Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance Read online

  He tried to approach me, but I slashed the bottle across the air wildly, missing his throat by inches.

  “Alright, alright, chill, Brooklyn, chill!” Xavier threw up his hands. He was starting to turn pale despite the reek of vodka on his breath. “Don't – don't you think you're taking this a little too far –”

  “Shut up,” I panted, narrowing my eyes at him. I was livid, my muscles stiffening from all the hateful fury building up inside me. “We're done talking. I'm taking my things, and I'm leaving – now. Make any sudden movements and I'll push this so far up inside you, you'll be seeing blood in your toilet bowl for months.”

  “Brooky-bear, please –”

  The front doors shook with 3 banging knocks.

  “Brooklyn! Brooklyn – are you in there?”

  When I heard Ace's voice, my body thawed with relief.

  “I'm here!” I called out to the door. “I'm okay, but get help –”

  In the split-second that I let my guard down, Xavier lunged at me and socked me right in the face. It felt like I'd run head-on into a concrete wall. As I toppled backwards, Xavier climbed on top of me and clamped his legs around my arms, pinning me to the ground.

  “Ge'roff me!” I shrieked, squirming underneath him. I watched as the bottle rolled farther and farther away from me, disappearing from view behind the open study door. “I said, get offa –”

  Xavier wrapped his trembling hands around my throat. Gasping, I tried to kick, but my legs could only flop, the tips of my shoes weakly knocking against his back. Blood was surging in my ears. Through my misty vision, I could see Xavier's red, sweaty face looming over me. His long-lashed, blue-gray eyes were as beautiful as ever, but I could feel the lunacy emanating from his large, unblinking eyes.

  “You wanna tell me how long you've been fucking him behind my back?” Xavier hissed, pulling back his lips and exposing his perfect rows of bleached teeth. “Fucking A, Brooklyn, if I'd known you were such a whore, I'd have –”

  As I teetered on the brink of consciousness, Ace came crashing through the door. Before he could land on his side, he pushed out his hands and launched himself right back up. Startled, Xavier loosened his grip around my neck for a second. It was all I needed.

  Clutching my throat, I gave him a hard kick between the legs. Feeling my leg coming right into contact with the squishy vulnerability was deeply satisfying. Xavier yelped, falling forward and promptly rolling into fetal position.

  “You b-bitch!” Xavier howled. He rolled around on the floor, cradling his balls.

  “Brooklyn!” Ace ran up to me and threw his arms around me, holding me close to him. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  “I'm – I'm fine,” I sputtered between coughs, rubbing my throat. “Let's just get outta –”

  Xavier reached out, attempting to latch onto my ankles, but Ace got to him first.

  Ace swooped down on him and struck him with a swift upper-cut to the jaw. My blood curdled at the loud cracking of breaking bones. Ace had gone into a trance-like rage, pummeling Xavier's face left and right. Blood oozed out of Xavier's nostrils and seeped into his white dress shirt, his unfocused eyes flickering in his daze.

  “Ace,” I cried out, tugging on his shoulders. “That's enough! Get off him –”

  Ace snuck in a few more punches before he finally rose from the ground, kicking Xavier on the side one last time. As he glowered at the whimpering pile on the ground, massaging his fists, Aiden came running through the door. 4 police officers and the building's security team trailed after him. Without saying a word, the stony-faced officers hoisted a blubbering Xavier to his feet and whisked him out of the apartment.

  “Aiden! What are you –”

  Aiden flung his arms around me, hugging me tightly. Taken aback, my lips popped open, but I hugged him right back. I caught a whiff of his cologne laced with sweat, and I could feel how fast the kid's heart was thumping against my chest. Suddenly, as if he'd just realized what he was doing, he released me. He jumped back, blinking his suspiciously gleaming eyes furiously.

  “Sorry,” Aiden muttered, swiping a finger across his nose. “I'm just glad you're okay, is all.”

  “It's okay.” My throat still felt like it was on fire, but I beamed at him.

