Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance

by Sosie Frost

  The Rivets hooted and clapped the instant he began to sing.

  “Hey Jude…”

  Rory stole the fork and attacked the poutine herself. “You hate this song.”

  “My mother didn’t.”

  “…Let her under your skin…”

  “The team is excited to have you.” Rory ducked her head, avoiding the curious glances of the guys as I saluted Lachlan with my raised beer. “They all respect you. I know they’d love for you to sign.”

  “Sounds like a but to me…”

  “…world upon your shoulders…”

  Rory held my gaze. “There’s pressure to keep playing this game. Even more to hide injuries and pretend you’re healthy enough to suit up.”

  “Doc—”

  “…play it cool…”

  “If you decided to retire, it wouldn’t make you weak. Especially after that hit. No one wants to retire on an injury, but if it means you’ll stay healthy?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I’ll help you. If I don’t clear you to play, then the decision is out of your hands. You’d be following doctor recommendations.”

  “I’m not quitting. Not until I have that championship ring on my finger.”

  “…is on your shoulders…”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  “All it takes is one bad hit,” Rory said. “You need to think about your quality of life ten, fifteen years down the line. The longer you play, the more you risk serious conditions like chronic traumatic encephalopathy—”

  I’d heard it before. It didn’t change my mind. “People play with worse injuries than mine. We’ll figure out a way to make it work. You gotta…think outside the box.”

  “Which box? The coffin?”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “I’m concerned.”

  “…let her under your skin…”

  “I can’t prove to you I’m healthy over one dinner, and you can’t assess me with a five-minute test. So I need you to believe me, Rory. I was hurt. I got better. I’m feeling stronger than ever.”

  She frowned. “Wow. Denial must be fun. I should try it. Hmm…a single, unwed mother is always treated with respect. A pregnancy won’t impact my job at all. Maybe they make lead-lined Mobi wraps so I can take the baby in with me when I do CT scans on my patients!”

  The idea flashed in my head.

  Sudden. Fierce. Just as sharp as any of the hits that had rattled my brain loose. Glad to know I could still craft a good scheme every once in a while.

  “…make it better, better, better…”

  “I can solve both of our problems,” I said.

  Rory laughed. “Ah, so you’re delusional now. Not one of the usual post-concussion syndrome symptoms.”

  “Do you want to save your reputation?”

  “Yes.”

  “And keep your fellowship?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you need help,” I said. “People will notice that you’re pregnant…soon. And they’ll want to know who the father is. If you say you were impregnated on a one-night stand, you won’t look very responsible.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You need someone in your life, Rory. A relationship.”

  “Now you sound like my step-mother.”

  “Maybe she has a point?” I asked. “You need a boyfriend.”

  “…looking for someone to perform with…”

  “Uh, wanting a boyfriend is what got me in this trouble.”

  Not anymore.

  “I’m going to be your boyfriend.”

  Rory blinked, but it took a long moment before she jerked away from the table. Her drink overturned. She grabbed it before it washed away her quesadilla.

  “What?”

  “We’ll pretend that I’m your boyfriend,” I said.

  “Pretend?”

  This was a full-proof plan, provided I could sell it to her.

  “I’m going to pretend to be your boyfriend, and, by proxy…” I pointed to her tummy. “I’ll pretend to be the baby’s father.”

  “How hard did you hit your fucking head? I think you left most of your brain on the fifty-yard line.”

  “…nah nah nah…”

  I forced her to listen, holding her gaze. “This is a way for you to appear respectable—like you’re in a long-term, loving relationship. No one would dare to question your desire to start a family, and they won’t doubt our commitment to each other. If you want to protect your reputation and your career, you’re gonna need a boyfriend.”

  “No.” She laughed a little too sharply. “No, no, no.”

  “Plus…” I let the word hang. “We’ll be together more. You’ll move in with me. Immediately.”

  Rory shocked screech nearly overshadowed Lachlan’s song. “This pretend family is suddenly so nuclear it’s melting down.”

  “Once you’re home with me…you’ll see that I’m perfectly fit to play. You can be with me every day, monitoring my progress, keeping an eye on me.”

  “I’d do that anyway, Jude.” She exhaled. “Weekly assessments if I let you on that field. Plus, I’d have absolute authority to pull you out of a game if I suspected anything was wrong.”

  I grinned. “Is that a yes?”

  “…nah nah nah…”

  “Absolutely not. I am not pretending to be your girlfriend.”

  “It’d only be for the length of the fellowship.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then…we amicably split. Just stay friends.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “It will if you let me help you.”

  “This is not the way to help me. I can’t…pretend to be in love with you.”

  “Is it that hard to imagine?”

  “You tell me, League’s Most Eligible Bachelor three years running.” Rory took a shaky breath. “You don’t realize what you’re offering. This would completely disrupt your life. Everyone would think you were the baby’s father.”

  “That baby needs a father. I like kids. Problem solved.”

  “You aren’t listening—”

  “I have one question,” I said.

  “And I’ve got a million—starting with how do you think this could possibly work?”

  “One question.” I hesitated. “I won’t ask you about the father.”

