by Jackson Kane
“Stop it,” I said finally. My heart was going to give out if he kept looking at me like that. Between the pregnancy test and everyone losing their jobs, I was too overwhelmed with everything to deal with all the emotions he stirred within me.
“Stop what?”
“Stop being so damn charming and compassionate. I can't handle it!” I hated how hard it was to read him. To really know him. I'd seen so many different sides of Garrett over the course of knowing him that I didn't know what was real anymore. “You're a tornado, Garrett. You're this big, beautiful display of awe-inspiring power. You land in my life, turn everything upside down, and then leave.”
“And I'm left to just pick up the smashed ruined remains.”
“I'm sorry for how it ended last time,” he frowned.
“An apology and some flowers? That's not good enough.” I pushed myself up into a sitting position on my bed. The weakness and haziness in me started to dissipate. All the conflicting emotions swirled in my head and heart like a witch's brew. “You abandoned Caldwell Hope when it needed you most.”
When I needed you most.
“And now...” I continued. “We have something so much worse.”
We sat there in silence. Garrett ran things over in his mind. I guess we both did, because neither of us talked for a few minutes. I wish I hadn't been so direct and harsh to him, but it was how I felt. I couldn't stop it from coming out the way it did.
“You're right.” Garrett stood up and grabbed his coat. “I've gotten really good at running away from my problems. Words aren't going to make this right. I don't expect you to believe me when I tell you that this time I'm serious; that I came back for you and that I'm never going to leave you again.”
“Garrett, wait. I—” I blurted, then abruptly caught myself. I desperately wanted to believe him, but how could I?
I hadn't even heard from him in weeks.
He paused and looked at me, patiently waiting to hear what I was going to say next.
Should I tell him I could be pregnant with his child? What if the test was a false positive? What if... I couldn't physically keep the baby. It was hideous to think about, but it happened before and it destroyed my relationship with Doug.
The thought of getting an abortion made me extremely depressed. I loved kids and always wanted one or two of my own. But what if my body just couldn't have children? Wouldn't an abortion be more humane than a miscarriage?
Everything frightened me, but the thought of giving up the slightest chance at a family, terrified me. I shivered. There was no way; I had to at least try.
I’d never felt more lost and alone.
Looking into Garrett's piercing blue eyes didn't help at all. I didn't know what I had with Garrett, but for as angry as I was at him, I was terrified at the thought of him being out of my life forever. I chickened out and instead asked, “Where are you going?”
“I'm going to let actions show you the kind of man I am.” Garrett charged out of the room, like a white knight off to fight a dragon.
Oh, Garrett... The cavalry rode over the hill too late this time. There's nothing you can do.
I pressed the button to summon the nurse. A few minutes later a thin, tired-looking male nurse arrived with a clipboard and asked me how I was feeling.
“I think I'm alright. Or, at least, I'm getting there.” I managed a weak smile at the nurse. It was all I could do to keep from crying. “Can you send the doctor in when she's free? I... I think I might be pregnant and I want to discuss options.”
Chapter 24
Garrett
“Hi Daddy,” Jackie said, walking over to the couch I was sitting in front of. She held a bowl of cereal in both hands.
Despite all the pajamas I've bought her over the years, when it came to bedtime, Jackie only ever wore an old band shirt that belonged to her mother. I remember making fun of Heidi for buying the vintage Aerosmith shirt, but now I'm glad she did. Jackie would never look cuter than she did right now.
But I wished she wouldn't cling to it. She didn't need an old shirt from someone she barely remembered; she needed to feel safe. I would move the earth itself for Jackie, but I couldn't be her mother too.
All the fancy doctors told me she needed stability. I'd come to realize that that wasn't enough. She needed something more...
“Why are you on the floor?” She asked, holding a bowl of cereal as she got comfortable on the couch. The brown stained milk from her Cocoa Puffs splashed everywhere, leaving little stains that would have to be washed out later.
“It helps me think, Coconut.” I took the bowl and placed it on the coffee table next to me. “Eat over the table, please.”
I was sitting cross-legged on the carpeting, typing away on my laptop. I hadn't slept, showered, or even changed clothes since I left the hospital. I was three coffees deep into GO mode. The dawn came and went, and I hadn't even noticed.
I had more important things to do.
They had given me the same hotel suite, which was fine. It was nice enough, and had the space I required. I hadn't bothered renting out the rooms necessary to take over the gym this time around. There wouldn't be time to work out this time around.
I needed to focus all of my energy on beating Aaron Miller.
Jackie turned the TV on and started watching cartoons as my assistant, Michael, walked into the room. He had a tablet in one arm and phone in the other hand. He'd been in the office researching legal loopholes, political back doors, and paperwork filing mistakes all morning.
“Anything?” I asked, rubbing my computer fatigued eyes with dwindling hope.
“No, unfortunately. He's surprisingly squeaky clean,” Michael said. He hesitated for a moment, then continued carefully. “I hate to remind you, sir, but if you go down this path and pursue a way to take over financial control of the stadium... You won't be able to hit your goal by your birthday, which will mean no world record.”
