Thousand Yard Bride

by Nora Flite

  Just in time for me to realize Jo was sprawled out next to me.

  Her skirt was hiked up high above her knees, legs bent in an unflattering pose. Grass stuck to her hair like green snowflakes. She was covering her face with her hands, making a soft, pained noise.

  Sitting up in a whirl of fear, I bent over her. “Jo! Are you okay?”

  “She looks great to me,” the grinning photographer said, still snapping away.

  Jumping up, I put my hand over his lens. “You want to make it out of here in one piece? Delete those fucking pictures.” The smile left his face and I watched him go through the last few digital shots and delete them.

  Carefully, I reached out to help Jo to her feet. She waved me away, brushing herself off as she knelt. It was a relief she didn't seem injured; she'd been cradling her face so tight I'd expected to see a bloody nose.

  "I'm fine," she said, moving to stand. She set one foot on the ground, wincing sharply and sitting back down. "Shit. My ankle is killing me."

  My stomach started to eat itself. "I didn't even see you there. I'm seriously sorry, Jo." I was used to colliding with much larger bodies, tackling guys who easily weighed twice what she did. “Let me help you up.”

  I reached for her hand, but she didn't make it far before she yelped in pain again, leaning down to feel at her ankle. "I'm worried it's broken," she said, looking up at me uneasily.

  I got down at her feet and whistled for the Hawks’ trainer. The team medic came over, followed by some of my concerned teammates. Another one of Jo’s photographers kept taking pictures. “Hey, Lenny, maybe take a break,” Jo told him.

  The team medic asked, “Can you wiggle your toes?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s probably nothing. I just need a minute.”

  “You sound like a player,” I said, impressed by her toughness.

  Jo laughed, her smile like a fresh breeze. Lifting an arm, she motioned for me to help her stand. I moved carefully, not wanting to exacerbate her ankle. She leaned her weight on me, and I tried to ignore the feeling of her curvy body pressed against mine. As I guided her down the sidelines, I heard Benny shout at us, “Way to be a helping hand, Hunter!”

  “Get back to practice, boys,” Coach Bauer yelled. “Nothing to see here.”

  I turned to Jo. “I'm taking you to get that ankle looked at.” She crinkled her forehead, so I headed off her argument. “It’s already swelling up, if it gets worse you won’t be able to walk on it tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “What about the rest of practice?”

  “Ah, we haven’t even gotten to training season. We were just playing around out there." I was reminded of how I'd hoped to show off and look good for Jo. And instead I slam into her like a runaway train.

  Jo dismissed the photographers she’d hired, sharply informing them that they’d have a very hard time getting their press passes for the season if they didn’t delete the pictures they’d taken of the incident.

  “Lenny,” Jo said sternly as we walked past the photographer who was scrolling through images of me and Jo together on the ground in his digital preview window. “We need Hunter catching the ball, not helping me up.”

  “Fine, but I got some real touching stuff here, Jo.”

  “Just delete them, Lenny.”

  “Ok, ok, you’re the boss,” he sighed.

  As we made it to the edge of the field, the medic appeared with a wheelchair. “I’m not getting in that for a tiny little sprain,” Jo said. “I didn’t break anything.”

  Grinning, I gave her waist a little squeeze—I loved how she twitched in surprise. “It’s a long way to my car, Jo. You either ride in that or I'll carry you."

  Her whole face went pink. I wondered if she was hesitating because she liked the idea of being in my arms. “Fine,” she finally said, letting me help her into the wheelchair.

  Off to the side, I saw Lenny getting into his car. I thought about asking Jo why she wouldn't want a photo of me looking like a decent human being helping someone, but I thought better of it and just pushed her over the asphalt.

  From my angle, I could see the back of her neck and her messy hair that had fallen almost entirely from her tight bun. On impulse, I brushed a wild piece off of her face, my hand lingering on her snowy skin.

  “Hunter!” she protested. “What are you doing?”

  “Relax," I chuckled. "There was a piece of grass in your hair.” It was an easy lie.

