Reckless: A Bad Boy Sport Romance (21 page)

The guy in the green jacket grabbed Derrick by the collar. Derrick shrank away from him, and he started to wail. He tried pushing the guy's chest, but the guy wouldn't let him go.

“Martin, let him go! It was an accident!”

When I saw the guy raising his fist, I ran towards him as fast as I could. I jumped on his back and started pounding my fists on his head and his arms – anywhere I could get him. But I was just a weaselly little kid, and he was twice my size. The guy pushed Derrick aside and plucked me off his back.

When my head slammed into the ground, I got real dizzy real fast. Everything around me looked blurry, and I could see 2 kids in green jackets on top of me. I tried to keep my eyes open, but the kid's 4 fists came thumping down on my face. The punches were so hard and so fast, I couldn't even remember how many times he hit me. It felt like the time my mom banged my forehead against the kitchen counter because Derrick went number 2 on the bathroom floor. Only, this bang came over and over again.

“Hold the twerp down!”

The guy's friends knelt down on the floor next to us. I tried to get in a few punches and kicks, but my whole body was hurting so bad. Next to me, I could hear Derrick's crying and the girl's screams getting louder.

“Oh my God, Martin, are you crazy?! He's just a kid! Stop! I said, stop –”

Suddenly, there was a rush of wind, and all 3 guys were knocked off their feet. I rolled to my side, doing my best to open my hot, puffy eyes. Derrick was bashing the guy with the green jacket's head in. His friends lay next to him, rolling around on the floor with their hands over their eyes and mouths. The girl stood over them, pulling at her red and wet cheeks as she begged them to stop.

“Oh my god, stop – you're gonna kill him!”

But Derrick didn't stop. I didn't know where all that anger came from. He wasn't the gentle giant he usually was. He had this crazy look of anger in his eyes, and he was even drooling a little bit. All I could hear was the sound of cracking bones, and it made goosebumps pop out of my skin. You couldn't even recognize the guy's face anymore. His face was all swollen and pulpy, and blood was pouring out of his nose and ears.

“Der-Derrick,” I called out, but my voice was weak. “Please – please stop.”

Derrick listened to me. He fell back to the ground and started crying again, staring at the blood all over his hands. The girl and her friends dragged the guy to his feet, and all of them scrammed.

Still crying, Derrick crawled over to me and picked me up from the floor.

“It's gonna be okay, Daymond. You're always looking out for me. It's my turn to look out for you.”

Derrick started running. I bounced up and down in his arms, holding on around his neck as tight as I could. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I bawled at the top of my lungs.

None of this was fair – nothing was ever fair.

“It's gonna be okay, Daymond. It's gonna be okay...”

Chapter Seven:
Ace

2016

“Mr. Warner?”

A wiry man in a long gray coat and a top hat called out to me by the door. He couldn't have been more than 3 years older than me, but the lush mutton chops and handlebar mustache on the dude would have put my great grandfather to shame. I turned around to look at him, and when I saw the elation exuding from his eyes, I lowered my shoulders.

“Sorry, do I need to log in to get into the building? You need me to leave an ID or something?”

“That depends – are you here to see someone?”

“Yeah. Brooklyn Cunningham. She lives here, doesn't she?”

“Oh, wow, I didn't know you were friends with Ms. Cunningham.” He grinned at me, raising his eyebrows. “Is Ms. Cunningham expecting you this evening?”

“Well, no, I was actually supposed to meet her somewhere yesterday, but I lost track of time, and I never made it. I was actually hoping to surprise her tonight – you know, make it up to her. We're, uh, old friends. We went to Bay Valley together.”

“No kidding? Well, I'll let you go on your way – she lives up on the 4
^th
floor, Apartment C-12.” He lowered his head sheepishly. “But uh, I'm going to need one of your IDs – it's protocol. You understand.”

“Of course. Driver's license okay?” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.

“Yes, that's fine.”

I handed him my license and turned away from the counter.

