Chapter 2

The voices, disguised as whispers, travel through the thin walls and into the small guest bedroom.

“Explain to me again how you know Oliver,” Lana asks.

There’s a pause, followed by a clang, causing Seb to grunt out a string of profanities.

“We played for the same club just in different divisions.”

“What does that even mean… divisions?” I can hear the confusion in Lana’s tone. “So, he’s your friend?”

“We’re soccer acquaintances,” Seb corrects her. “Mutha-fucking-hell, did you see the size of that thing?”

“Can you tone down the language? Honestly, you know Ace is a sponge. The other day I caught him saying ‘bugger’ when his toy truck wouldn’t close. He’s only two. We can’t have him learning bad words so early and especially the Aussie slang you’re so fond of.”

There are more shuffling and random noises which I’d rather ignore but find it almost impossible given the proximity to where they are located in the house.

I hate staying in other people’s homes. Invasion of someone’s personal space makes me uncomfortable—sharing the same shower, using the same bathroom, tiptoeing around the kitchen at night when you need some water, or God forbid, something to eat.

It’s not like I can’t afford to stay somewhere else. Money is not the issue. I could have rented my own place or even crashed at one of the hotels in LA with housekeeping and room service at my beck and call. This wasn’t my preference.

Seb insisted I stay until the media back home settles down. I was their target, and yet they are still to grow bored of me. All I wanted was to be alone. Seb was quick to warn me that isolation is a devil in disguise. No good would come of me being holed up in some fancy hotel with my phone and the internet in my idle hands.

I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. This is the only place I could run to, at least the only place which welcomed me with open arms, or so I thought.

“So, he’s your friend, acquaintance, whatever, and not some ax-wielding murderer?”

“You forgot serial killer,” Seb reminds her, jokingly. “Specializes in hitchhikers and annoying wives.”

“You’re not being serious, Sebastian.”

“And you’re being uptight, princess.”

There’s silence between them, and part of me feels guilty for even causing this argument. I’ve known Seb for years. He’s as laid back as you can get, yet Lana is different. She is nice, greeted me politely, and not once in the last day has said anything to make me feel unwelcome. I’ll admit I was shocked Seb had settled down, especially with an American chick. But Lana is hot, and I can easily see why they are together.

Seb likes to prod.

Lana gives it back two-fold.

“Look, if anyone knows what it’s like to end your career early, it’s me,” Seb sympathizes, his tone soft though serious. “Give the guy a break, okay? He’s doing it tough, and he needs to lay low while the media backs the hell off. He can’t be alone right now.”

Lana’s sigh is loud enough to break the walls.

“Fine. Two weeks like you promised. Okay? We have a kid now, plus Bubbles. Just make sure he doesn’t bring back any hussies.”

Seb doesn’t hold back, his laugh barreling through the house until their voices fade and they’ve left the room.

I continue to stare at the ceiling. It’s white, uninteresting, and a blank canvas for my thoughts. It’s dull compared to the rest of the room. Seb is into that whole recycled junk art thing. I’m not sure what is hanging on the wall—some scrap piece of metal bent into something artistic. Whatever the hell it is, it looks good against the pale gray walls. It’s obvious the artwork is the extent of Seb’s decorating abilities. The double bed is piled with a million pillows ranging from velour to something plucked from a peacock, and it screams Lana. Why women feel the need to scatter cushions all over a bed is beyond me.

But bed cushions are the least of my problems.

This is all shades of fucked-up.

My life, that is.

I’m Oliver-fucking-Madden, twenty-six, and Australia’s highest-paid soccer star.

Well—past fucking tense.

The nightmare replays in my mind. It’s taunted me every which way I turn. The red light, the green light, my foot on the accelerator, my brand-new Ducati mangled against a large gum tree.

I was supposed to count myself lucky. The damage could have been worse. It could have been a spinal cord injury leaving me paralyzed or even worse—dead. So according to my physicians, treating specialists, and every fucking opinionated medical dickhead, a shoulder injury is the best outcome I could have asked for.

Right! An outcome that resulted in me being unable to play soccer—indefinitely.

I rub my hands against my face, willing the voices to stop. It’s as if time is standing still until I hear a creaking noise at the door causing me to flinch.

The rabbit.

What the hell is the name of this thing again? ? I don’t think Seb mentioned if it were a boy or girl. I recall it was a fun name. Fun until I actually met it for the first time.

Fuck, it’s watching me.

It looks ready to attack—red eyes staring at me with a deathly stare. That thing can smell fear, I’m sure of it, just like dogs.

I sit up, composed yet shuffling as close to the wall as possible, paying attention to our distance. “Hey, bunny.”

Nothing.The silence instilling fear in me.

Okay, so maybe bunny isn’t the name. Like, who has a goddamn rabbit for a pet and allows it roam inside the house? Rabbits belong in pens outside in the backyard. I’m not sure this is even a rabbit, its the size of a damn pig or something. Bunnies are supposed to be cute. This one looks like it’s a lab experiment gone wrong.

“Rabbit?”

Nothing.

“Buns?”

Silence.

“Bun Bun, Bobby, Bubbles?—”

It hops out of the room as if it’s marked its territory and leaves me again with my thoughts. I let out the breath I had been holding in, allowing my head to fall back onto the headboard and resume my stare-off with the ceiling.

I will prove Lana wrong and find some other place to live in the next few days. Two weeks in this joint will suffocate me. I have my own penthouse apartment for Christ’s sake, with views of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House. In Australia, I’m royalty.

In this room—I am nothing.

I keep reminding myself this is temporary.

Temporary until I figure out my next move.

It’s Friday night, and unless I had a big game the following day, I can’t remember the last time I stayed in on a Friday night. I need to get out of here before Seb and Lana whip out a Monopoly board and call it a ‘family fun night’ in. At least, I figure that’s what married couples with kids do.

Manhattan Beach must have something on tonight. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I type in ‘Manhattan Beach nightlife’ to be met with some possibilities. A few bars, known local establishments, and anything with the words ‘happy hour’ will suffice.

I grab a pair of fresh boxers, my black jeans, denim shirt, and towel to head straight for the bathroom.

“Where you heading to?” Seb yells from the couch.

“Some pub or bar. I need to blow off steam… you know how it is,” I respond, just shy of the door.

Seb laughs, channel surfing with a Corona in hand. “A good ol’ blowie will cure the blues.”

It’s my turn to laugh. Despite Seb settling into married life, he hasn’t changed one bit. The guy was quite the player back in the day. It’s odd to see him so committed to family life now.

“Sounds spot on. Don’t wait up. Tonight will be my lucky night.”

Seb raises his bottle. “Good luck, Bud. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

If I have my way tonight, I’ll end up in some gorgeous woman’s bed blowing off some pent-up frustration. I can’t even recall the last time I’d been inside a chick.

Yes, you do. It was Bianca the night before the accident when you told her you loved her and promised her a ring, house, and two-point-five kids one day because it made sense for your career.

“Don’t count on it,” I tell Sebastian with an air of confidence. “I’m gonna pull out the Aussie charm. These American girls won’t know what hit them.”

“The last time I pulled out the Aussie charm, I met the girl of my dreams. Be careful what you wish for, unless, of course, you wanna be just like me.” Seb smirks.

I move toward the couch, patting Seb on the shoulder. “Mate, there are many things I want to achieve in life, but being pussy-whipped ain’t one of them.”

Seb shakes his head, chugging the rest of the Corona. “Never say never.”

Throwing my towel around my neck, I continue my walk to the bathroom with a booming laugh. “Never.”