I sucked my teeth. “I don’t have limits.”
“Correction – you didn’t.”
The truth of his words stunned me into silence. Of course I didn’t know yet what had caused this, or what I’d be doing to protect my health moving forward. But, without question… something would be different.
Nate leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead before he straightened up. “I have to go for now, but I’ll be back later… if that’s okay?”
It took me a second to realize he was waiting for an answer, but then I nodded.
He gave me a little smile. “Just text me what you need – magazines, your computer, any of that, and I’ll bring it for you. For now, try to get some rest.”
With that, he turned to leave, but when he was almost at the door, I had to stop him.
“Nate!” I called, prompting him to turn back.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
That smile came back to his face, and he answered me with a simple nod. And then he was gone.
I closed my eyes, willing this to all be some fucked up dream, but the steady chime of the vital monitors kept me firmly tethered to what was, indeed, my reality.
My gaze fell on my phone, thinking about the almost certain deluge of missed calls and texts. Briefly, I considered checking it, or even just calling Garrett to let him know what was going on.
But I was so, so tired.
So instead of doing any of that, I took a deep, cleansing breath, and closed my eyes.
Of my own volition this time.
Six.
They always find a reason to blame the mother.
The wounded chorus of mothers everywhere when observing something that was, indeed, a mother’s “fault”. My own mother was not excluded from that number.
Hell, none of us were.
At some point, all of us wondered if our damage – whatever it was – was a direct result of the mistakes of our mothers, and every mother wondered how their mistakes would damage their children. How many decisions were truly our own, even when we tried to isolate, and make our mistakes in a bubble that affected no one else?
When I was released from the hospital, three days after I arrived, with a whole packet of instructions from my doctor and a verbal admonition to relax, I’d just nodded. I got in the car with Nate, who drove me home, and made me promise I would follow the doctor’s instructions as carefully as I possibly could.
And yet… instead of doing that, I’d given myself over completely to pinpointing all the ways my mother had fucked me over, and all the ways that I, in turn, was fucking over Madison.
The Heart Health Edition.
As I sat on my own bed – supposedly recovering from a heart attack that was ultimately ruled “minor” whatever the fuck that meant – flipping through a photo album I hadn’t looked at in far too long, I took notice of things that I’d long forgotten.
She always has a cigarette in her hand.
I distinctly remembered being seven or eight years old, begging her to put the Newports down. Back then, my push to get her to stop smoking had been all about what it was doing to her lungs. I showed her my printouts from school, with the healthy lung on one side and the smoker’s lung on the other. I showed her the surgeon general’s warning right there on the side of the package.
Cancer sticks.
That’s what everybody focused on, it seemed.
Lung cancer and underweight babies.
That second part, she took seriously – she was always quick to tell me that she didn’t smoke a single cigarette from the time she learned she was pregnant to the time she stopped breastfeeding me. Always presented as some grand gift she’d given me.
But when I showed her those warnings on the cartons and those school papers, she showed me something too.
Bills.
Constant, non-stop bills, whose arrival would have her searching for a working lighter and a fresh pack. According to her, the cigarettes staved off stress, and they staved off hunger while she made sure I ate, and they helped keep her skinny and fine.
And she was that.
Which, as the story went, was what attracted my stepfather to her. And he came in with his good job and cigars and he swept my mother off her feet. Clive was a good guy, honestly. The stress about the bills went away, and he was nice to me without being a creep, and he taught me to love football, and he loved my mother, dearly.
But now I just had two people I loved who I was sure would get cancer and leave me, because the cigarettes didn’t go anywhere.
So imagine my surprise when, upon her sudden death, the day after her fifty-first birthday, it wasn’t her lungs at all.
It was her heart that failed her – years of smoking had killed the lining of her arteries, and ultimately led to the massive heart attack that took her life.
Which was a wake-up call for me.
Smoking disgusted me, so that had never been a vice of mine. And I was already an athlete, so I lived healthily… but I decided I could do better.
I wanted to meet my grandkids – a chance my mother never got. I ate all my green leafy veggies and I started running and I took my vitamins and I juiced and I… still ended up with coronary heart disease.
My only “risk factor” was that my mother had developed it.
And now, I was consumed by the idea that, ten or twenty or thirty years from now, Madison’s heart would one day decide to stop working.
Because I was her risk factor.
The sound of the doorbell pulled me out of my melodramatic mental wanderings, and I pulled myself up from the bed. My eyes went to the assortment of prescription bottles that now decorated my vanity. I already knew who was at the door, so I took a second to sweep all the bottles into the drawer below, out of my sight.
As if that made it any better.
I took my time getting to the door, even as the doorbell became more incessant. Once I was there, I flung it open, propping a hand at my hip to ask, “What the hell is your problem?”
“Nothing,” Nate answered, sliding past me, uninvited, into the house. “The weather is beautiful, the market opened strong, and my dick was still where I left it when I woke up this morning. No complaints here.”
