The Fall (Rules of Play Book 4) Read online

  THE FALL

  M.A. GRAY

  SUMMER HOUSE

  Maverick

  After the death of my long-time girlfriend, I didn’t think I would find love ever again.

  Then I met him.

  August.

  My roommate.

  August

  I’m not sure when Maverick and I transitioned from roommates to something more, but one kiss changed everything. I want him, body and soul, but with grief weighing so heavily on him, can he ever move past his lost love and give us the chance we deserve? Or will it be too late?

  The Fall is the fourth and final book in the Rules of Play series, a steamy m/m contemporary romance series about four brothers finding love on and off the field.

  Summer House

  Copyright © 2020 M.A. Gray

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be sold, reproduced, or distributed in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  For my readers

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by M.A. Gray

  Chapter 1

  Maverick

  With a grunt, I hitch the large box I’m carrying onto my hip, searching my pocket for my key to the front door. I pat both pockets, front and back. Nothing.

  Hm. I could have sworn I slipped the key into my pocket when I picked it up at the leasing office a few hours ago. Unless it’s in my car somewhere.

  Sighing heavily, I set down the box full of kitchenware down, rattling the dishes and silverware inside. Today has just not been my day.

  My car is parked in the driveway of the two-bedroom, one-bathroom house I’m moving into. It’s located at the end of a quiet street, which I like, but is painted the ugliest vomit yellow hue, which I don’t. It’s a small place, less than a thousand square feet, but I’m not too picky, considering I don’t have a lot of things. It boasts a tiny front porch and windows with shutters of peeling white paint. Compared to the homes I grew up in, this place looks like it’s going to collapse at the first strong gust of wind. I kind of like it though. It hasn’t given up. Is still holding on.

  I find my keys in the center console, then open the front door. There’s a second car in the driveway, so I assume my roommate is here. We were paired randomly and haven’t yet met. I’m pretty low maintenance, considering my upbringing. So long as he pays the bills on time, keeps the common areas clean, and bathes regularly, I’m not too picky.

  I take my first steps into my new home, the box in my arms. “Hello?” I call, wanting to alert my roommate to my presence.

  No one answers. I call again, louder. “Is anyone home?”

  Again, nothing. Maybe he went somewhere. There’s a bunch of places to eat within walking distance. That could explain why his car is in the driveway and the house is empty.

  The living room is spare except for a couch, two small end tables, and stacks of boxes. Hardwood flooring, slightly buckled in places, but it’ll do. My mother would never accept this. I purposefully didn’t show her pictures of the house, knowing she’d have a fit if she saw the subpar conditions, at least in her eyes. Mrs. Dumont has standards, considering she married a billionaire. Money has shadowed me all my life, but for the most part, I tend not to think of it. I focus on school, getting through the day, making an honest living. I understand though. As the youngest of four sons, I’m the baby in the family, and considering my girlfriend’s death was quite recent, it’s understandable she’d be worried about me.

  But this house is supposed to be a fresh start. And even if the house isn’t newly built, it’s at least a start.

  After carrying my box to the kitchen, I set it on the counter and examine where I’ll be cooking for the next twelve months. My new roommate has already started unpacking. Stacks of dishes and cups line the chipped countertop. I start opening and closing the cupboards. Empty. Maybe he’s waiting for me to arrive before putting his stuff away. That would be considerate of him.

  The kitchen itself is… adequate. The fridge needs to be cleaned, both inside and out. And the stove. The floors. Christ, did the landlord even bother hiring a cleaning service?

  I make a mental note to pick up some sponges and cleaner at the store later. With the amount of cooking I do, I need everything to be spotless. It’s one of my few nitpicks. The living room, bathroom, laundry room can all be messes. But the kitchen is always clean.

  For the next thirty minutes, I haul in more boxes from my car. Early August in Indiana means a shit ton of humidity. Soon, my t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, as are my shorts. My brother, Kellan, is supposed to help me move, but of course he’s decided not to show. I don’t bother texting him, as most likely he won’t respond. He’ll get here when he gets here, and not a moment sooner.

  When my arms begin to ache, I decide to take a break and wait for Kellan to show up—whenever that will be. I check out the rest of the place. Aside from the kitchen and living area and bedrooms, well… that’s pretty much it. There’s a backyard of decent size. It’s a shady, grassy area surrounded by a wooden privacy fence. The last tenants even left us a patio set. Nice of them to do so.

  It’s as I’m coming back inside that a loud thump shudders through the bones of the old house.

  I go still, scanning my surroundings. Unease creeps cold fingers down my spine. It didn’t sound like it came from outside. It sounded like it came from inside. Except I’m the only one here, right?

  I check the kitchen and living room again, thinking one of the boxes tipped over, but everything is in order. I’ve yet to check out my bedroom, so I head down the hallway.