  “Wonderful. It'll go with the grass stains on my new suit.”

  When we reached my car, I carefully eased her into it. Jo was obviously in pain—her clenched jaw gave her away—but she didn't want to admit it. Hoping to distract her, I cranked my music up, cycling through wildly varied stations.

  Leaving it on some polka made her stare at me and laugh. "What?" I asked innocent. "It's my favorite."

  Jo looked out the window, a tiny smile replacing her pale discomfort.

  When we got to the ER parking lot, she tried to get out of the car on her own. She was able to prop herself up on the door, but when she tried to walk, she wobbled on her feet. I caught her and scooped her light frame up in my arms with ease.

  “Put me down,” she gasped. "You said you wouldn't do this!"

  “I said wheelchair or my arms, and the chairs are inside,” I told her as I carried her through the emergency room doors. The weight of her was welcome. I wished I was carrying her somewhere more private than a hospital.

  In the waiting room, I sat down on a bench with Jo in my lap. An older woman waiting nearby gawked at us. Jo inhaled sharply, fidgeting in my grip but seeming unable to tell me to put her down anymore.

  An orderly rolled a chair to us, though, ruining our unspoken we'll-just-stay-like-this agreement. Reluctantly, I put her in the chair, longing for her warmth the second it was robbed from me.

  A few minutes later, a nurse called Jo’s name. By that time, her ankle had swollen to twice its normal size, and she could barely move without groaning in agony. Wishing I hadn't been so focused on showing off on the field, I blocked the nurse and wheeled Jo down the hall myself.

  No one tried to stop me.

  6

  Jo

  When Hunter picked me up and whisked me into the hospital, I hoped that he couldn't feel my heart rate increase. It had been surreal to be pressed so close to him again. I'd expected to feel more insulted—he was treating me like an injured kitten, after all—but his solid desire to take care of me erased my anger.

  Now, sitting on the table in the doctor's office, I watched as the nurse finished taking my blood pressure. "You’re going to be just fine,” she said, much to my relief.

  I was happy that Hunter had stayed in the room with me. I was also happy that he was sitting so close that I could smell his minty scent mixed with his sweat. He was resting in a chair beside me, his shoulder barely touching my thigh. Having him close soothed me, even as my pulse pounded with every glance I accidentally shot toward the front of his padded football pants.

  Did he have to look so good in those?

  The doctor came in, glanced at my ankle and confirmed that I’d need to have x-rays taken. Then he added, “I’m going to run some blood tests, too, Ms. Cooke. You seem to be bruising a bit more quickly than I’d like to see.”

  “Oh, bruising like a peach runs in my family,” I said. “It’s no big deal, really.”

  Hunter leaned close, pressing a fingertip to my bare knee in experimentation. "Huh," he whispered, glancing at my face, then my neck. "I'd think you have more of them, then. Or do you?"

  His unsaid message was obvious. Did I leave bruises on you the night we fucked?

  Looking at the ceiling, I bit my lip and stayed quiet.

  A nurse wheeled me to the x-ray room. By then the pain was so bad that I had to focus all my energy on something, anything, to keep from crying. Screw professionalism, I thought, allowing my mind to go back to that night in LA. It wasn't a challenge; Hunter had been cradl
ing me in his strong arms just minutes ago.

  I replayed every moment. I remembered every sensation. Thinking about Hunter was so distracting that I barely noticed as the x-ray tech covered me in a heavy lead apron and the machine captured every angle of my leg.

  Still, I was relieved when the process was over. I was happy to get off of the cold table. I was happy to get back to Hunter. But before wheeling me back to the room, a medical technician announced that he had to take my blood. I tried to protest again, but it was no use. The tech swabbed my arm with alcohol and I braced myself for the prick. I hated needles.

  While the technician started prepping to draw my blood, I focused hard. I pictured what Hunter fucking me would have looked like from above. I often visualized things from an angle I couldn't have seen, but could imagine.

  This was a tactic that I used in rock climbing. I would imagine looking down at myself from the summit so I could get the full picture of what I was actually doing. It helped put things into perspective.

