The Problem with Sports
Page 1
the Problem
WITH SPORTS
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Copyright 2020 Monica Clayton
Published by M.E. Clayton
All Rights Reserved
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. The entire content is a product of the author’s imagination and all names, places, businesses, and incidences are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), places or occurrences, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner, whatsoever, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Formatting: Smashwords
Cover: Adobe Stock
Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 years of age and over.
Table of Contents
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Author's Note
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Playlist
Prologue
1. Andrea
2. Nathan
3. Andrea
4. Nathan
5. Andrea
6. Nathan
7. Andrea
8. Nathan
9. Andrea
10.Nathan
11. Andrea
12. Nathan
13. Andrea
14. Nathan
15. Andrea
16. Nathan
17. Andrea
18. Nathan
19. Andrea
20. Nathan
21. Andrea
22. Nathan
23. Andrea
24. Nathan
25. Andrea
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books
Contact Me
Newsletter Sign-Up
Author’s Note
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Just a couple of things before I let you go and get your read on. While I am doing my best to work with better editing and proofreading software, all my books are solo, independent works. I write my books, proofread my books, edit my books, create the covers, etc. I have one beta who gives me feedback on my stories, but other than that, all my books are independent projects.
That being said, I apologize, in advance, for the typos, grammar inconsistencies, or any other mistakes I may make. Since writing is strictly a hobby for me, I haven’t looked into commitments in regard to publishers, editors, etc. My hope is that my stories are enjoyable enough that a few mistakes, here and there, can be overlooked. However, if you’re a stickler for grammar, my books are probably not for you.
Also, I am an avid reader-I mean an AVID reader. I love to read above any other hobby. However, the only downside to my reading obsession is when I fall in love with a series, but I have to wait for the additional books to come out. And because I feel that disappointment down to my soul, when I started publishing my works, I vowed to publish all books in my series all at once. No waiting here…LOL. Now, the exception to that will be if enough readers request additional stories based off the standalone, such as in Facing the Enemy. At that point, if I decide to move forward with a requested series, I will make sure all additional books are available all at once. As much as this is a hobby for me, I am writing these books for all of you, as well as myself.
Thank you, for everything!
Acknowledgements
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The first acknowledgement will always be my husband. There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude for having this man in my life. There is a little bit of him in every hero I dream up, and I can’t thank God enough for bringing him into my life. Thirty years, and still going strong!
Second, there’s my family; my daughter, my son, my grandchildren, my sister, and my mother. Family is everything, and I have one of the best. They are truly the best cheerleaders I could ever ask for, and I never forget just how truly blessed I am to have them in my life.
And, of course, there’s Kamala. This woman is not only my beta and idea guinea pig, she’s one of my closest friends. She’s been with me from the beginning of this journey, and we’re going to ride this thing to the end. Kam’s the encouragement that sparked it all, folks.
And, finally, I’d like to thank everyone who’s purchased, read, reviewed, shared, and supported me and my writing. Thank you so much for helping make this dream a reality and a happy, fun one at that! I cannot say thank you enough!
Dedication
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For My Readers –
You guys really, really are the best!
Playlist
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Nothing to Hide – Poco
Falls on Me – Fuel
Whatever It Takes – Lifehouse
Smooth – Santana ft. Rob Thomas
The Scientist – Coldplay
Take A Bow – Rihanna
Call It Love – Poco
The Fighter – Keith Urban ft. Carrie Underwood
Good Is Good – Sheryl Crow
What Does It Take – Honeymoon Suite
Prologue
“I…I understand if you need a moment,” he said, his voice a practiced tone of compassion and patience.
Okay.
It could be worse, right?
Sure, they couldn’t tell us what caused it, but did that really matter? What mattered was that it happened, and we needed to figure out how to move forward with it.
I looked over at Steven, and his head was bowed, his hands clasped before him. He looked like he’d gotten the worst news ever. But he hadn’t.
We hadn’t.
I looked back at Dr. Sorenson. “So, we just…have to monitor his activities, right?”
Dr. Sorenson smiled kindly. “Childhood interstitial lung disease varies from child to child,” he said. “Though, it is a rare lung condition, chILD is not necessarily a debilitating diagnosis, Mrs. Hansen. The bronchoalveolar lavage showed no signs of lung injury, and that’s a very good thing for Grant.”
Steven remained silent, but I couldn’t worry about him right now. I needed to understand what chILD meant for Grant. The poor thing was only five-years-old. “So…will he need inhalers and stuff?”
