Chapter Nine
Despite Dr. Crowley’s words of wisdom, Marcee couldn’t help but be spooked at the thought of losing her job.
After getting back into her routine with school, she started up with her side hustle: one-on-one training.
She also hired out for team practices for the local recreational league, but one-on-one was really where she could make some cash to supplement her coaching income, which was only a few steps above pitiful.
The weather was blissful one Friday afternoon, summer beginning to dwindle and fall tiptoeing in leaf by leaf. She’d wrapped up a training session at the Belle Cliff community center playing fields and was stretching for a run when she caught sight of Remy getting out of his car in the parking lot.
She couldn’t escape him, even off the soccer field. Alpha Ridge was in a town ten miles away, where she assumed Remy lived. Belle Cliff was her territory, her stomping ground, so what was he doing here?
Marcee hit the path at a sprint, slowing down once she was on the other end of the fields and far enough away from the parking lot that she shouldn’t be too easy to spot.
She needed to run. She needed the stillness of mind she could only seem to find minutes into an even stride, shoes pounding the pavement or trail. Remy didn’t get to take that, too.
The sun sank slowly into the horizon, casting the trees and fields in an amber haze that reminded her of the calcified mosquito in Jurassic Park.
Sometimes she missed the sunsets back home as the shadows wandered between buildings and the sun crowned the rooftops.
Other days she was grateful for the unencumbered view of the mountains, trees and sun of North Carolina.
As she passed by the memorial bench close to the parking lot, a flash of red in her peripheral snagged her attention. He was about seventy-five yards behind her, but there was no doubt it was Remy.
Jesus, did he even stretch? Would serve him right if he blew a quad.
Marcee increased her pace, lengthening her stride until she was no longer jogging but running. If she could make it around the loop once more, she could dive into her car and hide until he passed. Then she’d get the hell out of there.
Her teeth ground against each other, making her jaw ache.
She couldn’t believe she was being run off her own turf—again.
If it weren’t for Wilkes’ condescending voice in her head, cautioning her about getting a second strike, she’d stand her ground and say to hell with it.
Interacting with Remy was dangerous, even if it did make her stomach flip-flop in unexpected, not-so-terrible ways.
The crunch of loose gravel drew closer. She stayed focused on the parking lot, wishing she’d worn her earbuds so she could at least pretend to be listening to music.
“Fancy running into you here.”
She was literally twenty feet from the lot, but of course, he’d caught up. Marcee’s brain was overloaded with Remington Lockley, and she had nothing witty in her arsenal to fire back.
“Well, it is a track.” She avoided looking at him, but it was futile. Inches separated their bodies, the air so charged between them goosebumps bloomed up and down her arms.
It was electrifying.
They rounded the curve, steps naturally falling in sync. She peeked over at him, drawn in.
“Don’t tell me you’re still vexed about camp?
” Beneath a backward baseball cap, he gave her an easy grin that was so disarming in its genuineness she couldn’t help but smile back.
It was like getting a glimpse at the man beneath the celebrity facade, and even though she knew it was dangerous, she liked what she saw.
Marcee rolled her eyes, maybe more for her benefit than his. “Nope, just thinking it’s safer not fraternizing with the enemy.” Their arms and shoulders brushed as they moved, so she veered to the right, putting another two feet between them.
“I think enemy is a bit extreme, don’t you?
Rivals, perhaps, but even rivals talk to each other.
Some are even friends.” He was looking at her with the same laser-sharp focus she witnessed on the field, as if she were a play he was determined to unravel.
She swallowed thickly, the depths of his brown eyes threatening to slip between the cracks of her carefully placed armor.
“Enemy, rival, it’s the same to me. We’ll never be friends, Lockley. You made sure of that at camp.” Just mentioning the word camp was like conjuring the memory before them, except it wasn’t their clashes on the field manifesting, but their moment of unbridled passion.
Was that a flush on his cheeks, or exertion from running?
“Right, how could I forget? You loathe me. You’ve probably ripped up that poster you had on your wall and burned it, right?”
And that was the moment Marcee knew she wasn’t the only one replaying their interlude together, lingering on every excruciating, intoxicating detail.
Her breath came out in ragged bursts of air, blood pressure rising. Why did she ever mention that damn poster?
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she replied.
Marcee increased her pace, but he kept up, smirking as she glared at his profile.
“Yeah, I would,” he finally said. “Despite the fact that you hate me, I find you intriguing. For instance, why are you at the park exercising on a Friday night? Hard to believe you don’t have blokes knocking down your door to take you out.”
“If that’s your not-so-subtle way of asking me if I have a boyfriend, I don’t.” She swiped hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Not that it’s any of your business. And—also not your business—but I just finished up a job and needed a moment to myself. I do some training on the side.”
“Ah, a side hustle. Cute.”
“Cute?” She came to an abrupt stop, hands resting on her hips.
“Yeah, it’s absolutely adorable. I realize the concept of second jobs is probably foreign to someone like you, but some of us have responsibilities and bills—people we have to take care of.
I’m not out here supporting my smoothie habit.