  Now, I was watching Hunter pound into me, then Hunter and I kissing in the hot tub on the hotel balcony at The Standard, the LA skyline silhouetted behind us. I was caressing his tight, wet abs with my hands. He was kissing my neck and my back through my dress. His hand was wandering down my side and over toward my inner thigh . . .

  “All done here,” the phlebotomist said, interrupting my daydream. I hadn’t event felt the prick of the needle.

  I was happy to see Hunter was waiting for me in the doctor's office. He was talking with the doctor, and both of them were using medical language straight out of some TV hospital drama. I was impressed.

  As he carried on a medical conversation that was way over my own head, I realized how smart Hunter was. He never got credit for his brain at all in the media. All anyone cared about was his sexy body or his moves on the field. I was realizing very quickly that Hunter was more than just a hunky football pin-up. He was a real person, an interesting person.

  I listened intently, trying to make sense of my diagnosis.

  “She has a syndesmotic sprain. The tibiofibular ligament’s completely ruptured,” the doctor said. Hunter nodded, his brow creasing.

  “What did he just say?” I asked Hunter, feeling annoyed at my cluelessness.

  Hunter translated, “That means that you have a high ankle strain. Up here,” he said, stroking the top part of my good ankle for just a moment, turning my insides to melted butter.

  The doctor added, “Looks like you landed pretty hard. Ouch.”

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly. “So what does this all mean? Am I ever going to walk again?” My lame joke did nothing to conceal the worry in my voice.

  The doctor said, “I'll give you a brace, and then you," he turned towards Hunter, "can get your little lady home and get that ankle iced, compressed, and elevated. You know the drill by now, don't you, Hunter?”

  “Will do.” Hunter smirked at me, mouthing ‘little lady.’ I rolled my eyes but didn’t bother correcting the doctor. I wasn’t Hunter’s girlfriend, but why argue the point? We’d be out of here soon enough.

  “I’ll call you later if anything unusual shows up in your test results. For now, you should be good to go,” the doctor said breezily as he wrote something on his clipboard.

  As Hunter helped me down and onto crutches, a nurse knocked on the door. She called the doctor out into the hallway. “One moment,” he said, motioning for us to stay in the room as he stepped away. Hunter and I were left in silence.

  “How are you holding up, Jo?” Hunter asked, looking at me as though I were some injured fawn he wanted to nurse back to health.

  “I’m really fine,” I said. “I’m not made of glass.”

  "Oh, I know that much," he said softly. He winked, making my heart skip. "I know

  how . . . rough I can be with you."

  Digging my fingers into the tops of my thighs, I sat there awkwardly until the doctor returned. He was wearing a strange look on his face, looking between us both with uncertainty. “We got your blood test results back, Joanne.” He stepped closer to me and put a fatherly hand on my shoulder.

  The first thought that entered my head was that I had cancer or something. I felt faint. My stomach turned. “What’s the problem?” I asked urgently. “Whatever it is, just say it. I can take it." I covered my mouth. "Wait, no. Please don't tell me I'm dying."

  “What?" he laughed, shaking his head. "Nothing so grim. But, it looks like you two are pregnant."

  The tension that had started to melt when he'd laughed now came back with a vengeance. My eyes widened, a high pitched whine filling my ears. "I must have misheard you," I said, hardly hearing myself.

  The doctor smiled fondly, his eyes warming on me. “You’re going to be a mother."

  A mother. Pregnant. Me. "Impossible," I said, so quietly he didn't hear.

  Hunter stood up, his shoulders rigid. "Say that again."

  "Pregnant," the doctor explained. "Congratulations. I can tell you’re both excited, I’ll get out of here and let you celebrate.” He shut the door, the sound as hard as a foghorn. I jumped, reaching for my crutches, but Hunter put his hands on mine and stopped me.

  "Jo," he said flatly. "Did you hear that?"

  "I need to get home," I said, trying to move around him.

  "Jo! Stop, look at me."

