Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(302)

“The lighthouse?” Bryce smirks; “I’ve heard mixed things about the continental breakfast.”

I laugh, almost getting coffee up my nose in the process.

“C’mon, seriously.”

I make a face as I stick the honey pastry in my mouth and start to pull my clothes on, feeling the glow spread through my cheeks as I feel his eyes roaming over my skin.

“So where are we going?” I say through pastry-stuffed cheeks as we walk back out of the lighthouse - our lighthouse - towards the bike.

“There was this thing, from when I was here before. I just want to see if it’s still-”

“Wait. when were you in Turkey?”

He looks up at me as he swings his leg over the bike; “Have I seriously never told you about that?”

I finish swallowing the rest of my breakfast and shake my head at him; “Well well, Bryce Connors; international man of mystery.” There’s a lot of him I know already, but even back before, there were times when I’d suddenly discover a whole new part of him for the first time, and it was like discovering a new, secret chapter in your favorite book. He’s told me about the Marines, obviously, and leaving, and about joining up with Blackriver later. But it’s the in-between that’s still a hazy mystery.

And apparently we’re covering that particular chapter today.

Bryce grins; “Long story; hop on.”

We tear headlong through the busy morning streets of Istanbul before moving onto the main highway out and roaring away from the city entirely. I look back into the morning sun to watch the minarets and the criers, and the dome of the Hague Sophia drop away as we climb the sloping hills of the countryside.

It’s already crazy, coming from some place like New York that seems so old compared to the shitty trailer-park next to the mega-mall that I grew up in back in Texas. Except this place exists from before New York was even a thing; from before the ships that came to it were even a thing. Hell, this place is older than old York. We’re passing villages that are over a thousand years old, moving past arched aqueducts that the Romans built two-thousand years before.

We’ve officially left Kansas, Toto.

This place has history from before history was written, which seems an appropriate setting for two people like us. Two people for whom history is both everything and also better left in the past.

I hug him tighter, pressing my face into his back as if to remind us both that we’re here and now, and that’s all that matters, and he roars the bike forward as if in response.

We drive past another small town, but this time Bryce takes us off the main road and begins to slow. He drives us carefully through the ancient stone town, past shops owned by the same families for the last millennium, past fields tended and grazed on since the fights between faiths that took place here a thousand years before.

We eventually drive down a small, rock-paved lane to a small stone house on the edge of the village. Bryce cuts the engine, and I look up to see that the wide, two-door garage next to the house is open, and there inside is a myriad of carefully and meticulously organized car parts.

No, motorcycle parts.

He kicks the stand out on the bike as he helps us off, only pausing when he sees the grin on my face; “What?”

I roll my eyes, smiling at him; “Of course.” He gives me a questioning look and I shake my head; “You are far less mysterious than you’d like to think you are, Mr. Connors,” I say, nodding towards the sign hanging on the side of the garage. I can’t read the Turkish, but I recognize the Harley-Davidson logo next to the silhouette of a bike.

Behind the garage is what some might call a junk-yard, but I know to people like Bryce, it’s a goldmine; a yard filled with all manner of treasures to tinker with and explore. Two old VW busses painted with bright hippie flowers sit up on blocks, and my eyes suddenly go wide as I focus on the giant metal behemoth sitting behind them; a stark contrast to the two peace-buses.

“Is that a-?”

The door to the house opens then, and a frail-looking, shawled old woman steps out. She peers at us, frowning slightly with a blank look, before suddenly, her whole face lights up with what looks like recognition; “Bry-see! Bry-see!” She’s smiling widely as she hobbles down the steps of her house towards us, and he’s grinning as he runs towards her and scoops her into a hug.

“You go so long!” She says in a thick accent, carefully choosing her English words. Tears frame her eyes as she pulls back and brings hand up to stroke the stubble of his cheek. She glances past him towards me, her eyes bright as they dart between us.

I can see the love and pride in his eyes as he turns and beckons me closer; “Peyton, this is Fairuza Kartal; büyükanne, this is Peyton Rivers.”