The Fall (Rules of Play Book 4) Page 3

  There is a clear line between them and myself. It can’t be seen, but I feel it. My nerves rise higher, but I stomp them out like a weak flame. No. I made a mistake before, but this is where I’ll overcome it. New school, new year, new start.

  A beginning.

  Blowing out a breath, I make my way toward my new team, my head held high. As of today, my anger issues have no place on the field. I swore it to myself when I got expelled from the University of Denver. I plan on upholding that promise.

  As soon as the first person catches sight of me, the conversation dies, the laughter is snuffed out, the jokes disintegrate like they never were.

  I stop, my athletic bag slung over my shoulder, and watch them with the wariness of prey in the presence of a larger predator. All eyes are on me and, fuck, I hate it. They know why I’m here. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. All I want is a chance to prove myself.

  With a polite nod, I drop my bag at the bench with a thump. “Hey. Name’s August.”

  The guy sitting closest to me dips his chin, but doesn’t introduce himself.

  This isn’t going how I’d hoped.

  The soccer world is small. After getting kicked out of Denver, it was all over the news, and news travels fast. Anyone who’s serious about going pro keeps up with the industry. I’m not surprised my business is everyone else’s, but it still sucks.

  “Gather round, troops!”

  I’m relieved when the team streams around me to an older gentleman wearing exercise clothes. The whistle around his neck glints forebodingly. Coach Wheeler.

  He catches my eye, smiles. “Boys, this is August. Mid-fielder. He’s a transfer student from Denver. Let’s show him our hospitality.”

  My shoulders loosen. The tension unwinds, somewhat. “Thanks, Coach. Glad to be here.”

  “Juan is our captain,” he says, gesturing to a shorter Hispanic kid. His face is lively, not closed off like the others. He lifts his hand in a wave, and for that, I’m grateful. “Anything you need, ask him. If he can’t answer it, ask me. We pull our weight here, every one of us. No slackers. Got it?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Great. Juan will lead you through stretching, warm-ups. After that we’ll get to work.”

  Coach blows the whistle, clipboard in hand, and we break away to stretch and do some passing exercises. I’m paired with a defensemen for about ten seconds before an older guy saunters over to the kid and whispers something in his ear. The kid appears confused, but he moves off, and the new guy takes his place. He looks familiar.

  The new guy offers his hand. “Kellan. I’m Mav’s better-looking, more fashionable brother.”

  Ah. That explains the familiarity. The brothers share the same olive skin tone and dark hair, except Maverick has hazel eyes while Kellan’s are dark brown. I also sense Kellan is a much more in-your-face person. Mav, on the other hand, has a steady, quiet energy. And yet, were he to walk into a room, he’s not someone I’d be able to overlook.

  Kellan kicks me the ball, keeping it on the ground. I trap it with the inside of my foot before sending it back.

  “So what’s the deal with you getting kicked out of Denver?”

  I’m so startled by the question I let the ball roll past me.

  “You go straight for the jugular,” I comment, “don’t you.”

  He shrugs, not appearing put-out over his boldness. “Everyone’s wondering. Figure I might as well ask.”

  I use the time chasing after the ball to think about my response. The truth? That would be the responsible route. Then I wonder. Does he already know what happened and this is a test to see if I’ll tell the truth? Suppose he’s bringing this up to see how far he can push me. I may be on the team, but I haven’t earned my place yet.

  As I pass him back the ball, I growl out, “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you if it’s true or not.”

  Kellan gives me a toothy grin as he traps the ball. He doesn’t return it though. He kicks it into the air and starts juggling with his knees. “Let’s see. Heard you punched one of your teammates in the face. A lot. They said the guy was nearly unconscious when they broke the fight apart.” He sends a piercing look my way.

  Slow nod. My heartbeat no longer races. It’s slow. Too slow. Like any minute it’s going to stop. “He deserved it.”

  “Was he unconscious?”

  No comment.