  “And I wouldn’t tell you anything anyway.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Rory laughed. “I’m not telling you my type. I don’t even talk about my sex life with my girlfriends.”

  “Was he white?”

  “Oh.” Rory tapped her dark fingers on the table. “Yeah. He was.”

  “Good. Then we have the color pallet settled. That’s all we need.”

  “No. It’s really not. You aren’t the baby’s father. There’d be so many responsibilities—”

  “I want them. We’ll pretend to be in a relationship, do our jobs, work together—”

  “Hey Jude…”

  “No way,” Rory said. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but this isn’t the way to do it. If I do my job well, it shouldn’t matter what happens when I begin to show. I’m going to focus on my career. I can’t be distracted by you—” She shook her head. “A fake relationship with you. I’m sorry, Jude.”

  “Rory—”

  “…nah nah nah…”

  “Thank you for coming out with me tonight.” She stood, edging away from the table. “I have to go. I’ll see you at the practice facility tomorrow.”

  I reached for her. “Wait. Don’t go. Let’s finish our dinner.”

  “Why? If I stay any longer, you’ll probably propose.” She smiled. “Thanks, Jude, but I’m going to be okay. And so are you. I’m clearing you to play, provided I don’t observe any deterioration in your health.”

  “Rory—”

  “You should tell the team the good news.”

  Damn it.

  She bolted from the bar as everyone joined Lachla
n to sing the rest of the song.

  I should have been more relieved about her assessment. I knew I belonged on the field. The game was the most important thing in my life—something I sacrificed my mind, body, and soul to play and win.

  I had nothing else.

  No girlfriend.

  No family.

  No real home after I moved teams to find another city willing to give me this last season.

  This was my last chance for glory. Once I led the Rivets to the championship, I could retire with pride as one of the greatest running backs to play the game. I’d leave on my own terms. My decision.

  But I watched the door after Rory left, hoping she’d rush back inside.

  She didn’t.

  For the first time, a championship wasn’t all I wanted to win.

  But chasing after Rory was a game we’d both lose.

  3

  Rory

  Eric dropped the subtleties and roared into the phone. “You’re fucking pregnant?”

  Not exactly the inspirational message I’d write on my baby shower’s cake. But it’d pair well with the How Could You Be So Irresponsible? party hats and Since When Are You Such A Slut? banner my step-mother would hang.

  “I can’t fucking believe this! You? My little sister?”

  A dull thud echoed through the phone. Hopefully Home Depot sold My Sister Is An Idiot drywall to fix the hole left by Eric’s fist.

  “How the hell did you get pregnant?”

  Why was that everyone’s first question? It didn’t take a medical degree to figure it out.

  “I made a wish in a cabbage patch.”

  “Rory!”

  “No, wait. It was an Enchantress. She floated down and turned the mantle clock into a baby.”

  “I swear to God—”

  “No!” I paced my office and knocked over the folders on my desk. That lasted about a millisecond. The guilt forced me to immediately reorganize the workspace. “It’s not my baby. I got it for spinning someone’s hay into strands of gold.”

  “Don’t make me fly home, Rory, so help me God. I will leave Atwood right now.”

  “I’m collecting a lot of first-born children. Seemed more fun than stamps or football cards.”

  It wasn’t a good idea to taunt a six-foot-six, three-hundred-pound defensive end, but I never let Eric blitz me before. Wasn’t about to start scrambling now.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” he said.

  “I can’t believe you know!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Another slam. This time dishes in the sink—no, I knew my step-brother better than that—probably beer bottles. “You didn’t even call me.”

  “So I could get this warm and fuzzy reaction? No, thank you.”

  “Oh, don’t you give me that lip.”

  “You’re damn lucky it’s my lip and not my fist. How did you even find out…”

  I answered my own damn question. That son of a bitch.

  “Never mind,” I grumbled. “I know who told you. Jude.”

  “Yeah, Jude. At least he treats me like family. Tells me what the fuck is going on.”

  I’d kill him.

  After everything I did for him? Clearing him for practices, giving him a relatively clean bill of health, letting him sign with the Rivets.

  And he snitched on me?

  It hadn’t even been a week since I’d told him! If Jude Owens didn’t have a brain injury now, he sure as hell would have one when I got through with him.

  “Are you gonna tell Mom?” Eric asked.

  “Are you crazy? Why would I do a stupid thing like that?”

  “She’s going to lose her shit.”

  “And this is just the preview, right?”

  Eric laughed. “Oh, no. This isn’t losing my shit. I’m still holding on super tight to my shit.”

  “I can write you a prescription for that.”

  “How could you ruin yourself like this?”

  “And now you can shove it up your ass. Do you have any idea what I’m going through?”

  “No,” he said. “Maybe because you didn’t tell me! Didn’t you trust me?”

  Damn it. Of course I trusted Eric. The step before brother was just a qualifier. I couldn’t have asked for a better sibling, and I loved him like we shared blood.

  “I’m sorry.” I sighed. “Maybe I didn’t want my big brother thinking I ruined myself.”

  His voice softened. “I’m sorry, Rory. You’re not ruined. You’re going to be fine. You’re too good and innocent and wholesome and perfect—and who the fuck did this to you? This is his fault.”

