The game, p.15
The Game, page 15
They were twins and had always had a sixth sense about each other. I wondered if Ella’s news was that she was pregnant again. Max had sounded a little protective. It would explain why Markus and Martin were off together—fatherhood bonding.
Max led the way outside, then excused himself to find food after pointing out my parents overseeing a massive sandcastle construction effort just down the beach.
Abby and I slumped into a lounger together and watched the chaos below us. The girls saw us and started waving madly. “Come on, let’s go play with some kids.” She heaved a sigh, stood and pulled me from my chair. “The sooner we play with them, the quicker the time will pass until you get to fuck me again.”
“That is definitely a plan I can get behind. Or in front of, on top. However you want me.”
She swatted me on the arm. “Behave yourself in front of your family, you animal.”
“Never, baby. Bad boy, remember?” I winked.
* * * *
Markus and Martin had finally appeared right before we all sat down to dinner, reeking of cigarettes, cigars and whiskey. Markus was extraordinarily gallant and apologetic for not having been present, but also quite wobbly on his feet. Martin had collapsed in his chair and muttered a “nice to see you” while Ella had yanked on her ponytail in frustration. She and Alina were both fairly green at the stench wafting off of their beloveds and Alina couldn’t stop hiccupping.
Max sat there giggling into his always-full wineglass. My parents did what they did best and pretended all was completely normal. Totally and perfectly fine. The twins were sleepy paragons of good behavior, having been exhausted by sand soccer and pacified with promises of a visit from Santa. Ella put them down as they started nodding their little heads during dessert and met us in the living room.
Ella had noticeably been avoiding wine and our mother immediately called her on it as we relaxed around the completely unnecessary fire on the warm L.A. night.
“Do you have something to tell us?” my mother asked eagerly, sloshing her own recently refilled glass all over the coffee table.
“Maria—”
“Hush, Loren, I want to know if we will have another grandchild soon!”
Finally, Ella nodded. Martin staggered over to her and held her tightly while she looked like she wanted to vomit. “We’re pregnant!” he shouted.
“I’m pregnant,” said Ella quietly.
“Yup, she’s pregnant,” Abby helpfully supplied. Always a lightweight, she’d had at least two glasses of wine and a cocktail. “Not we. God, I hate it when men try to claim a participation award in pregnancy. Procreation, sure, but pregnancy, fuck—”
Alina laughed and hiccupped loudly, cutting Abby off. “Too right,” she agreed. “Fuck you, Markus.” She hiccupped again.
“Of course, darling.” He stared at her with besotted eyes. Terrified as he might be of fatherhood, he was absolutely, completely in love with his wife.
My mother gave everyone a dirty look. “This is wonderful news!”
Ella nodded grimly. “It is. We’re very happy about it. Now, please excuse me, I’m exhausted and need to sleep.” Martin trailed her up the stairs to their room.
Alina made a move to stand, as if she wanted to follow, but Markus had her on his lap and seemed to be holding her captive.
Max clinked his wine glass gently. “I have news too,” he announced.
“Oh, more grandchildren!” my mother exclaimed.
“Not exactly. Nicole and I are divorcing. Amicably, but there’s a small matter of disagreement about ownership of several of our biggest producing vineyards. But we should be fine. Absolutely fine.”
“What?” My mother clapped a hand over her mouth.
Abby was highly amused by Max’s nonchalance as he poured himself another drink and shoved her own glass out when he waved the bottle vaguely around the room.
“Good girl,” he murmured as he poured, and I rolled my eyes.
“Our vineyard? You’re losing our vineyards, Maximilian?” My mother was distraught. This had been her family’s business for hundreds of years.
“No, no. It’s fine, no worries, Mother.”
“But—”
“Mother, stop talking,” Markus finally chimed in and Max threw him a grateful look. “He’s taking care of things, leave it.”
Abby elbowed me and I cleared my throat to forestall my mother from unleashing another tirade. “So sorry, Max. Are you okay?”
