by Sosie Frost
“Well…about the season.” His smile was familiar, comforting. “I’m still not that great of a dancer.”
“You’re going to play?”
“I’m signing with the Rivets as soon as the staff neurologist clears me to play. Couldn’t have asked for a better reunion.”
My stomach twisted, but not for the usual reason. I tried to count the years on my fingers. He’d been drafted the same year as Eric, but my step-brother could handle a few more seasons.
“But this is your…twelfth season.”
“That’s right.”
“Are you sure you want to put yourself through this again? Everyone thought you wanted to retire after…you know.”
“Cole Hawthorne’s hit. I know. The whole team is talking about it, trying to make some sort of peace between me and Cole. But there’s no bad blood. Cole visited me in the hospital specifically to apologize. Everything about that hit is in the past.”
Or so he thought, but I’d studied the MRIs, scans, and tests of players suffering from concussions far less severe than Jude’s. The worst wasn’t behind him—it was yet to come. Ten, fifteen, twenty years into the future.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” I tossed the bra away. The damn thing arced over the desk and draped on the degree hanging on the wall. I’d never make that shot again.
“Absolutely. I know I have another season left in me.” Jude’s grey eyes hardened without being intimidating. Confident, but not arrogant.
And more than a little naïve.
“Don’t you think—”
“I’m only signing a one-year deal, just for a shot at the championship.” Jude ran a hand through his hair. “How crazy is this? I never thought I’d be one of your patients.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t be. I usually only work with injured people.”
“Good thing I’m fully recovered. I’m surprised though—Eric didn’t say you were working for the Rivets.”
I chuckled. “It’s only my first day. And you know better than to get your information from Eric—he couldn’t tell neurology from nephrology.”
“He was always an unsophisticated boor.”
“You don’t know what nephrology is, do you?”
“Raising skeletons and people from the dead?”
“That’s necromancy.”
“Could have studied that. What would Regan have said?”
I snorted. “My step-mother hasn’t forgiven me for not going into pediatrics like her. Or getting the same grades as her. Working through med school, like her. Becoming an accomplished pianist, like her…”
Jude grinned. “Well, you know I’m proud of you, Rory. You got your degree. Made it this far. You have one hell of a future ahead of you.”
Sure, I hopped out of med school and was about to dive into Lamaze classes. Definitely not what I had in mind.
“Well, you’re my last patient of the day,” I said.
“But not least, right?” He rubbed his head. “Or do you hit all your patients?”
“Only the unlucky ones.”
“Do the lucky ones get hit on?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You think I’d breech my ethics for anyone but you?”
“I just don’t want to get jealous.”
“Does it help to know that you’re the only patient I’ve flashed today?”
“It does, actually.” He winked. “I’m flattered.”
And I was still mortified. “Anything for you.”
“Fair is fair. Why don’t you give me a once over too?”
The shock stunned me for a long, idiotic second before I realized he meant the exam. I coiled my tongue in my mouth before I unceremoniously panted.
I was pregnant—this was not the time to indulge in any sort of crush.
“I’d love to look at you—love you over—look you over.” And that slip of the tongue would shame me awake all night. “I would examine you, but Lachlan Reed just blew up my computer.”
“I wouldn’t normally ask this—”
“Uh-oh.”
“Can’t you pull some strings? I’d take anything you’re willing to give, Doc.”
Likewise.
But denying his medical clearance was the only logical and safe course of action. He was an amazing athlete, but he was so concussion prone. And he was probably still recovering from what should have been career-ending head trauma.
“I’ll do anything, Rory,” he said. “The sooner this is done, the better. I gotta start learning the plays and getting comfortable with Jack Carson. It’s hard enough playing on a new team, let alone starting fresh after an injury.”
This was a bad idea. “There’s a verbal test you can take…but I’d feel a lot more comfortable with a thorough exam.”
“You want MRIs? I got em. Tests and scans and blood work and a complete physical. All yours, Rory. I’ll give you whatever you want so I can play some football. Can you help me out?”
Oh God, that smile. I spent years trying to memorize it. Now I just wanted to ignore it.
“Okay, I’ll do this like an interview,” I said. “I’ll ask you a series of questions—most are just generic wellness surveys, others will be memorization and logic tests. I want to get a standardized, point-based review of your current cognitive abilities.”
Jude took the chair opposite my desk, studying me like it was the first time he’d laid eyes on me. Probably hadn’t seen me without a bra before, so there was that.
“Gotta say, Rory. You’re really impressing me with all the medical stuff. I’ve been surrounded by doctors for the past year and a half, and it’s nice to have a familiar face.” He shrugged. “Prettiest doctor I’ve had too.”
I plopped into my seat. Too quick. The motion swirled an already churning stomach.
Everything lurched.
This wasn’t happening.
I gave the universal motion for a time-out and bolted from the room. I’d stashed a waste bucket in a supply closet halfway down the hall for just this sort of emergency.
