Sporting Secrets Box Set (Books 1-3)

MM Calder
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SPORTING SECRETS BOX SET
Sporting Secrets Books 1-3

Plus Bonus Scenes

JAX CALDER
Copyright © 2024 by Jax Calder
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by R.Bosevski of Story Styling Cover Design.

 Contents
Playing Offside
1. Aiden
2. Tyler
3. Aiden
4. Tyler
5. Aiden
6. Tyler
7. Aiden
8. Tyler
9. Aiden
10. Tyler
11. Aiden
12. Tyler
13. Aiden
14. Tyler
15. Aiden
16. Tyler
17. Aiden
18. Tyler
19. Aiden
20. Tyler
21. Aiden
22. Tyler
23. Aiden
24. Tyler
25. Aiden
26. Tyler
27. Aiden
28. Tyler
29. Aiden
30. Tyler
31. Aiden
32. Tyler
33. Aiden
34. Tyler
Epilogue

Playing Offside Bonus Scene

Tyler

Playing at Home
1. Jacob
2. Austin
3. Jacob
4. Austin
5. Jacob
6. Austin
7. Jacob
8. Austin
9. Jacob
10. Austin
11. Jacob
12. Austin
13. Jacob
14. Austin
15. Jacob
16. Austin
17. Jacob
18. Austin
19. Jacob
20. Austin
 21. Jacob
22. Austin
23. Jacob
24. Austin
25. Jacob
26. Austin
27. Jacob
28. Austin
29. Jacob
30. Austin
31. Jacob
32. Austin
33. Jacob
34. Austin
Epilogue

Playing at Home Bonus Scene

Austin

Playing for Keeps

Prologue
1. Ethan
2. Luke
3. Ethan
4. Luke
5. Ethan
6. Luke
7. Ethan
8. Luke
9. Ethan
10. Luke
11. Ethan
12. Luke
13. Ethan
14. Luke
15. Ethan
16. Luke
17. Ethan
18. Luke
19. Ethan
20. Luke
21. Ethan
22. Luke
23. Ethan
24. Luke
25. Ethan
26. Luke
27. Ethan
28. Luke
29. Ethan
30. Luke
31. Ethan
32. Luke
33. Ethan
34. Luke
35. Ethan
36. Luke
37. Ethan
Epilogue

Playing for Keeps Bonus Scene

Ethan
Luke
Ethan
Sneak Peek of Beautiful Hearts
Thank You For Reading
Also by Jax Calder
About the Author
 Playing Offside

Falling for the guy whose starting spot you're after? Never a good idea.

Aiden Jones, aka the Ice King, is one of the best rugby players in the world. He got there by working hard and
sacrificing a lot, including denying a large part of himself. But there’s plenty of time to be the poster boy for gay rugby
players after he retires. At the moment, he’s focused on passing a long-standing points record to cement his legacy, and
he’s not about to surrender his starting spot to the cocky loudmouth who just joined the training squad, no matter how
talented the kid might be.

Tyler can’t believe he’s made it into the New Zealand rugby training squad after only his first professional rugby
season. Now management has decided that it’s a good idea for him to room with Aiden Jones, who Tyler’s had a long-
range crush on for years. And although Aiden is icy to him both on and off the field, Tyler figures with a little charm, he
can melt the Ice King. But even he’s not prepared for how heated things become between them. Now Tyler’s falling for
the same guy who’s starting spot he’s gunning for. But all is fair in both love and sport, right?
Copyright © 2021 by Jax Calder
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by R.Bosevski of Story Styling Cover Design.

 1

Aiden

The cocky asshole was at it again.

I tried to keep my breathing even as I sat on my couch and watched on my phone the news clip that my teammate Zach had
sent me.
The reporter had ambushed Bannings after training, when his face was flushed, blond hair sticky with sweat. Despite that,
he still looked like a Hollywood pretty boy with those deep brown eyes and chiseled cheekbones. He turned on a charming
smile the moment the microphone was shoved in his face.
“Are you looking forward to playing the Marauders?”
“Can’t wait.”
“How do you think you’ll go up against Aiden Jones?”
He shrugged, his grin growing wider with an edge of anticipation built in. “You guys in the press have been constantly
talking about this matchup. All I can say is he’s called the Ice King, so I guess I’m going to have to bring a blowtorch to the
game.”
Fuck. I groaned. As if the press needed more fuel to fire up this supposed rivalry between us. It was already running on
napalm. Now he’d just chucked a handful of firecrackers into the flames.
Tyler Bannings was the new hotshot, the kid in his first professional rugby season playing for the Auckland Greens who’d
somehow managed to catch all the other teams by surprise. When he’d run rampant over the Clansmen in his first game,
everyone had assumed it was a fluke. But when he’d proceeded to take apart the experienced defenses of the Warriors,
Cyclones, and Cougars, commentators and the public had sat up to take notice.
The problem was, he wasn’t playing the game of the humble kid who couldn’t quite believe he was managing to hold his
own against the heroes he’d grown up watching. Instead, he was all smug grins and cocky arrogance. He knew exactly how
good he was.
My phone beeped with a message from Zach.
Did you watch it?
Yep. He can deliver a good soundbite; I’ll give him that.
My phone beeped again three times in quick succession.
You need to show the pup who’s the top dog.
Show the young ‘un there’s only one silverback.
Show the cub who’s the head of the pride.
I typed quickly. Okay, stop with the animal metaphors before you hurt yourself.
Watching all those nature documentaries with Jess has got to come in handy somewhere.
I grinned. Zach’s fiancée Jess was a biology teacher, so I had no doubt his TV experience contained more of the Discovery
Channel and David Attenborough’s accent than was strictly healthy.
I tapped out my reply. I’ll do my best to remind Tyler Bannings I won my first World Cup before his balls even dropped.
After I sent the message, I watched the clip of Tyler again, trying to work out why I had a weird, unsettled feeling in my
stomach as he trash-talked me.
I’d watched all his matches, and even I could begrudgingly admit the kid had game. He was looking like a bolter for the
New Zealand squad if he kept up this form. Which meant not only would I have to cope with playing against him in the
Supreme Rugby competition—I’d also soon have him as a teammate in the national team, breathing down my neck for my
starter spot.
Something to look forward to.
I cruised through social media. Fuck. Tyler’s little gem hadn’t escaped notice. There were so many melting metaphors
circulating amongst the Greens fans, you’d think the extremes of global warming had already arrived. Someone with far too
much spare time had even mocked up a picture of Tyler holding a blowtorch to my head. Everyone was speculating whether his
flashy, unpredictable play would finally be my downfall.
That’s the problem when you make it to the top. There was only one direction to go.
But fuck, I’d worked my ass off, sacrificed so much to get here. There was no way some cocky smug upstart was going to
get the best of me.
I grabbed my phone and loaded up the prep tape Dean Clark, my coach at the Marauders, had sent me. It was full of clips
from the last few games where Tyler had stampeded over the opposition. I’d already watched it multiple times.
I pressed play and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. Time to watch it again, work out if there was anything about his
play that I’d missed.
Because tomorrow night, I was going to educate the kid about exactly whose turf he was on.
 2