I closed the door. “Right. The complaint is here,” I said, pointing to myself. “Why are you at my door at six in the morning?”
“Because you wake up at 5:30 every morning, to go running.”
I had been up since five, but that was beside the point. “Uh… you do remember that my heart failed on me three days ago, after a run?
“You do remember that I was here for that, right? CPR to keep your heart pumping, called the ambulance, all that jazz?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I remember. I have the bruised ribs to prove it – thank you for not breaking anything, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” he answered with a smirk. “Now why aren’t you dressed?”
“Dressed for…?”
“Exercise.” He motioned at himself, making me take notice for the first time of his running apparel.
My eyebrows shot up. “You are out of your mind if you think I’m about to go running.”
“My mind must be nicely intact then, because no, that’s not what I think. I do think I was right there in the room when you were cleared for exercise though, and Dr. Sharpe suggested that you start as soon as possible, within reason. So… get dressed. Let’s go for a walk.”
I shook my head. “I should probably give it a few weeks. My heart—”
“Needs you to not bullshit and make excuses. I saw the chart he gave you. You were already incredibly fit, and dropping to not doing anything isn’t good for your heart. You need the exercise, and I’ll be right there beside you if something happens again. Go put on some clothes.”
“You are being really pushy right now,” I snapped. “You are not the boss of me, young man. I am old enough to be your—”
“To be my what?” Nate interjected, clearly
amused. “My big sister? Young aunt? Come on, say it. I gotta hear this shit.”
“You know what I mean! But I don’t have to have this conversation anyway. You can get the hell out of my house.”
For some reason, he smirked, and then stepped right over to the couch, where he took a seat, stretching his arms across the back cushions. “I can… but I’m not. I’m not going anywhere until you take your fine ass upstairs, put on some of those little shorts, and come take a walk with me. A slow half mile. Twenty minutes. That’s all.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who went for a run, then woke up in the hospital.”
“You’re right. I’m not,” he conceded. “But I was the one on his knees beside you, trying to keep your heart pumping. What you went through was terrifying. I know. But watching it was scary as fuck too, and I don’t ever want to experience that again – something I’m sure you can relate to, right?”
I nodded. “Right.”
“Okay. So… go upstairs. Get dressed. And let’s go for a walk.”
“I…” A million reasons not to cycled through my mind, seemingly all at once, all with the same root – fear. But then, conversely, fear brought a few other things to mind. Like the thought of this happening again while I was home alone, or while it was just me and Madison.
I couldn’t decide which I thought was worse.
So I took my time up the stairs – with Nate jumping right up to help me - and put exercise clothes on.
Nate was right – it was beautiful weather. It wasn’t quite summer yet, and the trail behind my house – which I didn’t normally use because it was so wooded, and I didn’t like being out there by myself – was even more scenic than my neighborhood route. The lush greenery, birds chirping, the sun on my skin… it was honestly nice, after three days in the sterile setting of the hospital. I wasn’t about to admit it to him, but… I was glad he’d annoyed me into coming out.
“So what did your family say when you told them what happened?” Nate asked me, just a few minutes into our walk. I carefully kept my gaze focused anywhere except his vicinity, which must have been a dead giveaway, because he stopped moving.
“You haven’t told them, have you?”
I kept walking, not answering his question until he’d easily caught up. “I don’t want to worry them. And don’t want them worried about me.”
“And you don’t think them knowing would be beneficial to your care?”
“I can take care of myself. I have timers set for all the medicines, I already eat well, I’m fit, and I… am willing to give up my beloved wine. I’m the only one who can do this for me. All they can do is get on my nerves – much like you are doing right now.”
“Throw those jabs all you like – I’m not backing off.”
I stopped at the little bridge that traversed one of the many brooks that fed into the lake nearby. “You know that this isn’t going to get you back into my pussy, right?”
“Who said anything about that?” Nate chuckled. “You act like that’s my only interest in you.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Not remotely,” he answered, stepping closer. “Don’t get me wrong – I am… shamelessly strung out on the glory between your thighs, but it is far from the only thing that has kept me coming back for… four years? I could’ve gotten a whole other degree by now.”
I smirked. “Oh I have schooled you plenty over the years.” My smile deepened as he put his hands at my waist, pulling me against him. “Don’t you feel well-educated?”
“Absolutely. And I was looking forward to a lot of high quality continuing education until my teacher decided to—”
“Have a heart attack, and remind you that she was no spring chicken?”
He sighed, and stepped back. “See, there you go…”
“Yes, here I go. This only underlines what I was already saying to you. See how it happened the next morning? Prophetic.”
“Bullshit.”
Instead of indulging my line of conversation, he moved on down the trail, forcing me to be the one catching up to him.
“Have you talked to Leya?”
He chuckled, shaking his head – over my question, not as an answer. “Yes, actually. I had lunch with her yesterday, and I brought you a salad back.”
“Did she ask who it was for?”
