Red Card (13 page)

T
he first Saturday
in April marked one of the biggest matches for Windingham. All the way to the stadium fans lined the streets in their gear, shouting and guzzling beers out in the open. You could do that here in Europe.

As the car pulled closer to Cafsham Stadium, I saw Krow Villa colors start to appear on the sidewalks, or pavement as they called it here. And I also saw fights. Burly drunk men getting into it, women openly shouting at each other in the streets.

I'd done my homework, I knew the rivalry that existed between these two teams. It wasn't unlike the rivalry that Oklahoma and Texas had in the Red River Shootout each year. We would get so pumped up for those games, and even the scrimmage between the ROTC legions for both schools.

There was blood in this rivalry though. Broken bones out on the field and between fans. And a decade ago, when a Krow Villa fan had murdered a Windingham fan after Krow had lost 3-1. It was gruesome and the worst part of sports, and I could tell it was getting to Killian.

Or more likely, Roman Judarsky was getting to Killian. I researched each club before his games, wanting to know more about the sport he played and more about how I could better do my job. And as I was looking up Krow, I stumbled across Judarsky's name. And then I remembered, that question the first reporter had asked him on the red carpet.

Killian had gotten a yellow card in the game prior to that event, for shoving Judarsky down when the ball was nowhere near them. I went back and watch the clip, seeing Judarsky clearly trash-talking Killian before he pushed him.

I asked Jimmy about it, no way was I bringing this up to Killian, and he said the two had history. They'd come up in Windingham's academy together, were constantly battling for the top spot. When Windingham traded Judarsky away for money and instead signed Killian, the rivalry really began.

I had anxiety up until the players took the field, and still the pesky gnats in my stomach wouldn't subside even as Killian raced around the grassy rectangle.

The game was going well, all signs of the tension Killian had held prior all but vanishing. He was on fire out there, lapping the field and his competitors as he sunk two balls into the back of the net within five minutes of each other.

As he pumped his fist, kissing the badge on his jersey and pointing to the fan section, Roman Judarsky trotted up alongside of him. I saw his mouth moving, an evil look directed right at Killian.

The game continued on, but Killian froze, standing stock still in the middle of the field as Judarsky sneered at him. And then he swung.

Killian cocked him cold in the face, Judarsky's body lurching unnaturally to the side as blood shot out of his mouth before he crumpled to the ground. The crowd gave a collective gasp, and all of the other players turned to watch the video screens, not knowing what had just happened.

But Killian just kept swinging his fists, climbing on top of Roman and pummeling his face so hard with such blind rage in his eyes that I immediately stood in my seat.

I had to get to him. Whatever was happening, I knew I could make it stop. I just had to get down on that field.

"Where do you think you're going?" I barely heard Jimmy's question as I started to run down the concrete steps.

The security guard manning the barricade in front of our section caught me around the waist as I tried to run out onto the pitch.

"Killian!" My voice was a blood curdling scream as I tried to wriggle out of the guard’s hold. Killian never looked up, just went on beating Judarsky bloody. "Killian, please!"

I broke free, turning the other way and sprinting through the stadium’s maze of hallways. I wound down into the bowels of the building to where I might be able to get to the locker room and exit through the tunnel.

My mind raced as I ran. What would this do to him? To his career? Finally I made it to the player’s tunnel and ran to the entrance to the pitch.

“KILLIAN!” My voice was closer now, it must have registered in his brain because the fist above his head finally halted, his fury-filled eyes still pinned on Judarsky. The other man tried to roll over, spitting up blood while Killian held him down.

Olivier ran to Killian, hooking his arms around his shoulders and pulling him up. He then started to drag Killian away, all the while the Krow Villa fans reigning boos and obscenities down on his head. I waited for them, following them into the locker room as Olivier dragged him into the tunnel.

"Get a grip, Ramsey!" Olivier was shouting at him as he dumped him onto the bench in front of his locker cubby.

Killian's fists were balled so tight they were turning white, save for Judarsky's blood dripping down them. Olivier was rubbing the back of his own neck furiously, frantically trying to decide what to do with his friend who had just gone nuclear. I stood back, unsure of what to say or do. Killian looked absolutely lethal. I had seen him with a dominating look on his face, when he was on the field, when he would control me in the bedroom. I had seen with that cocky, snide attitude when we'd first met. This was different. He had nothing short of murder in his eyes.