“Mr. Warner? One more thing.”

I stopped. My gut churned. Please, don't ask me about Whitaker –

“I saw you on TV the other day.”

Fuck.

“That game against the Steelers was out of this world – I couldn't believe I saw that thing on TV, live!”

My shoulders and chest deflated in relief. I turned back around, smiling back at his eager grin on his face. Dude looked like he was ready to burst from all that pent-up energy.

“Sorry, sir, I've just been your biggest fan since Day 1. Didn't think I'd ever meet you in person. At the risk of sounding unprofessional – you wouldn't mind signing something for me, would you?”

“Uh, yeah, no problem.” I was taken aback, but I couldn't lie – I was pretty pumped up about it. “Who should I make it out to?”

“My name's Pablo – Pablo Emanuel.”

I signed the scrap of paper he gave me and handed it back to him.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Warner – you have a great night.”

“Ace – Ace is just fine. You too.”

I headed for the elevators and got off at the 4
^th
floor. And as I walked down the hallway, counting down the doors, I ran through the apology in my head repeatedly. The last time I stood her up – well, sort of – was prom night, and we all know how that turned out. I wasn't sure just how mad she was going to be. I wasn't lying when I told Pablo I'd lost track of time. For the last couple of weeks, Mr. McCall and I had been meeting up in unscrupulous bars around the city. He never missed any of the appointments we set and always showed up about 20 minutes early – that was, until he called me at the Steelers game with information urgent enough he needed to see me in the flesh. He never showed up to the appointment we made on Monday evening. And when I was just about to set out to meet Brooklyn at Central Park, Mr. McCall shot me another text message, telling me to swing by at a Chinese restaurant on the other side of town, so I took a detour. And when he failed to show up at the restaurant again, I knew something was wrong.

I walked up to the blue door with “C-12” stamped on the front in gold letters, and knocked 3 times. The loud hip-hop music from inside the apartment ceased, stopping the rattling on the door along with it. When I heard the muffled footsteps approaching, I stepped back.

The door opened. A buff Asian kid in a black beater and baggy sweats answered the door. He blinked at me, not smiling or frowning – just staring. Rivers of sweat were dribbling down the sides of his face and neck.

“Sorry, kid. I think I got the wrong door – you know where Brooklyn Cunningham lives, by any chance?”

The kid pressed me with that cold, hard stare for another few seconds. Finally, he leaned away from the door and twisted his head back. I took note of the nasty scars all over his arms and knuckles. There was a small, perfectly round scar on the side of his neck. The mark was old and browned with age, but it definitely came from the angry mouth of a lit cigarette.

“Ms. C!” he hollered over his shoulder. “Someone's at the door for you!”

“Thanks.”

The kid grabbed a striped hoodie and the towel draped over the sofa. He went around me and headed for the elevators, his towel hanging over one shoulder. I gave him a quick salute to thank him, but he flicked his chin at me and headed down the stairs of the fire escape.

I entered Brooklyn's apartment and shut the door behind me.

The apartment was only about the size of the living room in the mansion she grew up in, but it was nice. The orange furniture and rug in the living room had been moved aside to form a small dance floor, which I assumed the kid was using. The kitchen was cramped but spotless, and the pot on the stove filled the house with the aroma of herbs and spices.

“I'll be out in a minute! Just gonna run to the bedroom for some clothes. Aiden?” The bathroom door swung open. “Aiden, who was...”

Brooklyn came out of the bathroom, rubbing her wet hair between a towel. I hadn't seen her so fresh-faced in years. She was as beautiful as ever. Her face and legs were still glowing from the heat of the shower. My eyes fell to her chest. Half of her round, perky tits were hanging out of her partially open bathrobe.

“Ace?” She turned away from the door to her bedroom, lowering her towel. “Where's Aiden?”

“He didn't say – he just left.” I blanked. Whatever apology I'd been rehearsing all morning was gone. “Who was that?”