Confetti cake for lunch was a bad, yet flashy, idea.
Streaks of red, blue, and yellow stained within an eruption of pink. My morning sickness bedazzled in a glitterastic moment of disgust. Granted it was festive, but it only reminded me, in a rainbow of regret, that I was in absolutely no condition to flirt with Jude.
I pitched the trash can in the restroom’s larger garbage bin and hurried back to Jude.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Everything okay?” He rubbed his head. “Usually girls like it when I call them pretty.”
“And don’t think I haven’t heard the stories.” A good misdirect. “Last I heard, you were the league’s most eligible bachelor.”
He groaned. “People keep saying that like I’ve got a crown and scepter.”
“Had an article in a couple of magazines.” I grinned. “Eric saved them.”
“Yeah. Eric also took out a half-page ad in my local newspaper to torment me.”
“Most guys would like a good wing-man.”
“Not me. My focus is, and always has been, on the game. No distractions. I eat, live, and breathe football.”
Great. He was going to hate me.
I’d kept a copy of the paper test with my clipboard. I hardly needed to ask the questions. I knew the result I’d get.
“Answer these as honestly as you can,” I said. “Name?”
“Jude Owens.”
I smirked. “Age?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Birthday?”
Now he took offense. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
It was hard to forget when he shared mine. “You tell me, and I’ll let you know if you’re right.”
“February eighteenth.”
“Perfect. Team position?”
“Running back.”
“Medications?”
He hesitated. “Uh…Ritalin.”
“…Really?”
“Helps me focus.” He leaned forward. “
And… Propranolol.”
“Oh.” The word trembled from my lips. I hated asking it. “Migraines?”
“Not so many anymore. It’s really been improving these last few months.”
“Good,” I said. “And what about your life? Any sex—symptoms? Any recurrent problems from your last concussion? Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
I snorted. “Lucky you.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Any changes in your sleeping patterns? Taking longer to fall asleep?”
“I don’t know. Don’t have anyone in my bed to ask. Well…except for Phillip.”
The clip board dropped, and my heart with it. “W—What?”
“My dog.”
Hallelujah. “You have a dog?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Okay…” I cleared my throat. “Any irritability or change in mood? Sadness? Anger issues?”
“I’m feeling a lot better now that I’ve seen you.”
I wagged the pen at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Owens.”
“Yeah…” Jude sighed, running his thick fingers through his hair. Did he really have to smile when he said it? “You’re probably immune to my charms by now.”
“Fully inoculated. You’ll have to try harder. I’m partial to flowers and candy.”
“Well, hell, if I’m allowed to bribe the doctor, I might as well ask her to dinner.”
“What makes you think she’d say yes?”
“Because I can hear your stomach growling from here.”
That wasn’t a growl, it was a warning. Time to get this test done before my heart raced my stomach out through my mouth.
“Okay, follow this pen.” I held it before me, tracking his vision as he followed it to the left and right. His eyes were gorgeous, the color of silvered light and the fierce strike of metal against metal. But his gaze broke several times, zipping down.
I didn’t like that. Was it inattentiveness? Could he focus on the object?
“Jude…you aren’t watching the pen.”
He rubbed his neck. “Sorry, Rory. Instinct I guess.”
“What?”
He pointed to my shirt. “You’ve…grown up quite a bit.”
I looked down, mortified. The blouse broke away, and the white camisole contrasted my smooth dark skin. My cleavage practically spilled out of the blouse. Shameful.
And a little awesome too.
But mostly shameful.
I covered the shirt with a hand. “It’s part of the test…measuring your attention span.”
Jude smirked. “Let’s hope these questions don’t get any harder.”
“If the test lasts for longer than four hours, call the doctor.”
“Should I call for you?”
“What if I’m the one torturing you?”
“I’ll count my lucky stars.”
Two hundred thousand dollars for a medical degree didn’t prepare me for this. I stood before I said anything too revealing. “Next I’ll check your peripheral vision.”
I held out my fingers, hating how they trembled like I was a little school girl again, spying on Jude in his varsity jacket.
How long were crushes supposed to last anyway?
I extended my fingers on either side of his head. I moved them backwards, careful to keep them parallel to each other.
“Tell me when you can no longer see my hands,” I said.
Jude’s eyebrow twitched as I took a step closer. This test was an idiotic move. If I got any nearer, I’d practically be hugging this man.
Or suffocating him.
My arms were short, he sat too tall, and my chest exceeded everyone’s personal space. Jude nodded as I edged between his legs, my hands at his shoulders.
“They’re gone,” he said.
Heat washed over me. His and mine. My head fuzzied a little too much, like when the wine and bad decisions had led to my current predicament.
I accidentally stared into his eyes. Beautiful, stunning, absolutely intense eyes.