"What the bloody hell was that about?!" Olivier finally turned to him, throwing his still-gloved hands in the air.

"He started in about Eve again." Killian's voice was unrecognizable, a monotone sound without emotion. He focused on a spot on the floor, never moving an inch of his body.

I didn't even know what he was talking about and he was scaring me.

"Jesus, Kill...I told you to ignore that Italian piece of shit. It doesn't matter what he says!" Olivier knelt down by him.

"I tried. But then he started talking about the...the rope around her neck. That she just couldn't stand to be with my pathetic ass anymore...that killing herself was the only option. That I should be relieved she's dead so I can stop disappointing her."

Olivier grabbed the nearest item, a shin guard it looked like, and blasted it across the room. "That filthy piece of shit! I will kill him."

My insides had gone numb. I had no idea who Eve was or what she meant to Killian...but he was talking about suicide. Roman Judarsky had been mocking him about suicide.

"Calm down. I will make a statement to the press, he won't get away with this. You shouldn't have attacked him, but it was unprovoked." I was trying to think rationally, even if I was the only one in the room doing so. "Now who is Eve, so I can go prepare some remarks? I’ll fix this, Killian, I promise."

Olivier turned to me, confusion and something else unreadable in his expression. "Eve was his wife." Turning to Killian, he asked, "You never told her?"

His wife.

Killian had been married. And she'd died. No, she'd committed suicide.

There were so many emotions going through my body that I couldn't even process it. Sadness and empathy for Killian. Nausea and fury for his hidden lie. Heartbreak and grief for myself.

A cold chill started at the base of my spine, rolling up through the vertebrae so that when it reached the top of my scalp I shivered. I thought I might be sick, but at the same time was blinking back the tears threatening to fall fat and heavy on my cheeks.

Killian finally looked up, a deadness tinging his eyes as he met mine that made me want to shake him profusely.

"I'll just give you a minute..." Olivier said quietly as he walked out of the locker room.

I stood immobile about five feet from where Killian sat, the air heavy with tension and anguish. "You...you had a wife?"

"Yes."

The simple and quick answer shocked me, although I know it shouldn't. Olivier had just told me that.

"And she died...sh...she took her own life?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Five years ago."

It struck me that at the same time in my life that I was first falling in love, coming into my own as a woman, Killian's world was being obliterated.

"I'm...I'm sorry Killian." And I was. I could feel his suffering blanketing the entire room, hell the entire stadium. I wanted so badly to make it go away. But at the same time, I couldn't help but be furious. He had lied when I'd asked him about his family.

"Why?" The word came out of my mouth before I could stop it, so small and fragile that I was unsure if he'd actually heard it.

Killian scoffed. "Jeez, you really didn't Google me or anything, did you? You must not be as great of a publicist as I thought. You didn't want to see all of the theories on why Eve Ramsey hung herself? Maybe I was cheating, maybe she couldn't take my lifestyle anymore. Maybe I really was abusing her."

I stayed silent, digging my nails into the flesh of my palms so hard that I thought I would draw blood.

"ALL SUCH FUCKING LIES!" He roared, before grabbing the extra stool in his locker and launching it across the room. I had to dash aside it was headed right in my direction. The wood object smashed against the wall, splintering and skittering onto the floor.

I could feel the salty tears pouring down my face now. I had never been afraid of Killian. Not really. Not until right now.

"She miscarried. We were in the fifth month, so excited about making a family. Neither of us had ever really had one. I was going to be a father. We'd just gotten home from picking out a few things for the nursery. I'd even bought these tiny cleats that had been hanging on the rack next to the register. How perfect, right? And then all of a sudden she said my name, fuck I'll never forget her voice when she said my name that day. And then there was blood. Blood, everywhere. On my clothes and hands. Swimming in blood on the tile of our entryway."

His voice was barely above a whisper as he recounted the horrific tragedy.

"The baby was gone. We were...we were so devastated. But Eve, there was something wrong with her. She wouldn't get out of bed. For months she wouldn't move. She wouldn't eat, god she lost so much weight. She had no will to live. And then one day I came home...it was a sunny Tuesday in September. And I found her hanging from the shower rod."

