by Sosie Frost
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—”
I held my hands up. “It was a stupid, one-night thing. He doesn’t want to be involved, and that’s fine with me. We just need to keep it quiet for now.”
“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 f
ears 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.”
“W—why?”
“Because you need to eat, and we need to talk.” Jude stalked to the door. “I won’t take no for an answer, Doc.”
“Jude, I’m not going to sway my professional opinion—”
“Then I’ll appeal to you personally. I’m fine, Rory. No five-minute test will prove a damn thing about my head. We’ll meet for dinner, eat, and you’ll see that I’m good to play.” He paused. “And then we’re gonna figure out what to do with you.”
“I don’t need anything done with me. I can handle myself.”
“That makes two of us. Don’t keep me waiting.”
The door closed behind him.
My body shut down. Exhaustion. Nausea. Muscle aches. A headache that wouldn’t quit.
None of it compared to the simple thrill that coursed through my veins.
Jude Owens asked me out to dinner.
…Where was he sixteen weeks ago?
2
Jude
My memory wasn’t great anymore, but I couldn’t afford to forget about Rory.
I’d set two alerts on my phone to remind me.
8:00 – Rory @ McCrees
Still seemed weird to see her name flash on my screen though. Not that her contact information wasn’t in my list, but I usually called Eric when I needed something. Seeing her tonight shouldn’t have excited me as much as it did, but it wasn’t like I had a thriving social life in my new home.
I reached for the TV remote, but the Sports Nation broadcast shifted topics to something more familiar.
Me.
Ainsley Ruport’s smug grin filled the screen. Tonight’s top story—the rumors about my return to the league.
For eleven years, reporters had discussed my talent, my skill, and my amazing play on the field. Once, they all said the same thing—no defense can stop running back Jude Owens.
Now?
Ainsley chortled into the camera, his brow somehow sweaty while sitting behind a desk. “The rumor around the league is that free-agent Jude Owens is looking to sign a one-year contract with the Ironfield Rivets. It’s no secret the Rivets need firepower. After last season’s photo-gate scandal, Ironfield was stripped of their first and second round draft choices. But are they desperate enough to sign Jude Owens?”
Desperate? What the hell?
I toyed with the television remote in my left hand, the vibrating cell in my right. Time to go to McCrees…but Ainsley wasn’t finished.
“Owens might have the legs, but he’s rushing from the line of scrimmage directly into another concussion.” Ainsley grinned at his co-hosts. “The Rivets are wasting space in the salary cap if they sign Owens, a man who probably won’t even last a full season with his history of injuries and medical—”
The rage seethed within me. Blinding. Churning.
Inescapable.
Terrifying.
I pitched the remote across the room. At least, I thought it was the remote. I accidentally tossed my cell-phone instead. I swallowed a vulgar profanity and the quick bite of anger. The wires in my head must have shorted, and my left hand moved instead of my right.
Fuck. I hoped I hadn’t destroyed my phone.
Again.
I turned off the television and forced a breath through my lungs. The raging fog cleared.
What was happening to me? I never once had anger issues. Never had the impulse to break a remote or argue with a second-rate sports reporter.
I blamed it on frustration, not the concussion. I needed to get back on the field. Soon. I’d sat around for a year, only working out and running my own conditioning drills with a private trainer. No real contact. No pads. No football. That sort of inactivity didn’t do a man any good.
No matter what the doctors said.
I retrieved my phone. It was okay, and it still buzzed with the alert.
8:00 – Rory @ McCrees
Damn. I’d nearly forgotten again. I knew better than to let my mind wander or get irritated. I’d broken every rule I’d set for myself by watching TV.
Recovering from my concussion took proactive management. No sitting until my chores and responsibilities were done. Every event and reminder was categorized and entered into my phone. And, when I felt a headache approach, I’d retreat to the dark and quiet of my room.
So far, my plan had worked. I never let the injuries define me. I credited perseverance. Purpose.
Pain-killers.
