Read Shot Caller (A Bad Boy's Baby Novel) Online
Authors: Colleen Masters
Maddox
The
plane ride back from Rome the next day is nothing like the flight out. I
thought this whole escapade was something of a success, but Poppy barely says a
word to me during the entire trip home. She must just be feeling the jet lag or
something. Ever since we got back to the hotel after the Serie A game, she’s
seemed off. Maybe it’s just her time of the month or something. Fuck if I know.
Rosie
and Charlie are waiting for us out on the tarmac when Poppy and I touch down in
the States. The same stretch limo is idling behind them, waiting to whisk us
back to Atlantic City.
“What’s
with the welcome wagon?”
I
ask my sister, giving her a quick hug.
“It’s
actually more of a ‘goodbye’
than
a ‘welcome’,”
she
replies, “Me and Charlie are headed back to London. I didn’t think you’d mind
us piggybacking on your charter jet.”
“Right.
What’s a few extra thousand dollars?”
I reply, rolling my eyes.
“Figured
it was about time to get out of your hair,”
Charlie smiles, giving me a clap on the
back, “You and Poppy deserve some alone time after putting up with us for so
long.”
I
glance back at Poppy as she descends from the jet. She looks tense and
tired—not exactly what you’d expect from someone who was just whisked off on a
romantic getaway. I’m starting to worry that something’s up with her.
“How
did it go?”
Rosie
asks in a conspiratorial whisper.
“OK,
I think,”
I
reply.
“You
think?”
my
sister scoffs, “What do you mean, you think?”
“I
dunno. She seems a bit pissed at me,”
I shrug.
“Well,
did you do anything stupid?”
Rosie
asks, hands on hips.
“No,”
I tell her gruffly, “She
just clammed up after the game last night.”
“You
probably did something stupid,”
my
sister replies, scowling at me. “You’re just too dense to have realized it.”
“Thanks
for the pep talk,”
I
mutter, as Poppy steps up behind me.
“Hey
you two,”
Poppy
says to Rosie and Charlie, her voice lagging listlessly, “Shipping out, are
you?”
“That’s
right,”
Charlie
says, “Take good care of our boy while we’re gone.”
“Mhmm,”
Poppy smiles. Her
noncommittal answer sets my nerves on edge.
“Just
ask her what’s wrong,”
Rosie
whispers to me as Poppy slides into the limo. “And try not to be an arsehole
about it, whatever it is.”
“Goodbye
to you too, Sis,”
I
mutter, waving goodbye to Rose and Charlie as I hurry to join Poppy in the car.
She doesn’t even look up as I set my bag down and close the door behind me. As
the limo takes off toward Atlantic City, she simply stares out the window, lost
in thought.
“You,
uh, feeling OK, babe?”
I
ask, trying to get a read on her.
“Uh-huh,”
she answers, resting her
chin in her hand.
“You’ve
been pretty quiet since last night,”
I go on, feeling like an arsehole with all
this touchy-feely talk.
“Have
I?”
Poppy
replies, sinking further into her seat.
My
patience, worn thin by ten hours’ worth of this crap on the plane, reaches its
breaking point in the blink of an eye.
“Oh,
cut the shit,”
I
shoot back at her, frustrated as hell.
Now
that gets her attention. Poppy turns her face slowly toward me, looking like
she’s about to breathe fire.
“Excuse
me?”
she
says, her voice dangerously low.
“You
heard me,”
I
fire back, feeling my jaw pulse, “You’ve never done this pouty, middle school
bullshit before. Just tell me what your fuckin’
problem is.”
“Pouty,
middle school bullshit?”
she
laughs condescendingly, “Spoken like a true grown-ass man, Walcott.”
“I’m
just callin’
it
like I see it,”
I
tell her, “You think just because we made this thing between us official in the
press, you can start acting like a nagging, pain in the arse girlfriend?”
