Moody: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  Moody

  C.M. Seabrook

  Copyright (C) 2016 C.M. Seabrook

  ISBN 978-1540356888

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years and older due to bad language, violence, and explicit sex scenes.

  chantelseabrook@gmail.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

  Moody

  Four Years Ago…

  My head is pounding, ears ringing, and my tongue feels like it’s two sizes too big for my mouth, but the hangover is nothing compared to the sharp pain that slices my chest when I look down at the woman in my bed.

  White sheets drape over her lush curves. Blonde hair rests in gentle waves around her shoulders, across the delicate line of her back.

  Isabelle Stewart. Izzy. My best friend’s sister. The friend who’s currently fighting for his life in Intensive Care because of me.

  One punch. That’s all it took. One fucking punch and the next thing I know Griffin is on the mat, eyes rolled back in his head, seizing.

  I never should have agreed to the fight. Griffin’s a good fighter, but he’d been warned by several doctors that one more head injury could be fatal.

  Idiot. Him. Me. Believing that we’re gods of our own mortality. What bullshit. Twenty-four years old, and he may never wake up again, because I’m a greedy son of a bitch who has no fucking control in or out of the ring.

  “Moody?” Izzy stretches and blinks up at me, blue eyes full of question and concern.

  I have to turn away, because I don’t deserve the sympathy I see there, and I know that if I let her in, even an inch, I won’t be able to walk away. And that’s exactly what I have to do.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the gym.” I finish buckling my belt, then lean over to pick up my discarded t-shirt. “I’ve got a fight this weekend.”

  “If you want to go to the hospital later, I’ll go with you.” She sits up, watching me warily.

  “No.” The word comes out harsher than I intended and I see her wince. “Your father made it clear he doesn’t want me there.”

  As clear as being shoved up against a brick wall and having his fist in my face, while threatening to put my sorry ass in prison. I let the bastard hit me, multiple times, because hell, I deserved it.

  “Give him time. He’ll realize it wasn’t your fault.” The compassion in her voice tightens my chest.

  I grunt, knowing she’s wrong. “Don’t you have class today or something?”

  A small quiver of breath, a slight flare of her nostrils, it’s the only indication she gives that I’ve hurt her.

  I curse myself under my breath, fighting the urge to go to her, wrap my arms around her, take the acceptance and love she so easily gives.

  The stain of her innocence is still on the sheets. Fuck, if I’d known she’d still been a virgin, I never would have taken her so carelessly.

  Repulsion rolls in my stomach. Not for her, but for what I’ve done.

  The Destroyer. That’s what they call me in the ring, and I’ve never felt it more than now.

  Everything I touch I destroy.

  I’ve done asshole things before, but never to this magnitude.

  The knowledge of the mistake I made the night before pounds into my brain like a bloody sledgehammer.

  I’d been drunk. But it was no fucking excuse. I knew what I was doing when I let her drive me back to my place. Knew exactly how it would end. I’d told myself I deserved a few hours of relief from the pain. But it was just an excuse. I needed her. All of her.

  Fuck, she was the only thing holding my shredded sanity together.

  Izzy. Perfect, beautiful, innocent Izzy. I know the girl has been half in love with me for years, but I kept my distance. Not only because I knew Griffin would beat the shit out of me if I touched her, but because she’s too good for me.

  It’s not just that she’s gorgeous. Hell, I’ve had my share of beautiful women. But not one of them possessed the light that Izzy illuminates. Like a beacon in the darkest pit of hell, one smile makes my chest clench, my heart miss a beat.

  And she’s smart. No, not just smart – brilliant. At twenty-two, she’s already finishing up her second year of med school. And I have no doubt she’ll graduate with honors, whatever the hell that even means, but it’s something she always seems to be stressing about.

  College was never an option for me even if I could’ve afforded it.

  Fighting is all I know. The only thing I’m good at. My saving grace. The one thing that kept me going when life decided to kick me to the curb. My only regret is dragging Griffin into it with me.

  Like Izzy, he’s got book smarts. He could have done anything he wanted. Instead, he traded a lucrative career at his father’s law firm for the adrenaline rush of the ring.

  And now what does he have? A brain bleed and a forty percent chance of never opening his eyes again.

  A cold shiver races down my spine.

  Izzy’s watching me, gaze full of apprehension.

  “Maybe I can come over after I visit Griffin. I can give you an update and–”

  “I’ll call the hospital if I want an update.”

  Silence. Shit, I’m such an asshole. And I hate myself for it.

  “Right.” She blinks and a single tear slips down her cheek, but she quickly wipes it away.

