PLAYED - A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE (16 page)

“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. They dropped the charges Jess.”

“They’re going to know. They’re probably printing up tomorrows tabloid
as we speak. ‘Lex arrested for beating American youth!’, what the hell were you
thinking?”

“There’s something you don’t know,” he elaborated, his eyes still
focused on her. “I was setup. Alistair Pritch was in the crowd, and he knew
exactly
what was happening.”

“Alistair Pritch… is
here?
”
Jess asked.

“The one and only,” he continued. “He was there in the crowd, grinning
like a goddamn fool. He paid that kid to start a fight with me and take a fall.
He played me like a damn fiddle.”

“You’re certain,” Jess asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because Alistair should be in England right now… I’m going to have to
check in on that and see what I can pull up…”

“Who the fuck is Alistair Pritch?” I finally asked. Whoever he was… if
he was here in town, and they were
that
bothered
by this fact, then I figured I should have a little knowledge about him.

“Alistair is one of my teammates,” Lex answered. “He’s an old rival from
back when we were on opposing teams. Right now, he’s a subordinate on the
National team, but he’s clearly angling for my sponsorship contract… and he’s
followed me here to set me up.”

“Why would somebody do that?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jess said. “Last time the tabloids had a
spread on Lex only two people knew where he was holed up, me and Alistair. It
was no coincidence the paparazzi showed up.”

“He wants my sponsorship… And he’s going to get it.”

They spent the car ride back discussing a plan of action for containing
the aftermath of the arrest.

Worries for another day,
he’d said, although Jess seemed rather less than convinced.

Jess dropped us off at the curb by my apartment. “It’s only a brief walk
if you need to come back,” she told him before giving me a wink. “Try to keep
him from getting into any more trouble tonight, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” I responded.

She headed off into the night, and the two of us stood in silence at the
door to my apartment building. Lex scraped the toe of his sole against the
pavement, wrists in his pockets. He looked so different now. Was I really going
to do this? Could I really just let all of this go and invite him up?

“So…” Lex spoke, glancing up at my building with that trademark smirk of
his returning. “I just got out of jail… Fancy a
fuck
?”

That accent… The words dripping off his lips… Yeah, I fancied it just
fine, but I couldn’t go through with it. Not like this.

Maybe he’s not so changed
after all.

“No,” I answered, unsure whether or not I believed the word as it came
out of my mouth.

I turned my back on him, ascending the stairs to my apartment building.
Half of me expected him to grab my wrist – and I’d snap at him over it, but
maybe, just
maybe
, I’d let him pull
me into a furious embrace and breath the fire in my lungs...

As I turned behind the door, I saw one last glimpse of Alexander
Lambert. He stood at the edge of the curb, staring at me like a broken man. We
made eye contact for a fraction of a second before the door fell shut.

Chapter 14

Lex

Two days later, I stepped off of an airplane into the Heathrow
International, crushed beyond recognition. I looked like such a mess that, even
with just a thin hoodie and a pair of sunglasses,
nobody
recognized me as I navigated towards a taxi and back home.

It had all come crashing down around me.

Riley Ricketts was gone.

The Patrovo sponsorship was gone.

My rival Alistair Pritch had won.

All that I had left was Jess, and she was absolutely furious with me for
fucking things up so badly. She barely spoke to me on the flight back, electing
to get into a separate taxi and head back for her small countryside cottage.

In truth, I barely had
her
at
all.

Three hours of traffic and drizzling rain later, my driver pulled up to
the gates outside my lavish home. He finally realized with one look at the
house that I was loaded, but still couldn’t seem to place me.

“You some kind of big deal, brother?”

“Not anymore,” I told him, slipping a substantial tip into his hand. “Not
anymore…”

I realized that he was ignoring my words – mostly because his eyes were
too busy counting the bills I’d handed him. He glanced back up at the gate, and
the driveway that stretched beyond it. “You want me to take you up to the door?
Looks like quite a walk.”

“Absolutely not,” I told him, pulling the hood up as the dismal rain
rose in volume. I closed the door and let myself through a side gate, and then
carried my suitcase up the lonely, sluggish route to the front of my small
mansion.