“Been better, but everything will be fine. And you, Matti? Any news you’d like to share?” Someone clearly wants the subject changed.
“Not really,” I answered.
“Oh, Matthias, I do hope you’re not getting kicked off another team,” my mother said, switching her attention to a new target.
Markus interjected, “Knock it off. Don’t talk to him like he’s a naughty teenager.”
“Not helping, Markus,” murmured Alina.
“No,” he said stubbornly. “They should know. Everyone should know. We were not fair—”
“Fair?” my mother exploded. “Fair? What on earth do you mean? Matti has always had every opportunity. We’ve spoiled him, really, and he can’t even be bothered to be grateful—”
“Moth—” started Markus.
“Now hold up for one fucking second.” Abby lurched to her feet and, before I could grab her, staggered over to stand in front of my parents. She rarely lost her redhead temper, but when she did, it was totally and absolutely without any sense of remorse. “You people are the worst. Worst parents in history, completely terrible. How dare you even think about lecturing him? Do you honestly have no idea what he’s gone through?”
“What on earth is she talking about?” My mother and father peered over their glasses at me.
I shrugged helplessly. “I—”
She steamrolled back into the conversation, words spitting out through a clenched jaw. “Talking down to your son like he’s a child. Your adult son who you’ve ignored for most of his life.” I glanced at Alina and she raised a fist in solidarity.
“Do you even realize you’ve forgotten his birthday every fucking year?” Abby shouted. “Every year, since he left at home at ten—which is way too fucking young, but I’ll get back to that in a second—you’ve forgotten his birthday. And then there’s the fact that he’s struggled with school his entire life and you didn’t fucking care. Do you not realize that ninety-nine percent of the crap he’s pulled is mostly to hide the fact that he’s practically illiterate? But none of you…none of you supported him. Cared enough to figure out what was going on. You shipped him off to Spain to be someone else’s problem. You’re horrible parents.”
“Yes, horrible,” Max or Markus—possibly both—interjected.
Alina hissed at me. “This is great, but maybe you should stop her before one of them starts physically attacking the other.”
I got up from my chair and hurried over to Abby. Standing in front of her, I held out a hand. She automatically high-fived me, such an adorable little jock, and I scooped her up and over my shoulder. “G’night, everyone. We’re going to bed.”
“Fuck all of y’all, we’re gonna go bang,” Abby slurred upside down.
Max and Markus raised their glasses again and she flipped them off as I jogged toward the stairs. I heard Alina say, approvingly, “I like her. And, Maria, she’s right. You really are dreadful sometimes. Now I’m going to bed too. Markus?”
I opened the door, stepped through and closed it behind us, then dropped Abby on the bed, where she slumped to the side. “You’re the best, Stabby Abby. Thank you.”
“Right backatchyou. You’re my favorite person,” she muttered.
“Aw, I’m flattered. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed.”
“Mmhmm, then we can bang?” she asked hopefully as I picked her up again and carried her into the bathroom.
“We’ll see, Stabby. Maybe I’ll go down on you for a bit.”
“You’re the best, Shellenberg. Love you.” Her eyes closed and I don’t think she realized what she’d said because, in the next second, she was snoring in my arms.
I held her tightly and stroked her hair, then kissed her forehead. “I love you too, Stabby. Love you so much.”
* * * *
By the time we got home from a lazy brunch with my brothers and sisters the next day, my mother was ready to apologize in her usual dramatic fashion. As per usual, she made it all about her and, while Abby looked like she might murder her with a wine bottle, I forgave her. Over dinner Alina asked if I wanted to do a big birthday thing the next day, but as I was about to say no, Abby interjected.
“We won’t be here, actually, but thanks.”
Everyone stared, but she didn’t seem to notice as she chewed with her eyes on her plate.
“Uh, Stabby? What are you talking about?” I asked.
“He calls her Stabby!” Trudy whisper-shouted to her sister.
“Can we call her Tante Stabby when they get married?” Tess whispered back.
