happy family together for a while when you tell him the news.”

  I want to argue, deny, but Sophie’s expression is filled with such sweet sympathy, I can’t. It is good news, and Locke deserves it. He also deserves to hold Lily as he’s wheeled out of a hospital he’s been imprisoned in for a week.

  “I love you,” I say to her.

  She pulls the three of us into a hug. “I know. And I’m glad to receive it. You love good, Jameson.”

  I snort, shake my head.

  “And I love you, too,” she says.

  Sophie lets go, and I pack Lily’s diaper bag and grab her car seat from the corner of her nursery. I pass by my painting of Paige, lay two fingers on my lips, then press them to hers.

  In minutes, Lily and I are out the door.

  Ready to bring Locke home.

  38

  Locke

  I’m clean and wearing pants by the time Carter makes it to the hospital to bring me home.

  I forgot how tight jeans feel, how squished the twig and berries get. For many days (and many nights) I’d had wondrous airflow in nothing but a hospital gown. I weaned myself by utilizing briefs the past few days, but there’d still been ventilation.

  These are the things I’m thinking about as I’m settled into a wheelchair so as not to exert myself until I’m off hospital property. I’m weak but stronger than I was yesterday. After the bullshit week I’ve had, I put that in the “win” column.

  Carter comes in, one-arming Lily around the time I’m getting used to my wheels. I don’t glance up, because it’s become painful to meet her dull, rusted eyes. I don’t ponder what the next few days will be like with her—if I can remember right, she said once I was discharged, she’d book a hotel, so there’s my answer.

  Asher encouraged me to further explain. Ben seconded it and Easton, being Easton, said I should do what I wanted. I figure the car ride home is going to be the only chance I have to do it in.

  Lily’s sweet noises come closer, and Carter sits her on my legs.

  “Hi, baby,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her forehead. Fucking hell, I missed her. I hadn’t noticed how my new cologne became baby powder until it was taken away from me. I want that scent back. I want to smell exactly like this baby sweetness all the time.

  When she doesn’t poop.

  “See what’s on her lap?” Carter asks above me.

  Lily’s tearing at the ears of her usual rabbit, the one Paige gave her and Carter kept washed and pristine as much as she could. It endured a lot of spit up and other foreign substances, but Lily doesn’t mind.

  “Yeah, Mr. Buns.”

  “She’d lost it. Has been inconsolable for days because I didn’t have it to give to her.”

  “Huh,” I say. “Where’d you find it?”

  “Coach Becks dropped it off.”

  At last, I meet her gaze. It catches me off guard because they have a bit of their sparkle back.

  “You got the job, Locke.”

  My mouth opens, but it takes time to form words. Memories. How I’d interviewed with Coach the morning before the accident, and totally forgotten about it since. “I did?”

  Carter smiles, and if that’s all I get from this news, it’s worth it. “You did. But you have to call him as soon as you can, or he’ll give it to someone else.”

  “Hell, I don’t lose.” I anchor Lily to me and point to the door. “Onward. Get me home so I can start making calls.”

  She smiles again, and while it lacks teeth, it’s genuine. If she’s happy I have something to keep me busy, I’m okay with it, because I haven’t been occupied for a very long time. I’m ready to become a telemarketer at this point. Hospital days are dull. The nights are filled with screams of neighboring patients. And without the contentment of morphine, every sound grates against endured pain.

  I’m out.

  Carter grabs the handles behind me and pushes me out the door. I stay as manly as I can with a straight back and sharp jaw, but I can’t hide the eagerness to leave this place, get back to my life and my daughter.

  “Gerrrrrrrrr,” Lily says on cue, shoving the rabbit’s nose into my mouth. It smells suspicious.

  “Car’s idling at the entrance,” Carter says as we navigate the hallways.

  When we’re in the elevator, alone, and Lily’s moved mildewy fur from my face, I start off strong. “Carter…”

  “Don’t,” she says behind me. She won’t come around the chair. “I’m glad you’re starting over. Over the moon, actually. I think this is the beginning of a very good thing. So, let’s not ruin it.”

