The Hot Shot

by Kristen Callihan

  We’re almost at Coach’s office when Chess calls again. Hell.

  “You ever heard of turning that thing off, Mannus?”

  He’s one to talk. Gossip has it Calhoun brings his into the shower with him.

  “Give me a second.” I pull the phone from my pocket. “I’ll tell them I’m in a meeting.”

  The second I answer, I know something is wrong. It isn’t Chess’s voice coming at me in a rush. It’s James. “Thank fuck you finally answered.”

  “What’s wrong? Why are you using Chess’s phone?”

  “Chess is hurt. She’s in the hospital…”

  Had I felt panic with Jake? That was nothing to this. Everything stops. Black spots dance before my eyes. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

  This isn’t fear. This is terror.

  “Mannus? You there?”

  “What hospital?” I manage.

  James gives me the name and then takes an audible breath. “She’s okay. Just…I think she’d want you here when she wakes up.”

  Wakes up? A weird sound comes out of me. I catch my breath. “I’m on my way.”

  My fingers feel numb as I hang up. In fact, my whole fucking face feels numb. “I have to go,” I tell my coach, who stares at me as if I’ve lost it.

  “Now? Who was that? One of Ryder’s sisters?”

  “No. My girl. She’s…” Don’t lose it. “She’s in New York. I’ve got to go.”

  “You’re going to New York?” His voice rises just a bit. “We have meetings tomorrow.”

  Already, I’m texting Charlie, telling him to book me the next flight out and fuck the expense. Any flight. Now.

  “Mannus,” Calhoun snaps. “You listening?”

  I meet his gaze head on. “Yes, Coach. Meetings. I’ll attend every single one of them. As soon as I get back from New York.”

  He stares at me, his mouth open.

  I should feel bad. Worry, maybe. I don’t. I was the number one draft pick of my year. And for the first time, I’m playing that card. “My girl is in the hospital. She is my family. And I’m going to be with her.”

  It’s as if Coach is moving in slow motion but he finally nods. “Give Ms. Copper my best.”

  I don’t answer; I’m already running down the hall, my whole fucking life waiting for me in New York.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chess

  * * *

  Hospitals are horrible. I woke up on one. I threw up and they scanned my brain for internal swelling or bleeding. That scared the shit out of me. Apparently, I have a concussion. Which means I spent the night being checked on in intervals that felt too short and were really annoying since it meant I couldn’t sleep. I really wanted to sleep.

  It’s morning now. My head weighs a metric ton and dully throbs. But the nausea is gone, and I’m no longer dizzy. I’ve been allowed to shower and put on my street clothes. Yeah, a hospital shower with antiseptic smelling shampoo that turns hair into straw.

  Lying on the bed to wait for James, I’ve been drifting on and off, sheer exhausting pulling at my lids. They’re releasing me with instructions that James watch me.

  The hollow feeling in my chest grows. I don’t want James.

  The door opens, another nurse coming to poke at me. But it isn’t a nurse. Emotion punches through me, a fist to my aching chest, a sharp squeeze of my tender heart. Finn is here.

  He looks about as good as I feel, eyes blood-shot, the skin bruised beneath them, his hair matted on one side and sticking up on the other. I soak in the sight of him like water on parched earth.

  His blue gaze darts over me as if he doesn’t know what to focus on first, that he can’t yet take in the whole of me. Tension rides his body, making it visibly tremble. And then his eyes meet mine. He looks haunted, ripped apart.

  I swallow with difficulty. “Hey.”

  When he speaks, his voice is a ghost of its former self. “Hey.” He take a step into the room and closes the door behind him. “I got here as soon as I could. Flights were scarce.”

  He’s here, that’s all that matters to me. I should sit up, make myself appear strong and capable and all that. But, unless someone comes to wheel my ass out of here, I’m not moving until I have to.

  “I think I was hit by a guy on a bike.” Everything’s kind of hazy but I remember two wheels and a handlebar.

  The grooves around his mouth deepen. “You were.”