  “Hm.” Kellan lets the ball hit the grass. “What did he do to piss you off?” There’s intrigue in his tone. I don’t think he’s judging me, which was what I’d been afraid of. Pretty sure he’s just nosy.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yeah. I do.” He kicks the ball back to me.

  The day is like a scar on my heart. I remember the chill in the air. The rage culminating to a knife point. It felt like I had swallowed mouthfuls of ash that burned holes in my lungs. I was hungry for justice. At the time, I didn’t care about the consequences.

  The field and the rest of the team fall away as I stop the ball beneath my cleat. All the dark emotions I’d buried start clawing upward toward the surface. “There was a guy on my team. Hot shot senior. An asshole, but of course all the girls loved him.”

  “Of course,” Kellan agrees smoothly.

  My eyes narrow, but I continue. “Hated him from the moment I stepped foot on the field. He was one of those people who used fear to control others.

  “There was a party after one of the games. My friend and I went. She had always thought he was cute, but I warned her away from him. But this guy, he liked making conquests. If a woman wasn’t falling all over herself in his presence, he would make her like him.

  “I had a few beers, but I wasn’t into the party, truthfully. I decided to head out early. Before I did though, I went looking for my friend. I wanted to make sure she had a ride. I found her and my teammate in one of the bedrooms. Her… her shirt was ripped,” I whispered, throat stricken. “She was struggling to get away, but he was too strong.” I remember the horror washing over me when I opened that door. The terror etching cruel lines on her lovely face. “My only thought was to get her away from him. I took her home, told her parents what had happened. And over the weekend, I thought of my next step.”

  Kellan’s attention is fixated on me. His face has darkened with an ugly emotion that I believe is disgust.

  “When I saw that bastard on Monday, my only thought was to protect my friend. So yes, I hit him. I hit him hard and I would have kept hitting him if someone hadn’t pulled me off him. After the police learned of his sexual assault, the charges against me were dropped, but I was kicked off the team. I don’t regret what I did. I’m only sorry I didn’t kill the bastard.”

  With my story done, I wait for Kellan’s reaction. His expression is smooth, telling me nothing about what he thinks. People make assumptions about me all the time. They see my scarred hands, the cigarette burns on my arms. They see the brokenness. They don’t see a survivor.

  All he says is, “Good for you.” He means it, too.

  “Thanks.”

  “The girl, was she your girlfriend?”

  “No. I’m gay.”

  His eyebrows lift comically, and he studies me as if in a new light.

  Before I can respond, Coach Wheeler calls us over for drills.

  Maybe my team doesn’t trust me now. Maybe they don’t think I belong here. But it quickly becomes clear, as I move through the drills with the rest of the guys, that I do belong. My footwork is precise. I’m quick on my feet. I keep up easily. I’m flowing through the cones like water. People notice, just as I want them to. This is me, I want to tell them. And you’re not going to drive me away.

  Over the course of the next two hours, my teammates begin to thaw. There’s a clear divide between the first half of practice and the second half. I wonder if Kellan told people the tr
uth of my story, because some of my fellow mid-fielders begin calling me by my name. Passing me the ball when I’m open. When I score during the scrimmage, I’m slapped on the back and ass. A warm welcome.

  Practice ends with everyone soaked in sweat. The beating sun creates waves of rippling heat over the trodden grass. Kellan joins me on the bench, guzzling water. I wipe my sweaty face with my practice jersey, panting, my heart rate slowly coming down from its high.

  He looks over at me, then snorts. “Dude, you’re red as a lobster.”

  As soon as he says it, my skin tightens almost unbearably. The sunburn setting in. Damn. I forgot to put on sunscreen.

  I sigh. “The curse of a redhead.” I look at my forearm, the deep red color. This hasn’t happened to me in a number of years. My anxiety over practice pushed all thoughts of sun protection out the window. “This is going to hurt tomorrow.”

  Kellan snorts. “So how has it been living with my brother?”