Tyler

“You ready for this?” Decan grinned at me.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied.
“Hasta la vista, baby.”
“I never broke the law. I am the law!”
It was fast becoming our pregame ritual, to hype each other with our favorite movie lines.
“Bloody teenagers.” Macca rolled his eyes from his locker next to mine.
I’d actually turned twenty last week, but I decided not to point this out to the 250-pound rugby player who crunched people
for a living and spent his free time hunting wild pigs armed with only a knife. Despite the opinions of everyone who’d called
me a loudmouth over the years, I did have some survival instincts.
Instead, I turned my attention to getting ready. It still gave me a thrill bigger than a Disneyland ride to pull on the Greens
jersey. The stretch of the fabric over my shoulders, the number ten proudly stamped on my back. I was a starter for a Supreme
Rugby team, a professional rugby player. Living the dream.
“Good luck out there, kiddo.” Banksy chuffed my shoulder as he came past to grab some strapping tape.
“Thanks.” I concentrated on lacing my boots, trying to stop my hands from shaking. But they trembled more than a
cockroach with Black Flag aftershocks.
Shitballs. I wasn’t normally this freaked out before a game.
But this was no ordinary game. This was it. The ultimate test.
Because tonight, I was up against the best. Aiden Jones was in a different league to all the other first fives I’d played
against so far. The starting first five for New Zealand. Named the world’s best rugby player for the past two seasons.
By holding my own against Jones, I’d prove to the New Zealand selectors that I deserved to make the training squad. And I
wanted that more than anyone had ever wanted anything in the history of this world.
I hadn’t needed to watch the prep tape that Coach Wiru had sent me. I’d studied Aiden Jones’s plays over the years closer
than the Pope studied the Bible. I knew everything there was to know about the guy and his game. I’d even read his recently
published biography, although the idea of me voluntarily reading a book would probably have shocked my old English teachers
into an early grave.
Coach Wiru came into the room and gave us our pregame talk. We needed to match them upfront, try to spread the ball
quickly, create space for the backs. Rugby 101.
I pumped my arms and legs, trying to get my muscles moving and get rid of some of the tension inside me.
Decan slid into place behind me as we lined up to run out.
“May the Force be with you,” he said.
My breath came faster than normal. It felt like I had a pet anaconda living in my guts, squeezing everything there.
“Go ahead, make my day,” I managed to reply.
Loud boos filled the stadium as we ran out onto the field. This was what happened when you came to Christchurch, where
they were fanatical about their rugby and one-eyed in their support for the Marauders. It would take someone braver than The
Rock to be sitting in the crowd in a Greens jersey tonight.
This far south, the May night air bit like a rabid dog. I slapped my hands on my thighs, trying to wake up my muscles and
keep them warm, while we waited for the Marauders to emerge from the tunnel.
The music amped up with the Marauders’ anthem, and the crowd roared and stamped their feet.
I turned to where the Marauders’ players were running out onto the field. My rapid breath frosted the air as I scanned
through the black-and-red players spreading across the field.
And there he was.
Tossing the ball back and forward with two of his teammates, looking cooler than an ice cube in Antarctica.
Despite his nickname of the Ice King, I personally put Aiden Jones on the other end of the heat spectrum. Because he was
hot. There was no other way to describe him. That square jaw, the dark hair, those green eyes. Hot. Hot. Hot.
He’d been my go-to jerk off fantasy since I’d discovered that hand plus cock equaled a whole lot of fun.
Maybe I should whisper that fact to him halfway through a tackle tonight. It might be enough to crack some of that ice, put
him off his game. I snorted to myself because yeah, outing myself in my first season playing professional rugby was up there on
the crazy spectrum with the idea of Macca running for prime minister.
I’d actually met Aiden Jones once when I was sixteen, having queued in line for an hour in a sweaty mall to get him to sign
my New Zealand rugby jersey.
Struggling to control my breathing, I’d put my jersey on the table with a hoarse, “Can you sign this please?”
His face was serious, a line creasing his forehead as he’d signed his name using a silver pen across the black fabric.
“Thanks, mate. That’s going straight to the pool room,” I’d said as I scooped it up. Then cringed. Shit. Faced with a chance
to say something meaningful to my hero and instead I’d quoted an Australian cult-classic movie The Castle, where the main
character put everything of value in the room with the pool table.
But then a miracle happened. A smile slowly spread across his face, tweaking a dimple next to the corner of his mouth. At
the time I thought I’d known everything there was to know about the guy, but I’d never realized he had a dimple. Maybe
because he never smiled when he was being interviewed.
His eyes met mine for a second. “Good movie.”
“Yeah.” My voice had come out in some kind of frothy version of itself.
His gaze had moved on to the next person waiting in line behind me, and I’d walked away in a daze. Aiden Jones had
smiled at me. We liked the same movie. He’d touched something I’d touched! In my head, I’d practically married us off.
The flat look he gave me now as he got ready for the kickoff indicated he wasn’t quite as excited about the idea of me as I
was of him.
His kick went deep, and we scrambled back as the Marauders came at us like a wave of black and red.
The slapping sound of flesh colliding with flesh, the night air filled with the puffs of huffing men, the smell of grass and
mud and sweat.
I loved rugby.
My first touch came as our halfback Jeremiah cleared the ball from a maul and threw it straight at me.
Now was my chance to put an early stamp on the game. I spotted a half opening in their line and put on a burst of speed,
trying to make a break.
But suddenly, Aiden Jones was there, gripping my waist and pulling me to the ground in a hard tackle, knocking the breath
out of my lungs. I instinctively rolled over into a protective position around the ball, stopping him from reaching over to
wrench the ball from my grasp.
I was pinned beneath Aiden Jones, his breath rough against my throat. And okay, maybe this was a replay of some of my
fantasies, although without all the cameras focused on us and our teammates all around and the thousands of spectators cheering
and jeering.
Mateo cleared the ball away, and Jones’s weight suddenly lifted off me. I staggered to my feet and flicked a look at Jones,
but his face was completely impassive as he jogged away to catch up with the play.
We made a few meters of progress, but then one of our locks turned it over, and the Marauders were attacking us with ball
in hand, spreading it along their backline.
Jones got the ball, and there was no way I was letting him break through our line of defense.
I nailed him in a tackle, putting extra force into my shoulders as I took him down, gripping onto his jersey for dear life.
He managed to cling to the ball, and his forwards cleared the ball, but, I noticed with satisfaction, he was slightly slow to
get back to his feet.
“You all right there?” I asked.
He gave me a blank stare back before jogging away.
Blood pumped in my ears. I wanted Aiden Jones to react to me in some way. I wanted some indication he’d actually
noticed me, rather than just seeing me as another opposition player to stomp over.
In my first Supreme Rugby game against the Clansmen, their halfback had heckled me about being a know-nothing newbie.
It had put him off his game when I’d got in a few good jibes back. But I’d learned growing up that the best defense was offense.
And I’d also discovered that if you wore the cloak of a smartass, people seldom bothered to look at what was underneath. As I
had a whole bunch of ugly stuff I didn’t want to share with the world, I’d honed my smartass ability as much as my rugby skills.
Over the next twenty minutes of play—when neither side gained any advantage in the kind of back and forth grind that
sapped energy but didn’t result in more than a penalty apiece on the scoreboard—I tried to get a rise out of Jones.
“Dude, I can hear your arthritic bones creaking.
“Didn’t they find a frozen ice man in Siberia or something? I’m pretty sure he was a close relative of yours.”
Jones didn’t react to my comments. He didn’t even look in my direction.
His lack of response bothered me like an itch that’s too deep under your skin to scratch. It made me double down on my
efforts.
“I actually reckon Ice Princess suits you more than Ice King. You’d look great in a tiara.”
Jones finally turned to me as the teams reset for the lineout. “Focus on your own game, kiddo.”
I bristled. There was not a single ounce of respect in his deep voice. And despite me having been pushing him to respond, I
hadn’t counted on the way his disapproval would make me feel.
I forced a smirk on my face. “You want me to focus more on kicking your ass? You sure about that?”
He gave me a cool stare. Suddenly, the reason for his nickname became clear. It was like having someone apply ice to my
balls, I could feel them shrinking.
But then the ball was thrown in from the sideline, and the game was back on.
The score was tight at halftime, seventeen-thirteen to us. In the dressing room, our captain Kinyard whacked me over the
head. “Stop wasting energy yapping at Jones. You’re not going to get a response. He’s called the Ice King for a reason.”
Jansen snorted. “We were in Aussie for the Bledisloe Cup, and a snake crawled through the window into the dressing
room. He didn’t even flinch. That guy would stay cool through a nuclear meltdown.”
Yeah, thanks for the story. I’d already spent forty minutes learning exactly how unflappable the guy was.
We ran back out onto the field to even louder boos from the fans.
Right from the start, the second half was different. But not in a good way.
I don’t know what kind of riot act the Marauders’ coach gave his team at halftime, but they came back fired up. From the
moment they touched the ball, they were lighting up the field like they were pyromaniacs.
And I was getting a masterclass in first five play. Jones was everywhere, breaking through the line, doing perfect little
chips over the top, basically making me look like a Muppet. And not one of the cool Muppets, like Fozzie Bear or Animal. I
was looking more and more like Snuffleupagus.
Even when I did get the ball, I couldn’t do anything useful with it.
Up till now, I’d been able to split the opposition line like Moses parted the Red Sea. But tonight, none of my godly powers
were working. I think I’d spot a gap, only to have Jones slam into me from an unexpected angle, stopping my momentum.
He seemed to anticipate every move I was about to make before I made it. Did the guy have a receptor that picked up direct
signals from my brain? Or did he have some kind of rugby psychic powers?
Because it felt like a thought of my next play would barely fly into my head and he would be there, covering it.
Frustration overtook me, and I started to make mistakes. Dumb errors: fumbling the ball leading to a turnover, missing a
tackle. My mistakes stood out more because Jones didn’t make any. He was cool, calm, and clinical.
The Marauders ran in two unanswered tries, and the game started slipping away.
Damn. We were going to lose.
Disappointment rose inside me like lava in a volcano.
I couldn’t help glancing at the stands. Somewhere there, my father would be sitting with the small group of Greens
supporters who’d made their way down from Auckland.
Dad wouldn’t say anything to me after the game about all the ways I’d screwed up. And somehow, that was always worse
than if he yelled. Rugby was the only thing I did that made my father proud of me. In all other areas of my life, I was more
disappointing than the final episode of Game of Thrones.
Five minutes to go and the ball came to me. Jones was already looming to cover me, but I gritted my teeth.
Right. This time.
I stepped to the right, dodging through the halfhearted tackle of the Marauders’ lock.
Jones bore down on me, but I did a chip kick over the top of this head. The ball connected with my foot perfectly, and
suddenly, it was man on man, just Aiden Jones and me in a foot race, the ball like a bouncing Holy Grail we both wanted.
My lungs screamed insults at me, but I forced myself to sprint as hard as I could down the field.
The ball bounced up perfectly, straight into my arms, like it was my lover reunited after a long separation.
Aiden’s fingertips grasped at the edge of my jersey and got a hold, yanking me back, but my momentum carried me over the
line. I grounded the ball triumphantly. Try. Five points! I threw the ball up in the air in celebration, as all my teammates
swamped around me to slap me on my back.
With the game out of our grasp, it was the very definition of consolation points, but hey, at least it made the score line look
slightly more respectable.
As I jogged back to the halfway mark, the itch came back. I directed the smirk on my face straight at Jones. “Good effort
chasing me down.”
He didn’t respond, although for a second his cool façade cracked, his jaw tightening. Because we both knew that despite
the fact he’d gotten the better of me nearly all game, that was the highlight that was going to get replayed over and over again.
Fingers crossed it was enough to convince the selectors that I deserved a spot in the training squad. And I’d get another
shot to prove myself against Aiden Jones.
 3

Aiden

My phone pinged as I was standing at my kitchen counter, halfway through making a sandwich. My golden cocker spaniel
Beasley was beside me, observing the sandwich-making procedure with great interest. Given the jar of beetroot and tin of
sardines on the counter, he probably wondered what the hell kind of concoction I was coming up with.
I’d decided on a whim to come to my cottage and hadn’t bothered to do more than stop at a gas station to grab milk and
bread on my way through the nearest town, which meant I was relying on whatever dregs I could find in my pantry and fridge.
Because once I was at my cottage, buried deep in rural Canterbury, I didn’t like to leave.
This was my retreat from the world. My safe space. It was a former farm cottage, built sometime back in the 1970s, that
colorblind decade where people decided orange and brown were a great combination. Most of the original décor still
remained with the Formica counter top and shag carpet. I’d bought the place off a reclusive farmer, and to my knowledge, none
of the other locals knew I was a part-time resident in the area.
Beasley’s eyes remained glued to my face as I bit into my sandwich.
“I can see the hope in your look.” I leaned down to pat the silky fur of his ears, and he made a contented grunting sound,
leaning into my legs. If only all relationships could be as simple as my relationship with Beasley.
My phone beeped again, reminding me that I had a message to check.
Swallowing the next bite of my sandwich, along with resentment that the real world was intruding on my haven, I
reluctantly picked up my phone.
Hey, I’m in town, you guys want to catch up? Tonight, Cruiser bar, eight p.m.
Macca was one of my New Zealand teammates. Even though he played for the Auckland franchise now, he’d grown up on a
farm outside Timaru, only a few hours from Christchurch. He, Zach, and I had played age-group rugby against each other back
when we were half the size we were now.
I hesitated for a second. Because a boozy night fending off chicks wasn’t exactly my idea of fun. And Christchurch was two
hours’ drive from my cottage. It was a long way to go for a night out.
But I’d already vowed to make more of an effort with my teammates this year.
They’d announced the New Zealand squad a week ago. As usual, it had attracted the attention of the whole country, with the
endless speculation on sports radio talkback leading up to it.
For the first time in years, I’d been on edge as I waited to hear the full team announced. Not for myself. My inclusion in the
squad was a given, and I’d already received the obligatory call from Coach Wilson confirming that I’d been selected.
But I’d been tense to find out who my teammates were.
And that tension had only grown once Coach Wilson got to the one name I was dreading.
Tyler Bannings.
It wasn’t unexpected. The consensus was the selectors would be mad to overlook him after the Supreme Rugby season he’d
just had.
I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that I’d kept closer track of Tyler Bannings than I had any other competing player. I
still couldn’t work out why my guts clenched every time I heard his name or saw him being interviewed.
Maybe it was because of the flashes of raw talent I saw in the kid. If he harnessed it right, he could be one of the greats. All
of the signs were there.
And while it was good for New Zealand rugby, it might not be so good for me personally. I was on track to pass Josh Latu’s
record for the most points scored for a first five. He’d passed 1600 points a month after he turned twenty-nine. With just over a
year until I turned twenty-nine, I had a few test matches to score the 120 points I needed to take the record. I didn’t need
someone else jostling for my starter spot.
I wasn’t usually a stat chaser, but this was different.
Unbidden, the memory seeped out from the place I’d secured it in my mind.
The TV had been blaring with the sounds of the game, the smell of sausages and onions wafting out from the kitchen. I was
snug on the couch cuddled next to Dad, watching as Josh Latu ran over the line, threw the ball in the air, and was engulfed by
his teammates in a seething mass of rugby players.
“Why is he so happy?”
“He’s the first person to score more than 1600 points in rugby.”
“I’ll score that when I’m even younger,” I’d vowed with the arrogance of an eight-year-old who knew absolutely nothing.
There had been laughter tinged with indulgence and a ruffle of my hair. “I have no doubt you will, Aids.”
My phone pinged again, snapping me back from the past. I blinked, shaking my head. Beasley was still watching me with a
nonjudgmental gaze. I swallowed hard, trying to gulp down the taste of the past, with its lingering sadness.
It was Zach’s reply. I’m in.
I leaned down to pat Beasley again as I reluctantly typed out my reply.
Yeah, I’ll be there.