“Not
at all,”
she
shoots back, “I would never dream of you being mature enough to deign to be in
an
actual
relationship with someone.”
“What
the fuck are you talkin’
about?”
I shout, failing to keep
my voice in check, “What the hell is this if not a bloody relationship?”
“I
honestly don’t know anymore,”
Poppy
says, shaking her head, “A PR stunt? A desperate attempt to keep your place on
the Empire?”
“You
know that’s not true,”
I
growl, feeling my hands tighten into fists.
“What
I know,”
Poppy
says softly, her voice thick with unshed tears, “Is that we’re at very different
points in our lives, Mad. And I can’t afford to risk my future on someone who
can’t think past his next soccer match. Tell me honestly—have you thought at
all about where this thing between us is heading?”
I
stare back at her, biting my tongue. She already knows the answer, after all.
“I’m
not really a plan-ahead kind of guy,”
I finally tell her.
“Yeah.
I know,”
she
says, looking disappointed as hell, “That’s kind of the problem.”
“So,
what? You’re through with me just because I don’t obsess about the future like
you do?”
I
ask bluntly.
“Maybe
I am,”
she
replies softly, turning away from me once more, “Maybe I have to be, whether I
want to or not.”
I
stare at her for a long moment, trying to hold her words at bay. But it’s no
use. Her declaration hits me square between the eyes, making me see red.
“You’re
gonna need to make two stops,”
I
call up to the driver, “We’ll be dropping Ms. Abrams off at her place before
heading back to the hotel.”
“Nice,”
Poppy mutters, crossing
her arms. “Real fucking nice.”
“You
need to go sort your head out for a spell,”
I tell her frankly, sinking back in my
seat, “And
then
you can come talk to me.”
We
fall into a restless silence as our limo speeds back toward Atlantic City. Back
toward our real lives.
Our
real lives that might not include each other after all.
Poppy
By
the time the Empire’s next home game rolls around that Saturday, the month of
May is upon us. It’s hard to believe how much has happened to me in four short
months. I’ve landed my dream job as an assistant athletic trainer, relocated to
Atlantic City, and reunited with my long-ago fling Maddox Walcott. But amid all
these drastic changes, the most significant are the ones taking place inside my
own body. A trip to the doctor’s office the Friday I get back from Rome
confirms what my home test already told me.
I’m
five weeks pregnant with Maddox Walcott’s baby.
I
sit on the porch of my beach house the morning after my appointment, watching
the sky above the ocean grow brighter. The doctor told me yesterday that it’s
far too early for sonogram pictures or singing the news from the rooftops. As
if I have anyone to share this new development with. My hyper-conservative
parents would be appalled to hear that I’ve “conceived out of wedlock”
(yes, that’s a thing my
mother has
actually
said). And it’s not as though I’m on the best terms
with this little peanut’s father at the moment.
It
wasn’t my intention to put things on hold with Maddox when we got back from
Rome. I was still trying to figure out my next move when he went off on me in
the limo. The fact that he’s capable of outbursts like that doesn’t give me
much confidence in his fatherhood potential, that’s for sure. Maddox has never
been violent or malicious toward me, but I’ve seen him throw his fair share of
furniture and punches around. Can someone with as hot a temper as “Mad Man”
really just settle down
and be a father, just like that?
I’ve
mostly been avoiding Maddox since the limo dropped me off at my bungalow
Thursday afternoon. I needed some time to cool down, as did he. He hasn’t
called or texted or sent over any carrier pigeons, but I can’t really blame him
for his silence. I did just throw quite a wrench in the works. But whatever the
status of our relationship is now, I won’t be able to avoid him much longer. I
have to be at the stadium in just a few hours for our game, and I can’t exactly
help running into Maddox there. Hell, his portrait is plastered over nearly
every inch of the Empire’s stadium.
“Just
be a professional,”
I
mutter to myself, taking a deep breath of sea air.
