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anonymously-ominous · 5 months

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OMG OH MY FUCKING GOD. I UNDERSTAND THAT THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER BUT YOU PEOPLE NEED TO READ THIS. HOLY SHIT.

How You Play the Game Part 9 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're too late for Bradley. It doesn't matter that you left your heart with him while you took some time for yourself, you need to move on like he did. But the truth is, he was ready for more weeks ago.

Warnings: Swears, broken heart, drunk Bradley, angst, fluff (18+)

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley sat on his kitchen floor with the half empty bottle of cheap tequila Nat left at his house after they made margaritas for her birthday. It tasted disgusting, but he was already hungover, and it was the only thing he had left. You and he had opened that nice champagne that was stashed away in his refrigerator five weeks ago. The empty bottle was tucked away with his pots and pans, because for some reason he just couldn't get over you.

He just tried calling you until his phone died. He tapped your contact name in his phone, right there at the top of the list, no fewer than sixty times before his screen went black. But it never even went to your voicemail, and he had no idea what to send you in a text. He didn't even know what he was planning on telling you if you answered his calls. He just couldn't believe you'd been here.

He fucked things up royally by sleeping with Shannon. "Fuck," he moaned before downing a few more gulps, silently judging Nat's taste in booze and wincing. You were gone. Again. You'd been on his porch for about seven minutes by his best estimation, and then you left again after dealing the critical blow to his useless heart. You loved him.

He set the bottle down on the floor and stretched out on the cold tile with his palm resting on his face. His floors always felt a little chilly, even during the summer. He could picture you wearing his socks around his house along with his jersey. He could picture you in the hotel rooms, sitting on his lap with all of the buttons undone.

Bradley rolled onto his side and started to cry. You were wearing that fucking thing today. You'd all but told him you had been wearing it around for weeks. He closed his eyes against his throbbing headache and his tears and the overhead light and pressed his cheek to the cold floor.

You told him you loved him, and that hurt so fucking bad right now.

Hours later, Bradley woke up with his stomach churning, shivering on the kitchen tile. He sat up and his stomach lurched. A few seconds later, he was throwing up tequila into his toilet and praying this was all just a nightmare that he would wake up from. Shannon meant nothing to him, and he was an idiot for thinking she could help him move on from still being in love with you. He crawled over to the tub and turned the water to hot, hoping a shower would help him clear his head.

As he stood under the scalding stream, he leaned against the wall with one hand. He still had the selfie you sent him from his shower when he was at work. He had all the photos you sent him saved on his phone. He was dying to look at them again, but his phone was dead. The hot water was making him feel better and worse at the same time as he scrubbed every inch of his skin.

All he could remember was the way he felt so good when he was with you for those seven minutes earlier. If he knew how to reach you or where to find you, he'd do it in an instant. You told him you were writing for another media outlet, but he had no idea if you were still living in New York or not. All he knew was what you told him about going to Anaheim for an exclusive interview with the Ducks.

"Oh, shit," Bradley gasped as he quickly rinsed his shampoo out of his hair. When he was with you in Anaheim last month, you told him that you always stayed at the same hotel. The one next to the ballpark. Maybe you stayed there when you were covering hockey, too.

His heart was pounding faster and harder now. If there was a chance you could be there, he'd go up and try to find you. Perhaps you'd let him try to explain himself and hear him out when he told you he loved you. As he quickly climbed out of the shower, his head was still spinning. He grabbed onto the sink vanity and looked around. His house was a mess. He was a mess. His life felt like a disaster, but if there was even a small chance he could see you one more time, he was dead set on bringing you back here with him.

He fought through the urge to be sick again as he cleaned his bathroom while his bedding was in the washing machine. He finally folded all the laundry he'd been dumping onto his chair. Then he forced himself to eat some crackers before scrubbing the kitchen and making his bed. And all the while, he let his phone charge.