I made it to Cruiser Bar by quarter past eight, slipping in with a quick nod at the bouncers. I had a beanie on my head and was
dressed in a nondescript shirt and jeans, yet the whispers and stares started as soon as I stepped inside.
“Is that…?”
“I think it’s Aiden Jones…”
This was the one side of the game I disliked, the high profile that came with playing for New Zealand.
In a lot of other countries, rugby was a minority sport, and the players for the national team weren’t widely recognized
outside rugby circles. But in this country, rugby was like a religion, and we were the gods held up to be worshipped.
I sped up my pace as I moved toward the VIP section at the back where at least there would be more privacy.
But when I got a glimpse of the table, my steps faltered.
Fuck.
Tyler Bannings was sitting next to Macca in the booth, laughing at something Zach had said.
What the hell was he doing here?
Macca rose from the bar to greet me. “Jonesy!”
“Hey, mate.” I stepped back quickly after a brisk backslap exchange.
This was what I hated about being the closeted gay guy. I was always hyperaware of any level of body contact. Not that I
thought I couldn’t control myself in all situations, but when I finally came out, I didn’t want any teammates to replay
interactions with me and for there to be any niggling doubts I’d taken advantage in some way.
I followed Macca to the booth where Tyler, Zach, and Nikau Tuhaka were sitting. Nikau was another young Greens’
franchise player, a lock who’d probably make the New Zealand squad in a year or two if he kept up his current trajectory. He
mumbled a shy hello to me.
“How’s it?” Tyler raised his eyebrows in greeting, a cocky half-smile playing on his lips. My mouth went dry. Jesus, the
kid was gorgeous. He was good-looking enough on a rugby field, but now, all dressed up for a night out in a tight T-shirt, his
floppy blond hair styled back to give his big brown eyes center stage, he was devastating.
I flicked a look at Macca. “You on babysitting duty tonight?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tyler bristle at my words. I got a weird thrill about that.
“Yeah, I brought these two brats with me, wanted to show them how it’s done down south.” He cuffed Bannings and Tuhaka
over their heads. “Nah, we’re in town for a sponsors’ shoot. Thought it would be good to catch up with some of you boys while
I’m here.”
Tyler ducked away from Macca’s hand. “Watch the hair, dude.”
“Says our resident Pretty Boy.” Macca grinned.
“The girls have got to have something nice to think about when you’re with them,” Tyler shot back.
Fuck, the kid had a mouth on him. Yeah, don’t look at his mouth, the way his lips were pink and full and pouty.
I eyed their almost empty glasses instead. “You guys up for another round?”
“Yeah, make sure you grab them some Canterbury Stallions. None of this watered-down piss they drink up in Orc Land,”
Zach said, using the hilarious term everyone outside Auckland used for our biggest city.
“Sure thing.”
Heading to the bar gave me a chance to regroup. So what if Tyler Bannings was here? I could treat him like I would any
potential new teammate. Okay, so he might be good-looking, but I had years of practice squashing any attraction to the guys I
played with or against. You didn’t shit in your own nest. Especially when your nest happened to be right in the middle of the
glaring spotlight of international sport, where every minute detail was analyzed and overanalyzed.
 I paid the bartender, accepting his halting praise with a half grimace, half smile.
When I got back, Graham and Levi, two of the other Canterbury players in the New Zealand squad had joined the group,
overcrowding the booth.
The only free space was next to Tyler.
I set the drinks down on the table, hesitating for a second.
“Don’t worry. I don’t bite,” Tyler said with a grin as he slid over.
“Fairly sure I can handle you, Bannings.” I kept my voice dry and slightly bored as I sat down. Luckily, he couldn’t hear my
pulse, which had a speedy episode in response to his close proximity.
It was a tight squeeze, his shoulder against my shoulder, his thigh lightly brushed up against mine.
Yeah, cataloging every point where his body touched mine wasn’t a good way to get my pulse under control.
This close, I could smell his spicy aftershave, which had another fresh scent as an undertone. Peppermint, perhaps?
I took a sip of my ginger beer, the spicy flavor tickling my tongue.
Tyler nodded at my drink. “You driving tonight?”
“I always drive.”
“You know what they say, all work and no play…” He trailed off.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, tell me what they say. I’m waiting with bated breath.”
“All work and no play makes a boring bastard.” He smiled triumphantly, like he’d just delivered an absolute zinger.
“Aids is the Ice King both off and on the field. Doesn’t drink at all. And you should see the way he freezes out any ladies
who try it on with him,” Macca offered up.
Hairs prickled on the back of my neck.
“Treat them mean, keep them keen?” Tyler cocked an eyebrow at me.
I coughed. “Seriously, kid, you need to come up with your own lines sometime rather than being a walking book of
clichés.”
“Better to be safe rather than sorry,” Tyler said with a sly smile, and I had to swallow an unexpected laugh. His eyes
glinted.
Unfortunately, Macca hadn’t dropped the subject. He tilted his head, regarding me like I was some kind of puzzle. “I
actually don’t think I’ve ever seen you hook up with anyone.”
“Yeah, there’s a reason why they call your private life ‘private.’ Everyone’s a potential paparazzi nowadays. Why risk it?”
“What happened to that chick from the TV you were dating a while back? She was smoking.”
I shrugged. I’d done a charity thing with Amy Tairoa last year, and we’d hung out a few times afterwards, which had led to
speculation that we were dating. I hadn’t bothered to shut it down.
I noticed Tyler was still listening closely to our conversation. When I flicked my gaze to him, he dropped his eyes to his
beer.
“Some of us don’t aspire to be on the cover of Women’s Weekly.” My smirk was aimed at Zach.
“Fuck off. That was Jess’s idea,” Zach said.
“Sure it was. Fairly sure you planned your whole ‘popping the question’ strategy around what was going to make the best
story to sell.”
He threw a coaster at me as everyone laughed. Scrutiny successfully diverted.
“That money from the interview is going to pay for the honeymoon, I’ll have you know.”
“And your true cheap-ass nature comes out.”
We gave Zach shit for the magazine article for a bit. Then the conversation drifted to other stuff.
Try as I did, I couldn’t stop being hyperaware of Tyler sitting next to me. The way his body shifted against mine every time
he laughed, the way his voice rumbled when he quipped in with a comment. It appeared the kid was as much of a smartass off
the field as he was on it.
He was drinking beer, trying to keep up with Graham and Levi, who were knocking them back like they were electrolytes
after a hard game.
I’d never been a big fan of Graham, a loudmouth redhead who’d once cost us a game against South Africa because he’d got
a yellow card at a crucial moment for mouthing off at the ref. He was the type of guy who still called things ‘gay’ as an insult,
despite Zach and others constantly pulling him up on it.
And he was the guy who was now buying Tyler round after round of beer, egging him on.
I wanted to tell Tyler to slow down, that he didn’t have to prove anything with these guys. But it wasn’t any of my business.
He turned to me, leaning in slightly as I swallowed down another mouthful of ginger beer.
“So, there’s a reason why you don’t drink?” In the dim light, his dark eyes were almost black.
There was a swooping sensation in my stomach at having his attention focused on me. “I like being on speaking terms with
my liver.”
He smirked. “You talk to your organs?”
 “Sure, doesn’t everyone?”
“I’m not sure if all that New Age shit of being in touch with your body means actually communicating with individual
parts.”
“You should try it. You may find it useful to locate your brain sometime.”
His eyes widened. “Oh. Burn.”
I didn’t reply.
“But you’re the Ice King. You don’t do normal burns,” he continued. “What’s the name of that really cold thing that they use
to burn off warts and stuff?”
“I think you’re talking about liquid nitrogen.”
“That’s what you did then. My first Aiden Jones liquid nitrogen burn.”
I wrestled back a smile that was trying to make its way onto my face. The kid was a smartass, but he was funny. I didn’t
want to give him the satisfaction of seeing he amused me, though.
After another hour of shooting the shit, someone had the grand idea of moving on to Drummers, a nightclub full of loud
music and bad decisions.
Shit. I was far too sober for Drummers. Should I just make an excuse and head off? My gaze slipped to Tyler, who was
starting to look sloppy. If Graham kept encouraging him, he’d end up obliterated.
“You coming?” Zach asked.
“Yeah.”
Zach’s eyebrows shot up. Normally, I’d have bailed by now. Sticking my hands in my pockets, I followed everyone out of
the bar.
There was only a few hundred meters between the bar and the nightclub, and the night was shrink-your-balls freezing.
Already, a low mist lingered over the Avon river, which was barely more than an oversized stream at this point as it wove
through the central city of Christchurch.
“Hey, Bannings, dare you to walk along that edge,” Graham said. His face was full of its usual boastfulness, only now there
was beer added to it.
Tyler looked at the narrow concrete edge with a ten-foot drop to the Avon River below.
He licked his lips, swallowing.
“Come on, are you a boy or a man?” Graham taunted.
I snorted. Because if you had to do stupid stuff to prove your masculinity, then it really didn’t say great things about men.
“Challenge accepted,” Tyler said.
An alarm bell sounded in my head.
I stepped toward him. “Hey, you’ve had a few. Maybe not the best idea.”
Tyler met my gaze, his eyes slightly glazed. Yep, he was definitely half-cut.
“Just cause you don’t have the balls, old man,” he said.
Zach drew in a breath.
I kept my voice cold. “There’s a difference between having balls and being an idiot. You might want to learn the
difference.”
“Sometimes it’s fun to be an idiot.” He gave a goofy grin.
I shrugged, faking a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Your issue if you want to get injured. I don’t really care who wins the
scramble for my leftover minutes.”
His grin morphed into a smirk. “We’ll see about that.”
Irritation flared inside me. Fuck, funny or not, this kid really needed taking down a peg or two.
“Come on, Bannings, you doing it or not?” Graham asked.
I directed a glare at Graham, but he didn’t meet my gaze, instead watching as Tyler pulled himself effortlessly onto the
concrete edge and gingerly got to his feet, sticking his arms out like he was a kid pretending to be an airplane. His tongue
poked out the corner of his mouth as he took a tentative step forward.
I tried to untense my muscles. The drop wasn’t that far. This wasn’t a life-or-death situation. And hey, if Bannings did get
injured, all it meant was I wouldn’t have to cope with him at training camp. Maybe I should encourage him to skip or
something.
But my mouth was still like sandpaper as Tyler took a few more hesitant steps, wobbling.
He looked up, flashing a triumphant smile. “Maybe I’ll take up tightrope walking as my next career.”
“All the hot chicks in leotards would be a bonus,” Graham said.
Tyler wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sounds like fun.”
He was halfway along the ledge by now. My fists began to unclench.
Then he started to topple.
Fuck.
 Without thinking, I took a step forward, heart in my throat, arms out, ready to grab a handful of his T-shirt before he fell.
Then he stopped himself mid-fall, and a wide grin spread across his face. I pulled up, feeling like a fool.
He took a few more confident steps, then did a flamboyant bow before jumping off.
Always the fucking showman.
Zach gave me a weird look. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I stuffed my hands into my jacket pocket.
We made it into the club, jumping the queue because the bouncer recognized us. One of the perks of being a New Zealand
rugby player.
Tyler headed straight to the dance floor, which was good, as it would give him a chance to dance off some of the alcohol in
his system.
He danced with the fluidity only the exceptionally coordinated could master, standing out from the mere mortals around
him, a golden god of good looks and physical prowess.
I ordered a lemon, lime, and bitters from the bartender, the bitters biting at my tongue as I took my first sip.
When I turned back to look at the dance floor, a beautiful girl in a tight red dress had wrapped herself around Tyler. But he
wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was staring at me.
We stared at each other for a few heartbeats until the girl said something to him and he looked back at her, giving her one of
those charming smiles.
I clenched my jaw.
Why the fuck did I care? The kid was a cocky idiot. A cocky idiot who for some reason had gotten under my skin.
I was going to have to figure out a strategy to cope with him, as I was going to be seeing a whole lot more of him soon.
 4

