The Soccer Star

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

The dog’s whimpering almost drowned out the pulse-pounding rock music playing in his parents’ home gym.

Ryker didn’t glance at Cupcake. The dog could wait. He needed to finish his workout.

Lying on the weight machine’s bench, he raised the bar overhead, doing the number of reps recommended by the club’s trainer. He used free weights when he trained in Phoenix, but his mom wanted him using the machine when he worked out alone.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d ditched his T-shirt twenty minutes ago. His bare back stuck to the vinyl.

Ryker tightened his grip on the handles.

He wanted to return to the Fuego in top form, to show them he deserved the captaincy and their respect. He’d lost one major endorsement deal because of his bad-boy behavior. In his defense, tequila had never sat well with him, and his teammates knew that when they kept buying him shots at the dance club, but he ended up being the fall guy when the riot broke out. For all he knew, he might not even have a spot on the Fuego roster come opening day. And that...sucked.

On the final rep, his muscles ached, and his arms trembled. He clenched his jaw, pushing the weight overhead one last time.

“Yes!”

He’d increased the amount of weight this morning. The improvements in upper-body strength would please his trainer. That and his core were the only things he could work on.

Ryker sat up, breathing hard. Not good. He needed to keep up his endurance while he healed from the surgery.

Stupid foot. He stared at his right leg encased in a black walking-cast boot.

His fault.

Each of Ryker’s muscles tensed in frustration. He should have known better than to be showboating during the friendly with Mexico. Now he was sidelined, unable to run or kick.

When he hurt himself, the media had accused him of being hungover or drunk. They’d been wrong. Again. He’d learned his lesson after the tequila shots. But dealing with the press was as much a part of his job as what happened for ninety minutes out on the pitch.

He’d appeared on camera, admitted the reason for his injury—goofing off for the crowd and the cameras—and apologized to both fans and teammates. But the truth had made him look more like a bad boy than ever given his red cards during matches the last two seasons, the trouble he’d gotten into off the field, and the endless “reports” on his dating habits.

The dog whined louder.

From soccer superstar to dog sitter.

Ryker half laughed.

Cupcake barked as if tired of being ignored any longer.

“Come here.”

His parents’ small pup pranced across the padded gym floor, acting more like a pedigreed champion show dog than a full-blooded mutt. He’d wanted to buy his mom and dad a purebred, but they adopted one from the local animal rescue, instead.

Cupcake stared up at him with sad, pitiful brown eyes. She had mangy gray fur, short legs, and a long, bushy tail. Only his mom and dad could love an animal this ugly and pathetic.

“Come on, girl.” Ryker scooped her up into his arms. “I know you miss Mom and Dad. I do, too. But you need to stop crying. They deserve a vacation without having to worry about you or me.”

He’d given his parents a cruise for their thirty-second wedding anniversary. Even though he’d bought them this mansion on the opposite side of town, far away from the two-bedroom apartment where he’d grown up, and deposited money into a checking account for them each month, both continued to work in the same low-paying jobs they’d had for as long as their marriage. They also drove the same old vehicles though newer ones, Christmas presents from him, were parked in the four-car garage.

His parents’ sole indulgence was Cupcake. They spoiled the dog rotten. They hadn’t wanted to leave her in a kennel or in the care of a stranger, so after his injury they asked Ryker if he would dog sit. His mom and dad never asked him for anything, so he’d jumped at the opportunity to do this.

Though he hated being back in Wicksburg because of the bad memories from when he was a kid. Even small towns had bullies and not-so-nice cliques who didn’t like poor people.

Ryker missed the fun and excitement of a big city, but he needed time to get away, to repair the damage he’d done to his foot and his reputation. No one was happy with him at the moment, especially himself. Until being injured, he hadn’t realized he’d been so restless, unfocused, careless.

Cupcake pawed at his hands. Her sign she wanted rubs.

“Mom and Dad will be home before you know it.” Ryker petted the top of her head. “Okay?”

The dog licked him.

He placed her on the floor and then stood. “I’m getting some water. Then it’s shower time. If I don’t trim my beard, I’ll look mangy like you.”

Cupcake barked.

His cell phone, sitting on the countertop next to his water bottle, rang. He read the name on the screen. Blake Cochrane. His agent.

Ryker glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock here meant seven in Los Angeles. He answered the call. “An early morning for you.”

“I’m here by six to beat the traffic,” Blake said. “According to Twitter, you made a public appearance the other night. What happened to you lying low?”

“I was hungry.” Ryker hated having to explain himself. “The fire station puts on an annual spaghetti feed, so I thought I could eat and support a good cause. They asked if I’d sign autographs and pose for pictures. I couldn’t say no.”

“Any press?”

“The local weekly paper.” With the phone in one hand and a water bottle in the other, he walked to the living room with Cupcake tagging alongside him. He’d only been off crutches a few days, but he tried hard not to favor his right foot. “I told them no interview because I wanted the focus to be on the event. The photographer took pictures of the crowd, so I might be in a few.”

“Let’s hope whatever they publish is positive.”

“I was talking with people I grew up with.” Some had treated him like garbage until he’d joined a soccer team. Most accepted him after he became a starter on the high-school varsity team as a freshman. He’d shown them all by becoming a professional athlete. “A bunch of happy kids surrounded me.”

“That sounds safe enough,” Blake admitted. “But be careful. Another endorsement deal fell through. They’re nervous about your injury. The concerns over your image didn’t help.”