  He moves like an old man, making his way to my side. I watch him come, little tremors quaking in my belly. I want to hug him so badly my arms twitch. He sits in the chair by my bedside, his body too big for its stingy frame. Up close, he looks worse, careworn and exhausted. I empathize.

  “Is the guy okay?” My memory is fairly shitty right now. Apparently, concussions can do that to a person.

  “Couple of scrapes. Broken wrist.” Finn’s expression is blank, barely a flicker of movement. He glances down at my hand resting on the bed.

  “How ironic. Mine just healed.”

  The corners of his mouth pinch. “Love that you can joke. Two times, I’ve had to hear you were in the hospital.” Blue eyes pin me to the stop. “That’s two times too many.”

  “It’s not like I planned this.”

  He grunts.

  “I’m not even a clumsy person. Both times they ran into me.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of looking both ways, Chester?” He actually glares.

  “It was a one way street. Who thinks to look for rando bikers going the wrong way?”

  “You do. From now on. Jesus.” He wipes a hand over his mouth. “My heart can’t take another call like that, okay?”

  “Okay. I’m sorry.” I am. Not for getting hit, but for putting that look of abject fear in his eyes.

  Finn scowls. “Don’t be sorry. How do you feel?”

  Whatever they gave me, makes my body sluggish in the best of ways.

  “Fuzzy.” I blink down at my body. The inside of my elbow has a bandaid on it from where they put an IV in earlier. A saline drip that had provided cool relief and, later, some very exceptional painkillers. One thing to love about a hospital, I guess. “I can’t remember what I look like. Give me a damage report.”

  His throat works on a swallow. “A few scrapes and bruises on your right temple and cheek.”

  “That’s not so bad.”

  “Debatable.”

  This is not the reunion I’d planned. Finn is here, and clearly worried about me, but he’s distant and fairly humming with some emotion I can’t figure out. My memory clears a little more and a bolt of horror runs through me. “Oh, shit.”

  Instantly, Finn jolts as if pinched. “What? Are you hurting? Talk to me.”

  “Jake. How is he?”

  Finn settles down with a scowl then rubs a hand over his face. “He sprained his neck. And, like you, has a concussion. He’s out for the season but, all in all, he got lucky.”

  “I saw it happen. I was so scared.”

  His skin pales, and his lashes lower. “Me too.”

  “I know. I should have been there.”

  Finn glares down at his fists.

  I want to touch him, stroke away the stiffness along his neck and shoulders. But he looks as if one touch will shatter him, and I don’t know what to say to bridge the gap between us. “Did you win?”

  The muscle on his jaw bunches. “Yes. We weren’t going down without a fight.”

  But there’s no emotion in his words. He keeps glaring at his fists as if he’s thinking of punching something. I don’t know what to do.

  “You were magnificent,” I tell him with a soft voice.

  He grunts.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Yes.”

  It lashes like a whip.

  I bite my lower lip, look away, blinking hard.

  None of the harshness leaves his voice. “I’m trying not to lose it.”

  Guilt pulls at my heart. He witnessed his best friend get knocked out on the field. Jake cou
ld have died, and I know how much that affects Finn.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” My voice is a thread, reaching out for him.

  Silence greets me instead. The force of his stare is a heavy hand on my chest. I turn to face him. Wide eyes filled with outrage and anger glare back at me.

  “You think I’d be anywhere else than at your side?”

  “Jake—”

  “God…” Finn laughs but then, without warning, his eyes well up and his lips twist. I stare in shock as his chin quivers and he lets out a harsh exhale that ends in a strangled sob.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  His chest heaves, a horrible pained movement, and he leans in, rests his head on my belly. “Fuck, Chess,” he says on a choked breath. His arm slings around my hips, fingers clutching my side. “You have no idea what it does to me to see you like this. I cannot stand seeing you hurt. I can’t.”

  I stoke his hair. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “It’s not okay.” He lifts his head and looks at me with eyes that are wet. “I got that call from James telling me I needed to get to the hospital because you were there, and my life fucking stopped. Do you understand? Your life stops, mine does too.”