  “Aiden told me everything. I called your landline when you weren't picking up your phone,” said Ace. He slipped an arm around me and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. “Aiden picked up, told me he got a text from you telling him you weren't going to be home for dinner and where you were headed. So when none of my calls would go through, I knew something was up.”

  “Thanks, guys. You don't know how much I appreciate you both coming –”

  “I'm sorry, Brooklyn,” Aiden injected, bowing his head. “After everything you've done for me – ”

  “Calm down, Aiden,” I assured him softly. “None of this was your fau –”

  “I'm taking the video straight to the cops. Before anyone else gets hurt.” Aiden glanced up at Ace. “I know I should have –”

  “It's okay, kid.” Ace nodded at him. “Let's get Brooklyn checked out first, then I'll give you a ride.”

  And just like that, I walked towards the front doors with Ace's hand in mine, crunching the scattered petals beneath my feet on my way out.

  Chapter Two: Ace

  2016

  Everything in here smelled so...industrial.

  I followed the cop down the hallway. The walls were barren, making the hallway seem wider than it was. As the vents and piping system clanked overhead, the cop led me through the doors of the visiting room.

  About a dozen people in civilian clothing sat in the row of stools outside the windows. Each one of them had a phone in their hands. A row of inmates in dark green jumpsuits sat on the other end of the thick glass. Some were bouncing babies on their legs, waving their small hands at the windows. Some were sobbing, their splayed fingers leaving imprints on the glass.

  I thanked the cop and saddled up on the free seat near the end. When the cop walked off, I turned back to face the empty window in front of me. The dull gray doors weren't budging.

  Where was he?

  It had been about a week since I took Aiden to the NYPD headquarters. It felt like it all just happened yesterday, and the whirlwind of events that followed just felt fucking surreal. Looking back, I should have known something was up when Armstrong started getting all buddy-buddy with me.

  Dude was working me all along – all those weird questions about Whitaker, all that booze and weed I had to turn down. It all added up when cops found recordings of our conversations on his laptop. The asshole was trying to put words in my mouth.

  Xavier was arrested the second he was discharged from Elmhurst. He was now out on bail, awaiting trial. The driver, Mr. Wilcox, was also taken in for his hand in creating the “accident.” Turns out, that had been what McCall had uncovered before he disappeared on me.

  As for McCall, the man was fine. Like I'd suspected, Armstrong and Xavier had caught on to the PI, paying him around 2.5 million dollars to “disappear.” The authorities threatened to charge McCall as an accessory to Whitaker's murder. Last I heard, McCall had been forced to turn over the bribe money. He'd also handed over all he had on the case, and was now working on a plea deal.

  The gray door opened. Armstrong strutted up to the window in front of me in his own green jumpsuit, his cuffed hands hanging in front of him. He plunked down in his seat. His head and stubble were freshly shaved, but that wasn't the only thing new about him. There was a deep cut on his fat lower lip, and his left eye was black and swollen half-shut.

  On my way here, all I wanted to do was beat this fucker to a pulp. This crazy piece of shit masterminded an entire plot – it was like something out of a bad action movie. This crazy piece of shit took someone's life – and probably the last person who deserved it, too – just to frame me.

  But sitting here, sizing him up from the other end of the glass, I didn't know what I was feeling. I was jus
t...confused. Sure, I wasn't expecting to be the best man at Armstrong's wedding or anything, but I didn't know our beef was on that accusing-someone-of-murder type shit. Real talk – I didn't know we even had beef.

  As I reached for my phone, Armstrong did the same – grudgingly.

  “I take it you've made some new friends?” I kicked off the conversation, still looking directly at him.

  I could hear Armstrong grinding his teeth on the other end of the line, but he said nothing.

  “So, why aren't you out on bail?”

  He continued to eye me down, his jaw still shifting side to side.

  “Fine, let's just cut the crap here and get straight to it – why me, man?” I leaned forward in my seat, tilting my head to one side. “What'd I ever do to you?”

  Armstrong stopped grinding his teeth. He still wasn't saying shit, but his mouth had twisted to this smarmy smile. This was getting exhausting.