Ryker dragged his hand through his hair. “Let me guess. They want a clean-cut American, not a bearded bad boy who thinks red cards are better than goals.”

“You got it,” Blake said. “I’ve heard nothing official, but rumors are swirling that Mr. McElroy wants to loan you out to a Premier League club.”

McElroy was the new owner of the Phoenix Fuego FC. He took more interest in players than any other head honcho in the MLS. He’d fired the coach/manager who’d wanted to run things his way and hired a new one, Elliot Fritz, who didn’t mind the owner being so hands-on. “Seriously?”

“It’s come from more than one source.”

As Blake mentioned two clubs, Ryker plopped into his dad’s easy chair.

Cupcake jumped onto his lap.

“I took my eye off the ball,” he said. “I made some mistakes. I apologized. I’m recovering and keeping my name out of the news. I don’t see why we all can’t move on.”

“It’s not that easy. You’re one of the best soccer players in the world. Before your foot surgery, you were a first-team player who could have started for any football club here or abroad. Few Americans can say that,” Blake said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But McElroy believes your bad-boy image isn’t a draw in the stands or with the kids. Merchandising is important these days.”

“Yeah, I know. Being injured and getting older doesn’t help my cause.” As if his upcoming thirtieth birthday suddenly made Ryker an old man. He remembered what the new owner had said in an interview. “McElroy called me an overpaid liability. But if that’s the case, why would a premier club want to take me on?”

“The transfer period doesn’t start until June. None have said they want the loan yet.”

Ouch. But Ryker had only himself to blame for the mess he found himself in.

“The good news is the MLS doesn’t want to lose a homegrown player as talented as you. McElroy’s feathers got ruffled,” Blake continued. “He’s asserting his authority and reminding you that he controls your contract.”

“You mean, my future.”

“That’s how billionaires are.”

“I’ll stick to being a millionaire, then.”

“Not if endorsements keep dropping. I only say that because your days of signing any eight-figure deals are over. Now that you’re in the U.S., sponsor money is where it’s at.”

Ryker rubbed his beard. “Look, I get why McElroy’s upset. Coach Fritz, too. I haven’t done a good job handling stuff.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Great. Blake was supposed to be on his side. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve never been an angel. But I’m not the devil, either. There’s no way I could do all the press says. The media exaggerate everything.”

“True, but people’s concerns are real. Valid,” Blake explained. “This time at your parents’ house is critical. Watch yourself.”

“I’ll fix this. I want to play in the MLS.” Ryker had spent nearly a decade in the U.K. He’d earned more money for playing the sport he loved than he’d dreamed about, but he wasn’t ready to hang up his cleats. He just wanted to be closer to his mom and dad. “My folks are doing fine, but they’re not getting any younger. I don’t want to be an ocean away from them. If McElroy doesn’t want me, see if the Indianapolis Rage or some other club does.”

“McElroy won’t let a franchise player like you go to another MLS club,” Blake said matter-of-factly. “If you want to play stateside, it’ll be with Fuego.”

Ryker petted Cupcake. “Then I’ll keep lying low and polishing my image so it shines.”

“Blind me, Ry.”

“Will do.” Everyone always wanted something from him. This was no different. But it sucked he had to prove himself all over again with Mr. McElroy and the Phoenix fans. “At least I can’t get into trouble dog sitting. Wicksburg is the definition of boring.”

“Women—”

“Not here,” Ryker interrupted. “I know what’s expected. It’s also hard on my mom to read the gossip about me on the internet. She doesn’t need to hear it firsthand from people in town.”

“You should bring your mom back with you to Phoenix.”

“Dude. Keeping it quiet and on the down low is fine while I’m here, but let’s not go crazy.” Ryker shuddered at the thought of his mother being his chaperone. He loved her, but that would be way too much. “Despite the reports of me hooking up with every starlet in Hollywood and model in New York, I’ve been more than discreet and discriminate with whom I see. But beautiful women coming on to me are one perk of the sport.”

Blake sighed. “I remember when you were this scrappy, young kid who cared only about soccer. It used to be all about the sport for you.”

“It still is.” Ryker was the small-town kid from the Midwest who hit the big time overseas, playing with the best in the world. Football, as they called it everywhere but in the U.S., meant everything to him. Without it... “Soccer is my life. That’s why I’m trying to get back on track.”

A beat passed and another. “Just remember, actions speak louder than words.”

After a quick goodbye, Blake disconnected from the call.

Ryker stared at his phone. He’d signed with Blake when he was eighteen. The older Ryker got, the smarter his agent’s advice sounded.

Actions speak louder than words.

Lately, Ryker’s actions hadn’t been effective. He looked at Cupcake.

“I’ve put myself in the doghouse.” The red cards came after people figured out how to push his buttons. One player had called him the same derogatory term as the bullies in school. Others quickly realized that was his trigger and had also said it. The drinking and partying had been his way to forget the taunting and his past, which he’d thought was behind him. “Now I’ve got to get myself out of it.”

The doorbell rang.

Cupcake jumped off his lap and ran to the front door, barking ferociously as if she weighed ninety pounds, not nineteen.

Who could that be? He wasn’t expecting anyone.

The dog kept barking.

He remained seated.

Let Cupcake deal with it. Ryker didn’t want company. If he ignored them, they would go away.