“Girls,” reprimanded Ella. “That’s enough.”
“We’re not going to be here,” Abby repeated and wiped her mouth.
“Where are we going to—” I started to ask.
“Yeah, I booked us a trip to Mexico. Surprise? Happy Birthday?” She flushed, seemingly flustered by the sudden attention. “I mean, if you want to stay here and hang out, I can probably cancel.”
“That’s so romantic,” Alina murmured to Markus.
“They’re adorable,” he whispered back.
Max snorted.
“No, no, we can go.” I was touched, tickled pink. And she was turning my favorite color as everyone stared at her like they were seeing her for the first time. “In fact, maybe we need to go get packed.”
Just like previous night, I scooped her up from her chair, pulled the fork from her hand and dropped it on her plate, where it landed with a clatter.
“Put me down, you big lunk. I wasn’t finished!” she protested.
“’Night, everyone, what a great Christmas. See you all next year!” I shouted over my shoulder as I galloped away with Abby trying to wriggle loose.
“Fake engagement, my ass,” said Ella and everyone gasped and the twins crowed about a swear jar.
I laughed under my breath and kissed Abby lightly on the lips. “The best, Stabby, the absolute best.”
“You too, Matti. You too.”
She never lost the smile on her face when she drifted off a half-hour later. I stroked her forehead as she lay across my chest. When we were in Mexico, I decided that I’d tell her how I felt, that I was done with contracts and that I wanted this to be real. Hopefully she wouldn’t live up to her nickname when I did.
Chapter Seventeen
Matti
Abby dragged me by the hand through the heavy sand back to our little rental. We were around the bay from the main community beach, separated by a brief rocky stretch that no one seemed interested in navigating and reachable by a very dubious road through the jungle.
It was perfect. She was perfect. Everything was perfect.
“Last one in has to either do the cooking or decide where we’re going for dinner tonight!” she shouted as she sprinted ahead of me.
I felt a twinge of worry for her still weakened knee, but she seemed to be almost fully healed and I followed more slowly—not minding the whole cooking responsibility or the view of her cute bubble butt bouncing away from me in peek-a-boo bikini.
“What’s it gonna be, hotshot? You cooking for me, naked, or are we going out?” Sassy Abby was out and ready to play when I reached the door, leaning against the frame with one little hand propped on her hip. Screw dinner, I wanted to untie the strings holding that swimsuit together.
“Naked cooking, baby. Naked cooking.” I shucked off my trunks right there on the porch and swaggered in, loving the way her eyes got big and glazed over as they followed my path. “You coming?” I asked over my shoulder as she stood frozen in the doorway.
“Oh, yes. I am definitely coming,” she muttered as she tagged along after me. I could feel her hot gaze squarely on my ass as I whipped an apron over my front to protect it from splatters and started pulling produce and some chicken we’d bought earlier out of the fridge.
“You will be tonight, count on it.” I smirked and she punched me lightly.
“I’m holding you to that promise, Shellenberg.” She stepped around me and grabbed some lime juice and juggled it with an ice cube tray. My lady had learned to make a mean margarita over the past few days.
“Here, want one?” She handed me a drink while I finished slicing up vegetables and tossed them in a hot pan.
We brought the pitcher of margaritas she’d made out to the lanai with our food when it was ready. It was so peaceful out there. The stars and moon seemed to be close enough to touch.
“You’re on clean-up duty and making more drinks,” I informed her when we were done.
“Christ, you’re bossy.” She had a glow going, not quite buzzed but playful.
“Fine, I’ll help you out.”
“You’re staying naked, though.”
“Now who’s the bossy one?” We smiled at each other and carried plates and food inside, along with the pitcher, to clean up companionably like an old married couple.