  A shudder racks me, my heart swelling in the hollow cavity of my chest. “Oh, Finn. Come here.”

  But he doesn’t listen. He sits back in his chair, his expression resolute and hard. “So, yeah, I’m mad. You left me. And you got hurt. You can’t get hurt. And you can’t leave me again, Chester. I won’t survive.”

  My big, strong man waits for an answer, his body tense in the char, silvery trails of tears running down his cheeks. He’s left his heart wide open for me, without shame or hesitation.

  My vision wavers, and I blink to clear it. When I’m able to speak, emotion garbles my words. “Take my hand.”

  Shaking, I hold out my own, waiting.

  Finn’s brows pinch, his gaze darting from my face to my hand. I meet his eyes and hold his gaze. Does he know what I’m asking? Does he understand? Emotion bounces between us, and then all at once his expression clears. A small smile unfurls, as he reaches out.

  His warm, rough palm presses against mine. Our fingers thread. Something inside me settles into place with a silent click.

  I give Finn’s hand a squeeze. “I was coming to find you. To tell you that I loved you.”

  He lets out a breath. And then he’s crawling into bed with me, tucking my body around his hard strength. Soft lips brush my temple. Finn cups my cheek with infinite care. “I love you so much, it scares me.”

  I lean into his touch with a sigh. “That was my problem too. But I’m not scared anymore.” My fingers toy with his longer ones. “I think no matter how my life played out, I would have found you. I would have loved you.”

  His eyes squeeze shut and when he opens them, they are shining. “You’re my fate, Chess. I’ve known that since the beginning. I was meant to be yours.”

  “I told James that you were my fate.”

  He gives me a pleased smile. “Some things were meant to be.”

  I huff out a laugh. “That song… A band started playing it, right in the middle of my dinner. Every person in the place singing along. How am I supposed to ignore a sign like that?”

  He laughs. “You don’t.”

  I lay my head on his shoulder, and we both rest. The steady beat of his heart soothe me. Finn strokes my knuckles with an idle touch.

  “I’m sorry I left the way I did,” I finally say.

  Finn stirs. “I wasn’t hearing you when you said you were afraid. Not the way you needed me to hear it, anyway.”

  He turns his hand to that my palm rests on his, so that he’s now holding me. “You think I need to father a child to be happy, because of what I lost. And it was easier for me to brush that aside with quick assurances than to really ask myself if that was true.”

  A tremor goes through me, and he tightens his grip as if he knows I want to pull away. Finn’s voice is steady and sure, but taut with a hint of wryness. “Football is easy, if you want to know the truth. Easy in the way that I’m gifted. I fail it’s all on me. I can control that. I never really lost anything that mattered to me until the baby.”

  Long fingers curl over mine. “I couldn’t control that. It changed me, made me afraid. And what I feel for you is fucking terrifying. Because I can’t control you either. I can only love you and hope for the best, that you’ll love me back, that I can keep you safe and happy.”

  “I am happy,” I whisper, turning further toward his body, to press close. “You’ve always made me happy. I panicked. But I shouldn’t have. Because you are worth any risk.”

  He lets that absorb, pressing his lips to my head. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that, Chess. But I owe you an answer. Because I panicked too. And I should have taken that same risk.”

  Nerves pluck at my belly. I don’t know why; he loves me. I love him. I know my worth, and I know he see it too. But some feelings cannot be changed, no matter how much you want to ignore them. I go still, letting him say what he has to. And maybe it’s hard for him, because he takes his time, measuring his words as if they have weight.

  “Thing is, when I lost my child…I lost someone to love. I didn’t realize it until then, but I needed that. I needed love in my life. Someone who makes all the effort worth it.” Finn shifts on the bed to that we’re fact to face. “I love you, Chester Copper. More than anything. It isn’t a matter of that being good enough; it is essential. You take yourself out of the equation and the rest has no meaning.”