When he powered it back on, he tried calling you again, but you were still not answering him. He tried not to consider the idea that this time you really may have blocked his number. "Ace," he whispered, replaying everything you'd said to him this morning in his mind. You mentioned that article you wrote about the Detroit Red Wings, but it was posted earlier this week when he deleted the New York Times app from his phone.

Bradley collapsed on his couch in his clean underwear right in front of the coffee table which was still covered in baseball cards, and he downloaded the app again. His stomach was feeling better, his head was clear, and when he found the article, he started to read. It took him a bit to get to the part that he now understood was meant for him, and when he did, he read it over and over again.

I love Detroit. This is my seventy-ninth time visiting this city and eating the delicious square shaped pizza in the eight years that I've been writing for the New York Times. I've seen every major city in the United States countless times, and I've traveled all over the world. And while the articles I've written will live on in this format forever, the time has come for me to move on.

I'm leaving the Times, but I'll still be around, hopping from city to city. Just maybe with a little less frequency. I left my overworked heart in one particular town, and I'm hoping to get back there as soon as I finish my next piece. Ten days just wasn't enough. I'm going to need a lot more. I'm ready for more.

He'd been ready for more since he met you, and all he wanted right now was to find you and bring you back home with him. If you loved him this morning, Bradley was hoping like hell there was a chance you could still love him tomorrow.

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The drive up to Anaheim was filled with tears as you replayed in your mind every embarrassing thing you'd told Bradley while you stood on his porch like an idiot. You poured your heart out to him while he had another woman inside. That bartender no less. He got back together with the bartender.

This is what happens when you drag your feet and take too long to get your shit together; you lose out on the only man who seemed to really care about you. Bradley told you he was falling in love with you that last night in his bed with his arms wrapped securely around you. And you'd wriggled out of his grasp and called a cab while you cried so you didn't have to feel the pain of a proper goodbye when he dropped you off at the airport.

But you were paying for it now in spades. This was much, much worse. Your heart wasn't made for this kind of aching feeling. It was hard to breathe, and your eyes were stinging so badly as you parked at the hotel, you could barely see. It wasn't even check-in time yet, but you carried your luggage inside anyway. Luckily you'd been to this hotel so many times, they gave you a room that was ready and let you have the key early. You were just thankful it wasn't the same room you and Bradley had spent three evenings in together.

Next time you stayed in Anaheim or San Diego for work, you'd have to find new hotels. As you let yourself into your room, the tears started up again. You wrenched Bradley's Padres jersey off and tossed it onto the floor along with your shoes, and then you curled up in bed. Your body shook as you sobbed and thought about the stupid golf ball that was in your suitcase.

For some reason, you thought you could have it all. You took the time you needed to cut ties with Greg and the New York Times in favor of a job that would give you more flexibility with a boss who was mellow. You did that because of Bradley. He'd been right the whole time, about everything. But at the end of the day, you could have the job you never dreamed you deserved but not the man who you wanted to be with.

You napped for most of the day, and when you woke up, you felt somehow even worse. You couldn't stop thinking about the way Bradley had touched your cheek this morning as you took a hot shower. He was looking at you with longing in his eyes, you knew that much for sure. It must have just been a shock to his system to see you there. You should have called him back sooner. You should have done a lot of things sooner, but it was too late now.

An hour later you were sitting on the bed eating a pizza while you dabbed at your eyes with a napkin. You turned your phone off earlier when you stopped to get gas after Bradley kept calling you. The idea of turning it back on was almost too much. You didn't want to listen to him explain that he was sorry, but he'd moved on. You didn't want to read a bunch of texts from him either, but you had to turn your phone back on eventually.

When you did, you swiped your notifications away without looking at them. And then you set an alarm for the morning so you'd have enough time to go out and get some coffee. There was no way you'd be able to sit in the same place you'd eaten the bad continental breakfast with Bradley. If you tried, you'd never make it through the interviews tomorrow.

Eventually you fell asleep to thoughts of Bradley's voice and his big body curled up behind yours. In your dreams, you hadn't missed your opportunity with him. In your dreams, you never left him in the first place.

