In Time (Play On Book 2)
Page 19
Her arm was hooked up to the IV on the other side of the bed, so Rory gently climbed in next to her, making sure not to jostle her too much. His head lay awkward on his arm, which was twisted back in a weird position, but he held Grace with the other. He hadn’t bothered kicking off his shoes, so he left them on not to disturb her further.
He kissed her cheek and then closed his eyes.
Chapter 20
“Your paws are burnin’ today, Rory, burnin’ man!” Dick yelled at him and then offered his hand for a high five. Any other day, Rory wouldn’t have left him hanging. But today, today wasn’t that day.
He’d rather be at the hospital with Grace but his father had insisted on seeing him play to judge for himself whether there had been any improvement. And even though Rory explained to him that he hadn’t planned on going, he had a friend in the hospital, his father wouldn’t hear it. He had flown in from Chicago on one of his visits and was leaving the next day. This was his da’s only opportunity.
He really couldn’t give a shite about his dad’s visit. That made him a fucking foul son in most people’s eyes, but they didn’t know the whole story. About his da, about rugby. He needed to get back to Grace. He’d left the hospital around midday when his da had called from his hotel for Rory to meet him for lunch and hadn’t been back since.
And that was the second try he had scored in this practice, so his father could be fucked. He was bent over heaving to catch his breath behind the uprights as a few of the lads patted him on the back to congratulate him. Del walked up to him, and instead of another pat, stopped and asked, “So what’s up today?”
He didn’t answer Del, simply walked to position to receive the kick-off.
Del was relentless and still followed, even though his position was toward the center of the field. “I like what I’m seeing, Rory. Maybe we need to have your dad fly over for every game.”
Del was joking, but that would be Hell on Earth. Been there and done that. No more yelling. He was tired of the yelling. Luckily, his da hadn’t visited over the weekend when a game was on. Not only did Rory get an earful from his dad from the sidelines but then a full critique would come his way after. His father would break down everything that Rory had done wrong, and then make Rory repeat after him how he should have done it right.
He’d moved to the States to get as far away from all that pish as he possibly could. “Del, can we just talk about it later at home?” But Rory didn’t plan on going home. He planned on sleeping at the hospital again if they would let him.
Del eyed him skeptically but gave a quick nod. “All right, Rory boy, we’ll do that.”
Rory stood waiting for the rest of the team to assemble. Assistant Coach was talking to a few backs on the other side, so it would be a few minute’s break. The sky had cleared, but when that happened, a northwesterly usually blew, bringing with it another cold front.
The sun was setting, the sky a light melon and gold. A gust of wind blew across the pitch drying the sweat on his body. He shivered. He tried to keep his eyes trained ahead, but time again, they drifted to the sidelines where his da was sitting in the stands.
From where he was, Rory couldn’t see his face so had no indication what his father thought of the Blues or of Rory’s performance. He’d never been anything but critical, so Rory couldn’t imagine it was anything good.
It had been a long afternoon. The usual crap from his father over lunch. Had Rory considered other clubs? Did he want to come back and try out for Edinburgh? At twenty-five, Rory was too old to be trying for a big rugby club. He knew it, everyone else knew it, but his dad wouldn’t let it go. Always pushing. Today again, his da had given him three business cards, contacts he wanted Rory to get in touch with about playing rugby. Business associates of his that knew someone who knew someone. All that shite.
On purpose, Rory ordered pizza, a greasy meat-lovers pizza with extra cheese. Just for Grace and because he knew it would piss off his da. It did, so he was successful, but then he had to listen to a diatribe on healthy eating for the next fifteen minutes. Little did his da know that Rory was militant about his food intake. It was the first time he’d eaten “junk food” in over a year.
After lunch, his da wanted to check his car, look through the house. For what, Rory didn’t know. His room was spotless as it always was, the bathroom forgivable, at least in Rory’s eyes. He’d left Del and Grace’s rooms alone, the doors shut. When his father had asked, Rory lied and said Padraig still lived there. After he’d dropped his dad at the hotel, he’d barely had time to shower and get changed before he left for practice where his father would meet him by taxi.
Coach blew the whistle finally, and Rory’s practice team kicked off. Rory moved forward with the rest of them, the feeling of his father’s watchfulness on him. Always on him.
Young Jimmy from Irish’s side caught the ball and immediately threw it back to Dave who passed it just as quickly. The ball was moving down the line, closer to the sideline where Rory played. Champ faked a pass and ran past Josh on Rory’s team, which left Rory as the last defense until the try line.
Champ was running onto him, full throttle, but ducked and weaved around Rory. Rory gave chase, and with a dive, swiped his hand at Champ’s foot, tripping him up. He went down heavy, rolling like a log, and by that time others were there. Rory’s side took him down in a ruck, but Champ didn’t have any help from his side, who were still racing up from down the field.
Coach blew the whistle for not releasing the ball. Champ swore and flailed like a fish, trying to get the other lads off him.
Rory wasn’t in the fray, but standing off to the side. Jimmy ran up and clapped him on the back. “That was awesome, Ror! He would’ve made that try if you hadn’t clipped his foot.”
