Chapter Twenty #2
Maybe she could sink so far into the couch beneath the blankets she’d be invisible.
Marcee tracked the noises he made as he shuffled around in the kitchen: the trash can lid opening and closing, water in the sink turning on and off, his footsteps as he walked into the living room.
When he sat on the end of the couch and pulled her feet into his lap, a tidal wave of emotion washed over her once again.
“Will you pull the blanket down, please?” he asked quietly.
Marcee shook her head. She couldn’t look at him, not after her outburst. Not when she felt like a scraped knee, exposed and sensitive to the tiniest hint of air.
“Okay.” He kneaded her feet, rubbing delicious circles into the arches. “We will talk about this, so you know. I understand it’s hard, though. So, I’m going to tell you a story, since we’re sharing our war wounds. Maybe then you’ll be ready.”
Her breath hitched.
“I met Lola six months after I made it to the Premier League in London. Her father owns the team I played for, so we met at an event he held at his home for the team and family. She was gorgeous—is gorgeous. Of course, she knew it, too. She pursued me for weeks, but I didn’t want anything to do with her.
A few of the other players warned me about how aggressive she was, plus I didn’t want to risk my job.
I worked so hard to get there. You know how difficult it is to make it to that level. ”
“Most people never make it,” she answered, voice muffled beneath the blanket. The competition in the States was one thing, but in Europe, it was on another plane. For Remy to play in that league, it meant he was literally one of the best in the world. Maybe the best.
“Precisely. It took me years to get there.” The couch shifted slightly. “But it didn’t matter. What Lola wants, Lola gets. And she wanted me.”
“So, you two started dating.” This was a story she’d been dying to hear since she met him.
“Yeah. Notoriety comes with playing in the League, almost like your Hollywood actors. I wish I could say it didn’t get to me, but I don’t want to lie to you.
” She felt his sigh in her bones, the kind coming from regret and acceptance of past actions you’ve moved on from but still haunt you in the quiet spaces of the night.
She knew that sensation. God, but did she.
“I didn’t grow up with extra. My parents were always working, and we always had enough, but barely.
The first club team I made, when I was twelve, I was picking up groceries for delivery, or running errands for neighbors, all so I could pay for my bus fare and equipment.
When I was signed for my team, it was like nothing I’d ever known.
Suddenly, I had extra money. More than extra.
People wanted my autograph. I had new cleats whenever I wanted.
” He chuckled, but Marcee knew that feeling, having more than one pair of shoes.
It took her years to allow herself the luxury of owning several pairs.
“I think she sensed that in me. She’d build me up, make me believe I was better than everyone else.
She made me believe I had to be with someone like her, because we were in the same station in life, even though we had nothing in common.
I dated her for two years, wrapped in this illusion of money and importance.
” There was a pause, then, “I wanted that importance, you know? Wanted to be the big man in the room. It wasn’t all bad, really. We had fun, for a while.”
Marcee peeked out from under the blanket, brushing hair off her face. Hearing him talk about Lola was harder than she thought it would be. Jealousy raged through her on a simmering tidal wave. “What happened?”
His smile was rueful, eyes unfocused as he waded through the past. “Reality. We had no real basis to be together, so it crumbled. I found out she was sleeping with two other blokes, one of them a player for another team. I confronted her about it, and when she didn’t deny it, I broke it off with her.
I guess that had never happened to her.”
“She got her revenge?” Marcee guessed.
“She leaked to the tabloids we were no longer together because I was cheating on her. She had someone take a picture of me at a pub, smiling at the bartender. I didn’t even know the woman and was just paying for my drink, but Lola told the reporters I cheated on her with a ‘commoner.’ That was her exact word.
It’s been in every paper, on all the internet sites, for months.
Any time I stepped foot outside my flat in London, someone was there to take a picture and spin it to match her story. ”
It was like something from a movie. How do you trust anyone after an incident like that? No wonder he’d freaked out over Henry Taylor.
“Didn’t you tell your side of the story? The truth?” she asked, pushing back the blanket and sitting up.
“I tried. No one cared.” Remy laughed suddenly, the noise rough in the relative quiet.
“Let me rephrase: her father cared. He cared very much. I did try to tell him the truth, but a father doesn’t want to hear his beloved daughter has been sleeping around.
It was easier to believe her. That’s how I got blacklisted.
I could get traded to a lesser team, or I could bow out ‘with an injury’ until everything blew over. ”
“Which is how you ended up here. For now.”
He searched her face. “Yes.”
The edges of the blanket were soft as she rolled them between her fingers. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long has it been since you broke up?” It was hard, but Marcee forced herself to look at him, needing to know. Was this whole thing a rebound? A way to get over Lola or to pass the time?
“We broke up a month before I came to the States.”
One month before they met. Six months before they set aside their issues and started dating. Was six months long enough to get over it? That was Titanic-sized baggage, after all.
She looked up, and his face was unreadable.
“What are you thinking? Am I too much trouble?” he asked.
Marcee wanted to laugh. Him, too much? She may be shiny on the outside, but inside, she was dented and scraped so badly she looked like a tin can used for target practice.
Remy waited, eyebrows drawn together and hands clasped as if she might throw him out and tell him to never come back. She pushed away the blanket, dislodged her feet from his lap, and scooted until she was next to him at the end of the couch.
It was tough. She couldn’t lie to herself or him and say it was easy.
She was terrified she’d given her heart to someone who would always choose soccer and his career over her.
She was terrified she’d been given a glimpse of something that only came around once in a lifetime, and it was all going to be taken away.
She was terrified he would look at her one day the way she looked at herself in the mirror and see exactly what she saw: a broken mess.
But she wanted to try.
“I’m thinking,” Marcee said, one hand reaching out to hold his.
“I’m thinking you are ridiculously competitive and talented, and unapologetic about both of those things.
” She flipped his hand over and rubbed her thumb along the palm.
“But also, I’m thinking you have a big heart, despite everything, and you’re brave. So much braver than me.”
Remy shook his head and picked up her hand, kissing the back. “Not possible. Look at everything you’ve been through and where you are. That’s brave.”
“Or stubborn.”
“Can’t you be both?”
She’d never been good at this part. Then again, she’d never let anyone stay around long enough to do it. Exposing herself created a vulnerability she would rather run and hide from. It was easier to be alone than in the position to be hurt.
His eyes were open and kind but haunted by the past. Marcee wanted to banish his ghosts and her fear in one fell swoop.
“You don’t make it to the top without some bruises and cuts, Remy. Those are what make the wins so good.” She paused, then added, “I’m not Lola. I won’t force you to play then break your heart.”
He brushed his hand down her cheek, the contact eliciting a shiver.
“This isn’t a game, Marcee,” he whispered.
She leaned into his touch, aching for more. “Of course it is. Love is the greatest game of all.”
There was a trace of humor beneath the hunger in Remy’s voice. “Then put me in, Coach.”
When he pulled her into his lap and their lips met, it was something new entirely. Giving Remy another chance—giving them another chance—was like a magic healing elixir, and she could run on it for miles.