Author: Sarah Monzon
Category: Christian
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/sarah-monzon/page,3,535596-with_you_here.html
The pied piper must be paid. Too bad no one had warned him the cost would be his soul.
Ninety minutes of freedom to soar on the football pitch, but then he was required to return to the invisible shackles no one in the stands saw. The sport and his talent for it were supposed to have been his ticket out of a situation with no escape, but he’d only traded one kind of prison for another.
Raucous laughter bounced around the enclosed room, his teammates still riding the high of the win. They’d chase it, that feeling of being unstoppable. Untouchable. On top of the world. But fame, fortune, notoriety…they were addictive mistresses, always tempting you to give more, do more, be more.
But somehow more had been skewed in a circus funhouse mirror, and reality caught a person with his pants down, spray painted his heart black, and became decidedly less. The hazy fog wrapping his mind cleared enough to blink away the last shreds of its effect, and he found that he now and truly belonged in the London rat hole he’d dug himself out of.
Seth clenched his hands into fists, the last dregs of triumph from the win gurgling in the drain under him. He shut off the water and lifted the Turkish cotton towel hanging from the peg outside the stall. Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped out of the shower room and into the group of athletes starting their celebration early.
If he were lucky, he’d be able to change and extricate himself before the revelers turned their attention to him. Too bad he knew he’d run out of luck a long time ago. Also knew his teammates were on a mission to “reform” him back to his old ways.
Briggs watched Seth as he dug through his locker and placed his duffle on a bench. The goalie tipped back an amber bottle of Old Speckled Hen, his favorite brand of ale. “Coming out with us tonight, Mr. MVP?”
Seth would rather get dressed without a room full of men hanging around, but he’d given up all rights to privacy when he’d signed onto the English Premiere League for a price tag of £17 million—enough to have the red top tabloids catch his whiff and trail him like the bloodhounds they were.
He eyed the group around him. These blokes would no doubt make the paparazzi’s job easy tonight. Come morning, headlines would be plastered on printed and digital media alike.
Whether the news stories were true or not.
Seth slipped his boxer-briefs on under his towel and then let the cotton swath fall to the ground as he reached for his pants. “Sorry. Not tonight.”
Briggs lowered his bottle, cradling the neck with two fingers. His gaze narrowed as it zeroed in on Seth.
Seth sighed, then braced himself. The first invitation had been friendly. Tactics were about to turn. He could feel it in his bones.
“Midge is bringing her friend. And I have to say, this particular friend has all the right parts in all the right places.” Briggs’s brows jumped up and down suggestively as his hands outlined an hourglass silhouette.
“And just how would your ugly backside know?” Corker laughed.
Briggs didn’t say anything, but his grin stretched, and his chest puffed out like a peacock strutting around a harem of hens.
Seth’s stomach curdled.
The other guys hooted and slapped each other on the back. Like it was a thing to be celebrated, cheating on one’s wife with her friend and getting away with it. Sad as that rubbish was, Midge probably knew about the affair and had turned a blind eye. The wives were just as trapped as the players were, accustomed to a way of life that Seth had only recently come to see as a gilded cell.
He bristled as Davie leaned a shoulder against the bank of lockers. The striker crossed his lean arms as his lids lowered to half-mast. His gaze skated across the room, eating up the rapt attention of his audience.
“Monk Marshall?” He chuckled. “Come on, boys. You know the saint has forgotten how to have a good time.” A wicked smirk morphed his pretty-boy features into something ugly. “His sister, on the other hand, is a different story, am I right?”
Blood pounded in Seth’s ears, drowning out the whoops sounding from the circle of guys. He finished buttoning his pants in a flurry and then whirled and slammed his forearm to the base of Davie’s collar bone, banging the striker’s head against the metal locker with a thud.
“Stay away from my sister,” Seth growled. He held Davie’s gaze for three beats, drilling into the man that he meant business before shoving him sideways and swiping a glare to the rest of his teammates. “That goes for all of you louts.”
They held up their hands, muttering assurances under their breath.
Davie wiped at his mouth and then straightened his Oxford shirt. He pulled at his cuffs, an air of nonchalance about him. “If only you’d told me sooner, mate.” His tone bit like the uppercut of a dirty fighter, then he licked at his lips. “She all but begged me to show her how good a time we footballers know how—”
Seth shut him up. And good. Blood spurted from Davie’s nose, his face growing red. Someone wrapped their arms through Seth’s and held him back at the shoulders. Shouts erupted, curses piercing the room.
Davie lifted his face, crimson leaking through his fingers while a cocky glint shone from his eyes. “I always knew you weren’t any better than us, Monk Marshall.”
Security guards burst through the door, and Seth shook off the hands holding him. He swiped a shirt from his open duffle and slipped it on over his head before he was escorted out.
Anger burned a streak down his esophagus, and he wanted to strike out and hit something again. Certain things were off limits, and family topped the short list. The guys could hound him for his new “no fun” ways and call him Monk Marshall until the sheep moved from the blasted roads, but they didn’t make comments about a man’s family—his sister—and they certainly didn’t sleep with her. Use her for their own debauchery.