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Your alarm woke you up, and you got ready for the day. Your agenda was simple enough. Coffee. Hockey interviews. Then getting the fuck out of California. There would be no loose ends here now. No reason to keep your return date open ended. You could book your flight back to JFK for tomorrow morning. Maybe even a red eye tonight.

And maybe it wasn't too late to extend your lease in Manhattan after all. The east coast suited you. California was probably an overrated place for you to put down some roots. It was all just a dream anyway, and you'd woken up from it yesterday on Bradley's porch.

As you rode the elevator down to the lobby, you started slipping and thinking about his rough hands on your face. That was enough motivation for you to book your flight right now. You could fly out of Los Angeles tonight at 10:15 and land in New York as the sun was coming up. You were about to purchase the ticket as you walked through the hotel lobby when you heard his voice.

"Ace."

Your steps slowed to a halt as you squeezed your eyes closed. He was here. You shivered at the deep raspy sound of the nickname he'd given you, and when you turned to your right, you saw him. He was actually here.

"Ace," he said again, softer this time as he took a tentative step closer to you. He looked tired, but his brown eyes were sincere as you really took him in. He was wearing a Toronto Blue Jays shirt along with his snug jeans. You'd missed him so much. Tears stung your eyes as you thought about how you had just wanted to get yourself sorted out before letting him know you were ready for him.

You sobbed softly as Bradley closed the distance to you, both of his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. He looked like he was in agony as he tilted your face up, and you could see tears in his eyes, too. "I'm sorry, Ace," he whispered. "I never want to hurt you."

You tried to shake your head, but he didn't let go of you. Instead he wiped your tears away with his thumbs as your lips quivered. "No, Bradley. I'm sorry," you replied as you cried. "I'm sorry I just barged in on you without any notice yesterday. And I'm sorry it took me too long to figure my shit out. I'm just really sorry I'm too late."

Even when you squeezed your eyes closed, tears were leaking down your cheeks. You should have been embarrassed as Bradley kissed your forehead, but you melted into him instead. "Ace, you're not too late. You could never be too late."

You gave yourself three more seconds of the comfort of his body against yours, and then you took a step away from him and wiped your eyes with the backs of your hands. "I should have never come to your house like that."

"I told you to," he replied immediately. "I reminded you that you knew where to find me. I wanted you to come back to me, but I thought you didn't want anything to do with me. Ace, it's been over a month, and I hadn't heard a word from you."

You nodded. "It's my fault. You moved on, and that's okay. I'll get over it." You started to turn away, not sure exactly where you should go, and then his hand was reaching for yours.

"I don't want you to get over it. I don't want you to get over me." His voice was pleading, but you couldn't even meet his eyes now as he held onto your hand. "I can't believe I fucked this up," he muttered looking at you with the saddest eyes.

"You didn't," you whispered. "I did. That girl you're with.... she's the one who works at the bar. I'm happy for you. She's the one you should be with. She'll be easier for you to date."

"What?" he asked, sounding confused as you pulled your hand away from his. You needed to get out of this hotel right now. You needed to be literally anywhere else as your tears started to overflow again. "Ace, there's only you."

When you headed for the exit, he was in front of you, reaching for you. "I need to go. I just... really need to go," you repeated, trying to get away from him, but you ended up in his arms as you cried.

"Baby, I'm not dating anybody. How could I? Not after you," he whispered as he held you snug against his body.

"You're not?" you whispered, wiping your face on his shirt.

"No." He kissed the top of your head. "Of course not. I've been a fucking mess without you. The last five weeks have been miserable for me since you left. I convinced myself I'd never get to see you again," he said, his voice breaking on the words. "And on Friday night, I got drunk and told myself that getting her to come home with me would take some of the pain away."

You held onto his shirt and forced your gaze up to meet his. "Did it work?"

He shook his head as he held eye contact with you. "No. And I'm an idiot for even thinking anyone else could come close to you. You're the Ace."