Tyler

“Welcome to training camp.” Macca slapped me on the back as I walked in the door of the hotel.
“Thanks, mate.”
Yep. I was here. New Zealand training camp.
You didn’t need to pinch me because I’d been pinching myself so often since they announced the squad that I should have
been a walking, talking bruise.
I’d made the New Zealand training squad at age twenty. Could life get any better?
“Room allocations are over there.” Macca nodded at the board set up in the lobby.
“Cool.”
I strolled over to the board, saying hi and giving the heads-up to other guys with a massive grin on my face. There were
five other Greens players besides me and Macca in the squad, and I’d played against all the other guys at some point. These
were the elite rugby players in New Zealand. The fact I was now one of them was like getting a shiny golden ticket to Willy
Wonka’s chocolate factory.
My smile slipped when I found my name on the board. Actually, it wasn’t seeing my name that caused the Jaws theme song
to suddenly become the soundtrack in my head. It was the name of my roommate printed directly underneath.
Aiden Jones.
Holy hell, was the universe trying to prank me?
I had to share a room with Jones? Yeah, let’s put the gay guy in the same room with the hottest guy in the squad. Because
seeing Aiden in his underwear every day was bound to improve my focus.
A pit in my stomach opened up as I continued to stare at his name. It was a pit lined with a swirly mass of snakes.
Because along with coping with Aiden being smoking hot, I also had to cope with his attitude. I’d already gotten the
impression the guy didn’t like me all that much. Hard to believe, because what was not to like?
But that night out in Christchurch, he’d given me the vibe that my company didn’t exactly give him thrills of pleasure.
And okay, maybe I’d been a bit mouthy to him. But it had driven me mad, the way he ignored me, and when he did look at
me, his expression had been of bored dismissal, like I wasn’t worth thinking about.
I couldn’t resist poking him a little.
Although to be honest, it wasn’t the fun type of poking I wanted to be doing with the guy.
Yeah, things not to think about, number one. Because I was about to have to share a room with him.
Holy hell. I took a deep breath.
“Who you in with?” Kelso, another Greens player asked, as he came to stand next to me.
I found my voice. “The Ice King.”
“Brrr. Better dress up warm.”
“Ah… yeah. It’s going to be like camping in Antarctica,” I replied.
Well, there was nothing more to do. I grabbed my room key and a folder full of paperwork stuff from one of the
management team, then set off to find room 412.
Unsurprisingly, it was on the fourth floor. Yep, with my intellect, it was surprising the government hadn’t harnessed me to
find the cure for cancer or something.
I hesitated before unlocking the door. Was Jones going to be inside? What did he think about having to share with me?
Probably he didn’t think anything. Odds were, the guy didn’t give me any more thought than you’d give a pesky mosquito,
something you swatted at when its buzzing became too annoying.
I opened the door, my heart thudding more than the effort of opening a door should warrant.
The pounding didn’t ease when I discovered Jones was already there.
He was propped up on the pillows on the bed closest to the door, watching something on his laptop. When I walked in, he
lifted his gaze from the screen, pulling his headphones away from his ears.
 “Hey, roomie,” I managed.
“Bannings.” He lifted his dark eyebrows a miniscule amount in greeting. Like I wasn’t worth expending any more energy
over.
Shit. My mouth dried. He was so hot. All that brooding dark handsomeness in an incredibly hot body.
Feeling like a kid on the first day of school, I awkwardly navigated around his bed to chuck my bag on the spare bed.
I flicked a glance back at Jones, but he’d gone back to watching his laptop, headphones securely back in place.
So much for an in-depth roommate bonding session.
I turned my attention back to my bag. I was going to be here for four days, so I probably should unpack.
I grabbed a handful of clothes and headed to the wardrobe. Jones’s stuff was there already. Of course he’d be the type to
unpack immediately on arrival, everything hung up neatly, his shoes lined up on the shoe rack.
I shoved my shirt on a hanger and placed it back in the wardrobe to hang out next to Aiden’s clothes, then put my shoes next
to his.
My stuff brushing up against Aiden Jones’s stuff. Yeah, it got me half-hard just thinking about it. Being jealous of a pair of
shoes was a new low for me.
Shit. I really need to tamp down this ridiculous crush.
But it didn’t help when I took my things into the bathroom, it was obvious Aiden had been in the shower before I arrived.
There was still condensation clinging to the mirror, and the whole room smelled like his deodorant or aftershave, a woodsy,
masculine smell that made my mouth water.
When I reemerged from the bathroom, the man himself was standing by the door.
“Coach’s talk in five minutes,” he said as he left.
So nice of him to wait for me. Great. I was about to experience a week of getting iced by the Ice King. I was probably
going to end up with frostbite.

I made it down to the seminar room for the introductory talk just in time.
Grahams, the giant hulking forward I’d met on the night out in Christchurch, greeted me as I slipped into a chair next to him.
Coach Wilson started off by eyeballing us, reminding everyone what a privilege it was to be selected for training camp.
“You’re a team from this moment, and I expect you to behave like one. Anything that’s come before gets left at the door.”
This was the crazy thing about playing for the national team. Last week, I was competing against most of these guys in the
Supreme Rugby competition and doing everything I could to exploit their weaknesses. Now, they were my teammates, and we
had to unite to represent our country.
My eyes drifted to Aiden, who was sitting up at the front of the room. What was he thinking as he heard this talk for the
millionth time?
After Coach Wilson finished, outfitting was next on the schedule. Which turned out to mean heading to a room filled with
clothes and shoes and basically getting a whole lot of free stuff.
We were also fitted for suits, which involved measuring parts of me that usually didn’t get measured.
Then it was through to the photography studio for headshots. I’d been through this with the Greens, but it was a different
feeling when you were pulling on a black jersey with a silver fern slashed across it.
Nerves and excitement waged an epic battle in my stomach. Because this was the real deal. It was like a fairy tale—I had
been given a key to a magic kingdom.
Now I just needed to prove I belonged here.
After the photos, it was time for dinner. Feeding time in the rhinoceros pen was probably more restrained than watching
twenty-six rugby players demolish a buffet, even though it was obvious nutritionists had designed the menu, with kale and lean
protein featuring heavily.
I sat with Graham, Macca, and Kelso, talking shit as we ate. I pretended to be relaxed, but I always had an extra hum under
my skin at these types of events with a constant stream of instructions flowing through my mind.
Don’t look at anyone in a way that can be construed as a come-on. Don’t say anything that can be viewed as being a
pansy. Be manly. Deep voice. Show no weaknesses.
So I laughed outrageously at Graham’s story about big-game hunting in Africa, even though the idea of shooting a lion made
me feel slightly sick.
We’d been instructed by Coach to get an early night because we had to be up at sparrow’s fart the next morning, so after
hanging around shooting the shit with the guys for a while, I headed upstairs.
Aiden had disappeared half an hour before me. When I got back to our room, there was the noise of a shower coming from
the bathroom. How many showers did one guy need?
I raked my hand through my hair. Imagining Jones in the shower was doing great things for my body. Time to recall how
many hairs my great-aunty Greta had on her chin.
The noise of the shower stopped, and I propped myself up on the pillows on my bed, scrolling through my phone, trying not
to look like I was waiting for Jones to emerge.
When he finally came out, he was dressed only in boxers and a T-shirt, his hair still damp.
My mouth felt like it had been instantly freeze-dried. Okay, these next few days were going to be up there with
waterboarding, having Aiden Jones so close and not being able to touch.
Jones hesitated at the foot of my bed, then leveled me with a look that made me put down my phone.
Shitballs. I squirmed under his gaze. Why did I get the feeling I’d already done something wrong?
“I’m assuming management put us together because they want me to show you the ropes,” he said slowly.
I plastered on a smirk. “Maybe they think you can learn something from me.”
Aiden rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Bannings. Training camp is hard. There’s a lot to learn. You need to be on top of your
game, so there’s no time for stupid shit.”
“I don’t do stupid shit,” I argued.
“Yeah, I have a memory of you walking along a concrete ledge that begs to differ.”
My cheeks heated because, yep, that hadn’t been my finest moment. But Graham had been egging me on, and I hadn’t
wanted to look like a pussy in front of all those New Zealand players.
“That was one time,” I muttered.
“Well, make sure nothing like that happens here. You don’t want to get off on the wrong foot.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said the words grudgingly, but I knew Jones was right. This was my chance. I couldn’t screw it up doing
anything stupid.
Jones continued to stare me down, and I wanted to reset the dynamic. Fast.
“Thanks so much for the pep talk. You’re like Yoda. In fact, I’m pretty sure ‘Stupid shit, you should not do’ was one of his
catch phrases.”
Something glittered in Jones’s eyes. It looked almost like amusement.
“It makes sense that you should channel Yoda. You’re probably in his age bracket,” I continued.
His eyes narrowed, and he stalked the few steps to his bed, pulling back the covers of his bed before climbing in. He rolled
over to face me. Holy hell. Seeing Aiden Jones lying in bed only a few feet away from me was almost more than my libido
could handle.
“Is there a Yoda quote along the lines of ‘Shut up now, or your roommate will murder you?’” he asked in a mild tone.
“Not sure. Maybe. Yoda was a pretty wise guy.”
Jones didn’t reply immediately, just continued to stare with his penetrating gaze until I looked away.
“I want to switch the lights off soon. You okay with that?” he asked.
“Yeah, I was thinking you definitely needed your beauty sleep.”
“You’re one to talk, pretty boy,” he shot back.
“Oh, you think I’m pretty? Thanks.”
Something flickered in his expression. Then he closed his eyes, like looking at me was too much effort.
My stomach hollowed.
Why had I said that? He knew I was joking, right? Or had my words been too girly? Was it not what most guys said to their
New Zealand teammate?
“I’ll just go brush my teeth,” I muttered, launching myself off my bed and taking refuge in the bathroom.
As I was standing at the sink, I replayed our conversation like it was a sitcom rerun, analyzing every expression on his face
and every word exchanged between us.
I’d told Jones I didn’t do stupid shit.
But I was fairly sure that crushing on my roommate at New Zealand training camp, the same guy whose starting role I was
after, was the definition of stupid shit.
 5