“She did. I told her that my friend was in the hospital, and would probably appreciate some better food.”
I nodded. “I did. That salad was good as hell. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome again. Why are you asking me about Leya?”
I chewed at my lip for a second, stalling before I answered. “Because I… want you to be happy. I want you to find someone who changes your mind about wanting to be alone.”
“What makes you think my mind can be changed – and didn’t you call that a mark of immaturity a few days ago?”
“No,” I corrected, laughing. “It was the immediate second-thinking that gave me pause. I think everybody can have their mind changed – through education, or experience, or deep emotions. I don’t want you to decide to get married just because I say so. I want you to decide because you accidentally fall so intensely in love that you decide you can’t live without… whatever lucky woman snags your attention… and drives you out of your mind.”
“You consider yourself lucky then?”
I rolled my eyes at his quip, but couldn’t keep the grin that developed off my face. I wiped it away quickly though, before he looked back to see the result of his words.
“You’re not funny, Nate.”
“Not trying to be, Sloane. When are you going back to the office?”
“Monday. So I can be prepared for workouts.”
“You told Underwood yet? Coach Lou?”
Again, I looked away. Of course he wondered if I’d informed my two direct superiors that I’d had an emergency medical issue, but I felt like he had to already know the answer.
Or at least, he could correctly assume now.
“Seriously, Sloane? You’re not gonna tell anybody?”
I shrugged. “You know. And my doctor knows. That’s more than enough.”
“Coaching in the NFL is a stressful job – do you know how many –”
“Coaches suffer from myriad health issues, especially the heart. Yeah, I do. Did you know that Mike Ditka had a heart attack, and was back on the field a week later? Dan Reeves – quadruple bypass – only out for two games, and the Falcons won the NFC Championship that year.”
“I don’t give a fuck what they did,” Nate countered, stopping to look at me like I’d lost my mind. “And even if I did – they didn’t do the shit in secret, and they were head coaches, with an entire coaching staff to pick up their load for them!”
I shook my head. “There’s no load for anyone to pick up for me! The Kings have three wide receivers – I’m pretty sure I can handle them.”
“Nobody is questioning your coaching ability. I am, however, questioning whether you’re more concerned about looking like superwoman than you are about your health.”
“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, jabbing my finger into his chest. “After all the sexist bullshit I’ve been through, the harassment – sexual and otherwise – I’ve endured getting this position, you are goddamn right, I want every motherfucker who thinks my dark brown skin or the existence of my pussy should’ve disqualified me, to look at me and see a fucking badass. It is not that I’m not concerned about my health – I will take the pills, and I won’t even look at a bottle of wine, and everything else that I’m supposed to do. But the fact remains that the last thing I need is a reason to be labeled weak. I don’t expect you to understand that though.”
I turned to walk off, but he was right behind me, catching me at the elbow. “Hey.” When I pulled away from his grasp, he simply stepped in front of me, blocking the path. “Hey. I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “You’re right – I’m not in your shoes. I don’t underst
and. Nobody gives a fuck about the front office staff, nobody is digging into my business like that. I don’t have people telling me to go back to the kitchen in comments under articles that are celebrating me. I don’t know what that feels like, but… I can imagine. And I wouldn’t want the people who were trying to drag me down to see me looking weak either.”
Folding my arms across my aching chest, I let out a sigh. “Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”
“Because… there is,” he admitted. “I’ll keep it brief though – it’s not weak to ask for help. And it’s not weak to need it. Just… consider it, okay?”
“If I say yes, will you stop getting on my nerves?”
He grinned. “Absolutely.”
“Then, yes. I’ll consider it.”
The walk back to the house was… less intense.
I teased him a little more about the Leya thing, and we talked about the players, and offered predictions for the team. Once we were back inside, he took me to the kitchen, declaring that he was making breakfast for us.
“Good luck with that,” I told him, gladly taking a seat at the counter as I watched him pull a skillet from the rack. “I don’t keep mu—where the hell did that come from?”
This was my first time back in my own kitchen since the heart attack, but I was quite sure of how I’d left it – in desperate need of a trip to the grocery store. Those strawberries we ate the night before had been the last thing in the fridge.
Now though, I took notice of the bowl full of apples on the counter, and the bunch of bananas beside it. When he opened my fridge, he pulled out fresh eggs, and avocados, and an armful of other veggies that hadn’t been there before.
“The grocery store,” he said. “I wanted you to have everything you needed when you came home. You… do know I know the code to the front door, right?”
Ugh.
I did know.
I’d given it to him about a year ago, after I’d twisted my ankle and didn’t want to have to go all the way downstairs just to let him in.
“I never intended for you to use that beyond those few times,” I scolded, and he nodded.
“And I haven’t – but this seemed like a good enough reason to risk you being pissed at me for using it. And knowing now that you haven’t told anyone else, I don’t even feel guilty about it now. I never would’ve left you here by yourself last night.”
Pass Interference (Connecticut Kings Book 6) Page 8