You licked your lips as Bradley took your hands tentatively in his and guided them around his neck. "So you're not dating her?"

"No. She and I are nothing."

"And you don't want to date her?"

"Absolutely not. I want to date you."

You couldn't help the smile that broke out on your face along with more tears. "Are you sure? Because it's still going to be hard, even though I switched employers, and I don't know if-"

But then he was kissing you, those strong arms holding you in place as you tipped your head back. You had missed this so much, the steady feel of his body and the prickle of his mustache. He kissed you like he was afraid you were still going to leave.

He didn't let go of you as he begged, "Tell me you meant what you said about me in your Red Wings article. Tell me you still love me."

You smiled and pulled him closer so his lips met yours again. "I meant every word. I left my heart with you, because I knew I needed to change some things before I could have you." Your lips brushed his as you promised, "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Ace," he replied right away, letting his forehead rest on yours. He was finally smiling now as he said, "Let me take you home. You should stay there with me. We can ship your stuff out, but you should stay."

He kissed the tears on your cheeks and then your lips until you were both smiling. "I have to interview these hockey players first. Feel like coming on another exclusive with me? Being my assistant again?"

His mustache brushed along your cheek, and he whispered your name. "Yes, but after that, you're coming back to help me organize my baseball cards after you change into a pair of my socks. And you're staying forever. It's non negotiable."

"It's non negotiable," you agreed.

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Twelve weeks later...

You dragged your suitcase out to the living room where Bradley was just putting the finishing touches on the new bookcase you and he got to hold all of your important things. He had lined up some of his dad's baseball cards that he got certified next to your growing collection of sports biographies. You actually had time to read now that you weren't writing on the road nearly every day.

"Don't forget about this," you said, and he turned just in time to catch the blue golf ball you tossed at him.

His brow furrowed. "You're not taking it with you to Tampa?"

"No," you replied casually. "I don't really need it since you're joining me in a few days."

He set it down on the shelf next to the empty champagne bottle before stepping around the world's laziest dog and heading your way. "Okay, so I fly in on Friday night after Nat drops me at the airport here. Then you'll pick me up from the Tampa airport in your rental car. We'll make love in the hotel room, and then on Saturday we get to watch the Blue Jays play together."

Your boyfriend looked so excited, you ran your fingers back through his hair and kissed him softly. "We get to watch the Blue Jays together. Even though it's just a spring training game."

"It's a warmup for when we go to Toronto this summer," he reminded you. "And honestly, I'm just excited to get to do this with you."

He was wearing his Blue Jays shirt again, the one he told you he bought in a moment of weakness when he was missing you in November. He looked so good in it, you really didn't want to leave right now. But you had to. Velocity Report had been more than generous with their flexibility, and they let you hand pick most of your assignments. You'd chosen major league baseball spring training so Bradley could tag along with you.

"Can't wait until my best intern joins me in Florida."

"Shit. I guess I really am your dog walker now," he mumbled, leaning in to try to kiss you as you laughed.

You made out with him until his hands were up inside the Padres jersey you were wearing with your leggings. "I love you. I'll see you on Friday."

"I love you too, Baby. Friday night, you're all mine," he rasped as you walked toward the door.

"Oh, before I forget, you should check my new bio on the Velocity website. Abigail just uploaded it." You watched Bradley scrolling on his phone as you left the living room behind with a smile and headed out on your next assignment

....Known as 'Ace' to her friends and family, she's likely to be trying out all of the local foods when she's working. But when she's not globetrotting to bring you the best sports stories and interviews around, she can be found in San Diego where she lives with her boyfriend and their extremely lazy dog, Blue Jay.

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Thanks for reading about Bradley and Ace! I love the comfort and care they so obviously give each other, and I think they belong together. Put down some roots in Cali, Ace. Thanks Kevin Costner from 1999. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster fanfiction #this ripped my heart out #in the best way possible #omg its so good #please the author deserves the love

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