Aiden

Training camp was always difficult, but this year it was a special type of torture.
On paper, I’m sure it made sense to management. Put the new rookie in with a veteran player. Match the hotheaded, talented
up-and-coming player with a calm and collected old-timer.
Only it turned out I wasn’t so calm when it came to Tyler Bannings.
I had no idea what it was about the guy that screwed with my head so much.
At training, I couldn’t avoid him. He was constantly there, a smirk on his face, joke falling from his lips as he lifted
weights, ran drills, and practiced set pieces.
The fact he was hanging out with Graham and his special band of idiots should have meant absolutely nothing to me. But I
couldn’t help watching with concern as Tyler pushed himself hard in every drill, trying to prove he could keep up with the men.
At least it did seem like he was taking my advice and not doing any obvious dumb shit.
At the end of the second session, when my twenty-eight-year-old body was reminding me exactly why training camp
sucked, we had a snippet of free time. I just wanted to chill out in my room and read, forgetting about how sore I was.
Instead, Tyler bounced into our room and stared at me like I was his home entertainment center.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
I lowered my book reluctantly. “A World War Two biography.”
“It looks thrilling,” he mocked.
“I like history.”
“It figures.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What figures?”
A grin lit up his face. “Old person liking old stuff.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, can you change the record?”
“Record? You know the music industries moved on from records, right?” His smile grew even larger.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’ve tried some of those newfangled cassette things. I’m not sure if they’re going to catch on,
though.”
His eyes widened. “Did you just make a joke?”
“No. I don’t joke.”
“I’m pretty sure that was a joke.”
“You imagined it.”
But I knew my lips were quirking up in the direction of a smile as he continued to grin at me. Tyler pulled off his T-shirt in
one quick motion, balling it up and throwing it in the corner. He stood there, the sculpted muscles under that golden, glowing
skin. A flush of lust shot through my body.
Fuck. I had to stop ogling the kid, the straight kid who was out to get my starting spot. It was high up there on the list of
masochistic behavior. Probably deserved the top spot.
I glanced away, schooling my face back into neutral territory.
“And there it is,” Tyler said.
“There what is?”
“There’s the Aiden Jones freeze-over. There’s always this moment where you shut down your whole face like you’re going
out of business.”
I swallowed. The fact that the kid already had me pegged so well unsettled me.
“If only I could turn off my ears so I didn’t have to listen to you.” My voice came out harsher than I anticipated. Tyler
flinched.
I almost flinched too at the look on his face.
He stared at me for a few beats of silence before speaking again. “You don’t like me very much, do you?” His voice was
quieter than normal.
I shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
He gave me a flat stare at my non-answer.
“I don’t have any emotions toward you, Bannings, positive or negative.”
How I wished my words were true. I wished I didn’t have any emotions toward the guy. Instead of the swirling mess of
feelings that I could never pin down.
He continued to look at me before turning away to grab another T-shirt. He pulled it on with jerky movements. “I’m
bailing,” he said.
“Fine by me.”
Watching Tyler walk to the door, the slight slump in his shoulders, caused something uneasy to stir inside me.
Fuck. Had I been too hard on the kid? Was I punishing him because of my attraction to him? He came across all cocky
arrogance, but I was fairly sure I’d just glimpsed something softer underneath.
He closed the door behind him with a sharp click.
I tried to get back into my book, but stories of the Allied campaign in Egypt couldn’t hold my attention, and Tyler crept back
into my mind.
To distract myself from thoughts of the rookie, I put down my book and called my mother. I tried to ring her once a week,
and it was a guaranteed mood killer. So, I might as well do it when I was already in a bad mood.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Hi, honey.”
“How are you?” I asked the same question I always asked, although I could answer it myself.
“Fine.”
She was lying. My mother was not fine. She hadn’t been fine for eighteen years. My father’s death had devastated my
mother to the point where she was a husk of the person she used to be. A withered husk, so desiccated that it was hard to
believe it had ever been something alive and vibrant.
“So, it’s the New Zealand training camp this week,” I said.
“Oh, that’s right. How’s it going?” I could hear the effort it required for her to summon the words, to pretend to be
interested.
“Good. Same old, same old. It’s a good group of guys this year. Zach’s here, and we’ve been trying some new set
moves…” I rattled on.
“That’s nice.” Her voice was listless.
“So, what about you? Have you been up to anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
“How’s the garden going?”
“Okay. Some of the bulbs are starting to emerge.”
“Well, that’s something to look forward to.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“I better get going,” I said eventually.
“Okay, dear.”
I hung up, staring blankly at the wall of the hotel room. It was a vase of flowers, one of those terrible bland painting that
hotels seem to specialize in, designed not to elicit any emotion.
But talking to my mother had cracked open the box inside my mind, and memories crept out. Dad’s funeral. I’d spent most
of the afternoon freaked out about how everyone I knew had become these stiff and solemn versions of themselves, like they
were weird mutant zombies, without the killing or brain-eating.
That day, it felt like I’d had my lifetime’s quota of hugs. After everyone left, Mum and I were left staring at the remains of
club sandwiches that were curling at the edges, and that’s when the tears that had been threatening me all day finally started to
leak out. I’d expected my mother’s warm embrace, the smell of her vanilla perfume to engulf me.
But my mother had stepped back, avoiding touching me. “Now, now, enough of that.”
It wasn’t her words that froze my tears. It was the look on her face. Fear.
She was scared of my grief.
And so I’d choked it down. I’d learned to curb my emotion so nothing showed on my face. I never wanted to see that look
on my mother’s face again.
Only one parent was in the ground, but it felt like I’d lost two parents the day of the accident.
The only good thing was I was now a master at controlling my emotions. And I was going to have to use that skill to get me
through the next few days of training camp. Get me through dealing with having Tyler in such close proximity. My best tactic
would be to avoid him as much as possible.
 6

Tyler

No matter how much you dreamed about it, nothing could prepare you for the reality of New Zealand rugby training camp.
Training with the best coaches in the world, alongside some of the best players in the world.
I tried to prove myself in every drill, attempting to run faster than the lovechild of Roadrunner and Speedy Gonzales, worry
constantly gnawing at my insides like persistent termites. Was I strong enough? Fast enough? Skilled enough?
It didn’t help that I had a constant string of messages from my father asking for updates and reminding me not to screw up.
He and Aiden Jones had something in common. Apparently, neither of them trusted me not to do anything stupid.
Aiden Jones. For the zillionth time in the last few days, my gaze drifted over to him as I waited for my turn on the tackling
mats.
Aiden held a pad up as Zach crashed into it, sending Aiden back a few steps.
Zach said something as he straightened, and Aiden chucked him a smile.
That Aiden Jones smile. Rarer than Plutonium. And I’d probably pay an equal weight per gram to get one directed my way.
We’d laughed together for a few seconds yesterday, and it had made the top ten moments of my life.
Since then, he’d shown no desire to be entertained by me, though.
Instead, he seemed to be doing everything in his power to avoid me. Always at a different table at dinner, always in a
different group at training.
He’d hung out with Zach last night, only coming back to our room after I’d switched the light out.
We finished up the drill and stood there panting as we awaited our next instructions. I wiped the sweat off my forehead. It
was hot for June, and I’d been pushing myself hard.
“Right, we’ll mix things up for tackling drills. Jones, you and Bannings get together, do some one-on-one stuff,” Coach
Wilson instructed.
Jones’s face was tight as he stalked over to me.
“Start with back grips, then progress on to some spear tackles,” Coach said before he turned to the next pair.
Aiden regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “You want to go first?”
I swallowed. “Nah, you go.”
Aiden moved to stand close behind me.
“Ready,” I said, locking my legs into a brace position.
This was like having my personal heaven and hell combined into one. Aiden Jones’s strong arms wrapped around me from
behind, his breath hot against my neck.
Even after a day of training, there was still something sexy about the way he smelled. My stomach tightened, and my knees
felt weak. It appeared I found every aspect of the guy attractive.
He released me from his grip. “Your turn.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I stumbled around to stand behind him, gulping deep mouthfuls of air.
Aiden glanced over his shoulder. “I’m ready for you.”
Damn. Really not the words my imagination needed to hear right now.
I grabbed at his shoulders, my body aligning behind his, my chin jutting against his back. His hair tapered down his neck in
short bristles, and I had to stop myself from reaching up to feel it against my fingertips.
I released him quickly, staggering back a few steps as I tried to cram my mind full of gross things. Ingrown toenails. Rotten
teeth. Brussel sprouts. Because if my groin decided to do some speculating of the fun things that could happen when pressed up
against Aiden Jones, I was in all kinds of trouble.
Outing myself to Jones. Yeah, that would be a great idea.
At least he’d be someone who wouldn’t spread the news. Aiden Jones was probably the least likely to gossip out of
everybody.
 But seeing the disgust on his face would be worse than anything.
I shook my head like I was a wet dog, trying to clear it. I’d always managed to restrain myself on the rugby field, keep my
head in the game. And I’d played with and against some hot guys over the years.
But it appeared Aiden Jones was an exception to the rule. It made sense my body had trouble coping when it actually
touched the guy who was my go-to fantasy when I spent quality time with my hand in the shower.
Jones’s head tilted as he studied me. “You okay?”
I tried to morph my face into a scoff. “Back tackles are about as lame as uncontested scrums. Let’s move on to the good
stuff.”
“Fine.”
Of course, it turned out spear tackles—plowing my head into his abdomen while wrapping my arms around his waist—
weren’t a great alternative in my mission to calm down my libido.
Actually, come to think about it, there wasn’t much in rugby that couldn’t be twisted into some sexual position with
imagination. Why had I never realized that before?
Aiden’s head as he tackled me was close to my groin. I staggered back under the force but managed to stay on my feet.
He released me and straightened up.
“Gotta do better than that, old man.” I knew the bullshit I was spewing was only going to make things worse between us.
But having his eyes narrowing, having him regard me as a cocky asshole, was infinitely better than him suspecting how I really
felt about doing tackling drills with him.
“Your turn,” he said icily.
He braced himself in a half-crouch as he waited for my tackle.
Adrenaline spiked in me as I drew back to run up. I needed to prove myself against him. I needed to focus on the rugby, on
improving my skills, not anything else.
I closed the distance between us, putting all my weight into my shoulder as I drove forward into his stomach, taking out his
feet from under him.
He went down heavily.
I lifted my weight off him, but he didn’t get up.
Oh, holy shitballs.
 7

