Shot Caller (A Bad Boy's Baby Novel) (13 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Maddox

When
Monday rolls around, it’s right back to work for Poppy and me both. We’ve got
an away game coming up this Friday, a rematch against the team we drew early in
the season. Our record is still strong, especially for an expansion team, but
I’m eager to get even further ahead in the standings. The more ground we can
gain early in the season, the better a shot we have at making the playoffs. New
teams hardly ever make it to the finals their first year in MLS, but hey—most
new teams don’t have Maddox Walcott racking up goals for them, do they?

The
guys and I go hard for the first leg of the week. I don’t even get to lay eyes
on Poppy outside of the stadium until mid-week. And in my book, going 48 hours
without seeing Poppy Abrams naked is a bloody travesty. This woman has got me
thirsty as fuck. Not only do I find myself waking up next to her more often
than not, I haven’t even glanced at another broad since I started sleeping with
Poppy. Does New Jersey pump some monogamy-inducing chemical into their water supply
or something?

Luckily,
my guests from back home don’t demand much of my attention. Rosie is more than
capable of amusing herself with the insane number of outlet shops here in
Atlantic City. And Charlie? Honestly, the less I know about what Charlie gets
up to all day the better. I love the guy, but he’s like a dog with a bone about
The Firm. He seems to think my being here in Atlantic City means he can make
some new “business connections”
for
the guys back home. I don’t press for too many details, better to retain some
plausible deniability. But that doesn’t mean I’m not wary as fuck about the
whole thing.

By
Thursday, I am pumped and ready for Friday’s game. Coming to MLS, I figured I
could just take my foot off the gas and go on cruise control for the whole
season. But I should have known myself better than to think I’d be content just
skirting by. I’m someone who needs to be constantly pushing myself to be
better. And now that I’m feeling a little more at home here in the States, I’m
ready to take this league by storm.

I
spot Poppy slipping into her office as I head for the locker room after
practice Thursday afternoon. The second I get a glimpse of her, I feel my body
start to respond. I’m on a hair trigger with this one. Maybe part of the reason
I’m starting to give a fuck about this league is because she does? Jesus. I
must be getting soft at my ripe old age of twenty-seven. America’s turning me
into a softie.

“
Walcott!
”
I hear Chris Glover roar,
just as I’m about to step into the locker room.

I
glance down the hallway only to spot Glover hauling arse in my direction, a
newspaper clenched in his fist. He storms toward me, looking like he could
punch a hole in the cinder block wall. Good Christ, what’s crawled up his arse
now?

“What
is it, then?”
I
ask coolly, waiting for actual steam to pour out of my manager’s ears. “Did I
accidentally steal your parking space or something?”

“Get
in my office,”
Glover
growls, “Now.”

I
glance around at the rest of the squad. Barlow, Carrera, and the others are all
looking back and forth between me and Glover, taken aback by the scene.

“
Now!
”
our manager bellows, all
but shoving me into his office and slamming the door so hard that it rattles on
its hinges.

“You
gonna tell me what the fuck this is about?”
I ask him, crossing my arms tightly across
my chest, “I don’t much like being embarrassed in front of my teammates.”

“And
I don’t much like being embarrassed in front of the entire goddamn world,”
Glover spits back at me,
slamming his crumpled-up paper down on the table. “Why don’t you take a look at
the sports section?”

Trying
not to let him see how bored I am by this bullshit, I flip open the paper and
take a gander. I’m well used to the press writing all kinds of nonsense about
me by this point, so I’m not too concerned about what some New Jersey rag has
to say. That is, until I start reading.

Superstar
or Ticking Time Bomb?

A
Closer Look at The Empire’s “Mad Man”
Walcott

by
Gene Howard

ATLANTIC
CITY, NEW JERSEY –
No one in the
soccer world imagined that Maddox Walcott would start behaving himself once he
arrived on American shores. The notorious bad boy was banned from the UK’s
Premier League for a slew of charges. His gang ties and violent behavior on the
pitch were chief among his offenses, but the league seemed relieved to see the
well-documented playboy and loose cannon go.

Now,
Maddox “Mad Man”
Walcott finds
himself back on the pitch with the Atlantic City Empire, an expansion team
founded by failed casino magnate Dale Tucker. Tucker may want to hang up
gambling altogether after the truth about his latest risky bet—namely, Maddox
Walcott—comes out. Though Walcott may be better at hiding his vices these days,
no secrets can go undiscovered for long in Atlantic City…

I
read on with mounting anger, then horror, as this Gene Howard wanker goes on
with his allegations. He writes about my ties to The Firm, and the fact that
Charlie Ainsworth has been spotted around town in questionable company.
Apparently, Charlie’s had meetings with a slew of known gang members since
arriving here, many of whom are suspected of gun running, drug trafficking, and
worse. But it isn’t until I get down to the end of the article that I feel my
stomach turn over.

And
it isn’t just
organized
crime Walcott seems to have a penchant for. He’s
also accused of acts that are criminal in their own right. Take, for instance,
the account of one Jason Moore. Moore has stated on the record that Maddox
Walcott assaulted him last month at the residence of Moore’s ex-wife (and the
Empire’s Assistant Athletic Trainer) Poppy Abrams. According to Moore, he was
just wrapping up a friendly visit with Ms. Abrams when Mr. Walcott appeared out
of nowhere and assaulted Mr. Moore, breaking his nose with no provocation.

“He
was three sheets to the wind,”
Moore
says of Walcott’s state that night, “And honestly, I’m pretty sure he was just
being possessive over Poppy. You have to assume something’s going on there,
don’t you?”

