False Start: A Football Romance

by Saylor Bliss

  “Do I look like I give two fucks about playing ball right now? You said it perfectly. I play ball. This is his life. I want to be tested, and if I am a match, I want to donate immediately.”

  “I understand, Mr. Johnson. I will get the test kit sent up as soon as possible.”

  “Make sure they bring two. I want to be tested as well.”

  “No.” Callum states, and I pull out of his arms and round on him, ready to fight to the death if he tries to stand in my way of helping Carson.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Hart, but your condition won’t allow us to use you as a donor even if you are a match.”

  “My condition?” I ask, stupefied.

  “The pregnancy, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I see,” I state. I can’t believe it’s come to this. Even if I wanted to donate, I wouldn’t be allowed to because of the baby growing in my womb. How is anyone supposed to make that kind of choice, or worse, live with the guilt of knowing that I might have been able to help if I weren’t pregnant?

  How do you put one child’s life’s worth above another?

  “I’ll get the kit sent up for your test, Mr. Johnson, and give you all a few moments to talk. I know this is a lot to process. I suggest making a list of any questions that arise, and then we can sit down and go over everything later. In the meantime, I want you to know that we are going to do everything in our power here at the hospital to make Carson comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Hill. I appreciate it.” My voice cracks, betraying the emotion flowing through me right now. I don’t know how to process any of this.

  “I’m going to go too,” Margaret whispers as she moves to follow the doctor out of the room.

  “Go? Go where?”

  “I just think it would be best if I stepped back and let you handle this. I mean, you have been here before and at least know what to expect.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Mother. I know exactly what to expect. I expect that beautiful little boy’s mother to want to be by his side while he his scared and in pain. I expect his mother to throw up her hand and demand to be tested as a possible match. I expect you to stay, but I can see now that I am sorely mistaken when I EXPECT any of those things from you. Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again.”

  She doesn’t even reply, instead choosing to run from the room as soon as I am done yelling. I have never been more disgusted with her than I am right this second. I am ashamed to call her my mother. I am ashamed even to share the same blood as her.

  I hate her.

  “What a fucking bitch,” Callum says with as much disgust as I feel.

  “Yeah. Listen, Cal, it would probably be best if you went on home too.”

  “What? I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “Yes, you are. I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now. I want to be alone with Carson. Please, Cal. Just go.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re pushing me away again. After everything that we have been through?”

  “Just go, Cal. Please.”

  “No. I’m not fucking leaving you. You can’t ask me to do this. Fuck, Amelia, you need me. You’re barely able to handle yourself right now. Hell, you’re supposed to be on bedrest.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t know my own damn body, Cal? I can promise you . . . I do, and right now, I know that I need to be alone. I know that if you stay, it won’t help me at all. I’m asking you nicely to go. Give me what I know I need, and maybe when my brain is done processing all this, I will call you, and we can talk.”

  “You’ll call me? You will fucking call me? Are you serious right now? Have the last two days meant nothing to you?”

  “Cal, go, or I will have the staff call security up here. I don’t want you here right now.”

  “Fine,” he says, slamming the door behind him on the way out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Callum

  No fucking way. She is not pushing me away again.

  Except she just did.

  And there was not one fucking thing I could do or say to make her change her mind.

  A sob catches in my throat, tears burning behind my eyelids as I lean my head against the room door, hoping she changes her mind and rushes out to get me, but she doesn’t.

  I knew she wouldn’t.

  She doesn’t need me.

  She doesn’t want me.

  Well, I fucking want her. I fucking need her. I need her more than I need air to breathe. More than anything in this whole fucked up world.

  Turning on my heel, I walk back toward the nurse’s station, past the nasally bitch who doesn’t know how to do her job, and out into the pouring rain. I don’t know how long I stand there. Ten . . . twenty-five minutes, rain pouring from the sky and soaking me through, and I let the pain tearing my soul from my body out. Her words have the power to break me wide open once again, and I know they would have already if I didn’t know she was full of fucking shit.

  She does need me.

  She is just terrified, and she doesn’t know what to do.

  I can understand that completely, but where I want to tackle each and every bump in the road with her by my side, she feels the need to do it all alone. It’s a defense mechanism of hers to push everyone away at the first sign of trouble.

  I’ll be damned if I let her push me anywhere.

  “Cal, hey, man. What the hell are you doing?” Griffin calls to me as he climbs from his car carrying an overnight bag.

  “Did she send you for that?” I ask.

  “Huh?” he asks, looking around the parking lot. “Oh. Yeah. She figured they would need a few nights’ worth of clothes,” he says, lifting the bag and cradling it beneath his left arm.

  “So she is still talking to you?” I ask.

  “Um yeah . . . I think so. What the hell is going on?”

  “I need you to do me a favor,” I say and then let him pull me inside, where I explain what the hell just happened and what I need from him. She may not want me around right now, and in a way, I understand that. I make her feel everything too sharply, too intensely, and right now, she can’t handle that, but she will let Griffin in, and hopefully, God willing, she won’t push him away too.

