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  M.V.P.

  A Players Game Novella

  by Rachel Van Dyken

  Copyright © 2019 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  M.V.P.

  Copyright © 2019 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7336680-0-2

  Cover Art by Becca Manuel, Bibliophile Productions

  Formatting by Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  FRONT MATTER

  DEDICATION

  AUTHOR NOTE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  WANT MORE RVD?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  DEDICATION

  To all of those who have angels in heaven

  AUTHOR NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  This book was originally done in bi-weekly chapters in my newsletter. I compiled the chapters plus two bonus chapters in the end to create this standalone sports romance for everyone to enjoy!

  If you finish and want more from this world be sure to check out Fraternize and Infraction. Every book is a stand alone! And don’t forget to leave a review even if you hate it!

  HUGS RVD

  1

  Jax

  I would really like to think that in the grand scheme of things, I’m the responsible one, or at least I used to be.

  Star quarterback for the Bellevue Bucks, two championship rings in the last two years. Voted People's Nicest Athlete, and all-around good guy.

  That was all before.

  Before her.

  Before I got her pregnant.

  Before SIDS.

  Before.

  All of it was before.

  At least that's how I referred to my life back then, it was the before time in my life when nothing could go wrong, when nothing did. Whatever I touched turned to gold.

  And now? Now that I’m stuck in the after.

  It’s all ash.

  All of it.

  It all started when my dad died. I clung to my fiancé like a lifeline. I held her close. I kissed her belly. I smiled through the tears because we had us, our family.

  And then we had nothing.

  She couldn’t even bear to look at me.

  I couldn’t bear to look at myself.

  I stared down the bottle of Jack then shoved it off the granite countertop relishing the sound of it shattering on the floor.

  “Someone’s in a mood,” came Miller's annoying voice.

  How the hell did he end up being the one to clean up my messes? My fuck-ups?

  I clenched my teeth.

  He was shirtless as he moved his massive body around the kitchen. It had been four weeks since… I couldn’t even think about it. I couldn’t process it. If I processed it, it had happened.

  It couldn’t have happened.

  Not to us.

  Not to us.

  I shook my head and stared down at my shaking hands.

  “Have you tried talking to her?” He picked up the broken pieces of glass and set them in the sink then came over and pulled out a barstool.

  I pressed my lips together.

  “Right, so that's a no.” He sighed as a light flickered on in the hall. My sister made her way down the hallway, her expression crestfallen as she took in my drunken ass.

  “So…” Kinsey flanked my other side, and the sound of the barstool getting pulled across the slate had my ears ringing. “What are we drinking?”

  “You’re not drinking,” I said in an overprotective voice that sounded fucking scary, like my father had possessed my body and taken over. I wiped my hands down my face.

  “Sorry, old habits.”

  “My wife,” Miller said, humor lacing his tone. “Go be a big brother to someone who needs it.”

  I didn’t laugh.

  It used to be easy. Sitting with them, laughing, joking. My family, my teammate.

  Now I just felt empty.

  On the counter, my cell phone buzzed. I scowled and shoved it away.

  But when it rang again with the same number, I was ready to throw it against the fridge, was about to when Miller jerked it out of my hand and answered it.

  “Hello?” He frowned. “No, he’s right here and…” His eyes widened as he jumped to his feet. “What do you mean she doesn’t—” He stopped talking, my heart sank, what the hell was happening? “Got it, we’ll drive him.”

  “Drive me?” I tried to stand, but the room started to spin.

  “Jax,” Miller steadied me, his eyes a bit frenzied. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

  I shoved him away. “I’m not a child.”

  Just saying child had my stomach rolling. My heart clenching in my chest. “Harley was in an accident, they were doing a photo shoot for that new yoga company, and she fell three stories, broke her leg and—”

  “Shit!” We hadn’t talked in three weeks. My heart slammed against my chest. When would things get better? When? “

  “Jax,” Miller’s voice softened. “She has a concussion.”

  “Let’s go.” I was halfway to the door when his next words slammed into my consciousness.

  “She has amnesia. She doesn’t remember you.”

  I fell to my knees, unsure whether I tripped or if my body just collapsed on itself while my heart bled inside my chest.

  Arms wrapped around me — my sister.

  The love of my life didn’t know me. And all I could think was — lucky her.

  Why the hell would I ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to her?

  She doesn’t have to remember our dead baby. Or me. She gets a do-over.

  I shook my head and whispered. “I’m not going.”

  2

  Jax

  1 Year Later

  The After

  “Your focus is complete shit,” Sanchez said under his breath while I threw pass after pass. It was like I’d lost my ability to actually hit my receiver’s hands.