Killian started to silently weep into his hands, grounding the heels of them into his eyes. I couldn't move, I didn't know what to do. This man...I didn't know him. He was so broken, so vastly different than the person I saw when I looked at that body, that face.

He didn't want me, he wanted Eve. I saw it now, this shadow and weight he carried around with him always. I hadn't been able to place it before, but it all made sense now.

I dried my eyes. "I'm going to address the media. I'll fix this."

And I turned on my heel and left him to grieve alone.

I
had been stuck
on the second stage of grief since Eve died five years ago.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

They say those are the healthy, natural steps to take when someone close to you leaves this earth. What they don't tell you, and what no one can understand unless it has happened to them, is that when your loved one takes their own life, those steps fly out the window.

People who commit suicide? Their death hits you like a battle tank. It’s worse than regular old death, because there was absolutely nothing physically wrong with them. It wasn't a freak accident, there was no resolution or taking the perpetrator to court. My loved one CHOSE to die. That was what made it a million times worse.

For me, there was no way I could deny it. I'd pried her cold, lifeless form from our shower and sat with her head in my hands for hours before I had the strength to get up and call the police. And then I'd gotten angry, and stayed that way.

Why the hell would she do this? Why would she leave me alone? Why hadn't she told me how horrible she'd been feeling? I knew she'd been sick with her own grief, but Jesus, I hadn't known she was going to do that.

I had been swamped with my own grief as well, over the death of our baby, for that entire summer.

Eve and I had met at a coffee shop near the stadium when I was 22. By 23 we were married, the year we turned 24 she was pregnant, and by 25, she was dead. I'd loved her fiercely, with a passion that couldn't be extinguished, even in her passing. She was so full of life, her vibrant energy could be felt everywhere. Eve was always that person surrounded by a crowd at a party, telling a funny joke or story. She was the woman who volunteered her time at a local battered women's shelter even though it meant she got up at 6 a.m. each day to serve the breakfast rush. She was the woman who first captured my heart, showed me what love could really feel like. On the day of our wedding, I remember pulling her aside and whispering in her ear that I meant it when I said I'd cherish her until death did us part.

And we had parted. I only had three beautiful years with her and then she was gone.

I'd blamed myself, been angry with her, thrown tantrums, fallen in with the wrong crowd, spent obscene amounts of money, etc. All of the textbook descriptions of someone who is grieving, yeah that was me.

But I think Judarsky's bullying sent me straight into the fourth stage. Depression.

I hadn't left the house in a week. I hadn't even bothered to go to practice, because who knew if I was even allowed to play professional football anymore. I'd ignored Jimmy when he'd tried to come in, instead sending him away and telling him not to come back. The same with Olivier. Even Reese reached out via text, and I'd ignored them all.

And Leah. Well, she hadn't even tried to reach out. Part of me was bloody happy about that. I wanted to remain in my cone of depression all alone. But part of me knew she was hurt. I had lied to her, even if it was a lie of omission. I'd purposely not told her about Eve, not told her about my past. And she'd been so up front with hers.

I'd watched what she'd said to the media at the post-game press conference the one time I'd bothered to turn on the TV. Leah was probably single-handedly responsible for saving what was left of my career. She'd let the press know, without going into much detail, that Judarsky had attacked the sensitive subject of my late wife, and that he'd bullied and provoked me. I hadn't checked out the stories online to see if the media had a positive or negative reaction to that.

I hadn't gone to her, hadn't reached out. And even though my mind was squarely on Eve and her death for the last week, I missed Leah. Thoughts crept in, how much I wanted her in my bed, in my arms. I thought about her when I made breakfast, seeing her dance around the kitchen in nothing but my T-shirt.

The lock on the door clicked and I didn't even lift my head from where I was dazing out on the couch. I had been laying in silence the whole morning.

Jimmy came into view, his brown patchwork suit swelling over his belly. "Enough of this."

He slapped my head, rather hard, making me sit up to rub the spot. "What the hell, Jimmy!?"

"This has got to stop. She's gone, Kill. She's been gone for five years. You're going to deal with this. You can't fly off the handle every time some arse uses it against you. And you sure as hell aren't going to give up the best thing that's come into your life since she died!"