  I need someone there to keep an eye on her.

  To make sure she doesn’t get overwhelmed and end up hurting herself.

  Someone I can trust.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Amelia

  “Amie?” Carson asks as the door slams shut, waking him from his pitiful slumber. His face is pale with splotches of red high in his cheeks from sleep. The look in his eyes shows how scared he is even if he hasn’t mentioned it yet.

  Pulling back the thin white coarse bedspread, I climb in beside him, pulling him to me and kissing the top of his messy afro Mohawk.

  “Hey, baby. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay,” he whispers, his voice fighting to be heard over the beeping and pulsing of machines in the room. It kills me to hear him like this.

  “Are you sure? I heard you took a bit of a hit when you fell.”

  “I’m sure. Where’s Cal?”

  “He had to run home, baby, but he wanted me to tell you he loves you very much.”

  “Okay.”

  “Listen, baby. The doctor came while you were asleep.”

  “I know. I hearded him. He says it’s back again.” His dark, shallow eyes meet mine, and it takes everything in me to not turn away. I want to run from the room and the truth I see echoed in his gaze, but I can’t. Everyone else has already run. I won’t be the next one. I will never leave his side.

  “Yes, baby. It’s back, but I don’t want you to worry because we are going to fight it, and we are going to beat it, again and again if we have to. I won’t let it take my baby brother.”

  “Promise?” he asks as the first tear falls from his eye. He’s been trying to be strong, trying his best to hide his fear from me, but I know him better than anyone. I pull him close to my
chest, and together, we both let every ounce of fear and worry out in the stream of tears.

  By the time the tears are dried up, he is fast asleep again and the moon is high in the sky. A nurse came back in the room at some point and checked his vitals. Still no fever, which is a great thing. Once the fever hits, it’s a downhill battle that I’m not quite prepared to fight.

  As I lay there watching the clouds cross the darkened sky through the window, I wonder where Cal is. I shouldn’t have pushed him away, but everything has happened so suddenly, and I just couldn’t process it all with him in the room with me, invading my every thought. I wonder if the doctor tested him for the bone marrow match yet or if he decided he didn’t want to since I acted like a complete bitch and threw him out.

  I should call him and apologize, but I can’t.

  I don’t need him rushing back in here trying to save the day, distracting me, pulling my time and attention from Carson. He is the one who needs me right now.

  Everyone else can wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Callum

  Ten minutes.

  I just need ten minutes to grab some clothes and a few other things like deodorant. Yeah, deodorant would be great.

  I hate to leave the hospital, even if it is just for ten minutes. Even if Amelia has all but tossed me out of there. She can’t have me thrown out of the whole hospital, so I plan to wait in the lobby or the waiting room until she needs me, which she will.

  She always does.

  I wish she didn’t try to be so strong.

  I wish she would just let me be there for her from the beginning, but she won’t, and I know this. After five years of loving her, there isn’t much I don’t know about her.

  The doorbell chimes through the house, and I think about ignoring it, and then in the next second, I wonder if it has something to do with Carson, so I race down the stairs and throw the door open. My heart stops beating when I see the three officers standing on my doorstep.

  I can’t breathe.

  I don’t know how on Earth I am still standing.

  “Mr. Johnson? Can we come in?”

  “Is it Carson? Is he okay?”

  “Carson? No sir, we are not here for a Carson. Is Griffin Martin present?”

  “No. He’s at the hospital with Amelia and Carson.”

  “I see. May I?” The lead officer asks, gesturing inside, and I step out of the way, letting them pass.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We have a search warrant for the premises.”

  “A what? Why?”

  “It’s all stated here, if you’d like to read over it.”

  I take the sealed document from him and tear it open, glancing at the names at the top and then following it down to the body.

  “Drugs? We don’t do drugs.”

  “No one does, Sir. At least not when the police are at the door.”

  I don’t know what else to say, so I sit down on the bar stool and wait while they sift through my house. About fifteen minutes later, two of the officers come back carrying large black bags. They set them at the entrance to the kitchen and nod to the lead officer, who stayed with me.

  “Do you want to cooperate now, Mr. Johnson?”

  “What the fuck? No. I’ve never seen those bags in my life.”

  “I see. Mr. Johnson, you are under arrest.” He continues reading me my rights and places the handcuffs tightly around my wrist before leading me out the door and placing me in the backseat of the squad car. I can’t believe this shit. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I know for a fact that I don’t do drugs, and I haven’t ever had any type of drug in the house.

  I need my lawyer.

  Now.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amelia

  A knock on the door pulls me from sleep. I wipe my mouth on the edge of the blanket and turn to find three officers standing in the doorway with a nurse.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Hart. I asked them to wait, but they insisted.”

  My pulse jumps.

  Callum.

  Please God, no. I can’t lose anyone else right now.

  “No, its fine,” I reply, crawling out of the bed and trying my best not to awaken Carson.

