He had managed to keep out of her clutches for a month, but of course it had to be on game day that she finally caught him. It was the last thing he’d needed, to be distracted by her—he’d needed to be fully focused on the game. God knew where it would have led if not for Brodie calling everyone together for a last-minute strategy talk, breaking him from her hypnotising hold. It had taken a mammoth strength of will to force his gaze from her and walk away, but he had.
Then there was the unmistakable animosity he’d been feeling from Gareth. Rook had noticed the change in his teammate’s demeanour just before they’d taken to the field, but there had been no time to find out what had been bothering the country boy. God, his life was really going down the toilet fast.
And now this! He was well and truly fucked.
Rook was feeling very sorry for himself as he threw his arm over his eyes and tried to block out the sensations that were beginning to overwhelm him—not just the pain from his leg, though that was excruciating, but the thoughts that niggled away at him that this could be the end of his football career. The only thing, apart from supervising the running of his bar, that Rook knew how to do. The one thing he was good at. The kid from a broken home had made good with his ability to play rugby league at the top level—what would happen if he couldn’t take the field again?
What would he do with his life?
“Pip, it’s Rook’s knee—looks bad. What should we do first, Doc?” Flash shouted out over the engine sounds of the medicab as it stopped outside the medical room door.
* * * *
The club doctor was bent over Rook, trying to keep the leg immobile. He shouted at Pippa to get plenty of ice and compression bandages ready. The first priority was to keep the swelling and fluid under control. Pippa didn’t have time to react to the fact that the injured player was Rook—she just went into action and readied the supplies the doctor had requested.
Pippa could hear Rook moaning from the pain as they moved him from the transport medicab to one of the treatment beds. Her heart broke for him—she knew that if he was in this much pain then the injury was a bad one, most likely something to do with the ligaments and tendons of his knee. She could only hope that it was just a strain, and not a tear that would ultimately need surgery.
As the doctor carefully examined Rook’s knee, trying to flex it and check the stability of the patella when bent, Pippa watched the pain register in Rook’s eyes, saw the strain make his jaw tense and his lips disappear into just a thin line. His face paled, going a sickly shade of grey. She felt helpless, could not take the pain away from him until the doctor gave her the go-ahead to administer something. Why hasn’t Doc given Rook the green whistle? she wondered, angered that the painkiller had not been administered already. Why must he suffer?
Pippa was desperate to help Rook. To soothe that pain etched over his handsome face. She curled her hand to her side, digging her nails into her palm just to stop the temptation to stroke his clenched jaw line.
As soon as the doctor was finished with his investigation, they strapped Rook’s swelling knee with a compression bandage, elevated the injury and packed it in ice.
“Rook, I can’t be sure until we get an MRI, but I think you might be lucky. It feels like a strain or grade one tear of the medial collateral ligament. I noticed that when bent, your knee—while painful—is still quite stable, not loose and floating around. If I’m right it’s a good prognosis. With the proper care and rehab we’ll have you back on the field before the end of the season. Any tear over a grade one—that is more than ten per cent of the tendon’s fibres torn—and you would need surgery and be looking at a very long recovery and rehabilitation period.”
Pippa listened intently to what the doctor was saying to Rook, but wondered if Rook was taking any of the information in. He looked distraught, and it was more than just the pain, she knew. All players worried about forced retirement due to injury, but Pippa was convinced Rook would be able to make a full recovery. She just had to convince him of that. Unfortunately, the half-time siren sounded and Pippa had to leave Rook in Doc’s care, and to his own demons, while she tended to any running repairs needed on the Jets players who would be returning for the second half of the game.
The atmosphere in the team room was thick with tension. Everyone seemed to be trying to deal with the knowledge that Rook, their playmaker and captain, would not be returning to the field. Brodie, as a coach should, tried to inspire and fill the nervous players with the confidence that as a team, they could bounce back from the obvious setback. He was changing some of the game plan to make allowances for Rook’s absence—Gareth was to take over the captaincy role. The half and playmaker role would be covered by a youngster from the substitution bench, Josh McQuade. Although a young man full of potential, the new rookie would probably be slightly out of his league.
Pippa was amazed at how calm Brodie and JT remained under the circumstances—really able to inspire the players. The Jets team was full of self-confidence and hyped up as they headed down the tunnel and back to the field for the final period of the game.
Pippa hurried back to Rook the moment she was free. He was still lying, unmoving, flat on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes. But he did have that magical green tube clenched between his teeth. Sucking on the methoxyflurane’s powerful analgesic would ease his pain—or at least make him not care about it. He was still wearing the game-day strip, down to the footy sock and studded boot on his uninjured leg. He looked as if he had been abandoned. The ice-pack on his injured knee had begun to melt and water was dripping onto the floor. Pippa filled another bag with ice and replaced the melted bag. She mopped up the spilt water with a towel before she finally took a tentative peek at Rook’s face.
His silver eyes pierced her heart, the forlorn image he portrayed more than she could bear.
