by Sosie Frost
“You’re going to be a father,” Jack said. “That puts everything into a new perspective.”
“No.” I stared ahead. Unblinking. “I’m not.”
“Not what?”
My voice rasped, hard. I hated admitting it, even if it was the truth.
I had to know what I was about to lose.
“I’m not going to be a father,” I said. “It’s not my baby.”
The guys silenced. I lowered my head into my hands.
They knew better than to speak.
“Rory and I are friends,” I said. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. She got accidentally pregnant, and the asshole wanted nothing to do with her. She was worried about losing the fellowship, so I stepped in to help. We pretended…” I cleared the hoarseness out of my words. “To be in love. I offered to fake a relationship with her, to spare her reputation. And I knew what I was doing. I asked her to help me in return.” I hated myself and everything I had done to ruin the only chance I had at happiness. “I manipulated her so she’d clear me to play.”
The truth was worse than any blow to the head, especially since I was the man delivering the hit.
Lachlan spoke first. “Holy shit.”
I swallowed. “That’s not the worst part.”
Jack exhaled. “Jesus, All-Star. What else can you fuck up?”
Plenty. “We started faking this relationship, but now I can’t get her out of my head. She’s my best friend’s little sister. She’s carrying another man’s baby. And I’m…” I said it for the first time. “I’m in love with her. Fucking head over heels. I want this woman more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life…”
Cole didn’t let me finish. “So go get her.”
Because it was that easy?
“How?” I stood, ignoring the dizziness that plagued me on the field. “How the fuck am I supposed to just inject myself into her life. She’s about to have a baby. This all could be over in two weeks. Then we’re done. We never agreed on anything more. The season and fellowship will be finished, she’ll have her baby, and that’s it.”
Cole didn’t buy it. “And you think that’s an excuse?”
“What?”
“Don’t you want her?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you want the baby?”
More than anything. “I’ve wished she was mine for months.”
Jack and Lachlan were silent. Cole ran out of patience.
“Then she is yours. Both of them. Rory and the baby.”
“But the baby isn’t mine.”
“Like hell she isn’t,” Cole said. “Fuck. You’ve been the one helping Rory. You’ve taken her to the doctor. Gotten her food at night. Gone back to the store after she changes her mind. You’re the one rubbing her back, organizing the baby showers, fucking agonizing over leaving the goddamned championship game to stay healthy for her. You’ve done everything to take care of her and that baby.”
“That doesn’t give me a right to Genie.”
“It makes you more of a father than the bastard who got Rory in trouble.”
“What about blood?” I asked. “She’s not mine.”
“What the fuck does blood have to do with it?” Cole’s expression darkened. “You think it matters where the baby came from? Who the real daddy is? What the genetics say? You’re the one that baby needs to love her and protect her and do right by her. Do you love Rory?”
“Yes.”
“You love that baby?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Rose isn’t my biological daughter. She’s not even the same color as me. But I fucking dare anyone to tell me she isn’t mine. Nothing can stop you from taking what’s yours. Nothing.”
“I want the baby,” I said. “And I want Rory. I want a family. I want to make some good memories before they’re all…” I shook my head. “But if I play, I’ll drive Rory farther away. And if I get hurt, I’ll lose my only chance at a life outside of the game.”
Jack was quiet. “Then you know what you have to do.”
“I have to walk away,” I said. “There’s no other choice.”
Lachlan traded his smile for a solemn nod. “Family comes first. Always. I respect that, Jude.”
“You got us this far,” Jack said. “We can take it from here. I’ll get you that ring, even if you’re not in the huddle with me.”
Cole offered his hand. “You’re doing a good thing, taking care of your family.”
I shook it. “Thank you. You said what I needed to hear.”
“You knew it all along.”
He was right.
And soon Rory would know it too.
The team bus returned us to the practice facility, but I didn’t head for my car. I went to find Coach Thompson instead. He waited in his office, watching a tape of the defensive plays. I trusted they were of our team.
“All-Star. Great game, huh?” He pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks…but this won’t take long.”
“Don’t like the sound of that.”
He’d hate the rest. I seized a breath. It didn’t make it any easier.
“I wanted to talk with you. Been doing some thinking, and I gotta come clean.”
“About what?”
“There’s been…injuries I’ve been hiding. Headaches. Dizziness. Memory loss.”
“Really?”
The room was too quiet. The blood pumped in my ears, finally dulling out the memory of the game’s cheering crowd.
I’d miss that sound.
“The symptoms are getting worse,” I said. “Impacting my life.”
Coach Thompson hummed. “I couldn’t tell. You’ve been playing excellent ball.”
“I didn’t let myself focus on the pain. I ignored it.”
“Good man.”
No. That was the opposite of being a good man. Hell, it wasn’t even brave.
I was too much of a coward to face the consequences of my injuries.
“I’m voluntarily sitting myself for the championship game,” I said. “I can’t risk any further injuries.”