“Rory…”
I panicked, whipping out the pen light I stashed in my pants pocket. Jude flinched when I abruptly shone the light into his eyes, but his pupils contracted correctly. He blinked, and I escaped his heat, his body, my own selfish desires—
“How am I doing, Doc?” Jude’s voice sliced through me like scissors through silk.
Except he’d use the tatters to tie me up in his velvet tease.
“So far so good, but this is the real test.” I held up my hand, counting on my fingers. “I’m going to say five words. I want you to repeat them to me.”
“Got it.”
I smirked. “Prom. Pizza. Theater. Fire. All-Star.”
Jude raised his eyebrows. “Random words?”
“No. I…uh, just remembered the time you escorted me to prom after my date flaked out. You were super sweet to do the Grand March with me so I wouldn’t be alone in the pictures, even if everyone asked why you were in jeans.”
“All I could manage on short notice.”
“And I was thinking about the times we got pizza after football practice while you watched movies with Eric.” I lowered my gaze. “And the time at the theater when you tackled the guy who tried to steal my purse.”
“Broke his wrist.”
“And there was the fire at your house, when you had to stay with our family for two weeks while your mom had the kitchen rebuilt.”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah, because you were sleeping in my bed. I got the couch.” I crossed my arms. “And the last word. All-Star. Because you’re Hall of Fame bound. You don’t need to play another season. Prom. Pizza. Theater. Fire. All-Star.”
“I’m perfectly fine to play, Rory.”
“Repeat the words back to me.”
Jude stared, quiet. Thoughtful or confused, he was always unreadable like that. A man who never said more than what was necessary, never smiled when it was unearned, and always maintained a strict sense of decorum at all times.
But the silence dragged on.
“Oh, Jude—”
“Holy shit, you’re pregnant.”
I leapt backward. “What?”
“You’re pregnant!” His eyes flashed hard. “Rory! How did this happen?”
“I…” How in the ever-loving hell did he figure it out? “What are you talking about?”
“My sister Jasmine just had her baby. You think I can’t tell? Your body is…fucking amazing right now. You just ran out of here to throw up. You’re pregnant.”
He didn’t have to tell me that. It was all I could think about every waking moment of the day—and the nightmares at night.
I tried to keep it quiet and attempted to stay calm. I wasn’t entirely sure the baby couldn’t smell my fear.
I faked a smile and pointed to my belly. “Oh. This old thing? I’ve had it for a couple months now. Nothing to worry about.”
“Months?”
“Not many. Just about…sixteen weeks.” I pointed him to his chair. “But we’re not talking about me right now. Sit.”
“Who did this to you?”
“I’m fine. Everything is okay.” Except that my crush now realized I carried another man’s baby. That probably reduced my chances with him. “I have it handled. I’ve been to a doctor, and I’m completely healthy. I’m just…keeping it quiet.”
“Who’s the father?”
“That’s not very quiet.”
“Who is the father, Rory?”
I hoped when he twisted the knife, he wouldn’t nick the kid. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not involved.”
“Not involved?” Jude’s voice darkened. Still measured, still composed, but shadowed with anger. “Please tell me he’s helping you with this?”
“Helping is such a strong word—”
“Who the hell is this jackass? You tell me now, and Eric and me will have a nice talk with this fucking—”
“But, Rory—”
“This is a very prestigious, very competitive fellowship. I can’t tell anyone, not until the season has started and I’ve got the baseline assessments on the team completed. The league is all about appearances and reputations, and the fellowship was supposed to send honest, dependable, and upstanding doctors from the community. If it gets out that I’m a single, pregnant woman, I’ll lose this chance.”
“Don’t you think they’ll find out eventually?” Jude patted his own stomach. “Hard to hide something like this.”
“I don’t have to hide it all year, only until I’ve proved myself here. I’m due after the season anyway, first week of January. I can complete the fellowship and work on finding another residency position after my maternity leave…”
The cracks widened in my plan. Keeping everything bottled up inside drowned me in my own fears and uncertainty, but speaking it out loud dredged up a whole new slew of problems.
Jude set his jaw. “Do you need help, Rory?”
Yes. “Me? You’re joking, right? I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
I checked my watch. “Oh, look at the time. Our session is up.”
“No. We just got started.”
“Jude, we really need to talk about you.”
“Me?”
I pointed him to the chair. “You can’t honestly expect to play again this year.”
“I will be playing this year.”
“You’ve had five concussions over your career. Documented. Who knows how many more you suffered that went unnoticed. The last one put you in physical therapy for four months. You can’t put your body through this again.”
Jude stood, casting his jacket over his shoulders. I didn’t like his frown, and I hated even more than I’d caused it.
“I’m not just talking as a doctor,” I said. “I’m your friend, Jude. I care about you.”
More than I should have.
“I’m taking you out for dinner tonight.”
I blinked. “What?”
“There’s a little bar the guys were talking about around the corner. McCrees. They said the food was good, and a couple of them are going to harass the rookies there tonight. Meet me there at eight o’clock.”