Aiden

Fuck.
Oxygen escaped my lungs like smart citizens fled a zombie apocalypse.
I lay on the grass, gasping like a caught fish, desperately trying to pump some air back into my body. When you were
winded, the key thing was not to panic, but it was hard advice to follow when every cell in your body was screaming for air.
I finally managed to draw some breath into my lungs. A groan escaped my mouth.
As soon as I’d managed two breaths, I staggered to my feet. No way was I letting the cocky bastard think he’d got the better
of me.
Tyler’s eyes were wide, and he took a step toward me. “You okay?”
I spat on the grass and took a few more deep breaths before I answered him. “Yeah, I’m fine. You can throw all the cheap
shots you want at me, Bannings. I can handle them.”
“It was a legit tackle.”
“Sure it was.” I layered as much sarcasm as possible into my voice.
He swallowed, staring at the ground for a few seconds, before asking, “You ready to go?”
“Are you ready?” I shot back.
His forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “You know what they say. Payback’s a bitch.”
“And you give me shit for my clichés,” Tyler said. Our gazes locked for a second. His eyes were such a warm brown,
especially now with his skin crinkling at the corner in a half-smile. I looked away. I didn’t banter with my teammates.
Especially not cocky bastards who’d just winded me, potentially deliberately.
I didn’t respond, just shuffled around until his stance showed he was braced for my tackle.
And I definitely didn’t hold back. I nailed him around the middle, lifting him off his feet, satisfaction throbbing through me
as he thudded to the ground.
He grunted but rolled over and got to his feet quickly, like it was a matter of national pride.
“Bannings, Jones.”
I snapped my head up. Coach Wilson was standing ten feet away, his eyebrows raised.
“Yeah?”
He shot me a curious look. “Take it down a notch.”
Fuck. Shame flooded through me. I was supposed to be the experienced one here, not rising to the bait of a rookie.
I flicked a glance over at Bannings, expecting him to be gloating, but instead he looked stricken.
“Shitballs,” he cursed as Wilson strolled away toward the scrum machine.
He looked like a kid who’d just been told off by the school principal. And I flashed back to my first New Zealand training
camp and how scared I’d been about mucking up and losing my shot at my dream.
Bannings came across so confident and cocky. I’d forgotten he’d still be worried about proving himself, and not just against
me.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Sorry about before,” he muttered.
“It’s okay,” I repeated. “You nail the South Africans like you nailed me, we’ll be all good.”
His eyes lifted to mine. “You think I’ll make the team?”
There was something vulnerable on his face that almost made me answer honestly. Because I did think he’d make the team.
He was good. And one day he was going to be very, very good.
But the selectors could be random. They could decide he was too young, that he needed another year of Supreme Rugby
before he was ready for the international stage. I didn’t want to lift his hopes up to have them dashed.
I shrugged. “Not up to me to speculate.”
 He blew out a deep breath. “Well then, do you think you’ll make the squad?” He lifted an eyebrow.
There it was, the mocking back in his voice. But I’d had another glimpse of what was underneath his mask.
I gave him a flat look. “I’ll have to wait and see, just like everyone.”
Luckily, Coach switched it up a few minutes later, and I moved on to doing some ball-handling drills with a bunch of the
other guys.
I thought I’d escaped unscathed until the end of the session, when Coach Wilson called out to me as everyone was heading
to the changing rooms.
“Hey, Jonesy, wait up.”
I waited until he caught up with me.
“What’s up, Coach?” I asked.
“Just wanted to know if there’s a problem between you and Bannings?”
Fuck. My breath fled the scene like I’d been winded again.
Luckily, I was called the Ice King for a reason. I knew how to keep my outsides cool even when inside I was melting down.
“Nah, just some leftover rivalry from Supreme Rugby. No big deal.”
His forehead furrowed. “Aren’t you guys rooming together?”
“Yeah.” I scuffed at the grass with the toe of my boot.
“And no issues there?” He gave me a penetrating look.
Fuck.
If I said there were issues, would they change it up? But then there would be questions about what the issues were. And I
was self-aware enough to know it wasn’t Bannings’s fault that for some reason he’d wormed his way under my skin.
“It’s all good,” I said.
He gave me a doubtful look. “You sure?”
“I’m a professional.”
“Yeah, I know you are. Never have to worry about you.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks.”
I deliberately didn’t glance in Tyler’s direction while I got changed. I was going to need to work harder to tamp down my
reaction to him.
Which would be easier to do if the guy wasn’t my fucking roommate.
I hung back to talk to Zach for a while. Unfortunately, the first topic of conversation plunged me straight back into
Tylerville.
“You and Bannings seemed to be going hard at it before.”
I tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Guess I’m the guy he needs to prove himself against.”
“You think they’ll select him?”
“Probably.”
“I haven’t spent much time with the guy. Is he as much of a cocky asshole as he comes across in the media?”
I thought of the trace of vulnerability I’d seen on Bannings’s face when Coach had told us to tone it down. And his concern
the day before about whether I liked him or not. I got the feeling he wasn’t the complete SOB he sometimes presented himself
as.
“Mostly,” I answered Zach.
When I got to our room, I could hear the noise of the shower running in the bathroom.
I raked my hand through my hair. Just what I needed to top off today. Imagining the guy all soapy and wet in the shower.
I was still on my feet when Tyler came out of the bathroom with only a towel tied around the waist.
My breath hitched.
Fuck my life.
I was a strong man. But right now, I definitely wasn’t made of ice.
And it would have taken someone with a stronger willpower than Gandhi not to check out a half-naked Tyler Bannings
standing a few feet away. All that golden skin lying over perfectly sculpted muscle. I swallowed. Hard.
“Like what you see?” He smirked.
Fuck. It looked like the direction of my attention had not escaped his notice.
I managed to stop my cheeks from igniting. I raised my gaze to stare straight at him. He was still smirking, and I had an
overwhelming urge to wipe that smug grin off his face.
“Yeah, I do, actually.” The words were out of my mouth without me stopping to think through the consequences.
His smile dropped. “Wait, what?”
Now was the time to backtrack and turn this into a joke. But part of me liked the fact I had the cocky bastard flummoxed. I
could always claim the joke later.
“I said I do like what I see.” My voice came out husky.
 His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re shitting me, right? You’re just messing with my head?”
He’d started breathing harder, his chest rising and falling as he watched me. My smart-ass teammate was the most freaked
out I’d ever seen him. Even more freaked out than when he thought the New Zealand coach disapproved of him.
And that caused anger to flash through me.
I quirked an eyebrow. “What? I thought you’re this enlightened, woke generation. You’re not going to tell me you’re
homophobic, are you?”
His eyes narrowed. “You are messing with me.”
I shrugged. “If that’s what you want to believe.”
He licked his lips. I couldn’t help my gaze dropping to his mouth. When I looked back up, his eyes had heated.
Holy shit, maybe I’d read this situation wrong. He couldn’t be, could he?
Bannings stepped toward me, his dark eyes not leaving my face.
What the fuck was he doing? Was he calling my bluff? Expecting me to back away?
It appeared we were playing a game of gay chicken. This was one game I was never going to lose.
He moved into my space, his beautiful face only inches from mine.
“Prove it,” he whispered silkily in my ear, his breath wisping over my skin, causing the hairs on my neck to rise.
My heart pounded in my chest. How the hell had this situation gone south so quickly?
“You want me to prove to you that I’m gay?” My voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel.
“Yeah, that’s what I want.” His voice was equally low, and a shiver of desire stalked up my spine.
Abort. Abort.
The alarm started in my head. This was a bad idea. In the history of bad ideas, this was up there with the Titanic not having
enough lifeboats.
I took a step back.
“Thought so.” The smirk reappeared. He thought he’d won the game.
My blood boiled. Acting purely on instinct, I stepped forward and smashed my lips to his.
He gave a grunt of surprise, which I barely heard over the thudding of my heart in my ears. His lips remained impassive
under mine for a moment, and I thought he was about to push me away, disgust on his face.
And I’d win.
But instead, his lips parted, and suddenly he was kissing me hungrily, messily. Holy fuck. Without thinking, I returned his
kiss with the same force. A nuclear fusion of mouths.
It was another battle between us, this time involving lips and tongues and teeth. Involuntarily, my hands moved to the back
of his head, grasping that golden hair, pulling him closer.
He smelled of soap and tasted of toothpaste, two completely unsexy things that suddenly became so sizzling hot right now
when all my senses were consumed by him. He kissed me with such pent-up need that I couldn’t help but match his intensity.
His hand slipped down to my groin, and a moan escaped my lips.
Okay, so it appeared we were both going to win this particular game.
 8

Tyler

I was dreaming. I had to be. Because in what version of reality was I kissing Aiden Jones? Even more surreal, in this other
dimension where all the secret desires of my heart were granted, he was kissing me back.
Aiden Jones was kissing me back.
He kissed with the same controlled force that he played with. Like all his attention was focused on this one point in the
universe, the point where our mouths connected.
His lips were firm and unyielding, his tongue moving in sure strokes against mine.
I slipped my hand down to feel his cock through the fabric of his pants, and he moaned into my mouth, which was hands
down the hottest thing that had ever happened to me.
He tilted his hips toward me, and I fumbled with the cord on his trackpants, at the same time tugging at his T-shirt. Nothing
mattered more than getting my hands on his skin.
He pulled away, and I whimpered in protest, but it was only so he could shuck his T-shirt off before he claimed my mouth
again.
Aiden Jones’s naked chest pressed up against mine. Yep, this was the point where the world could end, and I would die
happy. His skin was smooth and hot under my hands. I rubbed down his back, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath my
fingertips. All that contained power.
I pushed my hand into his boxers at the same time he tugged on my towel and it pooled into a puddle at my feet.
Standing there stark naked while he was still partly clothed should have made me feel vulnerable. But his eyes raked down
my body, his gaze heating up past the point of sizzling.
He reached for me and… holy shitballs, having Aiden Jones’s strong hands touching my cock almost made me explode
instantly.
I fumbled quickly, trying to get my hand on him. He was warm and alive under my grip. I started to stroke up and down.
I tried to hold off, but my orgasm crashed into me with the force of a ten-ton truck. And suddenly, I was spilling all over his
hand as a loud gasp escaped my lips.
He tipped his head back as he started to come, and I used the chance to kiss down his jaw and neck, my teeth grazing the
corded muscle there.
His arms momentarily tightened around me, his heartbeat against my skin, still racing.
Then he released me with a slight push, and I staggered back.
Both still breathing hard, we stared at each other, before I bent down to retrieve my towel, wiping my sticky hand on it.
Crap. What happened now? This had the potential to be more awkward than a dinner date between the ghosts of Hugh
Hefner and Mother Teresa.
I decided to go with the lighthearted as I straightened up. “Dude, thanks to you I need to shower again.”
“Yeah, don’t blame me. I’m fairly sure you started that.” He reached down to grab his T-shirt from the ground, pulling it
over his head in a smooth motion. I immediately mourned the loss of his naked chest.
“So…uh…do we need to talk about what just happened?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my cheeks flamed. I
sounded like a teenage girl.
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal, Bannings. We got off together. It happens.”
“You’re telling me you’ve done that before with a teammate?”
He bit his lip, looking away. “No. I usually don’t shit where I eat. Which is why, as fun as that was, it can’t happen again.”
The finality in his words struck me like a blow. I tried to school my face so it didn’t show my disappointment.
“But you’re gay, right?” I said.
He gave me a weird look. “Are you seriously asking me that question? Who the hell was I just getting off with? An alien
who hijacked your brain?”
I rolled my eyes. “One mutual jerk doesn’t make you gay. You could be bi. Or straight and just experimenting.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
So, when the hatter reached the house of his friend, he found him in
great perplexity over this matter, for each of those to whom the
Westland children had been assigned had some special reason for
asking to be excused the service; and when he saw Drayton, he
made up his mind that he had come to him on a similar errand.

"I know what thou past come to say to me, friend, for thou art not the
first visitor I have had concerning this business. Of course, Dame
Drayton is fearful for her own children, and hath sent thee to say she
cannot take these, though—"

"Nay, nay; the word of the Lord to my wife is, that these little ones
should not be separated the one from the other, and she desires me
to say to thee that she would prefer to have them all, an it so please
thee."

"She will take all these children!" exclaimed the Quaker in a tone of
astonishment.

"Even so, friend; for she deems it but adding to their burden of
sorrow at this time to be parted the one from the other."

"And what sayest thou to this?" asked the other, looking keenly at
the hatter; for he was not a wealthy man, but had to work hard for
the maintenance of his family, and to add thus to his burden was no
light matter.

"I can but follow the word of the Lord in me, and that is that I take
these little ones until their parents can claim them at my hand."

"Be it so, then; and the Lord bless thee in thy work, for thou hast
lifted a heavy burden of care from my mind anent this matter. I have
chosen a discreet messenger to bring them from their home, lest one
of us being known should draw the attention of the authorities to
what we were doing, and that might end in our being lodged in gaol
with our brother Westland."
"But how shall I know this messenger?" asked the hatter. "I can go at
once to Triggs' Stairs and meet him."

"Nay, it is a woman who hath chosen this difficult service; and if thou
art in doubt concerning who it is, by reason of other passengers
being near, ask her the way to the Dyers' Garden; for by that signal
was she to know to whom she might deliver the children."

"I will not fail thee," said the hatter. "And when I have taken charge of
these little ones, I will bid her come to thee and give a due account
of how she hath sped on her errand."

And, saying this, Master Drayton bade his friend farewell, and went
at once to the waterside, where he feared the messenger would be
waiting for him.
 CHAPTER II.

DAME DRAYTON.

THE Thames in the reign of Charles the Second was the great
highway of traffic for the city of London. There were no steamboats,
it is true, but watermen, duly licensed by the city authorities, and
wearing badges,—much as cabmen do at the present time,—were
always ready with their boats to take passengers wherever they
might want to go; then there were wherries, and splendidly
decorated barges for pleasure parties; so that the river was always a
scene of busy traffic, and especially towards dusk on a summer
evening, for then people would be returning home, or hastening to
embark; so that the time had been well chosen for the coming of the
Westland children, for they were more likely to escape observation
now than earlier in the day.

Triggs' Stairs was a well-known landing-place, not very far from his
own home; and the hatter went by the shortest cuts, through the
busy narrow streets leading to the river, for fear of keeping the
messenger waiting, and thus attracting the attention of watermen
and passengers alike.

But just as Master Drayton reached the top of the landing-stairs a

boat touched the platform below, which the hatter felt sure had
brought those he was seeking. The children were neatly clad, but
there was a sad woe-begone look in their faces, and two of them
seemed to shrink behind the young woman who sat between them.
She too looked anxious, until she caught sight of the hatter, and then
she seemed to gain more confidence, and led the children up the
steps as briskly as their wet and dangerous condition would permit.