This time Rory did return Jimmy’s high five. Since they’d moved farther down toward where his father sat, Rory’s gaze darted that way. His father sat there stoic, no expression whatsoever. He returned Rory’s gaze but nothing else. No clapping, no cheering, not even a fucking thumbs-up.
A few others had come over to congratulate him on a good tackle, but Rory barely acknowledged them as he stared at his da. Finally, it was his father that broke their connection to look at his phone.
Aw, fuck him then.
The light was fading fast so Coach called them into the locker room. After a short briefing, everyone hit the showers. Except for Rory. He probably stank stronger than Glasgow on a rainy day, but he didn’t want to lose a minute. In a rush, he grabbed his bag out of his locker and chucked trackies and a hoodie over his playing gear.
After slamming the locker closed, he grabbed the bag and his cleats, which he didn’t bother to put back on and jogged to the exit. Coach yelled out for him, “Rory, you got a minute?” but Rory ignored him and everyone else jostling in and out of the showers, in the aisles, around the lockers and the benches and kept his objective in sight.
Past the reception area, he pushed through the door to find his da standing on the pavement right in front of him. He was a shorter version of Rory. Or maybe Rory was a taller version of his father. Same dark hair, lean build. Rory had a bit more bulk, and his father’s hair was now salt-and-pepper, but he’d heard throughout his life how much he looked like his father. Everyone said it as though it was a compliment, but each time Rory cringed with the idea.
“Do you want to get some dinner, then?”
Not one word about Rory’s play on the pitch today. No “congratulations” or “job well done” or “I didnae ken when I’ve seen better rugby.” Rory snorted at his own thought. Like he’d ever say that. His father hadn’t moved so he walked on the grass around him. The click of his father’s nice shoes on the pavement told Rory he followed.
“What the fuck is this?” His da asked across the bed of the truck.
“It’s a friend’s. I got it fixed for her.”
“Why aren’t you driving the car we bought you?” Always had to dig, to remind Rory what he’d paid for.
His father got into the passenger’s side, and as he was, Rory heard him say, “What a piece of shit.” Could he hate anything else right now more than he hated his father? Other than himself.
Rory took a deep breath and then shot an exhale out his nose. He climbed into the truck, buckled up, and turned on the radio. There was at least some space between him and the old man in Grace’s truck. The Focus was small, too small for both of them. The radio was already tuned to the Lite station, a mix of contemporary and past light hits.
His father spoke first. “Do you know of any good restaurants in town that don’t serve all this fattening American food?”
Uh, they were in America. What did he expect? A posh Edinburgh restaurant smack dab in the Midwest? Rory took a left out of the complex and headed toward town.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.”
“There are plenty of good restaurants in Traverse City.”
“Good. Well then take me to one of them. I’m starving.”
Rory turned right at Lake Drive that ran along the bay and toward his father’s hotel. He’d finally gotten used to the three-on-the-tree shifter so that Bluegill didn’t jerk so often while he was driving. But his da still had his hand on the dashboard in front of him.
His da didn’t say anything until Rory slowed and maneuvered into the left turn lane.
“Are we eating at the restaurant in my hotel?”
“You can if ya like. I’m dropping you off. I’ve got some stuff to do.”
Silence.
Rory pulled into the circular drive in front of the main doors and threw the truck into park. When his father still didn’t say anything, Rory braved it enough to shoot him a glance.
The one side of his lip was twisted up in disgust. “I’ve flown halfway across the world to see you, and you can’t have dinner with me?”
One, it wasn’t halfway, maybe a third, but his da wouldn’t find the humor in Rory pointing that out. Two, he had flown to the US for work, not Rory. Any other time, Rory would have conceded, he always did with his da, but he needed to see Grace. It was as if she was calling to him. Maybe she was already awake.
“When is your flight tomorrow? I can take you to the airport.”
“Half ten, but I should be there by nine.”
Rory played with the steering wheel, squeezing and releasing, so he wouldn’t have to look at the man. “Okay, I’ll pick you up here at about a quarter to.”
“Are you serious?”
Completely. “Aye,” he squeaked out. He cleared his throat. Another car pulled up behind them in the circle drive.
His father huffed a breath. “Incredible.”
And just that one word was enough for Rory to backpedal. “I can pick you up early tomorrow and take you to breakie. There is a waffle—”
“You want to take me to breakfast? With what money?”
Always came down to this. “I get paid by the club.”
“Very little.” His dad undid his buckle.
“Enough to keep me going here.”
“Not really.”
“Hows that?”
“Your mother and I paid for your car…”
“But you’ll get the money back when I sell it. It was just a loan of sorts.”
“You won’t.”
Rory wouldn’t what? Sell it or get the money back? Either or. “I will.”
“Plus we pay your insurance, which we can’t get back.”
The people in the car behind them had given up on Rory moving forward and had started to unpack their car. They look none too pleased. Rory clenched his teeth. He could argue details with his father all day, but it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He learned that long ago. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning then.”