  “Tell me something I’m not aware of before I ram this football up your ass.”

  I let out a grunt as I threw again. Sanchez ran his route and caught it, but he had to leap to the right to even make the pass catchable.

  I threw off my helmet and kicked it.

  Thirty-four years old, and I was acting like a petulant child.

  Maybe it was time to retire.

  Hang up the cleats.

  A familiar ache spread through my chest.

  This wasn’t the plan.

  The plan was to get married to the woman of my dreams.

  To fill a brand-new house with children, to wear matching Christmas sweaters and buy a dog.

  I leaned over, my hands on my thighs as I exhaled.

  “That’s how losers rest.” Sanchez came up beside me and slapped me on the back just as Miller walked up and basically said the same thing with more profanity.

  “I’m just tired.” It was utter bullshit; they knew it, I knew it.

  They were good friends because they didn’t say anything. In all honesty they’d done nothing but be at
my side twenty-four seven, giving me updates on Harley and keeping me out of the entire situation as much as possible.

  I hadn’t just paid her hospital bills.

  I paid all her bills.

  According to her, she had a trust fund.

  Something lodged in my throat; maybe it was my heart trying to make a quick escape and slam itself onto the concrete. I loved her — love her. I swore I’d take care of her forever, I promised my father, her crazy grandmother.

  The fact that she didn’t remember any of it didn’t matter.

  I would keep my word.

  Besides, things were better this way.

  Empty.

  Painful.

  But better sure.

  A few whistles went off. I made my way to the bench and sat. I stared at the turf I’d practiced on since graduating college and getting drafted.

  The team I’d led.

  Someone sat down next to me. If it was Sanchez, he was losing his head.

  I was relieved to glance over and discover it was Miller, who quietly crossed his arms over his broad chest and sighed. “You should talk to someone.”

  “I talk to you all the time.”

  “I don’t know how to fix this for you man, I don’t know what to do. Kinsey’s so worried about you she’s losing weight, and you know how I feel about her ass.”

  I smirked. “Stop talking about my sister’s ass before I hand you yours.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He gave me a hard shove. “Look, you’re going to force her hand, and you know how your sister is. When she gets an idea in her head—”

  I squinted as Kinsey started skipping toward us with someone in tow.

  “What’s in her head?” I seethed.

  My heart rammed against my ribcage, rattled it, and shook it like prison bars, like it needed to be set free. A dizzying sensation assaulted me as Harley walked closely behind Kinsey, all smiles.

  Her hair was different.

  It was longer.

  She looked happy, healthy.

  She looked better without me.

  It hurt to acknowledge that she was the epitome of grace, beauty, perfection, and I was sitting in my own sweat ready to vomit over the loss of her, the loss of our baby.

  I couldn’t even say the name.

  The sex.

  It made it too real.

  “Your mama misses you so much…” I’d said at the grave yesterday as I put a single red rose on the stone. I read the words engraved through a blur of tears. Three months.

  For three months. I’d had the world.

  Three fucking months.

  “Hey there!” Kinsey said in an alarmingly loud chipper voice that sent me reeling.

  Miller stood and pulled her into his arms. “And how’s my wife today?”

  “Perfect, obviously.” She rolled her eyes as he lifted her into his arms and kissed her across the mouth like they weren’t in public. He always kissed her that way, like he was contemplating getting her naked every damn time.

  And yet we were still friends.

  One of life’s great mysteries.

  Harley’s eyes narrowed at me. I waited for it. For her scream of anger and pain. For her tears. For her to tell me she wished she’d never met me. I waited for all of it. I braced for it.

  And then she tilted her head and said. “Wait, aren’t you Jax Romonov?”

  “Yeah,” I rasped.

  She nodded and then tapped her head. “See? Told you, it’s all coming back. My grandma is literally obsessed with you. She says you have the best ass in America. Care to stand and do a little turn?”

  It sounded like her.

  Every bit.

  But if she knew.

  If she really knew.

  She wouldn’t be smiling at me like that.

  I had nothing left to offer her but sadness.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, ladies.” I walked away, surprised when I made it all the way into the locker room before I puked in the first toilet I could find.

  3

  Harley

  He looked angry.

  And then he paled.

  And I was left wondering if it was something I’d said or if he was an asshole.

  I was going to settle on asshole.

  I had the hardest time getting to sleep that night, something about his eyes, his blond hair. Maybe I needed more time to recover, because when I thought of him, my chest hurt.

  Why would my chest hurt over a complete stranger?

  Maybe because it felt like I knew him?