I seized up. He knew about Leah? "What do you mean, Jimmy? I am living my life the same way I have since she passed."

"Oh come on Kill. You don't think I haven't noticed the constant smiles between you too, the touches when no one is watching. Not to mention the moans that come from inside my private bathroom when you think I'm at lunch." He cocked a bushy eyebrow at me.

"Shit. Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because you are happy! Do you know how long I've waited to see you fall in love again? And Leah, she's blimey brilliant, Kill. If you let her go, I'll have to quit. I can't work for someone who is such a bloody twit.” He dropped to the couch so that we were at eye level, and put his hand on my shoulder. "And in all honesty, mate, Eve would have wanted you to move on a long time ago."

His words made my heart drop. Because he was right. She wouldn't have wanted me to live like this. Before she miscarried, she had been so full of life and love. Hell, she'd made me a different person. She wouldn't have wanted this for me.

"How is she?" I knew he'd probably gone to see her.

"Upset. But functioning. She's going to classes, trying to keep busy. She did you an awfully big favor, Kill. She might have just saved your career."

I rubbed the thick growth on my face. "I know."

"You know what you need to do."

Twenty minutes later I was pulling up to Gloucester Mews, parking my VW on the street. Yes, it wasn't Rolls Royce, but this was my inconspicuous car.

Thank god someone was walking out as I was on my way in, giving me access to Leah's building without having to ring up and hear her reject me.

I retraced the steps I took the first time I brought her here, when I took her lips for the first time leaning against the door to her apartment.

My hands shake, and big vicious butterflies hit the lining of my gut. What if I'd already ruined things? Not only had I lied to her, but I kept the biggest part of my baggage hidden. Baggage that I didn't expect someone so young to understand, or want to try to deal with.

"Fucking get on with it, you bloody coward..." I mumbled to myself as I raised my fist and rapped on apartment 702B.

I heard something fall, and then a shouted curse and the unmistakable sound of feet pattering towards the direction of the door. The person inside yanked it open, and I came face to face with a brunette that looked oddly familiar.

"Oh thank fuck, you're here!" She held her hand over her heart, completely oblivious that she was greeting the stranger at the door in nothing more than a sports bra and shorts that resembled black stretchy underwear.

"Do I...know you?" I eyed her cautiously. Please tell me I haven't fucked this girl.

"Heidi, I'm a model. We've been at some of the same events, that's probably why I look familiar. Don't worry, we haven't gone for a roll in the hay. But I am so glad to see you. Your girlfriend has been bloody miserable for the better part of a week. She hasn't left our bedroom in two days."

Heidi rolled her eyes, clutching at the end of her shimmering brown ponytail.

"Well...uh, can I see her?"

She jumped a little as if she'd forgotten something. "Oh right! Well...actually I should probably see if she wants to see you. Wouldn't be very girl code of me to just invite you in, now would it? And I'm trying to get better at that." She looked around as if searching for something. "So uh...stay right here and I'll check!"

And then she slammed the door in my face.

Sweat trickled down my spine as I pulled at the suddenly too-tight collar of my sweatshirt. What if Leah didn't want to see me? These past few months had been some of the best of my life...and now it was possible she wouldn't want anything to do with me.

Everything came rushing back to me, causing my anxiety to sky rocket and the walls of the dingy hallway began to feel like they were closing in on me. How stupid I'd been. I'd lied to Leah, let Judarsky get under my skin. And the real problem? I'd been holding onto an anger that had been corroding me from the inside out for years instead of working towards acceptance.

The door opened for the second time, and there stood Leah.

My breath hitched as I ran my eyes down her body, realizing just how much I'd missed her the last week when my cock began to swell and my heart tripped over itself. She wore leggings and a long OU sweatshirt, and her blonde locks were piled atop her head.

She looked pale, the rosy kiss gone from her skin, and her eyes were bloodshot with deep purple bruises surrounding them. And even in this condition she looked absolutely beautiful.

"Hi..." I whispered, unable to get my jumbled thoughts together.

Smooth, Killian. I'd gone in with a plan, a speech I'd rehearsed on the way over. And now the note cards in my brain were flying about as if the wind had caught them and shuffled them into a disorganized mess.