  Today has been one of the low weeks. A time of missing Kaylie, having regrets, fighting the guilt trailing me these days. So I’m not fully paying attention to my surroundings. I notice a hissing sound coming from the other side of one of the doors, but I can’t put my finger on what, exactly, the sound is.

  I push open the door. Steam billows out, teasing me with a pleasing citrus smell. A bathroom. Of course. And the sound is of someone taking a shower.

  The proper reaction to walking in on someone taking a shower would be to shut the door. But I don’t do that. I’m not sure why. My head isn’t in the right place. I’m drained from moving and haven’t eaten in a couple of hours. Those are adequate reasons for me creeping on who I assume is my roommate standing behind the transparent shower current, letting the hot water wash over him.

  The first thing I notice is how toned he is. He has the musculature of an athlete, like my pro-soccer player brothers, Kellan and Sebastian. Lean muscle.

  The second thing I notice is the sandy, red-orange color of his hair. With his back to me, he doesn’t notice me watching as he reaches up to lather shampoo in his hair. Water trails over the dips and grooves of hi
s back, tracing the span of his skin. He’s pale. Very. Freckles dot his body and clump together in higher frequency on his shoulders.

  My throat works. I should definitely leave, shut the door behind me. But I keep staring. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until the guy turns and catches me standing there. He jolts and almost slips.

  “The fuck!” he shouts, fury hardening his light green eyes.

  Before I can retreat, he rips open the shower curtain and tackles me.

  Chapter 2

  August

  The last thing I expected when I turned around was to find a man standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me bathe. But that’s exactly what happened, and I acted on instinct.

  We go down with a crash. I hear a soft oof as I land on top of him, and I’m already pulling my fist back and punching it forward, catching him in the side of his jaw. His head snaps sideways. With the shower curtain pulled aside, water begins to soak my back and puddle onto the floor. I punch him again, putting all my strength behind the blow. But this time his hands come up, and his forearm deflects me. He scrambles to grab my arm, but I’m slippery, coated in water and body wash, and his hand slips from me. “Wait,” he says, but I’m not listening to him. My mind has gone elsewhere, into protective mode. Some dude creeping on me while I’m washing isn’t going to get away with it.

  Who the fuck is this man?

  And how did he get into my house when I locked the door?

  He manages to land a slap on my face, and it becomes obvious in about two point one seconds that the guy isn’t much of a threat, strength-wise. He’s tall, but he’s not heavy with muscle. He’s struggling not to fight back, which is what I would expect, but to get away. Too bad I have about forty pounds on him. Straddling his waist, I pin his wrists near his head, use my legs to pin his down as well so he can’t wiggle free.

  I cock my fist again when he flinches and closes his eyes, turning his head away with a whispered, “Please.”

  My arm is lifted, shaking. My breath comes in heavy pants.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I bark. One wrong move and I’ll slug him.

  A few seconds pass, the hiss of the shower and our breathing the only sounds. Then, as if sensing I’m not going to hit him again—yet—he turns his head and opens his eyes. They’re a hazel-brown. But more than that, they’re sad. So sad.

  “Maverick,” he rasps. His attention lingers on my bare chest before flitting away to focus on the towel hanging from the towel rack. “Maverick Dumont.”

  Wait.

  Dumont.

  Why does that ring a bell?

  “Your roommate,” he finishes with an audible swallow.

  Oh.

  Water drips from my nose onto his face. He’s… pretty. That’s the first word that pops into my head. His features lean toward the feminine side, and his build is slender rather than bulky. His dark eyelashes are incredibly long and curly. Brown hair that’s both tousled and damp from the scuffle. A full mouth that makes me think of poetry.

  The man’s face is enough to make me believe in things like Heaven, if I were at all religious. It’s so symmetrically perfect, so flawless in its bone structure. For a few seconds, I’m distracted enough by his appearance that I forget where I am and why I’m straddling him. The man is exactly my type.

  My roommate. That would make sense, as he’s the only other person with a key. And today is move-in day.

  Maverick says, hesitant, “I heard a loud bang. I didn’t know what it was so I was just seeing what it was.”

  I barely conceal the grimace pinching my face. That would have been me. “I slipped getting into the tub, banged my head.” Showing up to my first practice with a concussion wouldn’t be the smartest idea. Luckily I didn’t hit my head hard, but it still hurt like a mother.

  “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

  The corner of my mouth quirks. My way of expressing my surprise. “Nah. Wounded ego, is all.” My grip around his wrists loosens, but Maverick doesn’t try to pull away. Shit, if I keep ogling him like this, I’m bound to sport a boner, and that would be awkward as hell. No doubt about it, this man is straight. He’s pretty enough to get whatever woman he wants. Shame though. I like my men prettier than me, and I like them splayed out, just like this.

  “Um.” Maverick clears his throat politely. “Do you think I could…” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, making a point not to look lower than my chest.

  He jostles me out of whatever spell I’ve been under. “Oh, right.” Quickly, I shift my weight off his and climb to my feet, turning off the shower once I do so. Then I help him stand as well.