  I wanted to do anything except that. Hunter held me still, his eyes so magnetic I was pulled into them. I couldn't read his face. Was he happy? Sad? "This can't be real."

  His eyebrows knotted together. "Is it mine? Is that possible?"

  I didn't like that implication. Shrugging off of him, I hobbled out the door. "You think I banged some other jackass in the past month?"

  "Jo—"

  "Yes, it's yours." I'm pregnant with Hunter's baby. What the hell were we going to do?

  Hunter helped me into his car and we headed home without speaking. My ankle was still killing me, and my mind was running a mile a minute. After about fifteen minutes of awkward silence, Hunter cleared his throat and spoke up.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked, his eyes focused on the road.

  I massaged my temples, wondering how long it would be until the painkillers they’d sent me home with really kicked in. “What am I going to do, don’t you mean? I can handle this, Hunter. This is my mistake. Just forget about it.”

  “I was there that night, too, you know. Like it or not, we’re in this together."

  My panic turned to anger. Did he think he could control my body? I didn’t know if I was more mad at myself or at the situation. I snapped at him, “You’re my client. I slept with you, and I messed everything up. This is a nightmare.”

  I saw that my words stung him, but I meant it. I'd jeopardize my career and his because I'd let myself get caught up in a moment, no matter how amazing that moment was. Everything was uncertain.

  The only thing I knew for sure was that I would have to fix this somehow.

  7

  Hunter

  In all my days—and nights—sleeping with as many women as I could, I’d never gotten anyone pregnant. While I liked to fuck, I wasn’t a fucking idiot. I always put on a rubber. I’d gone through enough condoms that the condom companies should have sponsored me or at least given me a bulk discount. I was a walking endorsement for safe, albeit prolific, sex.

  Until Jo.

  I couldn’t remember what happened in LA that led to me being so damn careless. I could easily remember how hot it was. I could still picture Jo in that dress. Her body was crystal clear in my mind.

  I remembered pulling her into the jacuzzi, then carrying her to bed. I remembered the way her skin felt, but I couldn’t remember putting on a condom.

  When the doctor had walked into the room and told us the news, I'd wanted to bash my head against a wall for being such a moron. But I couldn’t undo what I’d done. We had to come up with a game plan.

  I watched Jo out of the corner of my eye as I drove her home. I didn't know ho
w to deal with someone like her. She was so independent, and yet there was still a vulnerability about her that made me want to take care of her. We were in a mess we'd both created, but she was acting like this was all her.

  I wanted to scream “Fuck!” out loud the whole way to her apartment. Instead I just drove.

  When I dropped her off at her place, I insisted on helping her inside. It was the least I could do. “I don't need your help,” she snapped.

  I wasn’t angered by her tone. If I was in her shoes, I’d probably react the same way. But I couldn’t just sit there in my car and watch her hobble to her door.

  “I don't care if you don't want it," I said. "You definitely need my help."

  She dropped one of her crutches; I bent down, offering it to her. She eyed it like it was on fire, then took it with a frown. "Fine. I need some help, let's get this over with."

  I helped her through the door and inside to her small one-bedroom apartment. Her place was really homey. While the furniture was mismatched, it seemed to all come together in a welcoming sort of fashion. It was a stark contrast to my place. She had a comfy looking overstuffed blue sofa which I helped her onto.

  “You can go,” she said. “My sister, Lanie, will be here soon.”

  “We need to talk about this, Jo.”

  “Not now,” she said.

  “Not now?" Laughing bitterly, I threw my arms up. "We’re talking about a kid here, Jo. That's happening now whether you want to face it or not."

  Tossing her crutches onto the floor violently, she shouted, "I'm facing it! I'm facing it real hard! I hooked up for the first time in my life with anyone, and the stars align to make sure I get knocked up by that guy!"

  "I’m not just some guy, Jo. I'm this baby's father."

  "I'm definitely facing that part, believe me."

  Disgust crept up the back of my throat and made me taste coppery sourness. "So that's it. You really think I’m that much of an asshole that I would just let you raise some child on your own? Do you think I’m that much of a monster?”