Page 6 of Necessary Roughness

A smile cracked across my face. I couldn’t help myself. His laptop—in fact, the entire setup—looked incredibly expensive, and I had to be honest and acknowledge that it satisfied me knowing that, after costing me millions in losses, Brett had experienced a loss of his own.

Then again, if he could afford a giant mansion on the beach, maybe he had some hidden wealth or family money to back him up.

It was really none of my business. I rushed back across the room to look at Leonard’s house, but he was nowhere to be seen. My eyes darted around, looking for him to see if he was going to claim ownership over what he’d done.

Finally, I noticed Leonard on the beach, frantically running around looking for the balloon. As I watched, he ran up to multiple strangers on the beach and I could tell that he was asking them if they’d spotted it. They all stared at him as if he was insane before politely shaking their heads no and walking away. I could see them laughing as Leonard rushed off in the wrong direction.

I walked back to the opposite side and saw Brett scrambling, trying to collect his things while also examining the random balloon that had suddenly crashed into his life. It gave me a rush of pleasure knowing that the universe was evening things out a bit. Maybe the cosmos were handling things for me behind the scenes all along.

As I left the room to finish unpacking, I realized something: for months I’d dreamt of publicly responding to Brett’s harsh words, but I couldn’t. Throughout my media training early in my career, it was made very clear to me that players were not supposed to respond negatively to any press or criticisms. It was all part of the sport, and football fans loved to keep up with commentary. To respond would seem childish and might make me seem ungrateful for my success. So, I did what most of the other major players did and kept my mouth shut. It was torture and I could barely stand it.

But the temptation to respond to Brett was strong. I could picture myself walking past his house, maybe pointing and laughing at his misfortune as I strolled by.

That would show him.

I could practically picture the pained expression on his face as I?—

A loud doorbell ring shook me from my revenge daydream.

The movers must have forgotten something.

I rushed over to the front door as fast as I could—it felt like miles away from the living room in an oversized house like this.

Finally, I arrived and pulled the door open to reveal Brett standing on the other side.

The expression on his face conveyed anger but it was probably no match for the expression that must have been on mine.

I hated this man. Loathed him. Detested the day he was ever born.

And he had the nerve to show up at my door? What the hell could he possibly want?

“Your weird balloon almost hit me!” he exclaimed.

What?

My brain refused to cooperate and force my mouth to speak. For months I’d dreamed of coming face to face with Brett Mercer so I could tell him to kiss my ass.

“Myballoon?” I said, my voice laying bare my frustration. “It wasn’t mine; I don’t sit around launching giant red hot air balloons.”

He stared at me. “I never said it was red. If it’s not your balloon, how did you know the color?”

I froze.

Shit.

Now I’d have to admit I was watching his house. Watchinghim. Suddenly, that thought worried me more than anything. I had been watching Brett. Intently. And it was more than just my seething hatred and desire to see him suffer.

There was something interesting about him.

“It was pretty tough to miss!” I said. “Have you seen my walls? They’re all glass, there’s nowhere else for me to look besides outdoors.”

Brett scowled at me. “Weird flex about your giant windows, but whatever floats your boat.”

I could feel the anger coursing through my body. Who did he think he was talking to me this way?

“It’s not a flex,” I snapped back as I gestured toward his own enormous home. “Why would I brag to you? Your house is just as big as mine.”

Brett shook his head, obviously eager to tell me I was wrong.

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