  “So, you just gonna sit there, or are you gonna tell me why you asked me to come out here?”

  When Armstrong failed to respond, I got up from my seat, shrugging.

  “Alright, man, suit yourself, but I got shit to do today, so I'm gonna take off –”

  Just as I started to hang up the phone, Armstrong's voice came through the receiver.

  “Wait.”

  I sat back down slowly, nodding at him.

  “What do you want?”

  “My brother, Derrick. None of this is his fault. There's a good chance I'm not getting out of here for a long time – if ever – and he's gonna be all alone.” Armstrong took a deep breath. His gaze dropped to his lap, but his face softened.

  “Your brother?”

  But right after I asked him, it hit me. The picture from the frame I picked up in his living room came to my mind. Armstrong licked his lips, clearing his throat.

  “He's a resident at Lemon Pines Group Homes. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yeah, but –”

  “He's going to look for me – I don't know how to break this to him. And I know what this sounds like, but I'm all out of options. Will you please check on him for me? Once a month, even if it's just for 10 minutes – just to see if he's doing alright.”

  I wrinkled my forehead.

  “Me? Don't you have any family –”

  “No. I became Derrick's guardian when I was 19. Came home for Thanksgiving and found Mom in the tub. She'd been dead for 3 days – alcohol poisoning.”

  I stared at him, still trying to put the pieces in place.

  “But why me, out of all –”

  “I'd ask one of the guys, but no one's called or been to see me since I got here.” Armstrong's chest swelled, but his head drooped even lower with shame. “I knew if I called you, you were the only one who'd come.”

  For a while, I just studied the man behind the glass. Armstrong was a face I'd known for an excess of a decade, but man, I didn't know one thing about him. There was a part of me that wanted to hock a loogie at the window and tell him to go fuck himself, but at the same time, I almost felt sorry for the dude.

  “I gotta go.”

  “Will you do that for me?” I wanted to laugh in his face at his small, pleading voice, but I couldn't. “Please.”

  Without saying a word, I gave him a short nod and hung up the phone.

  Chapter Three: Daymond

  2005

  “Alright, guys, that's enough. Settle down.”

  Mr. Smith knocked on Debbie Hunter's desk. Right away, the cheerleader stopped talking to Mario. She turned to face the front of the class, her ponytail swinging.

  As Mr. Smith walked back to the front of the room, the rest of the class shut up. From the back of the room, I flipped my pen over and over again. Mr. Smith was an alright teacher, but the guy looked and sounded like a toad. And man, this guy was so boring it should have been a crime.

  “First things first.” Mr. Smith straightened his stupid tie. It was bright blue and it had cartoon pencils all over it. “I trust you all did your homework last night. Who wants to volunteer to be the first up to the guillotine?”

  It was crickets all around, but Mr. Smith looked around at us with this big, goofy grin.

  “Come on, my little Shakespeares, don't be shy, now. If no one steps up, I suppose I'll have to draw names from a – ah, wonderful!”

  A hand slowly went up from the second row. I stopped flipping my pen and stared at the back of her head. Her fiery curls flowing down her back. The plastic rose and skull rings on her fingers and all the black rubber bracelets on her arm.

  “Come up front, Ms. O'Neill. The stage is yours.”

  Tabitha got up from her seat and walked up to the front of the class. Her lacy black dress swished around her feet. When she turned around to face us, she adjusted her black necklace and opened her notebook.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Mario leaning forward in his seat, tapping Debbie's shoulder with his ruler.

  “Babe. Do you wanna hit up this party at NYU after prom? My brother says he can get us in.”

  “Oh my god,” Debbie squealed. “Yes, please! I've never been to a –”

  I took out the rubber band in my pencil case and started to aim it at the back of Mario's head, but Mr. Smith stepped in.

  “Ms. Hunter, Mr. Gomez, I can still hear you. Now, if there's something you would like to share with the rest of the class, I'm sure Ms. O'Neill will be more than happy to –”

  “No, that's okay,” said Debbie, giggling as she turned back around in her seat. “Sorry, Mr. Smith. It won't happen again.”