  “It’s pretty good.” Over the weekend we cleaned the living room, made it look presentable. Mav found an old bookcase on the curb, so he snagged it and we put it in the corner for our books and other miscellaneous items. On Sunday, he cooked spaghetti. I tried not to show how I excited I was when he called me in to eat, but I was. And wow, the guy knows how to cook. The tomato sauce had been everything. Sweet, savory, hints of carrot and onion. He’d topped everything in freshly grated Parmesan.

  I then proceeded to shovel food into my mouth like a starving man. It had taken me a few seconds to realize Mav had stopped eating, and he was staring at me.

  I froze, my mouth stuffed with food. “Um...”

  That’s when Mav graced me with the biggest, brightest smile, showcasing his beautiful white teeth. For a moment, my heart stopped.

  “That’s the best compliment you could have given me,” he said.

  It was the only time I’d seen him happy. The rest of the weekend, he’d been remote, distracted.

  “He seems... sad,” I say to Kellan. “Is everything okay with him?”

  Kellan rubs his forehead, lowers his water bottle. He, too, looks troubled. “He’s had a rough six months.”

  “He mentioned he used to have a girlfriend. Did they break up or something?”

  “No, they didn’t break up.” He says it in a way that makes me think he’s not telling me the entire story. Avoidance. “Just... be gentle with him, okay?”

  Gentle. Something awful must have happened, and I have no idea what.

  Still, I wonder.

  Chapter 5

  Maverick

  On Friday night, I get ready to go out with Kellan and Harp. Do I want to go clubbing downtown? Do I want to surround myself with drunkards? No necessarily. But I already promised I’d go, and I know it will be good for me to get out of the house, even if I’d rather stay home. It seems like a lifetime ago I used to enjoy a night on the town.

  The house creaks quietly. August isn’t here. I haven’t seen him since this morning. Since our morning class is at the same time, we share the kitchen as we eat breakfast. Cereal for him, eggs and hash browns and greens for me.

  Usually.

  What ends up happening is he stares at my plate of homemade food longingly, and I cave and offer him some. The pure happiness radiating from him as he chows down makes it worthwhile. Honestly, it’s been nice having someone to cook for. Kaylie and I used to cook breakfast on Sundays. Pancakes—her favorite. August isn’t Kaylie, but eating in his presence is comforting in a way I haven’t felt in months.

  I study myself in the mirror. Jeans, white t-shirt, black leather jacket, black converse. A piece of my hair sticks up at the back. I use some spit to smash it down. Good enough. I check my phone, paste a smile on my face. Time to get going. It’ll be over soon enough.

  As I’m heading out, August is coming in. He stops short at seeing me. A quick once-over from his light green eyes. The color reminds me of precious stones. The skin on his face is peeling badly from a sunburn he got from practice on Monday.

  He slips his hands into his pockets. The motion makes his biceps bulge. “Heading out?”

  I tear my attention away from his muscles. “For a while.”

  “Where to?”

  “Not sure. Kellan and Harp want it to be a surprise.” I roll my eyes good naturedly. My brother wants me to be happy, but I’m not a huge drinker. Definitely not into the party scene either. I’d rather spend the night in, watching a movie or reading a book. I’m all about that low-key lifestyle.

  August nods, still considering me. He looks good in his outfit. The jeans fit his muscular legs well, and his chest pushes against the soft cotton of his shirt. I’m remembering how sleek his body looked in the shower.

  As if able to read my face, his face sharpens. His jaw clenches. I’m fascinated by the throb of the muscle there. I clear my throat and look away.

  He says, “You know when you’ll be back?” Why does he sound put-out over it? I must be imagining it.

  “Not sure. Probably late though. Kellan never leaves a party early if he can help it.”

  August chuckles. The sound reaches into my chest and takes up space. “Right. Have fun. But not too much fun.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  The weight of his eyes on my back follows me when I leave. After locking the door behind me, I drive to the club Kellan told me to. It’s called Sin. The building looks like a former warehouse in an industrial neighborhood. This doesn’t surprise me, as industrial chic is all the rage these days. The tall, loft-style windows are fogged out. A line of college students stretches out the door. Deep bass rattles the windows of my car as I park in a lot across the street.

