Touchdowns and Tiaras: The Complete Boxed Set

by Sosie Frost

  I’d never get another job. Never be able to support Genie.

  I’d lose everything.

  Worse of all—I’d lose Jude.

  20

  Jude

  The vicious tackle silenced the stadium.

  This time, I wasn’t the one hurt, limp and broken on the field. But I didn’t feel any relief.

  Only dread.

  The cornerback had raced around the outside in a quick blitz. I’d caught the ball and prepared for his strike, but he rocketed into me at a bad angle. His helmet struck my ribs and jammed his neck.

  I’d gotten up. He didn’t.

  And the trainers raced to help.

  So this was what it was like, watching someone injured and lifeless on the field.

  No wonder my family hated it, my friends were so terrified, and Rory worried more about my head than her baby.

  The game stopped for fifteen minutes while the opposing team’s medical staff conferred with our trainers. Even Rory assisted the Tigers’ neurologist. She didn’t follow him to the locker room. Nothing could be done for the player in the stadium. An ambulance transported the cornerback to the hospital.

  I tried to remember what that part was like, but I couldn’t relive the moments after my last concussion. Hell, I couldn’t recall anything that happened in the days—or weeks—that followed. No one had known if the hit was just career-threatening, or if it had significantly damaged my neck, my brain, my future. It took too long to figure that answer out.

  The game ended, and a celebration surged through the team.

  We’d won clear through the playoffs, and now we headed to the championship.

  But I sat in the locker room, fingers clutching my helmet as my trembling hands nearly fumbled it from my grip. My fingers curled. The tremor didn’t stop.

  It wasn’t fear shaking my hands. Something was screwed up in my head.

  And it had been fucked for a long time.

  I dropped the helmet, and it clattered to the floor. I didn’t even have the strength in my fingers to hold a two-pound piece of equipment. Cold sweat beaded on me.

  Christ.

  What if I had been holding the baby?

  But Rory still had two weeks before the baby was due. Would that be enough time to heal? If I stopped now, could the headaches cease, trembling end, and fog clear?

  Or was it too late?

  The locker room bathed in cold, unforgiving light. The guys cheered and congratulated each other with raw excitement. But I hid in the shower while the men roared and beat on their chests. Elle snapped pictures. Families rushed inside. Leah leapt into Jack’s arms. Elle was hoisted over Lachlan’s shoulder. Piper even pushed Cole into the corner and stole a celebratory kiss.

  No one came for me.

  I’d never noticed this loneliness before.

  Not until I fucked it up. Not until I deliberately ignored Rory and forced myself onto the field.

  She had been right. About everything. About the injuries. The future. The prognosis. Until now, my life was the game, and I’d built a legacy between the hash marks. I thought that would be enough, but I’d denied the truth. No matter my accolades, my name would fade through the years. My records would be broken until I was just a meaningless statistic somewhere.

  Eventually, only I would remember my accomplishments.

  If I was lucky.

  I’d spent twelve years in the league, and most of it was a blur. Was that because of a long career, or because the only memories that remained were the ones when I waited for that next hit, next pain, next problem that threatened to take me out of the game?

  What would I have when I quit?

  An empty penthouse. A life of therapy and rehabilitation.

  No family. No warm body next to me in bed, stealing covers only to throw them away because the baby made her hot.

  “All-Star.” Jack slapped my shoulder. The locker room had cleared out, but I hadn’t moved beyond the bench. “Good game!”

  “Right.” At least I was partially dressed. Didn’t remember pulling my suit trousers on, but I buttoned them before reaching to shake Jack’s hand. “Hell of a game.”

  My fingers hadn’t stopped trembling.

  Jack noticed. “You and I gotta talk, Jude.”

  The hollering echoed through the locker room. Lachlan descended upon us, hopping from the bench and onto Cole’s shoulders. His presumptuous celebration promptly ended as Cole launched him into the lockers. That didn’t dull Lachlan’s smile, and even Cole smirked.

  “J-u-u-u-de!” Lachlan laughed. “You played a fucking great game!”

  Cole searched the emptying locker room. “Where’s Doctor Honeybuns?”

  I had no idea.

  Would she even want to see me after what I’d done? I hadn’t just disregarded her advice…I’d ignored her fears. What kind of man was I?

  Did I really think I deserved her?

  …Or the baby?

  “I’m not hurt,” I said. “Yet.”

  The word lingered. Jack motioned for Lachlan to shut the locker room door, but I wasn’t in the mood for a chat.

  “We gotta get to the bus,” I said.

  “Fuck the bus.” Jack slapped his chest. “I’m the goddamned MVP of this game. The bus will leave when I tell it to. We’re talking. Now.”

  “You know what I’m going to say.”

  “I still want to hear it.”

  And I had to say it, or I’d never believe the words came from my own lips. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Cole frowned. “Do what? Did that corner’s injury spook you?”

  “Damn right it did.” I rubbed my face. Felt like I hadn’t shaved in two days, and it was probably true. I hadn’t picked up the razor, not when my hand trembled too hard to hold it still. “What if it had been me out there?”

  “Everyone thinks that,” Jack said. “Every man on the field imagined it was him.”