  I don’t know who moves first. Our kisses are soft, sweet, apologies mixed with promises. After a lingering press of his mouth to mine, Finn strokes the sensitive side of my neck with the backs of his fingers. “You want to adopt a child, employ a surrogate, do both, that’s what we’ll do. But I don’t need that. Not now.”

  “I don’t need that now either. I’m happy with it being just us.”

  His cheek brushes mine. “Whatever we choose, we’ll do it together. As long as we’re together, Chess.”

  “Together.” It is a word ripe with possibilities, and I cannot wait.

  Epilogue

  Chess

  * * *

  In the spring, Finn bought me a house for my birthday. And I let him. It was surprising how liberating it felt, not worrying about what kind of message that sent or if I’d be trapping myself by allowing him spend so much money. I’d placed my life in his hands and he’d done the same. Every day the threads of our lives grew more intertwined, and we were stronger for it.

  We chose a house on Third Street in the Garden District. Built in the 1850s, it was a Greek Revival style with double galleries along the front and the back of the house, and surrounded by wide lawns, with a pool tucked in the back. We painted the stucco a pale violet to represent New Orleans purple, with white for the trim. The high iron gates—which we needed for privacy—were a glossy dark green. And I was in love, true love with the massive old house.

  When I found out that Dex’s girlfriend, Fiona, was both an interior decorator and furniture maker, I went to her for help. While Finn was at training camp, Fi and I started decorating. Between the two of us, we chose an ebony stain for the floors and clean white paint for the walls to let the architecture shine. We kept the furniture comfortable but with modern lines, set up a home gym and movie room, an art studio in the attic, and a photography studio in an outbuilding near the back of the property that had its own entrance, and I loved the space more than my old loft.

  Was the house too big for us? It didn’t feel that way. We filled it with friends and family and love. In the summer, we hosted James and Jamie’s wedding. I ended up getting drunk and inelegantly bawling during my best woman speech. Finn consoled me by taking me skinny dipping later that night when all the guests had gone. He’d been right, drunken sex with someone you love really was fun—in a sloppy, no-holds-barred, wake-up-the-neighbors kind of way.

  By the time fall
arrived, our house was our home, and I loved Finn with a depth I didn’t know I was capable of.

  “I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea,” Fi grumbles as she stands before the mirror in my dressing room. We’re close friends now, and I’m only sorry we didn’t meet sooner.

  I take in the little green dress, so short it barely covers her bum, and the shimmery pink tights with matching ballet flats. “You look cute as hell.”

  Fi scowls and flicks one of the iridescent wings strapped to her back. “Cute? I’m a masochist, is what I am. My whole life I’ve been compared to TinkerBell. And now I’m dressing up like her, for fuck’s sake.”

  Petite with killer curves, a button nose, big green eyes, and wispy blond hair, Fiona definitely looks the part.

  I grin wide. “Embracing your inner Tink gives you power over her. Isn’t that what you said?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Dex will lose his shit when he sees that dress.”

  She grins too. “That’s the plan.”

  “What is he going as?”

  She winks, an evil glint in her eyes. “A lumberjack.”

  I can’t help laughing. Mainly because I know Dex will be grumbling over whatever he wears. “Oh, man. Talk about hot lumberjack porn.”

  “I know. I think my panties might go up in flames when I see him.” She fluffs out her tiny skirt. “What about Finn?”

  Downstairs, the catering staff I hired is setting up for the Halloween party Finn and I are hosting. We’d done most of the decorations ourselves, but the caterers will put the finishing touches on things.

  “He won’t tell me. It’s supposed to be a surprise. And speaking of…” I walk to the garment bag hanging by the mirror. “My costume is one as well.”

  “Finn picked out your costume?” Fi gives me a look that’s part amused, part afraid. “And you trusted him? What if it’s a carrot?”

  I snort. “All the things you could have come up with and you pick carrot?”

  “Felt nice and random.”

  I press a hand against the bag, prolonging the moment, because I know it will be good. “Finn would never dress me as a carrot. No, he was downright giddy when he left this for me with strict, do not look until you’re getting dressed instructions.”