  I find Kellan and Harp at the back of the line, being all lovey-dovey. Kellan whistles when he catches sight of me. “Well, well, well, little bro. You clean up nice. Not as nice as me, of course, but still.” He laughs.

  Harp curves his hand around the back of Kellan’s neck, and my brother settles. Harp’s presence calms Kellan’s overactive tendencies. Personally, I think it’s a good thing.

  The line moves at a decent pace. Soon, Kellan, Harp, and I reach the entrance. We show our IDs to the bouncer, and he lets us through.

  It’s like stepping into a black hole. The inside is black as pitch. Only for a few feet though. Then light filters through: green and purple and red spearing from the ceiling. It smells of beer, human sweat interwoven with the cloying scent of cologne and perfume. After another hundred steps, we emerge into the giant space that holds the dance floor. It’s two stories. If you stand in the center of the room, you can see the banister of the second floor wrapping all the way around, allowing people to watch the show below if they choose.

  It’s like sardines stuffed in a tin. There’s little to no standing room, and the air is too thick to breathe properly. Music screams from the speakers on stage as the DJ hops from one hip hop song to the next. The floor is a sea of undulating bodies. It’s all glitter, glow-in-the-dark paint, sweat and skin. Moans and sharp inhalations. It smells of desperation.

  It smells of sex.

  The lights flash and burn my retinas. A disco ball hangs from the middle of the ceiling, slowly rotating and tossing diamond-like shapes onto the walls. It’s like a rave, except it’s not. Just your typical Friday night in a college town.

  Kellan leans close and yells into my ear, “I’m getting a drink. You want one?”

  I look around again. Less than five feet away, a couple goes at it against the wall. The guy has the girl pinned beneath him, one of her legs hooked around his waist, her dress gaping open, allowing his hands to dive inside. She tosses back her head and grinds against his hand. My blood pressure is mounting. I feel my face heat and have to turn away.

  “Just get me a beer,” I reply.

  Kellan nods and vanishes into the growing crowd, leaving Harp and me alone. Harp stu
dies me closely. I squirm beneath his gaze and try to send out the illusion of ease. Yeah, this is not my scene, not at all.

  “You okay?” he asks in his deep voice.

  What I want to say is that no, I’m not okay. I’m uncomfortable. I’m too hot. I can’t breathe because of all the people. And I’m lonely. That’s the greatest hurt, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But does Harp actually want to hear my woes? Most likely not. He’s being kind, I tell myself. That’s all.

  “I’ve had better days,” I say vaguely. It’s not exactly a lie.

  His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push me. For that, I’m grateful.

  Five minutes later, Kellan returns with my drink. Harp’s too. “The bar was mobbed!” he shouts, tucking himself against his boyfriend’s side. He takes a swallow of some fruity concoction. Harp holds his drink without tasting it. I have a feeling he’s going to skip the drinking. Someone needs to look after my brother.

  Suddenly, bass shudders through the bones of the building as the DJ switches to a new song, and Kellan gasps. The crowd goes wild. The energy, already electric, rises a notch. The energy becomes heat. The heat wraps around me, thick as smoke.

  “I love this song!” Kellan crows. “Baby, let’s dance.” He tugs Harp toward the dance floor and tosses over his shoulder, “Come on, Mav!”

  With reluctance, I follow. It’s a hot, sticky mess on the floor. Bodies bump against my front and back, and I clutch my drink against my chest protectively. Not that I’m drinking it, but I don’t want it to spill.

  When I feel a hand on my arm, I look down at a pretty girl, her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She rises on her toes and says in my ear, “What’s your name?” Her blue eyes are glassy, unfocused.

  “Mav,” I say.

  “Mark?” She giggles.

  “I said, my name is Mav!”

  The girl blinks up at me. Then: “Wanna make out?”

  I rear back and knock into a guy behind me. He growls at me—actually growls—as if he thinks I’m encroaching on his territory. “Sorry,” I mutter, inching away. By the time I turn around, the girl is gone.