Page 40 of Hard to Hold

My teammate and Liverpool’s captain.

“That’s not me,” I whisper to no one in particular, almost as if I have to talk my own self out of believing it, because it looks like me.

Or rather it looks like Rory.

“I need to cash in that IOU, Rush.”

“You’re what?” Surely he’s not—

“We’ve done nothing but help you ever since that day. We invited you into our home and treated you like a second son. We gave you everything you needed to set you up for success. You know I was well aware you were guilty that day. Not Rory. But this time, well, this time you take the rap for Rory.”

“Sir—” And then it hits me. I know what he’s asking, and my head shakes, rejecting any and every notion.

I was fifteen fucking years old, completely alone in the world, and this arse is holding a few desperate acts of a homeless kid over me . . . for his son.

No, for himself ultimately.

“If I hadn’t let that officer take Rory that day, you would have missed out on that scholarship. Missed your chance. Missed this life.”

My throat starts tightening up. He can’t be serious. He cannot be fucking serious. Surely Esme will do the right thing and not pretend it was me with her. She knows I’d never touch a married woman. “But—”

“Your reputation can handle this, Rush. You can weather this storm because you’re Rush fucking McKenzie—a footballer at the pinnacle of his game. Rory can’t. He’s been on the bubble for so very long between staying on the team or being cut. Something like this gets out? He’ll be cut in an instant to protect Seth. But you, you’ll probably be captain next year. Teams always forgive the antics of stars because they’re afraid to lose them.”

“I’m trying to process this, sir. Consenting to an affair is very different from a starving kid stealing food out of desperation.”

“You’re the rebel they expect this from. The man who brawls in pubs and changes women like you do your socks and doesn’t give a fuck who sees or knows.”

“That doesn’t mean that—”

“I’ll lose the election. My life’s work down the drain. You know this town and how they love their LFC. You know anyone that messes with its chance at success is a villain. I can’t run that risk. I can’t. You know I wouldn’t be asking you to ride out this storm if it weren’t of utmost importance.”

“Archibald.” I clear my throat and my chest constricts as panic spreads.

“Rory told me Esme’s leaving Seth. That they’re truly in love and she can’t handle Seth’s abuse anymore.” Abuse? Seth? He’s a surly bastard without much of a personality who keeps his private life private, but abuse? “She’s documented much of it. She—”

“You still have connections with the police. Can’t you do something about that and fix the problem in the meantime?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. The only thing to do is for you to step up. For Rory. For Helen. It’ll blow over just as quickly as that thing you did year before last. Look how little that affected you.”

The bastard in me wants to tell Archibald that his son needs to deal with his own problems. That he’s spent a lifetime fixing Rory’s mishaps to save himself and his political career the embarrassment of having a son who’s trouble.

The fifteen-year-old kid in me who was starving and desperate for a way out remembers the promise I made when I signed my first contract. The one that said I’d repay the Matheson family any way I could for giving me a life I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

I look in the mirror across from my bed. My hair is sticking up all over the place and the darkness of my ink is stark against the white of my sheets.

Who knew that day so very long ago that I took a deal with the devil? Who knew he’d come to collect like . . . this? This is bollocks. Fucking arsehole Rory.

“Rush?”

Today is my payday.

The problem? I’m arrogant enough to think I’m bigger than this. That my star is rising so high and fast that nothing can touch it. That I can weather the storm for the man who gave me the chance when he didn’t have to.

There’s a fear too, but I push it away.

“If I do this, we’re even.” I’ll just ignore the reporters. “There is no coming back for more.” I’ll make no comment on the pictures. “No favors.” I’ll act as if it’s any other fucking day. “No more—”

“Of course.”