  If I was a better man I’d go to her, tell her everything will be all right. But the thing is, I know the truth. Nothing will ever be right again. I’ve destroyed both our worlds, and the longer I stay, the more destruction I’ll leave in my wake.

  She deserves so much more than the black emptiness I carry inside me.

  “Okay,” she says softly, reaching for her clothes. Each movement is tortured, stiff, and I can almost hear the self-degrading thoughts going through her head.

  Tell her the truth. Tell her what an asshole you really are. Tell her that her brother is in the hospita
l because of you. And not just because it was your fist that caused the aneurysm to burst, but because he’d never be in the ring in the first place if you didn’t need the money to pay off your fucking gambling debt.

  Tell her anything to make her hate you instead of hating herself.

  “I’ll go.” She slides off the bed, gathering her clothes.

  “Yeah.” I rake my fingers over my face. “That’s probably for the best.”

  Her sharp intake of breath is worse than a slap to the face.

  Bastard. Asshole. Prick. I know I’m all those things and more. But the best thing I can do for her is let her walk away.

  I pace restlessly as she finishes getting dressed and finds her purse and keys.

  Gaze downcast, she moves towards the door.

  “I’m sorry, Izzy.”

  “Don’t be.” She turns, hand resting on the door handle, and looks at me, blue eyes full of resignation. “I shouldn’t have expected anything more from you.”

  Her words bite, but I know she’s right. Only for the first time, I wish she was wrong, because as she walks out the door I know I’ve just let a piece of my heart leave with her.

  Chapter 1

  Izzy

  Four years later…

  “I hate parties,” I mumble under my breath, taking the glass of wine that my brother Griffin hands me.

  He gives me one of his lopsided smiles, the right side of his face slightly slack. It’s the only tell-tale sign of his brain aneurysm, that and a slight drag of his right foot when he walks, but I know he hides the internal ones. The headaches, mood swings, depression.

  “Your fiancé seems to be enjoying himself.” Griffin nods in Jason’s direction, where a roar of laughter comes from the group of men surrounding him.

  Jason looks over at me and winks, a broad smile stretching across his handsome face.

  Fiancé. I still haven’t gotten used to the word. It just seems so formal. So forced. But then I’d barely gotten used to dating him when he popped the big question – in front of both our families on Christmas Eve.

  “It’s just a bit much. All of it.” I bite my lip, instantly regretting putting voice to my thoughts.

  “I take it the engagement party wasn’t your idea?” Griffin tilts his beer back and takes a deep swig, while watching me, blue eyes so similar to my own filled with something that looks too close to guilt for my liking.

  But what would he have to be guilty about?

  “No.” What I wouldn’t give for my own bed and a good book right now. But instead, I have to suffer through two more hours in high heels, then a night shift in the ER. “But Mom and Dad look like they’re having fun.”

  In fact, I’ve never seen my parents so happy. They love Jason. Everyone does. Well, everyone except Griffin. He hasn’t voiced his concerns, but I see it in the tightness of his features when he talks to him.

  “I was thinking of heading over to Charlie’s if you want to get out of here.” Griffin tugs at his tie and grimaces. “I’ve got to get out of this suit before I suffocate.”

  “Drama queen.” I chuckle, smiling politely at a young woman who holds out a tray of hors d’oeuvres, despite the way my stomach turns at the sluggish looking paste that tops brioche bread. “If I have to stay here, so do you.”

  “Sounds fair,” Griffin says sarcastically.

  “Oh my God, is that Moody Brock?” a woman beside me asks in a loud whisper that sounds more like a cat in heat.

  Moody Brock.

  Just hearing his name makes my throat close up and every muscle in my body tense. I don’t need to turn around to feel his presence, it’s like the molecules in the air change, and the temperature increases by several degrees.

  Shit.

  I look at my brother accusingly. “You invited Moody?”

  Griffin frowns at me. “You two used to be friends.”

  “That was a long time ago, before–”

  “Don’t.” Griffin’s face darkens. “What happened was my own fault.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You know I don’t blame him. But if Dad sees him here, he’ll flip.”

  “I’ll deal with Dad.”

  I glance over at my father whose face is bright red from a mixture of whisky and laughing.

  “You shouldn’t have invited him,” I say harshly just before Moody’s gaze lands on me.

  Brown eyes, with flecks of gold and amber, framed by thick, dark lashes that any woman would be jealous of lock on me.

  His hair is longer now, and hangs in light brown waves around the dark scruff of his jaw. I’ve never liked long hair on men, always thought it looked too feminine, but there’s nothing feminine about Moody Brock. The man is a giant. Powerful. Strong. A born fighter.