It was our last night in paradise and I don’t think either of us wanted to be away from each other. The past few days had been magical—there was really no other word for it. We spent most of the day naked on our patio, sometimes venturing into our swimsuits and heading to the public beach, where we’d sit under umbrellas and drink margaritas and ice-cold Mexican beer. We ate our weight in ceviche and grilled shrimp in adobo spices with avocado and lime juice in thin little tortillas. Then we’d stumble home love-drunk and windswept and fuck all night. I had high hopes for that night too.
Abby hummed along with the scratchy music that warbled out of the little boombox in the kitchen as we washed dishes. Me washing and rinsing, her drying and setting them carefully back into the cupboards. I took over from her with the pots and pans while she made another pitcher of margaritas.
“Can you lighten those up a little?” I asked as I watched her dance around the tiny living room slinging booze and lime juice. “You’re probably going to have a wicked sunburn after today.”
She laughed. “Yeah, no problem—I’ll cut the tequila in half. I don’t want to be super hungover tomorrow either.”
“Perfect.” I swept her up in my arms and carried her and the pitcher back out to the lanai, where we snuggled onto a lounge chair to watch the stars move.
“Can I talk to you about something?” Her voice was tentative as she swirled her drink, making the ice cubes dance.
I reached over to smooth a flyaway hair off her forehead. “Of course, always.”
“I feel like I haven’t been completely honest with you…” She trailed off and my stomach sank a little.
“What do you mean?” I was more than a little hesitant as she reached for my hand.
“Most of this comes from seeing you with your family, and I know I’ve told you a little bit about my own growing up, but I didn’t go into everything.” Her eyes were glassy and this time it wasn’t desire or the alcohol talking. She was screwing up her courage to open up. To tell me everything.
I heard about her childhood, the trauma of her family abandoning her, and finally realized how serious it was—how badly she’d been hurt by them and how it still made her wary and distrustful. She told me that she never wanted to see them again, never even think of them, and I believed her wholeheartedly.
My heart broke for the little girl she’d been who’d never fit into the space they wanted to force her into—no matter how hard she tried. Then she said that she wasn’t sure how, or when, but somewhere along the line, things between us had turned real for her. Or at least she wanted them to be. When she stumbled to a halt and stared at me with pleading eyes, all of the ice completely melted, I could barely speak as I pulled her into my arms.
I finally gasped out, “God, Abby. It’s been real for me almost since the beginning.”
“You promise?” she asked hesitantly. “I’m scared of this. Of how I feel about you, like I never want to let you go.”
“I’m here for you, always, if you’ll let me be.”
She blinked at me as she assessed my words, then sighed. “I think you’re stuck with me, Ratty.”
That trust settled on me like an uneasy but soft and comforting blanket. I could do this, be whatever she needed whenever she needed. Teammate, best friend, lover, anything. “Good, because you’re super-duper stuck with me, Ms. Stabby.”
Up to that point, I’d never made love to anyone in my life, but that night I made love to Abby McKinnon. She kissed me and rolled over, asleep within seconds. I watched her for a few minutes, counting the freckles that had come out to play, dotting across her cheekbones. The crooked smile that brought out a shy dimple in her cheek when I tucked a lock of hair behind her cheek broke me and I grabbed my phone, took a quick picture.
Setting the phone down, I curved around her, tucking her head under my chin and felt contentment settle over me like a weighted blanket. Nothing would ever be the same. We were done pretending.
* * * *
“Oh, snuggle bug, got your bag?” I asked as Abby came up to me with a rolling suitcase behind her. Two tiny paper cups with something steaming inside were clenched between her fingers. “One of those for me?”
She handed one over and we both took down those shots of espresso like we’d taken down racks of tequila shots in Mexico for the last five days. We both grimaced and I took her cup, stacked it with my own and dropped it in a nearby trash can. Despite our best intentions from the previous night, the emotions of it all had us in hangovers worse than any caused by alcohol.
“I feel like absolute shit.” She groaned as her sunburn crinkled under her frown. The last day in Mexico, Abby had become bold under the guidance of Lady Tequila and foresworn sunscreen since it was slightly overcast. The woman looked like a gorgeous tomato.