  “Would you mind stepping out in the hall, Miss Hart?” The tallest officer asks. I read his badge. Carter.

  Officer Carter.

  I don’t reply, walking on wobbly legs past them all into the hall. I pause outside the door and wait for one of them to give me the news that I know will break me in two.

  “Miss Hart, do you currently reside at 1410 Marbury Lane with Callum Johnson and Griffin Martin?”

  “Yea—Yes. I do. I just moved in there a few days ago, after I had an accident.”

  The cop nods his head like he already knows this and leads straight into his next question.

  “And what is your relationship with the gentlemen above?”

  “Um . . . Cal, I mean, Callum, and I are a couple . . . sort of. I think. And Griffin is his roommate.”

  “How long have you and Mr. Johnson been dating?”

  “I’m sorry, but what is the point of this?”

  The officer in the back, who up until now has been completely silent, steps up. “Miss Hart, how long have you been selling drugs for Mr. Johnson and Mr. Martin?”

  “What?” I squeal. Of all the things I expected to hear them say, this is, by far, the last thing I ever anticipated.

  “Drugs, Miss Hart. Specifically, marijuana.”

  “I don’t sell drugs. They don’t sell drugs. What are you talking about?”

  “Miss Hart.” Officer Carter is speaking again, trying to diffuse the situation, “I know we got you at a bad time and that you have a lot going on, but in situations like this, it is best for you to cooperate with the law as much as possible.”

  “Of course. I understand that.”

  “Why don’t you come you down to the station in the morning so we can discuss this more in detail?”

  “But—”

  “Let me rephrase. It would be in your best interest and the best interest of your family for you to come down and speak to us of your own accord tomorrow morning. Here is my card.”

  I stand there, frozen, as they disappear one by one down the hall and around the corner, wondering what the hell just happened.

  Drugs?

  Walking back into the room, I check on Carson and then grab my cellphone. Six missed calls, all from a private number. I dial Callum’s cell and wait, only to be met with his voicemail. Hanging up, I call Griffin’s. Halfway through my call, the private number beeps in. I press accept.

  “Hello?”

  “Please press five to accept a collect call from . . . Callum.” The automated voice speaks over the line, followed by Cal saying his name. I press five and wait for him to come on line.

  “Hey, baby, are you there?”

  “Cal? What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie, but I am going to find out.”

  “The cops just left here, Cal. They said you and Griff were selling marijuana? They said I was selling drugs!”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Listen, baby, I’ll handle this. I promise. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I won’t let you go down for anything.”

  “What about Carson? What about—”

  “It’s going to be okay, Amelia. Do you hear me? Carson will still get what he needs. This is just a bump in the road.”

  “Okay.”

  “Alright. Listen I’ve got to go. I’ll try to call you again in the morning if my lawyer doesn’t have me out by then. I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Callum

  I pace back and forth in the cell, waiting on my lawyer to show up. It’s been two hours since I spoke to him and an hour and fifty-nine minutes longer than I wanted to have to wait in this filth, waiting to be released. This is the last place I need to be right now. I am suppo
sed to be by Amelia’s side, helping her through this time of need, not adding to the fuckery.

  I’d like to wrap my hands around the neck of whoever decided to trump up these bogus ass charges against me and Griff. One good squeeze would feel great right about now. I haven’t even gotten a chance to speak to Griff yet. They booked him in and locked his ass up tight in a cell down the hall as far away from me as they could get him. I guess in their minds, they needed to make sure we didn’t corroborate stories or some shit, but really, I just wanted to know if he had any idea what this shit was about.

  Pieces from the last few months keep coming back to me in spurts. Like the ad in the paper with him looking for a roomie and the brief telephone interview. I shake my head, pushing all those thoughts away. I’ve lived with Griffin for almost seven months, and in that time, the only thing he’s kept from me is the fact that he’s gay. Not that I give two fucks.

  There is no way he is a drug dealer.

  I would have known.

  “Johnson.”

  My name is called, and I don’t waste any time getting to the gate.

  “Step back.”

  I take a step back and wait for him to open the gate and usher me through. The clank of metal against metal vibrates through me as the gate slams back closed. I follow the guard to booking, where he hands over my belongings and then points toward the exit door.

  The first thing I feel when I step outside is the cool, moist air on my face. It’s got to be close to nine in the morning. The sun is up bright in the sky, already warming the streets of St Louis.

  “Mr. Johnson, good to see you again.”

  “Mr. Goins.” I nod my head toward him and walk toward the car I can only assume is his. It’s the only Lexus in the lot, and it’s still running. My suspicions are confirmed when he climbs in the driver’s seat. I settle into the passenger seat and relax for the first time in twelve hours. I feel disgusting. I never got a chance to take a shower last night, so I’m still covered in sweat from yesterday’s game and I stink from being caged in a nasty ass jail cell all night. I need to soak in bleach for about an hour and then scrub my skin with an S.O.S pad and scalding hot water.