When he got home, he’d lock Kayla in her room. Find her a chastity belt and throw away the key. She was only nineteen for goodness’ sake! If he could save her from making the same mistakes he’d made…
“You just had to let him provoke you.” Justin’s hulk of a frame expanded beneath the black security uniform as he led them through the hallway and up to the manager’s office.
Throwing punches at the first provocation wasn’t supposed to be who he was anymore. Letting acute emotions sweep him away and dictate his actions may have been his old calling card, but he’d changed. Someone had changed him. And he had Justin to thank for leading him to that Someone.
A deep breath exhaled from his lungs. And now whatever witness he’d tried to be to his teammates had been wiped away with a single right hook and possible broken nose.
But…Kayla’s honor…
Justin scratched at the temple of his salt-and-pepper hair, the corner of his lips tipping a fraction. “I have to say, when you do something, you do it in full measure.”
Seth let his chin fall to his chest. “I know.”
The sound of their footfalls echoed around them. Hard to imagine the roar of the crowd earlier in the day when all was now quiet. Too quiet.
“Well?” Seth asked.
“Well what?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For?”
“For the sermon or bible verse or whatever reminding me to be slow to anger. That my quick temper isn’t going to convince any of those guys back in the locker room that there’s been any transformation in my life and that I’m better for it.”
Justin slowed and looked at Seth from the corner of his eye. “Sounds like you’re already preaching to yourself, son.”
Seth gritted his teeth. Accepting Jesus into his heart had changed him, but he still struggled. Still wrestled against the temptations that were constantly flaunted in his face. The old man that he’d been, the one that had lived for ease and pleasure of the moment, disgusted his new self but was also hard to deny at times.
Justin paused in front of the manager’s office, but he didn’t knock on the door. Instead, he turned to face Seth. “Look, no one’s perfect. Even the apostle Pau
l struggled and did things he didn’t want to or didn’t do things he should have. Cut yourself some slack.”
Seth opened his mouth to respond, but the office door ripped open. The team’s manager, Leon McCallister, thundered on the other side. “What is this I hear about a pub brawl in the locker room, Marshall?” He pushed off the door handle and stormed behind a massive desk to his chair, leaving Seth to follow in his wake.
Seth quietly closed the door behind him and strode across the expansive office. Trophies lined floating shelves along one wall, and framed retired jerseys of hall-of-famers hung along the other.
“Not saying Davie didn’t deserve it, but I would have lost money on the connecting knuckles belonging to you.”
Seth dipped his head. “Yes, sir.”
“This will mean a fine, as you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leon steepled his fingers in front of him on the desk. “Okay. Glad we got that cleared up. This incident does give me pause for what I wanted to discuss next, but I’m going to plow ahead anyway. Rumor mill spins the tale that the team is planning a trip to Las Vegas.” His eyes narrowed as he waited for Seth to confirm or deny.
“I have heard that as well, sir.”
“But you’re not planning to join them?”
“No, sir. I’ve already arranged to volunteer with refugee children in Germany. I spoke to you about my plans last month, if you recall.”
Leon’s mouth pulled to the side. “Didn’t know you were serious about that business. Rightio. Sorry to change plans on you, but I need you in Vegas with the crew. Keep them in line. Make sure none of them do anything so illegal it’ll blacken the club’s reputation and make international headlines.”
“You want me to chaperone?”
Leon swiped the glasses from his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This current situation aside, you’re the only one to show a lick of common sense among that lot.”
“They’re grown men, sir. Most of them, anyway. They can be responsible for their own actions.”
“Except when their actions reflect the wrong type of publicity for this club.”
Seth sat for a few beats, rubbing the back of his sore knuckles across the scruff of his jaw. “I’m sorry, sir, but I made a commitment in Germany. Besides, I’m not sure the rest of the team would appreciate me putting a damper on their fun.”
Leon stood. “That’s too bad. A team that plays together—although, not too hard—stays together.” His gaze drilled into Seth.
Leon’s unspoken message was clear. For the cohesiveness of the team, he wouldn’t think twice about trading Seth, most valuable player or not.
How did Seth feel about that? A quick, introspective look at his heart and he was surprised to find himself indifferent. A new team would mean different men, but he wasn’t so naïve as to believe it would solve his problems. The temptations that followed him around like club groupies—and let’s face it, most of them were club groupies—would still hound his heels if he were with another team. He’d still be surrounded by teammates living the fast life, giving him a hard time because he no longer functioned at that speed.
Maybe he should quit football altogether.
That thought brought a quick, sharp pain between his ribs. At the heart of it all, he loved the sport. Strip away the trappings and his pulse beat with the rhythm of a ball between his feet. His earliest memories were of himself in garbage-littered back alleys, kicking aluminium cans between cardboard boxes he’d set up as goals. Football had saved him more times than he could count. He wasn’t sure if he was willing, or even able, to give it up.
“That will be all, Marshall.” McCallister bent over some paperwork on his desk.
Seth rose and retraced his steps out of the office. As he shut the door behind him, Justin pushed his hulk off the wall he’d been lounging against.
“So?”