  God knew I had enough Bellevue Buck memorabilia in my house to open up my own sports store. Grandma had said it was a gift from the team.

  Just another thing I couldn’t remember.

  Like what my favorite food was.

  I hated that I couldn’t remember the little things. I mean, I knew my name, I knew my social security number for crying out loud.

  But I couldn’t remember if I’d ever had a favorite color.

  I remembered high school.

  My first kiss.

  The memories came slowly, and I wanted them to get downloaded into my head faster, because then at least I could know how to move on.

  It was a weird problem to have. But if you don’t know all of your past, how are you supposed to plan your future?

  I sighed as my alarm clock went off.

  So much for sleep.

  I had yoga to teach.

  For some reason my friend Kinsey said she thought it would be good during the off season for the guys to do some intense stretching.

  And I was the lucky person chosen.

  I knew she was just throwing me a bone because of what I’d been through in the past year, but still.

  At least it got me out of the house.

  It kept me from staring at the stupid football in my room — signed by a jackass who couldn’t even make eye contact with me.

  “Harley girl?” Grandma knocked on my door then let herself in, she always let herself in, there was zero privacy between us, but we both liked it that way. “Are you headed out soon? I have bacon?”

  I grinned. “Well if you have bacon…”

  Her smile was wide. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you.” There it was, the shimmer of something in the back of my head, something I should remember, something I couldn’t put my finger on.

  “You’ll give yourself a headache.” She shook her head at me. “These things take time. Now get dressed, get some bacon in that stomach of yours, and do make sure you tell the boys hi.”

  And that's the other thing. She referenced the Bucks as if she knew each and every one of them personally.

  I mean, she knew Miller through my friend Kinsey but she made it sound like she’d spent Christmas with all of them, including Jax.

  I gulped as my throat went dry.

  Why did he have to be so sexy?

  So strong?

  I hated that even now my blood heated at the thought of just… touching him.

  Yeah, the fall really messed with my head didn’t it? Now I want to attack complete strangers just because they smell good and have nice teeth.

  I shoved all thoughts of Jax away, hurried to put clothes on, grabbed some bacon, and was out the door in fifteen minutes.

  The drive to the stadium didn’t take long, and that's the other thing. I knew it by heart, like I’d driven there a million times, and I don't remember ever going to a game.

  My thoughts only darkened when I parked in the first available spot I could find. I grabbed my mat and bag from the passenger seat and was just starting to open my door when a sleek Benz SUV pulled up next to me. It was pitch black with tinted windows and dark rims.

  Probably another player, one of the married ones who was expecting kids or something.

  It was expensive, but for some reason I figured that a player who had buckets of money would be driving around in a Maybach or something.

  I shut the door to my brand-new Jeep and grimac
ed.

  Apparently, I’d bought it before the accident.

  But nothing about it was familiar.

  It was white with creamy leather.

  And it smelled like I’d driven it exactly twice in my lifetime.

  I fought back tears of anger at my body’s inability to help me out.

  And looked up just in time to see Jax Romonov get out of the SUV and glare in my direction.

  He clenched his jaw and then shook his head and grabbed a bag from the trunk.

  I could handle a lot of things.

  But a guy being an asshole just because he has money and a billion women salivating after him just because he could throw a stupid ball?

  Pass.

  I marched over to him, dropped my bag at my feet, keeping my mat tucked under one arm and said. “Look, I don't know what I did to piss you off, but can we start over? Because I’m going to be busting your ass for the next six weeks on the field, and I can’t help you find your inner peace with you shooting daggers at me every chance you get.”

  “Inner peace.” He snorted out a laugh. “Are you actually claiming to already have that?”

  The way his eyes twinkled at me stole my breath. He really was bad news, wasn’t he? All-American bad boy with too many muscles and a keen intelligence behind his eyes that made me uncomfortable.

  “Yes.” I found my voice, swallowed, cleared my throat. “Yoga helps the body and the mind.”

  He shook his head. “Not mine.”

  “Excuse me?” I hissed.

  “I said…” He towered over me. “…not mine, and it’s no offense to you, or to what you’re doing for the team. I’m sure all the stretching is going to be great, just stay the fuck out of my head as well as out of my way and we’ll be good.”

  He had the audacity to flash me a megawatt smile that made my brain misfire because for a second I felt like I remembered that smile, I remembered what it felt like to have it directed at me.

  But that couldn’t be right.

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “See ya later, yoga girl.” He grabbed his bag and walked away from me while I stared at him with utter confusion and irritation.

  To make matters worse, I couldn’t not look at his ass, and I almost punched my own car window when my fingers tingled like they’d actually roamed over that expansive territory he was packing.