by Sosie Frost
“Yeah?”
“If you wish. Finish your career, Mr. Owens. Take your rightful place in the Hall of Fame with your championship secured. I’ll do this as a favor for you.”
I didn’t want to be in his debt. “And what do you want from me?”
“Keep Rory’s little secret between us.”
“I can’t control her.”
“You won’t need to. She wouldn’t jeopardize her reputation with these dirty secrets. Imagine how it would make her look. At worst, people would assume she manipulated you and lied about the paternity of the baby. At best, she’ll look like a whore who slept around and couldn’t identify her baby’s true father.”
“And if she says it’s your child?”
“If she chooses to destroy her reputation, I’ll ruin her career.”
Bastard.
This man didn’t realize how lucky he was to still be breathing.
“So, Daddy,” Frolla said. “I need you to maintain this lie. Play your games. Get your win. Have a family. But if you complicate this arrangement, Rory will be humiliated. I’ll see to it personally.”
Like I had a choice.
I delayed answered only for as long as it seemed proper before accepting his deal.
I don’t know why I’d even hesitated. It’d protect Rory, and that meant I had nothing to lose.
So I’d get hit. Bruised. Potentially hurt. At least I’d have my championship. I’d find my purpose in life.
Until my career came to an end.
Until I lost Rory and the baby.
Until I had nothing left.
19
Rory
Was it a betrayal if I meant to save the man I loved?
I stood before the door to Coach Thompson’s office. Hand raised.
Hesitating.
Jude would never forgive me for this.
But even he had to realize how dangerous it was for him to get on the field? If he took one more bad hit…
He could be ruined for the rest of his life.
Early dementia. Memory loss. Personality disorders. Depression.
The list was a terrifying as it was inevitable. I couldn’t cure it—I could only protect him. Remove him from the source of the problem and pray that he’d understand one day.
Maybe.
Or maybe I’d lose him forever—the only man I had ever loved, the only man I could ever envision spending my life with.
A man who might’ve been a friend.
Lover.
Father?
It didn’t matter. The Jude I wanted most was a safe Jude, one who treated himself with the same respect he gave me.
I knocked. Coach Thompson called me inside.
And I should have known he wouldn’t be alone.
“Hello, Doctor Merriweather,” Coach Thompson said. “Come in. You can join Doctor Frolla and me.”
Clayton’s glance wasn’t subtle.
He surveyed my swollen tummy, though he had no right to even look at me. I was five weeks until eviction, and I looked every bit the part of an expectant, darling momma-to-be.
But Clayton bore no resemblance to a doting father.
And I’d be damned if my daughter ever learned the truth.
Of course, a pregnant tummy did nothing to strengthen my position as a medical consultant to the team. No one could be taken seriously while smuggling a watermelon under their shirt, even when tossing out phrases like inner-cranial bleeding and immunohistochemical brain analyses.
“I needed to speak with you regarding a player,” I said.
I didn’t expect him to listen. Coach Thompson let me speak, but I knew what his answer would be.
“Jude Owens is in no condition to play this week,” I said. “Perhaps the rest of the season, pending further testing and examinations.”
Coach Thompson wasn’t swayed. “You expect me to sit my starting running back on the eve of the playoffs?”
“It’s necessary. Jude is exhibiting symptoms relating to his post-concussion syndrome. I suspect he’s even suffered an additional concussion that has gone undetected.”
Clayton frowned. “Surely with your proximity to Mr. Owens, you’d have noticed changes in his health and behavior?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Because you suspect he has another concussion?”
“Because I can’t be sure without further testing. I’m recommending that he is listed as inactive for Sunday to prevent any further injuries.”
Coach Thompson folded his hands, but his voice lost all warm cordiality. “Doctor Merriweather, I understand your…concern, but you can rest your fears. Owens is perfectly fine.”
“With all due respect—”
“Doctor Frolla cleared him to play this morning.”
The air squeezed from my lungs with the help of Genie’s untimely kick. “You cleared Jude to play?”
Clayton nodded. “He came to me for a second opinion.”
The second opinion. He actually did it.
But why did he go to Clayton?
“Why would you clear him?” I asked.
“He passed my tests.”
“Bullshit. You know as well as I do how severe his symptoms are. You’re putting him at risk!”
Clayton rarely argued. No need. He never took responsibility for the consequences to his actions.
“He passed my tests, and I allowed him to make the final call,” he said.
“But of course Jude would say he wanted to play!”
“He understands his body and limitations.”
“No, he doesn’t. Or if he does, he’s willfully ignoring the consequences.”
“And what would you have us do?” Coach Thompson asked.
“Bench him! Keep him out of the game. Take away his helmet and force him onto the sidelines. He won’t stop unless someone physically prevents him from taking the field.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Clayton dared to nod at my tummy. “Perhaps you’re a little sensitive, given your current condition?”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about my current condition.”
“No? Strange. I remember a time when that’s all you wished to discuss with me.”
“Go to hell.”
Clayton stroked his eyebrow. “Is your relationship with this player interfering with your judgment? Would you prefer to release his case to me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then perhaps I should remove you from the fellowship?”
“Because you were so benevolent when you first gave me the job?”
“You’re fortunate I allowed you to stay, given your circumstances.”
“This isn’t just my circumstance.”
“You’re right…” Clayton’s voice darkened. “It’s Jude’s as well…unless for some reason, you wish to clear your conscience?”
“At least I have one,” I said. “Why are you doing this to him? Do you want him to get hurt? Is that it? Some sort of retaliation for the baby?”
Coach Thompson interrupted us with a grunt. “We’re getting off-topic. Owens will play. That’s the end of this.”
Why didn’t they understand? “I am begging you. If Jude gets hurt—”
“Then he gets hurt!”
Coach Thompson slammed his hands against his desk. I flinched.
How could a man be so cold?
“For fuck’s sake—he’s a grown man,” he said. “I’m paying him a goddamned fortune to run the ball for me. I don’t care if he gets a headache. I don’t care if he gets knocked out or if he crushes his skull on the field. As long as he gets my ten-fucking-yards and a first down, that’s all he’s good for. Save the romance for the off-season—we’re going to the championships. Jude Owens will lead us there on a smear of his goddamned brains if that’s what it takes!”
Silence. I couldn’t breathe.
I stared into the eyes of a monster, remorseless and vile.
Coach Thompson calmed, returning to his seat. “Show
yourself out, Doctor Merriweather.”
“But—”
“And if I were you, I’d start my maternity leave immediately. Do yourself a favor and stop looking for trouble.”
I shook my head. “I have to do my job. Someone has to protect these players.”
“Your job…” Clayton warned. “Is to do what Coach Thompson asks of you. Nothing more.”
Fine.
I had what I needed.
“Thank you. I understand.” I hesitated in the doorway. “You can all fuck yourselves, but I understand.”
I slammed the door behind me. I couldn’t run, but I hurried to my office and hid in the relative safety and silence.
I’d done it.
My hands trembled, but I pulled my phone from my pocket and stopped the recording.
The playback was clear.
I’d captured every disgusting word Coach Thompson had said.
And when the league listened to the recording, when they heard how willingly he disregarded player health and safety, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to endanger anyone.
But…
The recording continued, and my argument with Clayton replayed crystal clear.
If I outted Coach Thompson, the world would learn I obtained an exclusive fellowship position because I had an affair with my boss—and I secretly carried his child.
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 father.”
“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.”