  “Sorry about that,” I say sheepishly. Definitely not the best impression, as first impressions go. “I’m August, by the way.” I wave at him lamely.

  He shakes his head. “It’s my fault. I should have made myself known. Or should have shut the door…” He swallows again, and I barely catch the glance he sends me, a fleeting perusal of my body. My naked body.

  Towel. Right. Having a conversation where my dick isn’t hanging out would be far less awkward.

  Once I wrap a towel around my waist and tie it off, I notice the swelling around Maverick’s right eye. The skin has already started to bruise. “Shit man, I’m sorry about that.”

  He looks into the mirror over the sink. Touches the swollen area, gingerly. He winces and pulls his fingers away. “It’s fine.”

  “Let me get you an ice pack, at least.”

  I have no idea why I feel the need to take care of a man I just met, but I do. Hurrying to the kitchen, I grab an ice pack from the freezer. I’m counting my lucky stars I started unpacking earlier. Maverick still stands the way I left him when I return. He studies me carefully, as if he can’t grasp what’s happening. The truth is, I have an anger problem. It’s been an issue my entire life. That’s the reason I was kicked off the team at my old university. Got in a tiff with one of my teammates and broke his arm. As a result, my athletic scholarship was void, and I couldn’t afford tuition. No matter how much I begged and pleaded, they wouldn’t take me back.

  By some miracle, Notre Dame accepted me on their team for my final year of university. Now here I am, in a city I know nothing about, attending a school where I know no one.

  Starting over sucks.

  And yes, I go to therapy for my anger.

  Maverick accepts the offered ice pack with a murmur of thanks and rests it against the side of his face. He watches me with his other eye. A hint of fear lurks in its depths. That I’ll act attack him again? Shame heats my face, and I turn away so he can’t see how it upsets me. Reasonably, I’m not entirely in the wrong, as I thought a lecherous stranger had invaded my house, but there are ways of restraining others without hurting them.

  “So. Um. Maverick.”

  “Mav.” A slight smile. “No one calls me Maverick except my parents.”

  I bob my head. “Mav. So… you’re a student, I’m guessing?” I grip my towel so it doesn’t slip off my waist.

  My new roommate notices. “Do you want to change?”

  Relief loosens my lungs. “Yeah. Thanks. Be right back.”

  I hurry off to my bedroom, which neighbors Maverick’s. My mattress and bed frame are supposed to arrive later today. For now, all I have are boxes and a suitcase. I rifle through my clothes, pull on exercise shorts and an old jersey, then head out to talk to Mav. I figure since we’re both here, we can get past the awkward introductions and expectations of living together. My last roommate left food out everywhere, which attracted vermin. It drove me up the fucking wall. I want to avoid that.

  I find Mav in the living room settled on the couch. Legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles.

  Settling on the other end of the couch, I turn to face him. He’s not looking at me though. Well, not at my face. My jersey has caught his attention. Curiosit
y lights his features.

  “You play soccer?”

  “Yeah.” I’m wearing an Arsenal jersey, which is my favorite team. “You a fan?”

  He looks both guilty and hesitant. “Honestly… not especially. My brothers play, so I’ve grown up with the sport, even though I don’t follow it.” He shrugs, and a twinkle enters his eyes. “Though I could probably tell you the stats of all the professional players as a side effect, just from listening to my brothers talk about it.”

  “Younger or older?”

  “Older. I’m the youngest of four. Sebastian plays for the Men’s National Team. Kellan is a senior here. He plays for Notre Dame.”

  Holy shit. Small world. “Dude, I’m on the team here. Just transferred. What’s your brother’s name?”

  Maverick’s grin matches my own, though I can tell it’s not a full smile. It’s more of a half-smile, where you’re not showing your entire self. I wonder what holds him back. I wonder what brings out the sadness in him. “Kellan Dumont. You can’t miss him. He shows up to practice wearing these obnoxious Hawaiian t-shirts.”

  Maybe I’ll make friends with Kellan quicker, since I’m now roommates with his brother. “Cool. I’ll introduce myself when I see him.”

  “This your first year?” Mav asks, settling more deeply into the cushions. His focus is wholly on me. It’s… strange. Not in a bad way, just unusual. Generally people always have a phone on them, a distraction to lose themselves in so they don’t have to sit in the present moment. Not Mav. I relax beneath his focused gaze.

  “First year at Indiana, yeah. Technically, I’m a senior though. Transfer student.”

  He nods in introspection. Then he says, “Why did you transfer?”

  My heart knocks hard against my ribs. It’s a harmless enough question.

  For someone who has nothing to hide.

  Knowing Mav has connections to my team, it puts me in a difficult position. I’m not sure how close he is to his brothers, but I’m expecting him to blab about my issues. That would definitely cause problems. If my teammates knew I acted out in anger, they’d likely ostracize me. The field is no place for drama.