"Thee are sent to us by our brother Staples," she said, almost before
the question of identification could be asked.
"Yea, I am here to take charge of the little ones; but thou wilt come
and see my wife, and tell her what is needful to be told," returned
Master Drayton; for he noticed that only a very small bundle had
been brought with them, and this was carried by the elder girl. She
was about thirteen, he judged, and singularly like her father, as he
had seen him a day or two before, when he stood in the court of the
Lord Mayor, and was condemned to lose his ears, and then be
transported as an obstinate schismatic, dangerous to the king and
his authority.

It was not the habit of Quakers to talk in the streets, and so they
walked towards Soper Lane, which was close to the river, without
asking any further questions, for fear of being overheard by some
one passing.

Deborah opened the street door, and received them with a smile of
welcome, as she explained that her mistress was in her own room;
which Master Drayton knew how to interpret, and went himself to tell
her the children had come.

"And none have dared to make them afraid, since the Lord had them
in His keeping," said his wife with a pleasant smile; and she
hastened to the keeping-room to welcome these strangers to their
new home.

"My own little girls, who are to be your sisters, you know, were
obliged to go to bed, they were so sleepy, but you will see them in
the morning;" and as she spoke she kissed each of the shy,
frightened little strangers, putting an arm around each, while she
spoke to the Friend who had brought them.

"They were hiding in the cellar when I reached the house; for it
seems that our brother hath given great offence to his neighbours by
his plainness of speech when he preached and denounced their
wickedness, and so they had revenged themselves upon him, by
well-nigh stripping his dwelling as soon as he and his wife were
taken to prison. Even the clothes seem to have been stolen, for I
could find none but these," she said, touching the little bundle that
had been placed on the table.

"I think the soldiers took some of the things," said the elder girl at this
point; "but mother had said, 'Thee stay with thy sisters in the cellar,'
just before they dragged her away, and Dorothy was so frightened
when we heard the people running up and down stairs, that I could
not go and see what they were doing."

"That was wise of thee, dear child," said Dame Drayton with a sigh;
for she could not help wondering what would happen to her own
darlings if she and her husband should ever fall into similar trouble.
Sometimes it seemed impossible that they could long escape
suspicion, and then anyone might denounce them who happened to
bear them any ill-will.

The messenger who had brought the children did not stay long, for
the streets of London were no fit place for a woman after dusk, even
though she might be staid and discreet; and so, as soon as the
necessary particulars had been given, Master Drayton put on
another hat and coat, to go with her to the Friend who had
undertaken to manage the affair for the committee of suffering.

While her husband was gone, Dame Drayton took the children to the
little bedroom she had prepared for them near her own, and the
nervous, frightened manner of the two younger girls fully justified
what her fears had been concerning them.

They clung to their elder sister, trembling even at the kind attentions
of their friend, lest she should attempt to tear them from this last
protector.

"Thee will let us sleep together," said the little mother, as she took a
hand of each of her younger sisters, and led them upstairs. "We are
not hungry now, only a little tired with the fright," she explained,
when Dame Drayton would have had supper brought into the
keeping-room for them.

"Certainly ye shall sleep together, and to-morrow I hope we shall

learn to know each other better;" and she shut the children in to
themselves, for she could see that it would be kinder to leave them
now, than to press any attentions upon them, or to ask them any
further questions. Before she went to bed, however, she gently
opened the door and looked in, but found to her relief that they were
sound asleep in each other's arms; and they did not rouse the next
morning until all the house was astir, and the sun peeping in at their
windows.

"This is Bessie Westland, and these are her little sisters, Rose and
Dorothy," said Dame Drayton the next morning, introducing the new-
comers to her own children and the family assembled at the
breakfast table.

One of the apprentices had just raised his horn of small ale to drink,
but at the name of Westland he paused, and looked first at the new-
comers, and then at his companion; for the name of Westland had
been heard of a good deal during the last few days, and the lads
were not likely to forget it.

The hatter noticed the look that passed between the two boys, and it
did not tend to make him feel more comfortable; for although it was
known that he was a strict and godly citizen, the fact of his being a
Quaker he desired to keep secret as far as possible, but he feared
now that the coming of these children might be the means of its
discovery.

Dame Drayton had also noticed the surprised looks in the lads'
faces; but she felt sure they might be trusted not to mention what
they had heard out of the house, for they were steady, quiet, reliable
lads, and their occupation kept them out of touch with many of the
more turbulent of their class. Their parents were steady God-fearing
people; and so Dame Drayton put aside all fear of mischief coming
to them through the apprentices.

The children were naturally shy of each other at first; but by degrees
this slipped off like a garment there was no further need to use, and
the first question Bessie asked was about her mother and father.

"When can I go and see them, Martha Drayton?" she asked.

There was no disrespect in the girl's tone; but she came of a more
stern and uncompromising family of Quakers, and would have
looked upon it almost as a sin to use any title of courtesy, however
much she might revere the individual. Dame Drayton knew all this,
but it came upon her with something like a shock, to be addressed
as "Martha Drayton" by this child, and she paused for a minute
before answering her question.
Then she said, slowly and cautiously, "Dear child, thou hast been
placed in our care by the committee of suffering. They will nathless
see to it that ye see your father in due time; but thou must not run
into needless danger, or bring suspicion upon this household."

"Art thou ashamed of being a Quaker, then, as our enemies call us?"
asked the girl rather severely. "To tremble and quake because of sin
was a mark that we were children of the Highest, my father said, and
should we be ashamed of that?"

"Nay, nay, we should be unworthy of our high calling if we were to

despise the work of the Spirit in our hearts; but dost thou not see,
Bessie, that if we were to prate in the streets of these things, we
should bring trouble and sorrow upon those whom God hath given
us to protect?"

"But the trouble and sorrow would be good for them an it came to
them," said Bessie Westland.

"Even so; but if I could not offer thee and thy sisters a safe abiding-
place now, the trouble and sorrow of thy father and mother would be
increased tenfold."

The girl loved her father very dearly, and would have suffered
anything herself to lessen his affliction, and so this view of the matter
touched her a little; and Dame Drayton took this opportunity of
pressing upon her the need of caution.

"We are not called to raise up to ourselves enemies needlessly. It is

only when some truth is to be held firmly and unflinchingly, that we
may thus brave the law and the mob who alike are against it."

"But my father held that it was the duty of a true friend of sinners to
preach the truth to them at all times, whether they would hear, or
whether they would forbear," said Bessie after a minute or two.

"Then, my dear child, if that was the voice of God to him, he could do
no other than obey it, and God hath honoured him in calling him to
witness to that truth. If the same word came to me, I too must obey;
but the voice of the Spirit in my heart was, that I should shield and
protect thee and thy sisters, and thus comfort the heart of those
called to suffer for His name's sake."

"But—but if thee art a true Friend, would not the word of the Lord be
the same to thee as to my father?" said Bessie after a pause.

"Nay, that is where thee makest so grave a mistake," said Dame

Drayton, sitting down by Bessie's side, and drawing little Rose close
to her. "The Lord hath a word of guidance for each if we will but
listen and obey it, without seeking to follow what He may say to
another. See now, He hath made me the mother of tender children,
and given to thee the care of little sisters, which is next in honour to
that of being their mother. Now His word to us will be in accord with
this, to guide and direct us in our duty, how to walk before them in
love."

"But my mother—?" began Bessie.

"Thy mother is a brave and true Friend, following the word of the
Lord, I doubt not," said Dame Drayton quickly; "but because she did
that which the Lord, bade her do, it doth not follow that thee should
do the same, for the voice of the Spirit may have altogether another
word for thee, and thou must listen to that word and follow it, though
it lead thee in the way thou wouldest shun. Just now, thou art longing
to proclaim to all London that thou art of the despised sect of
Quakers, and by this thou wouldest bring grave trouble upon all this
household, for the Lord Mayor would not send to arrest a girl like
thee, but the man and woman who harboured thee, and so we
should be sent to the Bridewell, and thou and my own little ones
become an added burden to our brethren."

"Would they not send me to prison?" said Bessie, in a disappointed

tone.

"I trove not; though King Charles may profess to think men and
women are plotting against his throne, he would scarcely accuse a
child like thee, and so thou and thy sisters would but be cast forth
upon the world again. Wilt thou try to think of this, Bessie; and to
remember that the Lord ever speaks to us of the duty that lies
nearest to our hand, if we will but listen and obey, instead of seeking
to follow the word He may have given to another? This is how so
many mistakes are made, dear child. We think that the word spoken
to another must be for us also, and so our ears are deafened to the
true message that the Spirit is trying to make us hear and
understand."

"But dost thou not think my father obeyed the voice in his heart?"
asked Bessie quickly.

"Yea, verily, dear child. Nought but the strength that God alone can
give can help even a Friend to bear testimony to the truth before
such cruel enemies; but dost thou not see that, while some are
called to be martyrs for the truth, others are commanded to take up
the cross of everyday life, and bear it meekly and patiently, though it
lead not to such honour and renown as the martyr may claim? This
is what we are called to, dear child. Thou and I must take care of the
little ones at home, not denying our faith if any ask us concerning it,
but seeking not to thrust it before the eyes of men; content to be
unnoticed and unknown, but ever listening to the voice that will not
fail to make itself heard in our hearts, if we will but listen with a
simple mind."

Bessie bowed her head, but she was only half convinced of the truth
her friend had spoken. Her father had declared again and again that
they had no right to sit calmly doing the everyday work of life, while
sinners were perishing for lack of the word of life.

He had not scrupled to denounce his neighbours who went to church

as formalists and hypocrites, and even in the church itself had stood
up and warned parson and people alike, telling them that God could
be worshipped in the open fields, in the house or shop, better than in
a steeple-house; and he had gathered crowds around him in the
fields beyond Southwark, and taught them the truth as he had
received it from the lips of George Fox, the founder of their Society.
He was a true and ardent disciple of Fox, counting nothing dear so
that he might proclaim the truth, the whole truth—as he thought—for
in the tenacity with which he held to the little bit he had been able to
grasp, he failed to see that he could not grasp the whole. That those
whom he denounced so unsparingly also held the truth as they
perceived it, or at least another facet of the precious gem, casting its
inspiring light upon them, was dark to him.

This had not been heeded by the authorities at first, and Westland,
like many another earnest man, was allowed to preach and teach
sinners the error of their ways, and warn them of the wrath to come.
For to make men tremble and quake, and cry to God for mercy
through the Lord Jesus Christ, was the object of all the Quakers'
preaching, and the term "Quaker" had been given them in derision
on account of this.

For a time these people had been allowed to follow their own way
without much interference from the authorities; but their unsparing
denunciation of vice and wickedness, whether practised by rich or
poor, doubtless raised the resentment of the king, though a political
reason was the one put forward for their persecution. The safety of
the throne, it was pretended, called for the suppression of these
illegal meetings, as sedition was being taught under cover of religion.

So Westland was an early victim, and suffered the loss of his goods,
for everything he possessed had to be sold to pay the fine inflicted
upon him. But so far from deterring him from doing what he
conceived to be his duty, this did but make him the more determined
to teach and preach upon every occasion possible.

The next time, a short term of imprisonment, and one ear was cut off
by way of punishment. But almost before the place was healed he
was preaching again, and denouncing steeple-houses, and those
who put their trust in them.

This time the authorities were determined to silence him, and so he

had been condemned to lose his other ear, and then be sent as a
slave to one of His Majesty's plantations in America, and all London
was ringing with the name of Westland, and the punishment that had
been dealt out to him as an incorrigible Quaker.

CHAPTER III.
AUDREY LOWE.

