Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(92)

'But Goddamn close to it’ is what I would've said, looking at me that night.

I asked him later what he saw in any of us when he found us in that shithole of a slum-bar on the outskirts of Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I was curious about me when I asked him, but Bryce had been way worse than even I was back then with his addictions. William’s only response had been a single word: “Promise.”

'Promise' is what turned three shell-shocked, burned-out, drugged out soldiers for hire to the worst dictators on Earth into the disciplined new men of means we were today. We'd never be the man who saved us, but we'd pledged our lives to getting a close as possible. And a promise - not just any promise but THE promise - is what brings me out here in the freezing cold, looking at Reagan Archer and wondering how in the world a guy who'd lived through the shit I'd lived through is having the hardest time in the world trying to figure out what the hell to say to her.





3





Reagan




P A S T



“Reagan! Ray! Do not make me late!”

“What? I’m here, jeez.” I stomp down the stairs from the second floor landing with a scowl on my face, a scowl that only deepens when Quinn and my Aunt Kelly coo and aww and gush over the frilly, stupid pink dress I’m wearing as I make my appearance.

“Oh Reagan, you look adorable, honey!” Aunt Kelly gushes; clutching her hands together eagerly before digging in her purse for her camera.

I groan; “No! No pictures!” I make a face as the flash goes off regardless, setting my jaw even harder as I stomp the rest of the way down the stairs. I am fourteen years old, still very firmly in the grasp of my anti-dress tomboy phase, and I absolutely hate that I’m dressed up like a freaking cabbage patch doll.

“Well I love my dress!” Chelsea comes bounding down the stairs, and even Quinn rolls her eyes at the exuberance. Chelsea is ten and firmly believes she’s actually a Disney princess.

“Well you look very pretty young lady!” Aunt Kelly can’t help herself as she snaps another couple of pictures, the flashes making me turn away and shield my eyes.

“Well I look stupid, stop it.” I groan, pushing her fussing hands away from the dress; “Why do I have to wear this dumb thing?”

“Because it’s my graduation, that’s why, Ray-Ray.” Quinn giggles and sticks her tongue out as I make a lunge at her, only to be held back by Aunt Kelly.

“Reagan!” She scolds, looking at my firmly. Aunt Kelly is one of those sweet motherly types who is incapable of looking mad no matter how hard she tries, and even at thirteen, I think I’m aware of this fact and impressed with her attempt anyways.

“She started it! I hate that name!”

Aunt Kelly turns and gives Quinn another equally as unimposing stern look; “Be nice to your sister, she is wearing the dress after all.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like Dad’s going to show up anyways.”

The silence that descends over the bottom of the stairs is palpable, and I instantly regret opening my mouth as Chelsea’s face falls and the tears start to well up in her eyes. Even always-cool Quinn looks like I slapped her in the face, and my Aunt’s face goes a shade whiter; “Now Reag-”

“Fuck you, Reagan.” Quinn spits at me as she turns and storms out the front door.

I don’t know it yet, but me and my big mouth have a long, illustrious future ahead of us.



P R E S E N T



Hudson gets weird when I mention my Dad, which only drives the wedge that’s already between us even deeper; the wedge being that I didn’t know my own Father half as well as he did.

“Look, let’s go get a drink or something and I’ll explain.”

He can not be serious.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I remember the last time with him when drinks were involved, and immediately regret it as I feel my face grow hot.

“Will you fucking relax?” He snaps, looking irritated and still holding out his jacket to me even though we both know I’m not going to take it; “Look, this isn’t about us-”

“There is no ‘us’, Hudson,” I sneer. I know I’m covering for my own embarrassment with this bitchy act, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Besides, what other way is there to act towards Hudson?

“Yeah, no shit, babe.”

I glare at him.

“Listen, Red,” He scowls at me, his blue eyes somehow looking even hotter when they’re fierce like that. I make a conscious effort to look at his chin instead.

“Believe it or not, this is about your campaign, which people are actually interested in seeing work out for you.” He shakes his head at me, as if I’m some petulant child; “Get over it being your Father’s compan-”