That gave me pause. It was something I'd worked so hard for. With no more championships to win, that one goal was what pressed me onward. I wanted to be the youngest man to hit thirty billion.
Thirty under thirty.
“Should I keep digging, sir?” He asked.
I thought on it, unable to wrap my head around what I was giving up and for whom. This might be one of the biggest decisions of my life. I needed the opinion of someone I trusted, someone who knew me and Judy well, and was candid enough to speak their mind no matter how brutal the news.
“Coconut?” I asked my daughter, who was getting cereal everywhere but in her mouth. “Do you remember Daddy's friend Judy?”
Jackie nodded, smiling wide and showing off the gap where her big girl teeth had yet to arrive. “She knows magic. And she beat you in video games.”
“She—” My lips pulled to one corner as my expression fell. “Daddy let Judy win a few games, so she wouldn't feel bad.”
“She must feel great!” Jackie laughed.
“You traitor.” I reached over and tickled her ribs. Jackie giggled and protested, but I easily scooped her up and sat her on my lap. I grabbed her bowl of cereal and put it on the coffee table next to us so she could still eat.
“Help me out, Coconut. I need an expert opinion.” I cleaned a dribble of milk off her chin. Having her this close to me reminded me how much she looked like Heidi. We probably never would've worked out, but I thank God every day that she brought Jackie into this world. “What's more important? Goals or friends?”
“Friends.” She shoveled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.
“Yeah? Why's that?”
“Because if you don't have friends, then who're you going to share your goals with?”
I let that one sink in.
I took a deep breath and looked up at Michael. My decision must have been written all over my face, because he just nodded and got to work.
“I should hire you to be a fortune cookie writer.”
“I like cookies!” She triumphantly shouted, while s
imultaneously being distracted by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon on TV.
“I know you do,” I said, kissing her on the forehead.
Friends, I thought. Immediately it came to me. I suddenly knew how I was going to beat Coach Aaron Miller. I was going to hit in the one place he protected most.
His pride.
And to do that, I was going to need a few friends.
Chapter 25
Garrett
A shower, and a few hours of sleep, was all I needed to be put back in a good mood. I waited for the elevator at the stadium with a smile in my eyes. It wasn't a smile from a summer's day happiness, but one born of rediscovered purpose. For the first time in months, I had a real attainable goal, I felt like myself again.
I finally saw the battlefield, and had a plan of attack. I wasn't about to be caught off guard, not anymore. I was done playing defense.
There was a ding and the elevator door opened.
A few people in the middle of conversation shuffled out. Paul Sullivan alone remained.
“Garrett.” Paul's voice was harsh and brief. It was almost as if he skipped right to the end of the conversation. “Going up?”
“Hi, Paul.” I greeted him with a friendly air and walked in. “Offices please.”
He nodded, pressing the button.
“Have you seen Judy yet?” I asked. “I heard she's been discharged.”
I've asked Michael to keep me informed as to her well-being. He told me that she was feeling better and was released. She just needed rest.
“Grabbing my things and heading over now.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence.
“Paul,” I said, stopping him from leaving when the door to his floor opened.
He begrudgingly turned around, then raised an eyebrow expectantly.
“It was... rude of me to be so short with you earlier. I apologize for the way I gave you my decision, especially the first time. That ball was a nice gesture.”
Some of the disdain he had for me, that was plainly written across his face, dissolved.
“From what Judy's told me,” I continued. “You'd have made a great referee, you know that?”
“You think so?” His round face brightened.
I clasped the man on the shoulder and smiled. “Absolutely.”
We nodded to one another, respectfully, as the elevator doors closed between us. Paul was a good man, he was just in the wrong position. Caldwell Hope had changed since William King's death. Paul needed to change with it.
When the doors reopened, it was a short walk to Aaron Miller's modest office. His secretary got up to ask me if I had an appointment, but I just winked at her and walked right in.
“What the hell do you want?” The short man began to roar. He didn't like surprises. “Brenda! Get me security!”
“Give me five minutes. You'll want to hear this, Coach.” I punctuated the last word, like it left a bad taste in my mouth. In many ways it did.
Miller frowned, narrowing his eyes.
“Security will be here in three.”
“Plenty of time.” I sat down at the chair opposite his desk, with a satisfied sigh, and crossed my leg. I had all the time in the world. “I have a proposition for you, more of a wager really. It’s something that will put our rivalry to bed.”
Miller looked skeptical. I could see the wheels turning in his head. For as much as I hated the man, I had to acknowledge his tactical prowess. He was an expert at planning, and was a master of the long game. But he was never very good at improvisation and spontaneity.
That's where I excelled.
That dynamic was what brought our team to the championships, over and over again. It's also the reason we'd always been adversaries instead of friends. I wasn't sure a man like him even had any friends.
Finally he sat down in his chair. He studied me for another moment, wondering what my angle was, then pulled a cigar from his desk and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Go on then.”