Seth shrugged. “A fine, as expected.” Now that his wrist slap had been given, his thoughts drifted back to Kayla. He needed to get home. Have a talk with his little sister.
“Uh-oh. I know that look.”
Seth scowled at his mentor.
“Take a moment to calm down. Kayla doesn’t need you yelling at her.”
“I don’t plan on yelling.”
“And I’m sure you didn’t plan on breaking Davie’s nose, either.”
Seth pulled to a stop. Dragged his fingers through his hair. “What am I supposed to do, Justin? I can’t sit back and watch her throw her life away and not say anything.”
Justin gripped Seth’s shoulder. “Look, I’m not telling you to stay silent, but I am advising you to be careful. Kayla may act like she’s tough and doesn’t care what you or anyone else thinks, but I have a feeling that under that bravado, your sister is fragile. You don’t want to say or do something that will break her.” He squeezed. “Check your heart. Pray before you say anything. Or just listen. Maybe she’s the one that needs to do the talking.”
“Yeah.” Seth nodded. “All right.”
They parted ways, Justin promising to pray as well. It took forty minutes for Seth to drive his Land Rover from the stadium to his two-hundred-year-old home. The unique calendar house had been his first purchase after signing on to the League. Most teenagers would have gone for a swanky modern flat in the heart of London, but Seth had needed to escape the streets and buildings that hemmed him in.
He’d always dreamed of pastoral, countryside living, but when the estate agent said she had a calendar house to show him, he hadn’t known what she was talking about. A tour of the house and its quirky architectural calendar elements—seven archways, one for each day of the week; twelve doors to represent the months of the year; fifty-two chimney stacks; three hundred and sixty-five window panes—and he was sold. Four years ago, he’d renovated the stately house so there were three private flats. His family could be together but still have some personal space as well.
“Kayla, you home?” He knocked on the entrance to his sister’s apartment, ivy crawling up and over the archway.
The door opened with a creak, and Seth was blasted to the past. No make-up enhanced Kayla’s soft complexion, and her long dark hair was woven in a thick plait that hung over one shoulder. She wore a pair of denim dungarees with only one snap of the bib fastened and a plaid flannel shirt tied around her waist. He hadn’t seen his sister looking this fresh and innocent since she’d become a teenager. Then it became miniskirts, midriffs, and enough attitude to keep everyone around her a safe distance away.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She shrugged like she couldn’t care one way or another, then turned around and walked back into her flat, leaving the door open for him.
Pretty much as warm a welcome as he expected. Shouldn’t hurt so much anymore, but they’d been close once. More than close, really. For a while there, it had felt like all they had was each other.
As half-siblings conceived through different sperm donors, they’d had no father to support them, and their mum had worked her tail off just to provide a leaky roof over their heads and near-spoiled food on the table. Seven years older, Seth had felt responsible for his little sister. He’d needed to protect her from the neighborhood gangs and distract her when the violence of the streets came too close to their doorstep. He’d learned how to plait her hair and get her ready for school, and in turn, had taught her how to shoot a goal from the midfield line.
Seth closed the door behind him. Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what to say. Or rather, how to say it.
“Heard you guys won the game. I’m chuffed for you.” Kayla picked up a bag of tomato ketchup flavored potato crisps from a side table and dropped into the designer couch he’d paid for the year before. Seemed like his money was the only thing she wanted from him these days.
But if she’d watched the game, then maybe something had changed. Maybe their relationship could begin to mend.
He tried not to let the surprise or delight enter his voice. “You wa
tched the game?”
The crisp in her hand paused halfway to her mouth as she looked at him. “No.” She crunched down on the thin slice of fried potato. “Davie called after to invite me to a party.”
His vision blurred as heat shot through his body. Even after he’d warned the nit to stay away from his family, he’d still had the gall to call? Seth’s nostrils flared as he clenched the armrests of the chair, willing away every instinct that screamed for him to move. To do something. Protect his sister any way that he could.
He felt himself losing control.
Jesus.
As far as prayers went, the single word wasn’t much. Even a month after giving his life over to the Lord, he still wasn’t eloquent. But he found he didn’t need to be. He just needed say the name.
Like someone had turned on a switch, he found his temperature lowering. His pulse leveling out. The ringing in his ears quieted and he breathed in a deep breath. “Oh?” he asked, as if the news hadn’t just sent him into a Marvel Comics transformation. “You going?”
Kayla watched him, her eyes never leaving his face. “I haven’t decided. While your teammates are a bunch of egotistical narcissists, they know how to have fun.”
He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. At least, he hoped that was how it sounded, because in reality, he choked on the words that wanted to spew from his mouth.
Her brow rose. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “What do you want me to say, Kayla?”
She swore under her breath. “A month ago you would be pacing this room like a caged bull. Ranting and raving about how Davie was nothing but a tosser and I deserved someone who wasn’t just going to use me to warm his bed. A month ago you would have threatened to force me to move back in with Mum so she could keep track of me and make sure I didn’t do anything stupid.” She rose from the sofa with grace fit for the royal family, disdain twisting her pretty face and hurt dulling her eyes. “A month ago you cared enough to say that, Seth. I swear, I thought I didn’t know you anymore. Now I know I don’t.”