“If you aren’t going to go to dinner with me, then I’ll tell you now. Your mother and I think you are wasting your time here and should come home.”
Meaning his father thought so, and his mother didn’t argue.
“The Blues were your idea,” he reminded his father.
“It was only temporary. It was either that or have you sit around on our couch and play video games all day.”
That wasn’t how it was. The car behind had dropped off their luggage and had driven around Rory, but another had pulled up behind them. If he’d known, he would have parked to be considerate to others. And he thought about still doing that, but he just wanted his father out of the car.
“I’ll pay you back for the car.”
“And for the plane tickets.”
Grrrr… Rory’s face heated with anger, and he squeezed the steering wheel hard. His father’s focus was on him, he could feel it, but he wouldn’t look at the man. “Of course.”
“I know you will because you’re going to start working for me and will start playing rugby at the local club. It’s non-pro, but it’s still better rugby than this here. I’ve already arranged everything.”
Rory was an adult. He was twenty-five years old. Yes, he was an only child and aye, his parents had always had an overactive role in his life, but enough was enough. He wouldn’t wait another minute to get to Grace. “I’m staying here.”
“What?”
“I’m not leaving the States, and I’m gonna stick with the Blues.” The car behind them honked. In the rearview mirror, Rory could see another car behind that one. He said to his father, “I’ve got to go.”
His father turned off the radio. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until we’ve discussed this.”
That was the problem. It was never a discussion. It was his father talking and Rory listening. “I am. I have to go.”
“Your mother will be very disappointed in you. She’s raised you to be a better son than this.”
And there it was. The guilt—always the fucking guilt. But he was a good son. He’d always been a good son. And he liked to think he was a good man. But his father didn’t seem to recognize this. Maybe he never would, but it was Rory’s time now. He needed to cut that cord and forge his own path, whether it was right or wrong. Whether he made mistakes or not. Whether it involved rugby. Or not. Carpe diem, as Grace would say.
Grace. She would be there for him. He could do this.
He struggled, warring with himself between everything he’d been raised to do and the man who very much wanted to be free. He summoned his courage and turned in his seat so he could look his father in the eye. “I’m going to stay with the Blues. I’ll get a job.”
When his father laughed, a lump formed in Rory’s throat. Anger bubbled inside, turning everything to a haze. He couldn’t focus. He reached across his father’s lap and opened the door. “I have to go. You can get a taxi to the airport tomorrow.” He wouldn’t look at his dad. It was like looking in the mirror.
The rage off his father in the seat next to him was palpable, the heat and emotion radiating off him consumed Rory as well. But his father said naught. Instead, he got out and slammed the door. The truck rocked with the impact, but Rory already had it in gear and was pulling away.
Rory regretted he had left Grace in the hospital just to appease his father. But he vowed that was the last mistake he was going to make in regards to the man.
The lights of the town blurred by, nothing distinct, his body on autopilot as he drove Lake Drive to the hospital, only a couple kilometers away. Visiting hours would be up soon, so he parked in the first space he found and ran to the entrance. Rory didn’t even bother to ask her room number, if she’d possibly been moved. His feet carried him one step closer to Grace, and that was all that mattered.
When the elev
ator doors opened, his heart raced. Please let her be awake. Please let her be okay. The mantra buzzed in his head. A couple nurses looked up as he passed, but he kept going. Third down on the right…
The door was open…but the bed was empty. What the fuck? They’d moved her. That was it. Rory returned to the nurse’s station, where he stood and waited quietly to be acknowledged. One was on the phone, the other working at a computer. C’mon already! He leaned against the counter to get their attention. Only the one on the phone looked up and motioned him to wait with one finger. Fuck that. He slid down the counter until he hovered over the one at the computer. “Where’s Grace Bowman?”
The woman finally looked up, very annoyed, her mouth pinched, her eyes narrowed. “One moment, please.” The woman took her time clicking on the keys, but finally an eternity later… “How do you spell the last name?” Seriously? Rory wrenched at his hair. He was a passive person by nature but he was going to strangle this lady.
How did he spell her last name? He didn’t know. He spelled it as he thought it sounded. “B-O-W-M-A-N.”
“There isn’t anyone here by that name.”
“She was here just this morning!” Rory yelled, motioning down to her room with a sweep of his arm.
“Are you sure that’s the spelling?” The woman looked skeptical at Rory as if he was a lunatic. He felt like one about now.
“No, I’m not sure. Is there anything similar?”
The nurse snorted. “I’m sure there are a hundred similar names. We need the spelling of her last name and preferably her date of birth to help you.”
Aw, fuck. He didn’t even know when her birthday was. As Rory chewed on his lip in thought, the other nurse hung up the phone and interrupted, “You mean the girl that was in a coma?”
Yes! “Aye, that’s the one.” Rory didn’t miss the nurse had said was. That didn’t sound good. Not at all.
“She’s not here any longer.”
Yeah, Rory figured that. “I know! She’s not in the room. I’m trying to find her. Did they move her to another place in the hospital?” Please don’t say the morgue. Please. Something positive. Please God, help him get to Grace.