For
years, my profession has been my life. You’d think it would be easy to enter
into that career-first mindset. But even though my physical body has yet to
change, I can feel my heart and mind refocusing on the life growing inside of
me. For the first time in my life, I have the hope of a family in addition to a
career.
I
just can’t tell if that prospect is exciting or absolutely terrifying.
Maddox
Sweet
relief washes over me as I lace up my trainers and prepare to hit the pitch.
I’ve been dying to play a good, down and dirty game to get my mind off of Poppy
all week. We haven’t spoken a word to each other since she shut down on me
coming back from Rome. I still don’t have any fucking idea what I did to turn
her against me, but I do know that I can put it out of my mind for the next 90
minutes. For a blissful hour and a half, I just get to be Mad Man Walcott
again.
But
why am I not convinced that that’s enough anymore?
“You
ready for this?”
Hadrian
Barlow grins, clapping me on the shoulder as the team heads for the pitch.
“Fuck
yes,”
I
tell him. If only he knew the half of it.
“This
is a great chance for us, guys,”
Barlow says to the assembled team, “The
Sentinels are the only other expansion team that was worth a shit this season.
Let’s show them how AC does it!”
A
cheer goes up from the team as we make our way from the locker room to the
tunnel. The Syracuse Sentinels have played pretty well so far this season, it’s
true. They’ve even got their own European superstar, a Spanish player from La
Liga named Ricardo González. There’s been a lot of chatter in the press this
week about Mad Man and González facing off on American soil. If there’s anyone
currently playing for MLS with a hotter temper than mine, it’s Ricardo. His
scoring record and penchant for getting thrown out of games are both legendary.
But
every thought of Ricardo González and his dangerous attitude are pushed out of
my mind as I spot Poppy coming out of an examination room at the end of the
hall. My stomach clenches painfully as her eyes flick up to meet mine. We’ve
managed to avoid each other since getting back from Rome, but so much for that.
We’ve spotted one another from across the hall, and can’t exactly ignore each
other in front of the entire team. We’re supposed to be blissfully coupled and
all that for the press. If word gets out that there’s trouble in paradise, both
our arses are back on the line.
“Knock
‘em dead, boys,”
Poppy
says to the team, smiling gamely as we approach.
“Thanks
babe,”
I
murmur, catching her hand in mine.
Her
eyes flash with something that looks a lot like longing as I pull her in for a
quick, searing kiss. The second her lips touch mine, by body comes alive in a
way it only ever does on the pitch. It’s only been a few days since I touched
her last, but kissing her now is like finding water in the desert. How am I
supposed to live without this if she really calls it quits?
“Get
a room, you two!”
chuckles
our gigantic keeper Orbach, sending a fit of laugher rising up from the rest of
the team.
The
rest of the guys go ahead as Poppy and I stand rooted in place, staring up at
each other in the deserted hallway. That longing burning in her brown eyes is
shot through with pain—a pain I’ve caused her. The idea of that kills me, but I
have no idea how to make it better.
“Have
a great game,”
she
finally says, taking a small step away from me.
“Yeah,
thanks,”
I
mutter, shoving a hand through my cropped hair. How the fuck did we get from a
passionate affair to trading cordial small talk?
“You’d
better get over to the tunnel,”
she
says, crossing her arms, “It’s about to start.”
“Do
you think we could talk? After, I mean,”
I ask her, not even given a shit that I
sound desperate as hell.
“Yeah.
Maybe,”
Poppy
replies, her face flushing under my intent gaze, “Why don’t you just make it
through this game first, OK?”
“Don’t
worry about me,”
I
smile, trying not to notice how deep her dismissal cuts me, “I always come out
in one piece.”
Poppy
smiles back wistfully as I turn and jog down the hallway to join my team. No
matter how torn up I am about the two of us, I’ve got a job to do. And that job
is to leave it all on the pitch—sweat, tears, and blood if it’s called for. If
I can’t give Poppy what she wants off the field, at least I can deliver a win
for our team.