“I'm better than you,” I said, interlacing my fingers together on my lap. My tone was even. I kept all emotion out of it. It was like I was telling someone what the weather was. “I always have been. If it wasn't you who recruited me it, it would've been someone else. Without you I'd still have all my matching rings.”
“This doesn't sound like a proposition.” Miller's face began to redden, just like I knew it would. I'd almost forgotten how easy it was to rile him up. “You can get the fuck out of my office now. Hell, the next time you step foot in this stadium, I'll have you arrested for trespassing.”
He glanced behind me and I knew that security had arrived to escort me out.
“My proposition—” I said, raising my voice to capture his attention. “Is proof.”
Two armed men rushed into Miller's office. They were out of breath from running, but tried not to show it. With one hand on their holstered weapons, they asked me politely, yet forcefully, to come with them.
Miller held up a hand, stopping the men. “How do you mean proof?”
“The field is finished.” I nodded my over Aaron's shoulder. Behind him were windows that overlooked the inside of the stadium. “One game. Your coaching versus my team leadership. Winner takes all.”
“All... You mean the stadium?” He asked, a broad shark-like grin spread across his angular face. “And if I win? What could you possibly give to me?”
“You want to destroy my image? Well, I can do you one better. If you beat me, in a fair game, I'll petition to remove my nomination from the football hall of fame. You'll get to destroy my legacy.”
Any player could opt out of the Hall of Fame if they wanted to. It's just that no one ever does. Why the hell would they? It was the highest honor an athlete could get. Giving this up would basically write me out of the history books.
I was right the first time I came to this town, when I told myself that my sacrifices were just beginning. I never would've thought I'd be making them for that silly masked girl I danced with so long ago.
Aaron Miller chopped the end off his cigar, lit it, puffing, and leaned back in his chair. He eyed me, carefully considering my proposal. Slow and deliberate. That's how he approached things.
“One week from today,” He said finally. “I'm home. You're away.”
“We'll see about that,” I said, rising. “One last thing. I want Paul Sullivan to be the ref.”
Miller's eyes narrowed. “Done. I'll have the contract drawn up and sent to you.”
The security guards still escorted me out on Miller's orders. That was fine. I didn't mind the company. I'd gotten what I wanted. Now I just had to find players crazy enough to play for me.
I sighed. That might be harder said than done.
Chapter 26
Judy
Paint spattered my hair and face, but I didn't care. Long colored streaks ran up my hands and forearms as I put down long, aggressive brush strokes on the canvas in the far corner of my kitchen.
I'd been painting for days. My Spotify playlist blasted dubstep loud enough to drown out my cell phone. I was sad and angry, but above all I was tired.
Tired of feeling... tired.
In the days since the hospital, thoughts of Garrett Walker had infected my every waking moment. Sleep was the worst though. Every night I relived our night together in the lodge. Our naked writhing bodies searching one another, completing each other.
Then to wake up and not have that, emptied me out. My heart, and body, was an empty glass yearning to be filled.
So I turned my phone and my life off, and retreated to my apartment to do the only thing that ever made me feel better: painting.
I fell into my work. Once I got into the zone, there was nothing else in life except me, the canvas and the constant shifting sands of color. There was just something so visceral...so primal. All I needed was coffee, a paintbrush, and loud music to turn all the stress of my life off.
I mixed a light cobalt with French ultramarine blue, and
tried it against the black pupils and whites of the rest of the eyes.
Damnit!
I sighed, cleaned off my pallet and reached for my mug of coffee. I'd been trying for hours to get this color. Why was it so fucking hard to find the right shade?
It was only when I got the porcelain to my lips that I realized it was cold. When I breathed in, the pungent odor of mineral spirits punched me hard enough to make my eyes water.
“That wasn't coffee at all!” My voice was drowned out by a vicious beat drop from my sound system. I chuckled to myself and shook my head as I reached for my actual coffee cup. One of these days, I was going to be so tired, I’d really make that mistake… That would be a fun conversation with the nurse.
Empty. Damn.
Oh well. I yawned, stretched, and turned to walk toward the kitchen to refill it from the hopefully-still-fresh pot.
What time was it? I didn't realize how dark my house was until that very moment. I started painting in the late morning and only turned enough lights on to let me paint. My stomach must've passed out. When I stopped painting, it woke up with a vengeance and started growling. Takeout again? The thought didn't sound appealing. At this point I might be more fried rice than woman—
Oh my God! My heart leapt from my chest like I was a sinking ship.
“Ah!” I crashed right into the monstrous chest of an intruder!
I closed my eyes in shock and half jumped, half fell backwards, but his strong hands caught me. I thrashed in his iron grip. Spotify must have been watching this all go down, because, the next song played was faster and more chaotic than any I'd heard previously.
What was I going to do?
Then, just like that, he let me go.
I stumbled back a step, then opened my eyes.
Garrett stood there in his fine suit, now ruined with wet paint from my thrashing. I exhaled in relief so hard, I almost hit the floor. I slapped at the space bar on my laptop and the music eventually cut out. The silence hummed in my ears, after it being so loud for so long.