“Oh, Rook, don’t look so sad. It’ll be okay, you can bounce back from this setback. I will do everything possible to get you back on the field quickly,” Pippa whispered, emotion choking her voice as the man she loved—had always loved—lay before her, looking so defeated. “C’mon, Rookie, where’s that cocky, spirited footballer I’ve loved since I was fifteen gone?”
Pippa could not believe she had actually let those words spill from her lips. All she could hope was that Rook would not take her confession seriously—she was so rattled, and acting anything but professionally at the moment.
As Pippa busied herself fussing with the already perfectly positioned ice-packs, trying as best she could to act nonchalant over her words, she felt Rook’s hand on her arm. Too nervous to face him and deal with the words she had blurted out, her heart pounding inside her chest—the noise, Pippa believed, loud enough for Rook to hear—she waited for him to acknowledge her slip-up. She did not notice the doctor had entered the room until she heard him speak to Rook.
“Okay then, Rook, I’ve made an appointment for you at the hospital for your MRI scan. It will give us a clear idea of what we are dealing with here.” The doctor continued his one-sided conversation with Rook, unaware of the emotional tension between the two original occupants of the room. “For the time being, we will put you in a knee brace and fit you out with crutches. Stay off the leg completely, keep it elevated and iced. Under no circumstances add heat. I’ve heard you like to recover in a spa, Rook. Don’t go anywhere near it. Clean yourself up in the showers—Pip can help you with that. Go home and rest until the scan. I’ll let you know what comes next once I get a look at the results.”
Pippa choked back a gasp as the doctor mentioned Rook’s spa, the memories of her time with Rook still very fresh in her mind. Her eyes, which only moments ago had been reluctant to meet Rook’s, were now drawn as if by some magnetic pull to his. She was once again trapped under the weight of his stare, mesmerised by him.
It was clear to her that the memory of their tryst was still just as prominent for him, as well.
Pippa had to focus on the doctor’s instructions, but it was not a
n easy accomplishment when her body was on fire, needy from the memories of Rook and what he had done to her in his spa. Images flashed through her mind, reminding her of the way she had sensually exploded. Her nipples tingled as she remembered the feel of the cold tiles as her breasts had bounced on the side of the spa, while Rook had slammed into her body from behind. Pippa felt the red flush flow up her neck onto her cheekbones as she fought to regain control over her traitorous body, could see that Rook understood what she was feeling, as if he had somehow tapped into her memories and thoughts.
“Phillipa, did you hear me? Do you understand my instructions? Can I leave Rook in your capable hands?” the doctor repeated sternly.
“Yes, Doc—get Rook cleaned up, fit the knee brace and send him home on crutches to rest up for tomorrow’s MRI.”
Pippa was starting to believe she had a future on the stage at the way she’d been able to act so in control when she’d finally answered. Even her voice had sounded quite normal, when on the inside she was in turmoil. Her emotions were building, raging throughout her body like a tornado looking for its most destructive path. How on earth was she going to help Rook, the man who shook her to the core, shower and dress without becoming a blubbery mess of female hormones? Surely one of the male members of the Jets staff should take over from here?
Chapter Sixteen
Pippa was so caught up in her own thoughts that she did not seem to realise her face was projecting her emotions, or that Rook was watching her with a morbid intensity.
He thought he’d heard her say she loved him, but the look of distaste was clear for him to see—it was written all over her, obviously put there at the thought of helping him shower. He must have heard wrong. The way she was looking now was not the expression of a woman in love, he was certain—it was that of a woman shocked at what she was about to endure.
Rook had also thought he’d witnessed a flicker of desire flash in her ocean blue eyes as the doctor had mentioned his spa, but he must have misread the situation there as well. He assumed it must be the pain medication clouding his mind, and making him see things he wanted to see as opposed to the truth. He really needed to get over Pippa Rodgers. Move on. She just wasn’t interested.
“Shit, what a cock-up this year is turning into. The whole fuckin’ year is shot. All that training, and what for? I didn’t even last through the first game.” Rook couldn’t help his angry tone or his raised voice as his frustrations grew in proportion to the receding pain. “And now I’m going to be forced to endure your presence and good intentions twenty-four fucking seven, not to mention the pitying looks from every other goddamn person I know, and that’s all before Mum gets wind of it…”
The unexpected sound of Pippa’s mobile phone ringing made them both jump, and interrupted his tirade.
“My God! What now?” Pippa exclaimed as she grabbed her phone from her pocket and read the screen to see who was calling.
She was in shock at Rook’s outburst, wondered if anyone else had heard him rant at her. She just wanted to crawl away and find some hole in the ground to hide in. She had not realised how much Rook hated her until now. How could she possibly stay on at the club now, knowing how he felt about her, knowing for a fact he didn’t want anything to do with her and with her heart breaking every time she saw him? Distracted again by the sound of her phone, she finally registered the caller ID.
“It’s Caitlin James. Why would she be calling me?” Confused, still looking at the screen, Pippa had a thought. “She probably wants an update on you, Rook. She’d be one of those terrible ‘goddamn people’ who care about you,” Pippa said harshly as she connected the call. “What do you want me to tell her, Rook? Should I tell her you hate the fact that she cares? Perhaps I should just tell her to give up on you. You seem to have already given up on yourself.”