  “You’ve never experienced something like that. I have.”

  “You planning on getting hit again?”

  Jack was a good man. A good leader. He could read between the lines, even if he hadn’t had a bad injury yet.

  Lachlan’s smile faded. I liked him. He was just a kid, and he had a long career ahead of him, but he was still innocent to a lot of the bullshit in the league.

  Only Cole understood. He hadn’t been injured, but he had hurt men before. For as much as I worried about another injury, Cole feared causing the pain.

  “I don’t want to get hit again,” I said. “Not if I can help it. Not if I do something about it.”

  “Like what?” Jack asked.

  “I’m gonna pull myself out of the game.”

  Lachlan panicked. “Jude, it’s the championship. You can’t just pull out. This isn’t prom night!”

  Cole silenced him with a glance. “You afraid of getting hurt?”

  “I’m already hurt.” I squeezed my fist closed. It stopped the tremor, but it’d be back. “I’m hiding it. Unsuccessfully. Rory knows something’s wrong, but she doesn’t know how bad it is. Hell, I don’t know how bad it is. I can’t risk anything happening. Not now. Not when I’m so close…”

  Jack didn’t let me go silent. “Close to what?”

  Her.

  “A chance I never had before,” I said. “A family. Rory and the baby. I’ve never…I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And if I get hurt—”

  “That’s normal,” Lachlan said. “You got a kid coming what…any minute now? No wonder you’re a basket case. Believe me; I’ve been through this—a lot. If you weren’t a football player, you’d worry about something stupid—like walking in front of a car.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Cole nodded. “Never thought I’d say it, but Charming’s right. When Piper was pregnant with Ethan, I had nightmares every night. Found myself in the nursery with Rose, just cradling her. You can’t imagine the shit that festers in your head when it’s almost time. Part of becoming a fath
er.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “The championship is nothing compared to having a kid,” Jack said. “I’ve done both. Sammy changed me more than any football game.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “It’s exactly the same.” Jack squeezed my shoulder. “It’s normal. You can’t do anything for Rory right now. Your part is done until that baby comes. You think it’s hard sitting on the sidelines waiting for the defense to get our ball back? Fuck. You’ve never felt more insignificant than when you’re sitting at her side during the delivery.”

  Lachlan laughed. “They tell you to hold ice chips. Any idiot can do that.”

  “She trusted you with the ice?” Jack asked.

  “Hell yeah.” Lachlan grinned. “I came prepared and brought a five-pound bag of ice. Accidentally spilled most of it on her though.” He glanced at me. “Point is, once Elle let me back in the delivery room, I did feel helpless, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let her get scared during the labor. You do what you gotta do until they hand you the baby. Don’t let the jitters scare you out of the championship game.”

  “You’re going to be a father,” Jack said. “That puts everything into a new perspective.”

  “No.” I stared ahead. Unblinking. “I’m not.”

  “Not what?”

  My voice rasped, hard. I hated admitting it, even if it was the truth.

  I had to know what I was about to lose.

  “I’m not going to be a father,” I said. “It’s not my baby.”

  The guys silenced. I lowered my head into my hands.

  They knew better than to speak.

  “Rory and I are friends,” I said. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. She got accidentally pregnant, and the asshole wanted nothing to do with her. She was worried about losing the fellowship, so I stepped in to help. We pretended…” I cleared the hoarseness out of my words. “To be in love. I offered to fake a relationship with her, to spare her reputation. And I knew what I was doing. I asked her to help me in return.” I hated myself and everything I had done to ruin the only chance I had at happiness. “I manipulated her so she’d clear me to play.”

  The truth was worse than any blow to the head, especially since I was the man delivering the hit.

  Lachlan spoke first. “Holy shit.”

  I swallowed. “That’s not the worst part.”

  Jack exhaled. “Jesus, All-Star. What else can you fuck up?”

  Plenty. “We started faking this relationship, but now I can’t get her out of my head. She’s my best friend’s little sister. She’s carrying another man’s baby. And I’m…” I said it for the first time. “I’m in love with her. Fucking head over heels. I want this woman more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life…”

  Cole didn’t let me finish. “So go get her.”

  Because it was that easy?

  “How?” I stood, ignoring the dizziness that plagued me on the field. “How the fuck am I supposed to just inject myself into her life. She’s about to have a baby. This all could be over in two weeks. Then we’re done. We never agreed on anything more. The season and fellowship will be finished, she’ll have her baby, and that’s it.”

  Cole didn’t buy it. “And you think that’s an excuse?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you want her?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Do you want the baby?”

  More than anything. “I’ve wished she was mine for months.”

  Jack and Lachlan were silent. Cole ran out of patience.

  “Then she is yours. Both of them. Rory and the baby.”

  “But the baby isn’t mine.”

  “Like hell she isn’t,” Cole said. “Fuck. You’ve been the one helping Rory. You’ve taken her to the doctor. Gotten her food at night. Gone back to the store after she changes her mind. You’re the one rubbing her back, organizing the baby showers, fucking agonizing over leaving the goddamned championship game to stay healthy for her. You’ve done everything to take care of her and that baby.”