Coach Thompson sighed, buzzing the air through his lips. His chair creaked as he leaned back.
“I’m gonna tell you straight,” he said. “You’re having the best season of your career. How bad could these injuries possibly be? I think it’s in your head.”
The injury was definitely in my head. “It’s too dangerous for me to play.”
“We’ll have you talk to a trainer, not a neurologist. They’re always looking for problems. Gotta justify their paycheck.” He waved me away. “You’ve just got your bell rung again. Nothing a cold beer and some pain-killers won’t cure. Ask the trainers, and they’ll cut you a good prescription. You take two days, rest up, and you’ll be good as new.”
“It’s worse than that, Coach. Believe me.”
“But you wanted to play this season. Hell, I wanted you to play with us. We need you.”
“I have someone else who needs me,” I said. “And she needs me to be healthy. I hate to take myself out, but if I get hurt—”
“You were cleared to play, Jude.”
“It was at my discretion.”
Coach Thompson frowned. “Are you sure you aren’t letting other people interfere with your medical assessments? Doctor Merriweather has consistently interfered with other players this season. I think she’s convinced you that you’re hurt.”
“This isn’t about Ror—Doctor Merriweather. I’m not one hundred percent.”
“Show me any player who isn’t beaten up this late in the season. Sprains, broken fingers, torn muscles. You know this game. No one is healthy. Everyone plays hurt.”
“Look—”
He didn’t want to hear it. “That’s the deal you made when you signed with this team. That’s why you were given millions to play, Owens. Only men play this game, and men know when it’s time to make sacrifices.”
He was absolutely right. That’s why I wa
s here, giving it up. “My decision is final.”
His scowl turned cold. “I didn’t think you were a coward.”
“I’m not.”
“I think you are. I think you’ve let Merriweather poison your mind. She’s manipulating you.”
“She’s the only person telling me the truth.”
“You have more than enough juice left in you to make it through this one game,” he said. “Then you can take off-season to rest and get ready for next year.”
Now my head did hurt. “Next year? Coach, there’s no fucking way I can run another sixteen games next season. I’m out. I’m asking you to respect my decision.”
I reached the door before he spoke once more.
“I know the baby isn’t yours.”
I stilled.
How the hell did he know?
“That doesn’t matter,” I said.
“It matters to Doctor Merriweather. Matters so much, in fact, that you assumed responsibility to save her career.”
My head wasn’t screwed on straight, but even I recognized a threat when I heard it. I spun, tossing aside my chair so I could stare him down, face-to-face.
“Rory’s got nothing to do with this,” I said. “We’re done here.”
“Doctor Merriweather has everything to do with this.” Coach Thompson didn’t look away. “She’s manipulated you into believing you aren’t fit to play, despite a second opinion countering her assessment.”
“What the hell are you saying?”
“I’m displeased with the quality of her work. And Doctor Frolla is concerned with the accuracy of her assessments.”
He’d blackmail me? Was he that desperate? “So what? If I don’t play, you’re going to get Rory thrown out of the program? Fine. She’ll get a job somewhere else.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure. If Doctor Frolla believes her assessments were incorrect this year…” His eyebrow rose. “It might call into question her medical license.”
Jesus. I knew the bastard was an asshole, but I had no idea he’d ruin an innocent woman’s life.
But I’d do anything I could to protect it.
“What the hell do you want from me?” I asked. “Want me to play? I’ll fucking play.”
“The championship?”
“I’ll suit up.”
He patted my shoulder. “You’re a strong man, Jude. Fit. In the prime of your life. You have another season left in those legs. Who the fuck cares what happens inside that head.”
Not me.
I couldn’t care, not anymore.
Rory wouldn’t forgive me for playing another season, but I couldn’t risk the coach fucking with her career. Without me there, without her license to practice medicine, she’d have nothing but a hungry baby and broken dreams.
I wouldn’t let it happen.
“I’ll play. But what happens if I get hurt?”
“If you get hit, try to land on your millions of dollars. You’ll be fine.” Coach Thompson scowled. “Go home, Owens. Get some rest. You’ve got to prepare for the biggest game of the season—the only one you’ve never won.”
And the game that would finally end it all.
My career. My life.
And any chance I had with the woman I loved.
21
Rory
The baby wasn’t a pain in the ass—it was just a little cramp in the tummy.
Nothing crazy. Only Braxton Hicks contractions, but they landed me on the couch. At thirty-eight weeks, that was where I was staying.
Forever.
Jude’s couch was a deep-seated leather monstrosity—the domestic equivalent of quicksand for the third trimester. My need to pee wasn’t urgent-urgent, but I started the wiggling process to get up.
The keys in the door caused me to jump. The baby flinched too.
It was like Genie knew he was home.
Wasn’t it bad enough both of our hearts skipped whenever he talked? Once she was born, Genie wouldn’t want me. She’d want Jude.