Chapter Seventeen
Pippa gasped into the phone as she listened to Mandy, desperately trying to comprehend what she was being told. Caitlin had gone into early labour!
What…? Caitlin had been in labour most of the day but had decided not to mention that piece of information to her husband, not wanting to disturb his coaching preparations. Great idea… Caitlin was crazy—what on earth had the woman been thinking, keeping such a whopping big secret? She was in labour…about to give birth… And to top it all off—hooray—it seemed Pippa had been voted to be the one to go and break the news to an unsuspecting Brodie—but not until after the game, and with instructions to not let him panic. Yeah, right! The man was going to go through the roof, Pippa thought.
“Oh, shit, Mandy, how am I going to stop him from panicking? He’ll have the shits Caitlin didn’t tell him before he left for the game as it is,” Pippa squeaked back into the mouthpiece of her phone. “Yeah… Okay, I’ll try. You just tell Caitlin to hang on till Brodie gets there or it will be a slow, painful death for us all if he misses out on the birth.”
Pippa closed her phone and stared off into space, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to just go and break the news to Brodie now. She felt the warmth of Rook’s hand the minute it touched her skin. Why was it that Rook’s touch could make her body flame? Even when she was so distracted?
“Pip, honey, what’s wrong, baby? You’ve gone so pale—are you okay?” Rook asked. He reached out and took her arm. “Caitlin and the baby will be fine.”
Pippa was confused at the turnaround in Rook’s manner. One minute he’d been full of anger and animosity towards her, and now it felt as though he was sincerely worried about her. Her head was spinning.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I just have to wait until after the game to tell Brodie that Caitlin is at the hospital, giving birth to their child. He should take that information calmly. What do you think, Rookie? Will I survive his fury at my waiting until after the game, or should I go tell him now, and risk Caitlin and Mandy’s wrath later? Choices! Lucky me!” Pippa explained, beginning to sound a little on the hysterical side.
“Shit, that is quite a dilemma.” Rook seemed to think about what Pippa had said for a few moments, his own injury temporarily forgotten.
“If it was my kid, I would want to know, even if I was on the field still playing. I think you should go tell him, Pip. Brodie deserves to make up his own mind where he wants to be.”
“Why are you so worried, Rook? You should be pleased. After Brodie kills me you won’t have to put up with me at all,” Pippa snapped back at Rook, but was unable to hide the hitch in her voice as a sob broke free.
“He won’t have time to kill you, baby. He’ll be too focused on getting to the hospital, becoming a dad again.”
Rook talking about being a father had nearly made Pippa pass out—she could visualise him holding a little bundle with a head covered in thatch of blonde curls in his arms and making cute cooing sounds. It took her a few moments to clear the disturbing and heartbreaking thoughts from her head so she could concentrate on his recommendations.
“Yeah, I think I will go and tell Brodie the news. Will you be okay being alone for a while, or should I go get Flash to stay with you?”
“Go, Pip, I’m good—not like I can go anywhere just yet. I’m sorry for my outburst before, just feelin’ a bit sorry for myself. I’ll wait right here for you to come back, but if you would prefer someone else to help me shower, I’m good with that too,” Rook replied. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Pip. Just do what you need to do.”
Rook had appeared almost reluctant to pull his hand from Pippa’s arm so she could leave him, and Pippa felt the loss of the warmth from his touch the moment he did. She didn’t want to leave either. His hand on her arm had been enough to warm her insides and curl her toes—but she did have to go.
As Pippa raced up the stairs towards the coach’s box high in the top of the stand, she wondered why Rook had said he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. He was the one acting so uptight and tense around her—why should he care how she felt?
And what was with the endearments? One minute
he was complaining about being near her and the next he was calling her ‘baby’ and stroking her arm in comfort. Being all caring and sharing, talking about babies and things.
“Aaargh, men!” she groaned as she climbed the stairs, deftly sidestepping the fans as she went hurtling by.
Now sure is not the time to worry about my problems with Rook, she policed her thoughts. Now is the time to try and break the news to Brodie about his impending fatherhood without him going ballistic. What was that saying about not shooting the messenger? Pippa sure hoped Brodie James was aware of it as she stopped in front of the door marked with the sign that read ‘Home Team Coach’. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Pippa knocked on the door between her and Brodie.
It was JT’s voice that shouted out for her to enter, and she crept inside.
“Pip, what the hell are you doing up here?” JT asked. He seemed annoyed at her intrusion as he turned his focus back to the game, almost dismissing her presence at once.
“Um, yeah. Ah, I’ve got some important news for Brodie,” she stammered nervously.
“Look, Phillipa, I’m a bit busy right now—can’t it wait? The boys are just managing to hang on to this lead and I need to concentrate on the game,” Brodie grumbled, never taking his eyes from the view through the glass window of the coaches’ box.
“I know that, Brodie! But I think you will want me to tell you about the phone call I just took from Mandy Thomson.”
At the sound of his wife’s name JT stood up and whirled around to face Pippa. His stance was frightening, and it took all Pippa’s efforts not to shrink back from his glare. “What the fuck is going on, Pip? What’s happened to Mandy?”
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