  “That doesn’t give me a right to Genie.”

  “It makes you more of a father than the bastard who got Rory in trouble.”

  “What about blood?” I asked. “She’s not mine.”

  “What the fuck does blood have to do with it?” Cole’s expression darkened. “You think it matters where the baby came from? Who the real daddy is? What the genetics say? You’re the one that baby needs to love her and protect her and do right by her. Do you love Rory?”

  “Yes.”

  “You love that baby?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Rose isn’t my biological daughter. She’s not even the same color as me. But I fucking dare anyone to tell me she isn’t mine. Nothing can stop you from taking what’s yours. Nothing.”

  “I want the baby,” I said. “And I want Rory. I want a family. I want to make some good memories before they’re all…” I shook my head. “But if I play, I’ll drive Rory farther away. And if I get hurt, I’ll lose my only chance at a life outside of the game.”

  Jack was quiet. “Then you know what you have to do.”

  “I have to walk away,” I said. “There’s no other choice.”

  Lachlan traded his smile for a solemn nod. “Family comes first. Always. I respect that, Jude.”

  “You got us this far,” Jack said. “We can take it from here. I’ll get you that ring, even if you’re not in the huddle with me.”

  Cole offered his hand. “You’re doing a good thing, taking care of your family.”

  I shook it. “Thank you. You said what I needed to hear.”

  “You knew it all along.”

  He was right.

  And soon Rory would know it too.

  The team bus returned us to the practice facility, but I didn’t head for my car. I went to find Coach Thompson instead. He waited in his office, watching a tape of the defensive plays. I trusted they were of our team.

  “All-Star. Great game, huh?” He pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks…but this won’t take long.”

  “Don’t like the sound of that.”

  He’d hate the rest. I seized a breath. It didn’t make it any easier.

  “I wanted to talk with you. Been doing some thinking, and I gotta come clean.”

  “About what?”

  “There’s been…injuries I’ve been hiding. Headaches. Dizziness. Memory loss.”

  “Really?”

  The room was too quiet. The blood pumped in my ears, finally dulling out the memory of the game’s cheering crowd.

  I’d miss that sound.

  “The symptoms are getting worse,” I said. “Impacting my life.”

  Coach Thompson hummed. “I couldn’t tell. You’ve been playing excellent ball.”

  “I didn’t let myself focus on the pain. I ignored it.”

  “Good man.”

  No. That was the opposite of being a good man. Hell, it wasn’t even brave.

  I was too much of a coward to face the consequences of my injuries.

  “I’m voluntarily sitting myself for the championship game,” I said. “I can’t risk any further injuries.”

  Coach Thompson sighed, buzzing the air through his lips. His chair creaked as he leaned back.

  “I’m gonna tell you straight,” he said. “You’re having the best season of your career. How bad could these injuries possibly be? I think it’s in your head.”

  The injury was definitely in my head. “It’s too dangerous for me to play.”

  “We’ll have you talk to a trainer, not a neurologist. They’re always looking for problems. Gotta justify their paycheck.” He waved me away. “You’ve just got your bell rung again. Nothing a cold beer and some pain-killers won’t cure. Ask the trainers, and they’ll cut you a good prescription. You take two days, rest up, and you’ll be good as new.”

  “It’s worse than that, Coach. Believe me.”

/>   “But you wanted to play this season. Hell, I wanted you to play with us. We need you.”

  “I have someone else who needs me,” I said. “And she needs me to be healthy. I hate to take myself out, but if I get hurt—”

  “You were cleared to play, Jude.”

  “It was at my discretion.”

  Coach Thompson frowned. “Are you sure you aren’t letting other people interfere with your medical assessments? Doctor Merriweather has consistently interfered with other players this season. I think she’s convinced you that you’re hurt.”

  “This isn’t about Ror—Doctor Merriweather. I’m not one hundred percent.”

  “Show me any player who isn’t beaten up this late in the season. Sprains, broken fingers, torn muscles. You know this game. No one is healthy. Everyone plays hurt.”

  “Look—”

  He didn’t want to hear it. “That’s the deal you made when you signed with this team. That’s why you were given millions to play, Owens. Only men play this game, and men know when it’s time to make sacrifices.”

  He was absolutely right. That’s why I was here, giving it up. “My decision is final.”

  His scowl turned cold. “I didn’t think you were a coward.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I think you are. I think you’ve let Merriweather poison your mind. She’s manipulating you.”

  “She’s the only person telling me the truth.”

  “You have more than enough juice left in you to make it through this one game,” he said. “Then you can take off-season to rest and get ready for next year.”

  Now my head did hurt. “Next year? Coach, there’s no fucking way I can run another sixteen games next season. I’m out. I’m asking you to respect my decision.”

  I reached the door before he spoke once more.

  “I know the baby isn’t yours.”

  I stilled.

  How the hell did he know?

  “That doesn’t matter,” I said.

  “It matters to Doctor Merriweather. Matters so much, in fact, that you assumed responsibility to save her career.”

  My head wasn’t screwed on straight, but even I recognized a threat when I heard it. I spun, tossing aside my chair so I could stare him down, face-to-face.