  He wasn’t going to like this. “It’s complicated.”

  “How is it complicated?”

  Eric launched into another tirade—rapid fire profanity punctuated with avant garde descriptions of bodily functions. I rested a hand over my tummy in the hopes of covering Genie’s ears. She’d experience her uncle’s destruction of the English language soon enough. I only hoped her first words would be Mama and not Puss-Sucking Donkey Dick.

  I battered through his obscene rant with a sharp word. “I know it’s hard to hear, but I’m going to be fine. I can do this myself. I’ll be okay.”

  The thunking from his side of the call wasn’t the phone. I imagined it was his head. His coach and teammates would love that bruise.

  “Fine…” he said. “What can I do?”

  “Don’t tell your mother.”

  The swearing began anew. “And have her pissed at me too?”

  “I’ll tell her…eventually.”

  “How far along are you?”

  I hissed a breath. “About sixteen weeks.”

  “Christ, Rory! How did you keep this a secret for…”

  He probably counted on his fingers. It took him a second, but his new raging profanities subjected parts of the body to physical maneuvers, which, as a medical professional, sounded absolutely impossible.

  And as much as I loved to waste my lunch hour getting lectured by my step-brother, Eric was harmless.

  I was not.

  “Eric, I’ll call you later. I have a running back to castrate.”

  It was time to push up my sleeves and lace up my sturdiest pair of boots to jam up Jude’s ass. If he knew what was good for him, he would have demanded a trade to the other side of the country. The Rivets were about to see some fireworks.

  If not nukes.

  Fortunately, my fellowship promised me entirely too much power over the Rivets’ organization. I was permitted to yank any player I damn well pleased off the field. Me and Jude had a date in the locker room, and I hoped for his sake, he was wearing pads.

  But I didn’t make it onto the field. I crossed by coaches’ offices and flinched as someone called my name.

  “Doctor Merriweather!”

  Coach Thompson’s voice was the type that crawled over my skin. He couldn’t berate and insult me like he did his players on the field, but our conversations possessed a saccharine insincerity. He invited me into his office.

  And my stomach twisted into a knot fit for a noose.

  Coach Thomson settled into a chair that struggled to contain his girth. He gestured to the man joining him this afternoon—a fiend I knew all too well.

  “Look who popped by,” Coach Thompson said. “Doctor Frolla, I think you remember our little Doctor Merriweather?”

  Doctor Clayton Frolla, my chief of medicine and head of the league’s fellowship program, gave me a wicked smile. He’d hand-selected every candidate for the fellowship, personally assigning them to a team.

  I knew exactly why he had given me this job. And It wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference—especially not now.

  He might have possessed a certain charm, the confidence grey in his hair and money in his wallet afforded him. I begrudgingly accepted that he was a good doctor, deserving of becoming chief of medicine at a relatively young age. His eyes passed over me, twice, as if I wouldn’t notice his attention. He’d insisted a position would be o
pen for me at his hospital. It remained to be seen whether it was behind a desk or bent over one.

  “Doctor Merriweather, so good to see you again.” Clayton offered his hand. I should have smacked it away. “It’s been months since I’ve heard from you. I trust the fellowship is keeping you busy?”

  I forced a smile, something cheerful, pleasant, and not at all baring teeth for a bite. “Absolutely. I’m thrilled to be a part of the Rivets this season.”

  “Good—then the team is in excellent hands. I made the right decision with you.”

  And I made all the wrong ones.

  Coach Thompson nodded. “She’s already hard at work. Doctor Merriweather took special care of the newest member of the team.”

  “Oh?” Clayton asked. “What sort of care?”

  Coach Thompson’s tone flattened. “A basic assessment. I thought it’d be quicker, but eventually we had Jude Owens cleared to play.”

  He said nothing else. I didn’t like the implication, but maybe hormones and Jude’s name set me on edge. “I…wanted to be thorough, given his previous injuries.”

  “Of course…” The coach nodded to Clayton. “But we have a lot of men on this team. No need to waste all our time on one player.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “I prefer to err on the side of caution when it comes to a player’s health.”

  “And we’d prefer no errors at all, especially on a man fit to play.”

  Clayton nodded, folding his arms. “We wouldn’t want to go looking for any trouble, would we?”

  No. I had plenty of trouble at the moment. “I was just protecting the player.”

  “My suggestion is to assess the situation, determine your appropriate response, and don’t go hunting for anything more.” Clayton smiled. It wasn’t genuine, more like a warning. “I’ve been touring every team in the league this week, checking on those involved with the fellowship. Believe me, you don’t want to get overwhelmed with one patient.”

  Coach Thompson smiled. “Use your best judgement, Doctor Merriweather. My guys are itching to play. If they’re fine, let’s get them on the field. You can check them over as you wish during practices. Probably would give you a better indication of their health that way.”

  Or it could cause any number of physical and mental problems if they weren’t healthy enough to step on the field. Clayton should have known that. A man of his position, power, and intellect should have realized when a situation required more objectivity. Then again, I learned that lesson all too late myself.