Nothing was going to stop me from getting back onto the field. This game was my passion. My self-admitted obsession. My dedication to the sport made me one of the greatest players in the history of the league. All I needed now was a championship, and my career would be complete.
Or it’d be over.
But that was up to Doctor Rory Merriweather now. Little, pregnant Rory Merriweather.
Jesus.
In the past, the doctors who had treated me were older, greyer, and easily swayed with promises of VIP booths and season tickets. I would have traded my soul for a chance to get onto the field, and it often worked. But now one doctor stood in my way.
It had to be her. Eric’s kid sister. A cute girl. A good girl. A pregnant girl.
And if I ever found the man who knocked her up and left her on her own? It’d be the one time I didn’t mind getting a little angry and a lot violent.
Fortunately, I lived close to McCrees. Rory met me just outside the door.
Had she always been this beautiful? Rory had matured into a lovely woman, retaining a hint of girlish cuteness in her pudgy cheeks and fluttering, almond eyes. Her complexion was more ebony than honey, and her long dark hair bounced in curls. Classy, but approachable. Pretty, but with a charmingly awkward shyness.
When we were kids, Rory used to say that she hated her smile. That it was too big. She hid behind a tempered smirk for most of her life. If I regretted anything from when we were younger, it was that I never told her that I thought her real smile was…
Perfect.
And it stayed perfect even now. Rory bit her lip and twisted her fingers in the skirt of a little yellow dress. The pale gold contrasted her black skin in a playful tease.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
She brushed her hand through her hair. “Yeah, right. I spent half of the day on my knees.”
“Well…that explains the pregnancy.” I laughed. “Why wasn’t that part of my exam?”
Rory’s eyes widened. She covered her face with her hands. “No! I meant I was throwing up. Not…Jude Owens, since when are you such a trouble-maker?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Yep…marking that
down in your health assessment. Patient exhibits suicidal tendencies by provoking a pregnant woman.”
I smirked. “Oh, come on. When have you ever been in trouble? You never broke a curfew. You had perfect grades. You were president of clubs I didn’t even know our school had.”
“And if I wanted to hear how I’ve ruined my career and future; I’d have gone out with my step-mother tonight.”
She half-joked, but I wasn’t going to let her be ashamed of herself. “You haven’t ruined anything. Not your past, not your future, and not tonight. I’m gonna make sure you have some fun.”
Rory poked at me. “I’m trusting you, Jude. No one else knows. It stays that way.”
“Your secret is safe with me. Hell, I’ll probably forget about it by tomorrow.”
She frowned. Uh-oh.
“Kidding,” I said. She didn’t believe me. Neither did I. “Are you hungry?”
“I have no idea. The only thing I want to eat is confetti cake.”
Fair enough. “Well, allow me to be a little over-protective. You should eat something more substantial.”
“I consider it a comfort food.”
“Confetti cake?”
“Well…it’s the only meal that’s as fun coming up as it is going down.” She shrugged “I’ll take any positivity I can get.”
“Say no more. I’ll be your confetti cake tonight. We’ll work this all out, you and me.”
“You’ve always been such a nice guy, Jude. You haven’t changed a bit.”
I wished I could say the same. God, she was absolutely stunning. Was it the years apart that made her so much more…amazing?
But it didn’t matter. One thing hadn’t changed. She was my best friend’s little sister. I’d do well to remember that. Hell, that was worthy of a reminder. Every day at noon, I’d set an alert.
12:00 – Don’t be an idiot with Rory
Who was I kidding? The alert needed to remind me at night, when my mind would wander with dangerous and tempting thoughts.
McCrees wasn’t any place to take a lady, but the bar seemed nice enough for two friends. Still, it was a better arena for the Ironfield Rivets hazing ritual.
Tonight was karaoke night.
“J-u-u-u-ude!”
The call was loud, exaggerated, and bellowed like a wolf-howl. Wolves were Scottish legends, Lachlan was a Scottish name, and that made it easy for me to cheat and remember who the Rivets’ tight-end was.