Lambert House was priceless, mostly due to the sheer size of the
property and the thick virtually impregnable wall surrounding it. It had belonged
to a Duke of some nature, living out here in the countryside. A summer getaway
spot for royalty...

I called it home.

My eyes scanned the windows in the distance as my shoes sloshed through
the mud. Even with all this pea gravel, it did barely anything to hold back the
natural consequences of consistent rainfall.

Chet, my groundskeeper, was sailing towards me in his little covered
cart, maneuvering around thick puddles and loose, soggy earth to skitter to a
stop near me.

“Mister Lambert! This is no weather to be taking a walk, good sir! Let
me take you inside!”

I nodded, although I doubted he noticed the gesture in the rain.
Instead, I lugged my suitcase onto the back tray of his cart beneath the canvas
bonnet of the vehicle, and took a soaked seat in the passenger’s chair. He took
one forlorn look at me before driving us towards the manor steps.

“Permission to speak freely?” He asked.

“Granted.”

“Mister Lambert, I’m afraid that you look positively dreadful.”

I laughed heartily to myself, naturally alarming him. After I wiped away
the uncomfortable, dripping rain from my face, I commented: “Let’s just say
I’ve had a rough couple of days.”

He kept his eyes forward, carefully whizzing us through patches of solid
ground. “I take it that America didn’t treat you kindly, then?”

“My trip was… complicated.”

“Ah, I see.”

Of course, he didn’t really. But the sympathy was appreciated, and we
sat in silence for the last three minutes of the drive.

Once I’d pulled myself indoors, a maid brought me a towel and took my
suitcase up to my main bedroom. There were only a few members on my staff, but
they acted quickly and diligently at my appearance, already having some
arrangements made as soon as I appeared within the gates.

A fresh change of clothes _– my usual business attire – was ready for me
in the foyer. I wasn’t particularly feeling myself, so I left them where they
were and wandered upstairs, changing into something a little more casual.

My staff sensed the change in my demeanor, and gave me a wide berth as I
settled back home. It only occurred to me a few hours later that they were
likely expecting my publicist to have joined me for the trek, and so I knew
that they realized things were amiss.

Behind the manor, I had contracted the installation of an enclosed
football field. Since the rain had done absolutely nothing to let up, I took
the accompanying underground passage out to the field. It was less than half a
kilometer of walking, and it was blissfully dry. When I arrived, I switched on
the industrial lighting and marveled at how the water roared against the glass
ceiling and walls before retrieving the best looking football from my equipment
room.

It was time to work a few things out the only way I knew how.

I spent well over an hour kicking the ball around, fighting imaginary
opponents on the field. I remembered my first year of owning this place, I’d
invite friends over for garden parties before taking on any and all challengers
in the diminutive glass stadium.

But now, there was just me.

My arrival was less conspicuous than I had imagined. I was surprised to
hear a buzzing as I knocked the football into the opposite goal once again,
claiming another imaginary victory against my perceived opponents. Turning and
panting, I spotted a small assortment of people on the opposite wall, shaking
off umbrellas and standing in the covered foyer room outside.

Jogging over towards them, I realized that it was my usual group of
friendly competitors – some amateur players from my schooling days, most of my
National team, and a couple of members of the staff who were avid football fans
and players.

There were a little less than two dozen of them…
 
just enough to play a game. Jess must
have been working a little magic. Maybe she hadn’t given up on me yet…

“What are you lot doing here?” I asked as I unlocked the entrance and
let them all in. They hung their wet jackets in the nearby coatroom, smiling
and clasping my hand in turn.

“What, you’re gonna come back and not tell us?” Jarvis MacNeil grinned,
gripping me by the shoulder. He was one of the defenders on my team, and a
rigorous force to deal with.

“My mind’s been a little preoccupied the last few days,” I confessed.

“Well, I can certainly see that!” Another chimed in. This one was Kil
Humapoor, an old dormitory mate who had the gift, but was just too lazy to
audition for teams. “You head straight onto the field to play alone after a
sudden flight back? Not a person here that doesn’t know that means something’s
wrong, man.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered.

“No need to talk with words, bro,” Jarvis replied. “Do it with your
feet. Let’s dance!”

The twenty of them changed into athletic attire in the equipment rooms.
Afterwards, we split into two teams and set the stage for our match beneath the
storm.