  “Good.” Mr. Smith waved a hand at Tabitha. “Ms. O'Neill, you may proceed.”

  I mean, girls like Debbie were hot, but Tabitha was...different. She looked like one of those expensive porcelain dolls in my grandma's china cabinet. Grandma passed her collection to Mom when she died.

  My favorite was this beautiful doll with soft, curly red hair just like Tabitha's, except Tabitha's dark brown eyes were much prettier than the doll's. The doll kept me safe. The only way I got myself to sleep after one of Mom's drunken tantrums was to sleep with it in my arms. I used to sneak into the chest on the foot of Mom's bed and take the doll out, combing its hair and playing with it secretly in my room. That was, until Mom took them all and pawned them off on one of her crack binges.

  “You don't know it, but my heart whispers your name,

  You don't know it, but my heart withers with pain.

  You don't know it, but my heart, it aches,

  With a love so close, but so far away.”

  Some of the kids started snorting, but Tabitha continued.

  “A heart so young, so pure, and yet I've never been so sure,

  A heart unsung, your lure, our love so premature.

  It isn't our time, I tell us, but my soul, it weeps.

  For mine is the one your soul should keep.”

  Tabitha's cheeks were starting to go pink. It looked even more obvious with the black lipstick and all the dark makeup on her face. The rest of the class was restless, elbowing each other in their seats. But Tabitha kept her eyes on her notebook and went on.

  “But where do I begin? We're 2 worlds apart,

  How do I take part in something that can never start?

  My stage in lights, and yours in green, but still, I await your call,

  To catch me like you would that lemon leather ball.”

  My heart was thudding like mad against my chest. I couldn't believe it. I watched as Tabitha held her notebook against her chest and strode up to her seat, ignoring the jackasses.

  “Alright, guys, pipe down,” said Mr. Smith sternly from the front of the room. “Ms. O'Neill, that was lovely – thank you for sharing that with the class. I'll be passing my assessment of your assignments to all of you when the bell rings. Now, who'd like to go –”

  Mrs. Brown's head appeared behind the door. She was the school secretary. The rest of the class turned around in their seats to face her.

  “Mr. Smith, so sor
ry for the interruption, but Principal Matthews needs to see you right away. It's urgent, but he promises not to keep you from your class for too long.”

  “Right now?” Mr. Smith looked a little annoyed, but he straightened out his vest and headed for the door. “Alright, class, I trust you'll adhere to proper classroom etiquette in my absence. I will be right back.”

  As soon as the doors closed, it was chaos. Kids hopped out of their seats and flocked over to their friends. In less than 20 seconds, one of the guys up front had hooked up his iPod to his speakers and was bumping some Fall Out Boy.

  I wrestled with myself for a couple of seconds, but I finally worked up the courage and got out of my seat.

  “Hey, Tabitha.”

  “Yeah?”

  Tabitha whipped her head around to look at me, her hair bouncing. She stared at me, frowning. Seeing the cute freckles on her nose and her pretty dark eyes up close, my mind just got swept clean.

  “Can I help you?”

  “No, I mean – I just came over here – um, cool poem.” I gulped, smiling at her. “I mean, um, I just came over here to tell you to ignore these clowns. They wouldn't know what good poetry sounded like if it jerked off in front of them and splooged all over their faces.”

  “Wow. Thanks.” Tabitha lowered her shoulders. She pushed her hair behind her hear, smiling back at me. “A little gross, but thanks.”

  “Sorry.” I slipped my hands into my pockets. I didn't want her to see my hands shaking. “My name's Daymond, by the way. Daymond Armstrong.”

  “I know. Don't we live on the same block?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I think we do.” I gnawed on my lip, trying to hide my excitement. She knew who I was! “So, uh, that poem. I take it you've got a thing for a guy on the football team?”

  “That obvious, huh?” Tabitha rolled her eyes, groaning. “I guess the last line kinda gave it away.”

  “Right. About that. Listen, I'm just gonna go for it before I pussy out. Tabitha, I've been in love with you ever since I saw you moving in to that house across the playground. Will you go to the pr –”