“That's Aiden. He's one of the kids from the dance club. He's having a little trouble at home, so he's crashing here until we can figure things out.”

“I see.” I nodded, deciding not to pry any further.

“So, I'm not sure if you own a watch or a calendar, but you're about a day late,” said Brooklyn lightly. She hung up her towel behind the bathroom door and returned to the living room.

“I know. Which is why I'm here right now.” I pulled out a yellow box and placed it on the coffee table. “I'm sorry.”

“Milk Duds? I can't believe you remembered how much I...” Brooklyn didn't finish her sentence, but her lips curled in a small, tight smile. She tightened up the sash on her robe and sat down on the couch. “I suppose that's a start. You can take a seat if you want to.”

“Thanks.” I sat down next to her. “Look, I know I should have called, but my phone died. By the time I made it to the park, it was 4:30, and you were long gone.”

“Okay,” said Brooklyn slowly. She tore open the box and popped a chocolate nugget into her mouth. “Shall we get straight to the point then? What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I think you know.” I bent forward, resting my arms on my lap. “What I said to you that night at the club – I may have been wasted, but I meant every word of it. I'm innocent, Brooklyn.”

Brooklyn chewed the chocolate-caramel candy slowly, frowning.

“But you didn't come all the way down here to tell me that again, did you?”

“No. I haven't told anyone this, but I've hired a PI, goes by Mr. McCall. He called me about a week ago to tell me he had a break in the case. But he never showed up. He got a hold of me yesterday when I was on my way to meet you, but he ghosted me again. I think whoever it was – they might have gotten to him first.”

“I'm – I'm sorry, I don't know what to say.” Brooklyn gasped, but she inched a little closer to me. “Did he mention any names, at least?”

“Well, for the last few weeks, he's just been running extensive background checks and tailing everyone the team – Whitaker's family, friends – everyone's a suspect. He's narrowed down the list to about 6 people, and he's got a couple of theories, but nothing concrete.”

“Okay, well.” Brooklyn rubbed her forehead, looking increasingly flustered. “I'm just – why me? Why are you telling me this?”

I straightened up, shrugging.

“As pathetic as it may be – after all these years, you're still the only one I can count on. I trust you more than I trust me.”

“Oh.” Brooklyn twirled a lock of her limp hair, looking down at her lap. “Right. Well, thanks for that.”

“I've missed you, Brooklyn.”

“I – I've missed you, too, but I don't –”

“Listen, I'm not really one to believe in any of that fate mumbo-jumbo, but we've been living in the same city for years and we've never run into each other. And now, it's like we can't stop running into each other. Don't you think – maybe – there's a reason we've been brought together after all this time?”

For about a full minute, Brooklyn said nothing.

“I'm not gonna lie. I've been having the same thoughts myself. But I don't –”

I leaned forward and held onto her chin gently, kissing her.

“Ugh. Screw it,” Brooklyn muttered.

She swung out a leg and sat herself down on my lap, straddling me. I pushed away her damp hair and kissed her again, breathing in the sweet scent of her grapefruit shampoo. I wrapped my arms around her waist and held her small, warm body close to me. The feel of her soft skin and her body grinding up against me woke my dick.

As Brooklyn ran her fingers down my face, brushing my beard, I slid one hand into her bathrobe.

“Fuck, I've been wanting to touch you ever since you got out of that shower...”

I squeezed each tit and twisted her nipples, thrusting my bulge against her. I wanted her to feel how hard I was for her. Gasping, she suddenly pulled away from me. She got off me and stood in front of me, undoing the knot on her robe. Her narrowed, lustful eyes never left mine.

Her robe fell open, but she kept it on. She dragged her fingers down her firm stomach gingerly, tugging at the waistband of her black panties. I could see the small tuft of hair through the sheer lace. I touched myself through my jeans, clenching my teeth with each stroke. I took it all in – her fat, pink nipples... That filmy spot forming on her panties.