With Humapoor electing to play as referee to maintain the balance, we
chose our sides and set the green battlefield for war. Above us, the rain
pounded against the glass as we fought valiantly for the ball. The storm’s
intensity was cheering us on.

Both teams were short a man, but we were able to work around that mutual
handicap. I took my usual position as an offensive striker, dominating the ball
and barking orders to my team as I led a vicious charge against the others.

Jarvis MacNeil had been nominated as captain of the opposition, and took
a conservative, defensive approach. After years of playing together, he knew my
weaknesses, and was able to hold us back time and time again… but he wasn’t
prepared for the level of frustration and bitterness that I brought to the
green.

I ran faster than ever.

My kicks were stronger than ever.

Fueled by hate and animosity, I channeled every last ounce of my
blinding fury into my plays, unafraid to test the patience of our ref and to
lash out if it meant gaining additional ground, crippling a tactical advantage
of the opposing team, or smiting down one of their brief shots at temporary
victory.

During a break, MacNeil and Humapoor approached me, tossing me a bottle
of water as they downed their own.

“Dude, what the fuck is the matter with you?” MacNeil asked, giving me a
fierce look as I squeezed the bottle into my mouth. “You’re playing like a wild
fucking animal.”

“Nothing’s the matter,” I insisted gravely.

“You’re acting possessed out there, dude,” Humapoor added. “I’ve never
seen you so unchained on the green. It’s like you’re on the
bloody
attack!”

“I
said,
everything is
fine
,” I hissed, letting my insipid glare
fuel the emotion.

“What the hell happened in America?” He pressed me, simultaneously
pushing his luck as well as my buttons.

I stood up from the bench, putting my nose inches from his as I glared
him down. “It’s done. It’s finished. What happened there is
over.
And now I have to
deal
with that.”

“You’re
Lightning Lex,
”
MacNeil kicked in, stepping up to back up our friend. While MacNeil hadn’t
encountered him during school, they’d gained a healthy respect for each other
during our impromptu matches, and bonded over a shared love of premium cigars.
“Whatever happened, you can fix it.”

“What part of
it’s over
didn’t
you quite understand?” I snarled at him.

“The part where you got back on a plane like a yellow-bellied coward
instead of taking care of your fucking business,” MacNeil spat back, fueling me
into a rage. “I don’t know what’s got you set off, but I know it has nothing to
do with the story in the rags. You want to hide away in your glass cage and
beat the piss out of a ball? That’s your problem. You start taking it out on
your friends during a friendly match? Ain’t fucking
nothing
friendly about what you’re doing out here. Either tone your
shit down and accept whatever your fuck-up is, or get back out there and take
care of your shit.”

I wanted to deck him, but I knew the others would be on me in a second. Of
course, he made a compelling point.

I
was
Lighting Lex Lambert.

What the fuck was I doing out here?

“
That’s
the Lex I remember,”
Humapoor told me, staring into my eyes. “Now, get back out here and show us all
how a World Cup player
really
does
it.”

That’s exactly what I did.

I played with precision, careful calculation, and tactical dominance.
Instead of leading a crushing vendetta against the other team, I hung back,
guiding the others towards victory, playing support and taking charge when the
ranks broke or ownership if the ball became too ambiguous to my tastes.

This half of the game, we won by a devastating six goals.

Once we’d washed up in the showers and changed back into our regular
clothes, I realized that the weather was finally letting up. I walked with them
across the grounds instead of taking the underground passage, watching how the
recent rainfall glistened off of the foliage and flora of my gardens.

I invited them all inside and requested that the staff put all hands on
deck to whip up a small feast for us. I brought out some home-baked snacks to
keep everyone satiated for the time being, and left them in the main gaming
room to play pool, watch the big screen, toss darts, and help themselves to my
liquor cabinet and bar.

“Aren’t you joining us?” One of the others asked as I turned to make my
leave.

“I’ll be back in a short while, gentlemen,” I smiled. “I have a couple
of affairs that demand my immediate attention… please, make yourselves
comfortable until I return.”

I left them to their devices as I strolled down to the privacy of my
foyer, whipping out my cell phone and dialing Jess.