  I’ve only seen him a half dozen times in the past four years. Each meeting filled with tension, anger, regret…and always the hidden secrets we both keep buried in the deepest, darkest parts of our souls.

  And like every time I see him, I can feel the memory of that one night we shared, on every inch of my body.

  With wickedly talented fingers and hard thrusts of his cock, he’d taken my virginity, my sanity, and left me completely and utterly destroyed.

  He’d marked me. Heart, body and soul.

  It’s what I’d wanted. What I’d dreamt about for years. I’d saved myself, for him. Sure, I knew he was a player. My brother had warned me about Moody’s pursuits. But naively I’d thought it would be different with me.

  What a fool I’d been.

  “Izzy.” Moody’s gaze is dark, pulling me from the memories, to the harsh reality in front of me.

  The truth is, I never really knew him. Because the man I thought he was would never have used me the way he did.

  Griffin slaps Moody on the back. “Thanks for coming.”

  Moody nods tightly, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I should walk away. No, I should run. Instead, I just stand there, trapped in the heat of his gaze.

  “Any more of those?” Moody nods at the beer Griffin’s holding.

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

  Moody and I both watch Griffin walk away towards the bar.

  A long, tension-filled silence stretches between us.

  “It’s good to see you.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile, as if he’s aware of the ache centered between my thighs. His gaze is piercing, and I swear he sees right through me. Sees every hidden thought, every secret longing I’ve tried to deny over the past four years. Heat rises to my cheeks the longer his eyes linger on me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see for myself.” His voice is all gravel and he takes a step closer, his features taking on a hard edge. “You’re really getting married?”

  “Yes.” My core clenches, my body betraying me. I can’t believe I still crave his touch after all these years, after everything I know about him.

  “And you’re happy?”

  I swallow hard and nod, barely able to speak with him so close. My body is wound up with arousal and the way he’s looking at me, he knows it.

  Only Moody can do this to me, and I hate him for it.

  “Good.” He brushes his knuckles across my cheek. An intimate gesture that makes my knees nearly buckle beneath me. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

  His touch is like a drug, intoxicating, powerful – dangerous. Making me want to forget that I know exactly who he really is. The Destroyer.

  “Moody Brock.” Jason’s arm is suddenly around my waist, fingers pressing almost painfully into my side as he draws me tight against him. “I see you’ve met my fiancé?”

  Moody’s gaze snaps to his and something dark passes between them, then he glances back at me. “This is who you’re marrying?”

  I feel Jason tense. His fingers dig deeper into my waist and I do my best not to wince.

  “Careful Brock.” Jason’s tone is hard, threatening.

  Despite the withering look Moody gives him, Jason doesn’t flinch.


  “You know each other?” I look up at Jason, then back at Moody, who looks ready for a fight.

  “We go way back, don’t we buddy?” There’s something behind Jason’s words that I don’t understand. A bitterness or maybe rivalry.

  Even though I try not to, it’s hard not to draw comparisons. I’d never thought of Jason as a pretty boy until now, but next to Moody’s rough, masculine sexiness, Jason’s forced charm is a shadowy second.

  The tension between the men is interrupted when a middle-aged woman I recognize as a wife of one of Jason’s clients wraps her manicured fingers around Jason’s bicep, looking up at him with heavily coaled cougar eyes.

  “Jason, sweetheart. Bill is asking that you join us for a drink before we head out.” Her words are slightly slurred.

  “Of course,” Jason says tightly. He grips my chin with his free hand and kisses me hard on the lips. “I’ll be right back.”

  I don’t miss the look he gives Moody, before allowing himself to be carted away into the crowd.

  “You’re really going to marry that douchebag?” Moody’s nostrils flare and a small tick starts in the muscle of his jaw.

  “Yes.” I start to turn, but he reaches out, grabbing my wrist, and sending a zillion electric shockwaves pulsing through my body.

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” His calloused fingers run up my bare arm, and I can’t help but remember how they felt someplace else, someplace a lot more sensitive.

  Get a grip, Izzy.

  “You should have thought about that four years ago,” I bite out, using the words as a shield.

  He holds my gaze.

  Silence.

  Tension.

  Heat.

  “Everything all right here?” Griffin is back, holding two beers, eyes darting between the two of us.

  Moody releases me quickly and straightens. “Yeah. I was just leaving.”

  “You just got here.”

  “Something came up. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Without another word, Moody turns and stalks through the crowd, leaving Griffin staring at me in bewilderment.