I
let the newspaper fall onto the ground as my hands close into tight fists.

“That
sonofabitch Moore is talking straight out of his arse,”
I say to Glover, who
stands glaring at me from across his desk, “He was about to hurt Poppy when I
showed up that night. And he was the one who was wasted, not me—”

“And
what the hell were you doing at Poppy’s house in the first place?”
Glover cuts me off
heatedly.

“I
was giving her a ride to the bar,”
I say without missing a beat.

“And
that’s all?”
Glover
scoffs, “You expect me to believe that with your reputation?”

“I
don’t see how it’s any of your business in the first place,”
I tell him shortly.

“Really?”
Glover presses, his
fingers digging into the back of his office chair, “And do you think it might
just be my business that one of my players is being linked to gang activity and
organized crime?
Again?
”

“I’ve
told you before, Chris,”
I
say slowly, “I’m not personally involved in the doings of The Firm. They helped
me out when I was a kid, and I make sure to do right by them now. But that’s
it.”

“What
does that even mean, ‘do right by them’?”
Chris roars, “Does that mean hosting
gang-wide picnics? Or does that mean this club’s money is being used to put
illegal guns on American streets?”

“Of
course not,”
I
shout back, springing to my feet.

“How
am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth if you won’t
give me a single straight answer?”
Glover returns, stepping around the desk
toward me.

I
stare back at my manager, blood boiling. I should have known that all of
this—Charlie’s shady doings, my affair with Poppy, the altercation with
Jason—would come out in the wash eventually. Guess I was just hoping that it
would take a little longer. Poppy was right—there was no way we’d be allowed to
carry on without the world stepping in to ruin everything.

Glover’s
office door swings open, and I whip around to find none other than Poppy Abrams
standing in the doorway with Barry O’Leary looming behind her. One look at her
face, and I know that she’s seen the article, same as I have. And just like me,
she has no idea what it’s going to mean for her place here at the Empire.

“Got
her,”
O’Leary
growls, crowding Poppy into the room and closing the door sharply.

“Sit
down, both of you,”
Glover
mutters, crossing his arms.

Poppy
and I glance at each other as we settle into our chairs, facing our respective
bosses. She’s holding it together remarkably well, though I don’t know what
else I would have expected from her. Poppy is as solid as they come. If there’s
anyone I’d choose to be at my side in the middle of this shit storm, it’s her.

“We
seem to have ourselves a little situation, here,”
Glover begins, “A situation involving
the two of you, and what you get up to when you’re not on the clock.”

“How
do we know they’re not screwing on the clock too?”
O’Leary mutters. If I
didn’t know better, I’d say there was a look of triumph under his scowling mug.
What a prick.

“You
can’t listen to a thing my ex says,”
Poppy tells the senior men, “He’s out of
his—”

“It’s
not just one pull quote that has us worried,”
Glover goes on, turning around his
office laptop to face us.

I
hear a small gasp escape Poppy’s lips as she stares up at the screen. I have to
swallow hard to keep my own voice in check. There, on Glover’s laptop, is a
slideshow of pictures featuring me and Poppy, taken all over the city.
Beginning with that night at the Tangier, right before we fucked for the first
time, the pictures span the entire course of our affair. Nothing explicit,
thank Christ, but more than enough to implicate us both. There we are holding
hands, kissing, tugging at each other’s clothes. There’s even one of us from
the diner this weekend. Someone’s been keeping a close eye on us.

“Who
posted these?”
I
demand.

“Just
every gossip site the world over,”
Glover says grimly, “Looks like the two of
you have a very devoted paparazzo all to yourselves. These have been leaked to
everyone.”

“Oh
my god…”
Poppy
says softly, turning toward me with a steely gaze, “It’s got to be Jason. He
did this.”

“Looks
like your ex is upset about getting his nose broken, and this is how he’s
choosing to deal with it,”
Glover
growls, showing us a dozen sites that are currently running stories about our
affair. “That and threatening to bring a lawsuit against you personally, Mad.”

“He
can’t do that,”
Poppy
says sharply, “Jason has a well-documented history of abuse. Maddox was
protecting me that night.”

“You
should have done better to protect yourselves against this kind of
exploitation,”
Glover
cuts her off, “This Moore character wants is to get even. There’s no way to
call him off. He won’t stop until the entire world is talking about Maddox
Walcott’s illicit secret life.”

A
long silence unfurls in the room, displacing all the breathable air until I can
feel myself beginning to suffocate. Only one way forward, now.

“So
we’re sleeping together,”
I
finally say, causing Poppy’s head to jerk towards me, “We’re both adults,
aren’t we? Who gives a shit?”

“
Mad
,”
Poppy hisses, “
What
are you doing?
”

“You
can’t seriously think we’d be OK with the two of you carrying on a
relationship?”
O’Leary
scoffs, “Haven’t you ever heard of professionalism?”

“Believe
it or not, Barry, but getting laid on the daily doesn’t actually keep you from
doing your job,”
I
inform the Head Trainer. “Not that I imagine you would know that from
experience, am I right?”

“Enough,”
Glover roars, as Barry
turns an alarming shade of red. “I don’t have time for this bullshit right now.
I have a match to prepare for. Poppy, you’ll be staying behind for this one.
We’ll have to make due without you.”

“What?!”
Poppy exclaims, “Chris,
it’s my job to be there for the guys.”

“Should
have thought of that before you made yourself too available to them,”
O’Leary shoots back at
her.