"MOTHER, am I truly and verily bound 'prentice to Master Drayton?"

asked one of the lads when he went home that night.
His mother was a widow, and lived a mile or two from Soper Lane,
and moreover was so busily employed in lace-making all day that
she heard very little of what went on around her unless her son
Simon brought home news that he had heard during the day, or on
his way home at night, so that his next question as to whether she
had heard the name of Westland only made the widow shake her
head as she counted the threads of her lace to make sure that she
was not doing it wrong.

"Has Master Drayton taken another apprentice of that name?" asked

his mother, not pausing in her work to look at her boy's face, or she
would have seen a look of horror there as he answered quickly—

"It isn't quite so bad as that, mother."

"What do you mean, Sim?" she asked. "Dame Drayton is our Dame
Lowe's own sister, and a godly woman, I have heard, as well as her
husband—godly and charitable as the parson himself," added the
widow, "or he would not have taken thee to learn the trade and
business of a hatter without price, merely because I was a widow
known to the parson and his wife."

"Oh yes, they are godly and kind; but did I ever tell you, mother, that
one of the rules of the workshop is that we shall not speak more than
is needful?"

"And a very wise rule too, if proper work is to be done," said his
mother quickly.

"That may be; but you have heard of the Quakers, mother?"

"Oh yes, a set of infidel people who speak against the king and the
church, and rebel against all law and order. A most pestilent and
unruly people, I have heard; but surely—"

Sim folded his arms and leaned upon the table, the guttering candle
lighting up his face so that his mother could not fail to see the fright
and horror depicted there as he said—
"I believe Master Drayton is a Quaker, mother."

"Nay, nay, Sim; 'tis a thing impossible. Dame Lowe told me her sister
was a godly Puritan like ourselves; more stiff in her opinions
altogether than she and the parson, for Dame Drayton had
counselled that he should give up the church rather than use the
new prayer-book, since he could not believe and accept all that was
taught in it, and—"

"It would have been a bad case for us if Parson Lowe had refused to
conform to the new rule, like so many did," interrupted Sim at this
point.

"Yes, it would; and a worse case for his wife and children, for they
might have starved by this time instead of living in a comfortable
house, with money to help the poor as well as themselves, and I
must say, since these changes came, parson has been even more
strict and attentive to his duties, though none could complain of him
before."

"But what has that to do with Master Drayton being a Quaker?"

asked the lad, a little impatiently.

"Why, cannot you see, Sim, that all the family are of so godly a sort,
that they would not be likely to take up with all the unruly and wild
notions that these pestilent people teach?"

"I don't know what the Quakers teach, but I know that one fellow
named Westland has had his ears cut off, and now three girls of the
same name have come to live with us in Soper Lane. If they were
not Quakers themselves, would they take in a disgraced Quaker's
children?"

The widow looked at her son for a minute as if she thought this
argument was unanswerable, but after a minute's pause she said—

"They are kind and godly folk, you say, and so it may be they are not
of this pestilent sect that hath been suffered to spring up to speak
evil of dignities, though they succour these children."

But although the widow said this, she decided to go and see her
friend the vicar, and have a word with his wife too if it was possible,
for it would never do to let her son—her only child—become
contaminated, even though he was being taught his trade without the
cost of a penny to herself.

During the rest of the evening she asked the boy a good many
questions about his work in Soper Lane, and the ways of the
household, but there seemed no fault to be found with anything,
though doubtless the household was ruled strictly, as most Puritan
homes were. Still, what Sim had told her about Westland made her
uncomfortable, and before she went to bed she decided to go to the
vicarage the next morning as soon as Sim had started to Soper
Lane, and doubtless the parson or Dame Lowe would be able to
explain everything, and set her fears at rest.

But when she went, she heard from the maid-servant that the vicar
was ill in bed with a bad cold, and that she would have to wait a little
while to see her mistress.

"Then I will wait," said the widow, for she had scarcely been able to
sleep for thinking of the peril to which her boy might be exposed if it
should be true that his master was a Quaker, as he suspected.
Dame Lowe would be able to set her fears at rest, she hoped, and
the moment the lady entered the room the widow began a recital of
her trouble.

At first she was too full of what she had to say, and how frightened
she had become, to pay much attention to the lady herself, but after
a minute or two she noticed that she was trembling, and her face
had become as white as the lace ruffle she wore round her neck.

"I—I am afraid you are ill, madam," said the widow, stopping short in
her recital, and looking hard at the lady.
"Just a little faint. I have been anxious about the vicar, you see—but
go on with your story. What did your boy say was the name of these
children?"

The lady spoke eagerly, and looked almost as frightened and

anxious as her visitor, though she was careful not to let her know
that it arose from the same cause, and spoke of the vicar's illness as
being a little alarming, and having upset her.

"But tell me about those children who have gone to live at the house
in Soper Lane. Who did you say they were?"

"Well, now, Sim couldn't be quite sure, of course; but he is a careful

lad, and he says there was a Quaker of the same name had his ears
cut off for heresy only a day or two ago. Of course, I told Sim that his
master, being a godly and charitable man, might have had
compassion on these witless children without being himself a
Quaker."

"Then it is suspected that Dame Drayton and her husband are both
Quakers. Is that what you mean, Tompkins?"

The lady's mood had changed during the last few moments, and she
looked hard at the widow and spoke in a severe tone, as though
such a charge as she brought was not to be believed.

"I—I don't know what to think," said the widow. "Of course, as
Madam Drayton is your sister she could scarcely be infected with
such heresy as these wild Quakers believe."

"I trow not, indeed. My sister was brought up in a true godly fashion,
but the same charity that moved Master Drayton to take Simon as an
apprentice without fee or reward, because you were a poor widow
known to me to have lost so much by the plague and the great fire,
may have moved her to help these poor children, if no one else
would do it."
"Then you think my Sim would be quite safe there?" said the widow
in a deprecating tone.

Madam Lowe looked surprised at the question. "Why should he not

be safe?" she asked. "You told me the other day that he was learning
his trade very well, and had certainly improved in his manners."

"But—but if his master should be a Quaker it would be little better

than sending him where he would catch the plague, this new plague
of heresy that is abroad, and for my Sim to turn Quaker would be
worse than losing the others by the pestilence." And at the thought of
all the sorrow and suffering she had endured through this scourge,
the Widow Tompkins fairly burst into tears.

"There, don't cry—I am sure you are frightening yourself for nothing.
I know my sister to be a gentle godly woman; no more like the wild
fanatic Fox than you are. She attends her own parish church as you
do, and therefore you may rest content that Sim is safe."

The widow allowed herself to be comforted by this assurance.

"It's all we've got to hold fast by in the way of knowing what to
believe, for there's been so many changes in religion, as well as
other things the last few years, that simple folk like me, who have no
learning, hardly know what they ought to believe sometimes; but to
have Sim turn Quaker would just break my heart, when I was looking
forward to a little comfort after all my trouble."

"Oh, Simon will be a good son, and a comfort to you, I have no

doubt," said the lady, rising to dismiss her visitor. "Take care that he
is at church by seven o'clock next Sunday morning, for the vicar is
going to catechise all the lads and wenches of the parish, and it will
not do for Simon to be absent from his place in the chancel."

"My son will be early. I am glad the vicar is going to give them a
wholesome reminder of what they ought to know and do, as
respectable citizens and members of the Church of England. It will
help to stop this wild Quaker heresy, I trow."
The lady smiled and nodded her assent; but she was too impatient
for her visitor to go to make any verbal reply to this, and as soon as
she had closed the street door she went upstairs to a little room
where a girl sat sewing.

"What is the matter, mother?" she asked as the lady seated herself,
and buried her face in her hands.

For a minute or two the lady sat thus, and when she removed them
she was looking white and anxious.

"Oh, Audrey, I wish I had never persuaded your father to—" But
there she stopped, for the girl's wondering eyes told her she was
speaking of things she had long ago resolved to bury in her own
heart. "My dear, I want you to go and see your Aunt Martha," she
said quickly.

"Aunt Martha?" repeated the girl in a tone of wonder.

"Have you forgotten her, Audrey? It is not so many years since you
saw your aunt."

"But I thought you said she died in the time of the first plague," said
the girl, still looking at her mother with a puzzled expression in her
face, as if trying to recall some memory of the forgotten relative.

"Nathless you will remember her again when you see her," said
Dame Lowe, in answer to her daughter's puzzled look. "I want you to
go to her this afternoon, and say that the Widow Tompkins, who is
the mother of one of her husband's 'prentice lads, hath been here
with a tale about Quakers that is disgraceful to any godly
household."

"The Widow Tompkins is always in a fright about something,"

returned Audrey slightingly. "What did she say about the Quakers
and my Aunt Martha? What has she to do with them?"
"Nothing, I wot; but Master Drayton, her husband, is not always so
discreet as he should be, and Simon hath brought home some tale
to his mother about Quaker children being harboured in the house.
Your aunt ought to be told that this is known, and will soon become
the talk of the town if they are not sent away."

"Would you like me to bring the children here, mother, to save Aunt
Martha the trouble of them?"

The lady looked at her daughter, aghast with horror at the proposal.

"Audrey, you must not speak so lightly of such matters. For us to be

suspected of any touch with these Quakers would mean ruin, and we
might be thrown out of house and home, like so many clergymen's
families have been, for it is known that your father always felt they
were unjustly treated, though he signed the declaration that saved us
from being turned into the streets like beggars. This is why I want
you to go and see your aunt to-day, for if people think the Draytons
are Quakers they may suspect us next. Oh dear! why will people go
wild about religion like this man Fox? It is sure to bring disgrace
upon somebody. As if the fire and the plague had not caused misery
enough in London, they must now begin making fresh trouble about
religion, just as I hoped things were getting more settled and
comfortable."

"Mother dear, do not look so troubled about this. Surely God can
take care of us and of London too. How is my father now?"

"Not much better, and I do not want him to hear about this, or it will
make him anxious and unfit to catechise the children in church on
Sunday morning. Now, Audrey, we shall have dinner at eleven, and
then I should like you to go to your aunt, who lives in Soper Lane,
and you can see for yourself who these Quaker children are, and
find out whether your aunt still goes to the parish church, for I hear
these fanatics call it a steeple-house, and will by no means join in
the prayers as they are set forth in the prayer-book."
The errand in itself was not at all to the taste of a girl like Audrey; but
the dim recollection she had of her aunt made her desirous of seeing
her once more, and she could only wonder how and why it was that
her mother had been silent concerning Dame Drayton, for they had
but few relatives, and Audrey herself was the only child now. Two
had died during the great plague, and she could only suppose that it
was because her aunt lived in the City, and her mother still had a
lingering dread of the plague returning, that she had not heard this
aunt spoken of for so long a time.

Although they lived within easy walking distance of the City, and she
knew her father sometimes went there on business, she did not
remember ever having seen it herself, for they lived in the
fashionable suburbs of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, and generally went to
walk in the westerly direction among the fields and green lanes. The
parish did not wholly belie its name as yet, for they lived in the midst
of the open country, although so near London. Her old nurse was to
walk with her, and call for her at Soper Lane at four o'clock, that they
might reach home before sunset, for although their way lay through
the best and most fashionable thoroughfares in the town, they were
by no means safe from footpads. Although the Strand was the
residence of many of the nobility, and Fleet Street had most of the
best shops lining its footway, these were generally shunned by
travellers after sundown—unless they were on horseback, armed
and attended by two or three stout serving-men.

So Audrey and her nurse set out on their journey about half-past
eleven, and less than a mile from her own home, Audrey was in a
place altogether new to her.

"I wonder why we have not come this way to walk before," said the
girl looking round at the handsome houses in the Strand.

But the 'prentice lads in the front of their masters' shops in Fleet
Street, all eager to press their wares upon their notice, were not a
pleasant feature of the scene to Audrey.