  “You need to give me the time to respond.”

  “I’ve heard enough.”

  “From my sister. You should at least hear my side.”

  Her breath is so heavy it blows pieces of my hair. “Do you have something different to say other than you bet your friends you could bang Paige and win?”

  I tilt my head to try and get a better look at her. “Okay, that’s true, but—”

  “What? You fucked Paige for money. Got it.”

  I’m strangely insulted. “I’m not a prostitute.”

  “No, you’re worse,” she says as the doors open, and she pushes me out. “You’re a player.”

  I’ve never felt my dick cut off more than when a woman who’s pissed at me is pushing my wheelchair and aiming for every pothole and uneven surface she can find.

  “Carter,” I try again, gritting my teeth. Lily’s loving the ride. “I was dumb, okay? A definite idiot, but Paige was a big girl. My reputation wasn’t exactly secret.”

  “That’s about the only thing you’ve made public.” Bang. She found a gap in the sidewalk. “Next thing you’re going to say is you showed her a good time.” Bang.

  Well, yeah, I did. But I didn’t dare say it out loud. “Paige was up for it. I don’t sleep with unwilling women.”

  “Did she know about the bet?”

  I sigh. Wrong move. “No, but she knew we weren’t a sure thing.”

  Carter parks me beside a black Camry and opens the passenger door. “Can you get in by yourself?”

  “Yes,” I say, louder than I need to, but needing to grab something of myself back.

  She takes Lily, and I lift up with my arms, fighting back noises of exertion. I refuse to be any less in front of Carter.

  At last, I get in and buckle my seat belt. When Lily’s strapped in beside me and Carter’s in the front seat, the driver pulling out onto the road, I’m fairly certain Carter prefers a silent trip.

  Instead, she asks quietly, “And your mom? Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

  I stare out the side window. “I don’t talk about my mom. To anyone. I didn’t intentionally exclude you.” I add, “You, of all people, kno
w how hard it is to cope with.”

  She doesn’t have anything to say to that, but I don’t feel like I’ve won.

  “Paige had her own mind, made her own decisions,” Carter says. The driver pretends he’s not paying attention, but I sense he knows a juicy conversation when he hears one. “I’m not calling her a victim. But it kills me, Locke, murders me, that she didn’t know she was a bet. That Lily was created from some joke between you and your friends.”

  “Hey. Paige was not a joke.”

  “Oh, no?”

  I tighten my jaw. How do I explain this? How do I properly transcribe submitting to college dares, thinking you’re being cool, barely understanding the concept of hurting others?

  “I can’t excuse what we did, or the number of girls I probably hurt throughout college,” I say. “And I don’t know how I would’ve reacted to Paige’s pregnancy had I been made aware of it two years ago.”

  Carter scoffs, and I grind my molars harder. “I’m pretty sure what would’ve happened.”

  “To say I’m not that guy anymore is putting it lightly.” I’m frustrated I’m talking to a headrest instead of face-to-face with Carter, and I’m certain she’s orchestrated it that way. But I won’t let it dilute my chances of getting through to her. “I wasn’t going down a good path back then, and I continued the descent after graduating. I’d achieved everything I wanted. Got my football career off the ground, signed a badass rookie contract, and was set up for life. And yet, all I wanted to do was drink. Screw around. Be a dick. Astor called it denial. My buddies called it mommy issues behind my back, but I knew they said it because they were right. I wasn’t coping with my mom’s death properly.”

  Carter remains silent, her expression indiscernible. All I have to go on is her hair, and it’s still as a placid river.

  “When I was tackled on the field for the last time, I still didn’t get it,” I continue. “I used it as an excuse to be an even sorrier asshole. It gave me more time to drink; it introduced me to delicious pills, and it wasn’t because of the taste. I had my escape. The whole time, I thought football was my escape. Nah. Drugs were where it was at. I could really check out then.”

  Carter’s profile moved toward me in the barest fraction.