” Talking about money always brought out her prickly side.
There was something about growing up without it that made her overly conscious of it when she got older.
Remy backed up, breathing a little labored as they stared each other down. “Someone like me?”
“Yeah,” she fired back, motioning up and down at him. “Someone like you. Rich, good-looking, talented. You’re wearing three hundred dollar running shoes, for God’s sake. Clearly you don’t have to worry about money.”
“You would think that, huh? Maybe I splurge a bit on shoes because I got one pair a year growing up, and they were straight off the discount shop sales rack.” He started to turn away, then thought better of it and faced her. “For someone so hell-bent on not being judged, you do a lot of judging.”
A blush warmed her cheeks at his words, and she winced internally at being put so properly in her place. She’d jumped to conclusions and let her mouth run away.
“You’re right,” Marcee admitted, shame creeping up on her. “I’m sorry. I know how that feels—believe me.”
A thread of kinship glistened between them, there for the taking if she wanted it.
Neither of them had easy childhoods, both seeking solace on a soccer field.
Just as she had, Remy found his strength between the painted lines and learned what it meant to be in control of your own destiny.
Gone was the famous persona, the calculated rival, and the smooth talker.
Standing before her was a strong, hardworking man.
It was like seeing him in an entirely new light, which scared the hell out of her.
A hint of neon orange behind two trees across the field caught her eye when a flash of light burst rapidly and disappeared. Remy turned and followed her gaze.
“Is that a photographer?” she mused, squinting to get a better look. Maybe someone taking nature shots?
Remy put his back to the field and flipped the baseball cap around, tugging it lower on his forehead.
“Bloody paparazzi,” he growled.
“Wait,” Marcee said, gaze snagging on the front of the hat. “Why are you wearing a Fireside Brewery hat? How did you even get one?” Fireside Brewery was where Alex worked as chief financial officer.
Remy shrugged. “Not hard to get swag when your mate owns the place.”
Marcee’s mouth dropped open. “Your mate? You’re friends with Matt Kallis?” Also known as Alex’s ex college sweetheart turned boss.
“You know Matt?” Remy’s eyebrows shot up. “Small world.”
“Belle Cliff, yes, but London, not so much. How could you possibly be friends with Matt? We all went to college together and he never once mentioned you.”
Remy chuckled, casting a glance over his shoulder toward the trees. “That’s because Matt doesn’t gossip, ever. He’s been a vault since primary school—which is where we met.”
She’d had no clue that Matt had ever lived in London, although it made sense. His mom was English, and his dad was Greek. She’d always just assumed he lived in Greece until moving to the States.
“Is that why you’re here?” Marcee asked suddenly, the pieces clicking into place.
She’d done some sleuthing after she got back from camp.
Every article she could find mentioned a vague injury that Remy had suffered, the details so sparse that speculation ran amuck on the sports sites.
His coach had indicated he would be back but not when.
For one of the top players in the League, it was very, very strange.
“I needed out of London immediately, somewhere they wouldn’t come looking for me. I called Matt and the rest is history, as they say.”
“And the job at Alpha? I know Matt has zero pull there.”
He cut his eyes at her. “My agent back in London reached out to a few contacts he has in the States.”
Marcee thought of all the interviews and paperwork she went through while job hunting, especially at Pemberton, and shook her head. They might’ve once shared a place in the world, but it was apparent he existed now on a different plane.
A text message vibrated on her watch, and she checked it fleetingly before clearing it off the screen. With everything going on and then running into Remy, she’d lost track of her usual Friday night plans.
“You moving to Belle Cliff can’t be that interesting.”
“It is if it means I get photographed doing something my boss can use to hang over my head.” He started walking toward the parking lot, face grim. That piqued her curiosity as much as the paparazzi.
Marcee jogged to catch up, reluctant for the conversation to end. “Does this mean you’re planning on going back to the League?”
He didn’t answer as he unlocked his car and threw open the door, cap still pulled down low.
“Are you?” she called out. For some reason, knowing if he was going back to England felt like the most important information she could possess.
“See you around, Pemberton.” The car door slammed and as his engine rumbled to life, she stared after him, dumbfounded, before unlocking her own car, Ronaldo, and getting inside.
What really drove Remy from London, and what exactly was he waiting on?
A dozen conspiracy theories ping-ponged inside her brain as she pulled out of the parking spot.
Did he do something illegal and was biding his time?
That seemed unlikely. He didn’t strike her as someone who would break the law.
Whatever it was, though, it was significant enough to warrant a newspaper sending someone across the world to get more information.
The unknown photographer was sliding into an SUV at the furthest corner of the lot when she drove by.
A sleek, expensive camera hung around his neck as he paused, staring at her as she stared at him.
It would be easy to slow to a stop and roll her window down, do a little sleuthing of her own about Remy.
Something about the way the pap smiled made her keep going, though.
She hightailed it out of there, checking every few minutes to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
Whatever Remy was hiding, it wasn’t safe in Belle Cliff. Everybody knew secrets didn’t survive in small towns.