"Hi." Her answer was short, not unfriendly but not welcoming either.

"I'm so sorry, Leah. I should have told you. I didn't...I don't know why I didn't. My life hasn't been easy, and you were so open about your life. And I really like you...I never meant to hurt you..." I trailed off, the word vomit coming out so fast that I couldn't get a handle on it. "I miss you."

Her lip tipped up, moving her beauty mark a fraction so that it was all I could focus on. God how I wanted to run my tongue across it.

"I don't think I've ever seen Killian Ramsey flustered. Ever. I don't know what to make of this."

I used her sarcasm against her as an opening. "It’s you...you make me this way."

"Killian..." She sighed, averting eye contact. "I'm sorry about your loss. No one should ever suffer what you and your wife did. And you should have never had to go through what you went through when she died. It must have been so painful. But...I don't think I can help you heal that. And I really like you. But selfishly, I won't put myself in a situation again where someone's life overshadows mine. I won't do it, and you know why. What I went through with Taylor. I do like you, a lot. But I just can't. It wasn't going to pan out for us anyway, if you really look at it. We couldn't even go out in public without you donning a disguise, Killian."

My heart sank. Of course she was right, nothing about our relationship was real. I couldn't even grow the balls to talk to her about what we were. And as much as she was right, my baggage and career were putting her in the corner again, the thing she'd come to London to escape. But, selfish bastard that I was, I couldn't let her go.

"Please, Leah. Give me another chance. We can go public, I'll walk out in front of Buckingham Palace and kiss you in front of all of those people. Because as much as I'm hurting from my past, I
am
trying to move forward. And the only way I can do that is with you. I want you, Leah."

I hoped my face looked as pained and desperate as I felt. She leaned a hip against the doorway and my hands itched to hold her face, run my thumb across her cheekbone before I tasted her mouth.

"What am I, Killian? Your girlfriend? Your lover? You don't even know, do you? We haven't talked about any of that because it would make it too real for you. And going public right now would be the worst thing possible, for both of us. Your scandal would only get bigger and I would get fired."

My head raced, looking for anywhere to mediate the slowly crumbling situation in front of me. "Yes, you're my girlfriend. If that's what you want. A man of my age is probably too old for such titles, but I just want you, Leah. Whatever title you need to feel secure with, I'm okay with that."

"Jeez, Killian. How romantic." She rolled her eyes.

I wasn't used to this bitter, angsty woman. But I'd made her that way. He’d made her that way. I'd lied, and caused her more pain than I could probably imagine.

"I'll throw a party. At my place. A closed, intimate party with my teammates and friends. You can bring Heidi! I'll introduce you to my inner circle. A relationship party, you will come out as my girlfriend."

The idea was a long shot, but I was grasping at straws.

"You would do that?" She blushed, the little twang on the end of her words giving away how smitten she was with the idea. Nice one, Kill!

"Yes. It would be relaxed, no media around. We could just be a normal, average couple. But Leah, it would only be in that setting, you have to understand that. We can’t take this public, at least not yet. After everything that came out, true or false, after Eve died, I’m not ready to let the media into my private life. Maybe ever. And your career, its important. You’re good. I would never want what we have to overshadow your future or the work you’re doing. You don’t deserve that.”

She nodded, hesitation but also acceptance crossing over her features.

“And then everyone would leave the party, and I'd be able to do all of the things I've missed doing to you so much."

Her green eyes lit with arousal, and I had a hard time not grabbing her and dragging her to her bedroom just then.

"Okay. I think I'd like that. And I agree, we don’t go public for now. It would only cause problems. And honestly Killian, I could care less whether the world knew. I just want you.” She stared at her feet as she said it, and her shyness warmed my chest.

I took that as my cue, moving forward and grabbing her gently behind the neck before lowering my lips to hers. The moment our mouths moved against each other, my chest felt light and tingly, as if my heart had sprouted wings and was preparing to fly.

I hadn't realized it, but Leah Watson had bicycle-kicked my heart square into her net. She'd slipped past all of my defenses, broken every tackle and fake out, and gone to the goal. I was dangerously close to falling in love with her, and my stubborn mind wouldn't let me believe I already had.