I didn’t know where he would be then, but there was only one place I wanted him.
Right beside me.
Phillip trotted to the door, glanced at the giant box in Jude’s arms, and gave his own doggy sigh.
I tilted my head, reading the box.
“Bumper Slumber?” I asked. “What…is that?”
Jude smiled, but he couldn’t look at me. I didn’t expect him to. After last week, after the fight and his second opinion, I doubted he’d ever forgive me.
“It’s a present,” Jude said. “I wanted to get you something special.”
“Can I…can I eat it?”
He laughed. “You can try. Doesn’t taste like root beer and you’d probably deflate it…but if it makes you happy.”
I edged to the end of the couch, but getting up seemed impossible. The fatigue won this round.
As did my curiosity.
“It’s a…” I frowned as Jude pulled an oversized pool raft out the box. “I don’t know.”
“Take a guess!”
He held it up for me, gesturing towards the rounded hole in the middle.
I had no idea. “A giant…donut cushion? My butt isn’t that big!”
“It’s for you to lay on.” Jude heaved a breath and started to blow up the pink plastic. A second and third breath didn’t help the inflation. “This might take a while.”
The box had a happy, smiling, heavily pregnant woman resting in the cushion, dropping her swollen tummy into the hole so she could rest on her front.
“You mentioned you were uncomfortable in the bed,” he said. “I wanted to see if this would help. You lay on it.”
My stomach twisted, but it was nothing an inflatable mattress with a belly pocket could fix. “Yeah, you said that. It looks interesting.”
“I just…” He took another deep breath and pumped a lungful of air into the mattress. “I want to make these last weeks…nice.”
His silver eyes briefly glanced over me. My chest tightened.
“I can’t believe it’s almost time.” I rubbed my belly. “It’ll be strange to use her crib as a bed instead of a place for extra storage.”
“We can let her sleep in the diaper genie.” Jude smiled. “Has her nickname on it and everything.”
It was funny the first and second time he’d said it too. I laughed anyway, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if Jude believed me when I said he was repeating himself more often…or if he knew and it scared him just as much as me.
He sucked in another breath and blew it into the mattress. His was not a brain that would react well to oxygen deprivation.
“You don’t have to do that now,” I said. “I’ll help.”
“You rest. You’re ready to pop.”
“So are your cheeks.”
“Well, just wait.” He pointed to the picture on the box. “You’ll thank me. This is better than that Snoogle thing. I know you wanted it, but that sounds like some weird Muppet mating call. This is better. It’s for you to lay on.”
“Jude, please.” I kept my voice soft. “Put it down. I think you need to go and rest.”
“Why?”
I held out my hand. A long moment passed before he reached back to me.
His tremble had gotten worse.
I squeezed his palm. “I know you think I’m crazy right now.”
“Pregnancy crazy or doctor crazy?”
“Good question.”
I’d accidentally nested my way into the kitchen and shifted the plates and bowls to opposing cabinets. Then I went through Jude’s locker at the practice facility and tidied up, which he didn’t find nearly as amusing as the other members of the team.
But this wasn’t about the pregnancy. It was about him.
“I’m worried about you,” I said. “You know that.”
“I know.” He pulled away. I expected that. His mind was set on the damn mattress, and he returned to inflating it. “But think about it this way.” He puffed. “If I was really doin
g bad.” Another huff. “Would I be playing this well?”
“What do you mean?”
He wiped his mouth and blew again. “If my head was really screwed up, wouldn’t I be hurt more? Slower? Having more physical problems?”
“Here’s the funny thing about the brain—you may never know how badly its hurt. You’re still injured. It’s chronic. You’re going to live with this the rest of your life. The migraines are telling you to slow down. But you aren’t listening.”
He blew hard, but his eyes rose to me. “I am listening, Doc. And I know what you want.”
Everything? “I don’t think you do.”
“You’ve been protective,” he said. “And I understand that now. It’s…nice to be taken care of.”
I patted my tummy. “Likewise.”
“But I think I can do this, Rory. I know it’s dangerous, but it’s the championship game. This is the culmination of my career. I feel good. I feel ready.”
I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think he did either. “Are you sure about that?”
“It’s late in the season. No player is one hundred percent.”
“You’re way less than one hundred percent. You’re like…not even passing, Jude.”
“Good thing I’m the team’s rusher.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’m making the decision.” He heaved a breath into the mattress. The damn thing wheezed more than he did. “I’m gonna to do it.”
My heart crushed, and not because Genie bounced in my tummy, trying to impress the man she thought was her daddy.
The man I wanted to be her daddy.
I pinched my eyes shut, waiting as he pushed two more breaths of air into the slowly inflating mattress.
“Okay,” I said. “I understand.”
The plastic tip fell from his mouth, and his hard work tooted back out with a soft eeee.
“You do?” he asked.
“It’s one more game. We can get through one more game, especially the championship.”
Jude grinned. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