“It’s a little more serious than that, but, yes, he’ll need emergency inhalers. However, he may also need steroids, antimicrobial drug treatments, or bronchodilators should he have any breathing episodes,” he explained. “It’s quite possible he could be hospitalized and placed on a ventilator, often, during his childhood, Mrs. Hansen.”
I nodded nervously. “O…okay,” I mumbled. “Then-”
“So, you’re telling me that Grant’s never going to be able to run around, jump on a trampoline, play sports, nothing?” Steven asked, finally speaking.
“Mr. Hansen, I understand-”
“Understand what, Doctor?” Steven rudely cut in. “Do you have a son you can’t play with? Do you have a son who’ll never play sports or live a normal life?”
Dr. Sorenson placed his arms on his desk and leaned forward. “There are many children who do not play sports, Mr. Hansen,” he pointed out. “Lots of children are academically incl-”
“I didn’t have a son just to watch him do math problems, Dr. Sorenson,” Steven spat.
Steven looked over at me “What, Andrea?” he barked. “He’s basically telling us that Grant’s going to be worthless. And-”
My eyes bugged and my blood fired hot. “Are you out of your mind?” I choked out. “He said no such thing, Ste-”
“He’s not going to be able to do anything, Andre,” he said, cutting me off. “What’s a little boy if he can’t run around with his friends or play any sports?”
This asshole.
“He’s a little boy who is alive. And while has a serious lung condition, it could be worse,” I fired back. “Who gives a shit if Grant won’t be able to play soccer as long as he’s alive!”
“Mr. Hansen, Mrs. Hansen, I think it’s best to hold off on this kind of discussion until you’ve both had time to work through your emotions, and maybe, do a little more research on chILDs,” Dr. Sorenson suggested. “Emotions can sometimes cause a situation to become more disruptive than it needs to be.”
Steven stood up, and you could feel the fury coming off him in waves. “Well, since you just handed my wife the daughter she’s always wanted, I’d say I’m probably the only one who needs to work through his emotions,” he snarled, his words doing more damage than he could possibly understand.
“Do you really need to be such a bastard about this, Steven?” I snapped. He was sneering down at me as if this were all my fault somehow. “This isn’t about you, Steven. This is about our son.”
“A son who might as well be our daughter.” I stood up, but before I could deck the sonofabitch, he added, “You better be ready to give me more children, Andrea, because I refuse to let this be it.” He stormed out of Dr. Sorensen’s office before I could respond.
But what would I say?
What do you say in response to something so devastatingly heartbreaking?
Chapter 1
Andrea – (Three Years Later)~
There was more to life than sports.
There was art, academia, dance, Pokémon cards, all kinds of other things. But looking into the living room, Grant was sitting down, dressed from head to toe in Condors baseball garb, staring at the television. And if he wasn’t watching baseball, he was watching football. And if he wasn’t watching football, he was watching basketball. And if he wasn’t watching basketball, he was watching hockey. And if he wasn’t watching hockey…well, you get the picture.
Now, while the kid was sharp as a tack, his first love was sports. I think the only reason he excelled in school was because he wanted to be good at something, and since sports were out of the question, he tackled what he could do with all the determination of an eight-year-old boy.
And he seemed happy.
That was the most important thing about all this. Grant seemed happy, even if he couldn’t play sports. He seemed happy to be able to admire his idols through the television. Maybe it was because he didn’t know any different, so he didn’t feel cheated. But whatever it was, I was grateful he seemed happy.
But even though I believed he was happy, I still made sure I did my best not to make his chILDs the focal point of his life. It was the reason I had moved into this condo after my divorce. There was no big backyard as a temptation to want to play outside, and the city park was damn near across town, so there wasn’t that temptation either. I knew he played a bit at school, but all the teachers knew about his condition, and Grant took it seriously, even at the tender age of eight.
After Grant had been diagnosed with chILDs, things had gone downhill really quickly. While I had spent all my extra time researching chILDs and working with Dr. Sorenson on reasonable expectations for Grant, Steven had spiraled into self-depression. He had really believed that Grant had been lost to everything that made him a boy, and there’d been no talking him out of it. He couldn’t get past this imagined life where he’d never get to play ball with his son, and I just couldn’t understand how he just couldn’t be happy that Grant was alive and the odds of him living a long life were extremely favorable.
Things had really gotten ugly when I had refused to have any more children with him. It wasn’t that I had been opposed to having more kids, but I wasn’t about to have them with someone who could so easily dismiss the one we’d already had. Besides, I’d had enough on my plate at the time with learning everything I could to help Grant lead as normal a life as possible.
A year later, Steven had walked out, and a quiet divorce had quickly followed. I had been heartbroken, but heartbroken for losing the man that I had married. Not heartbroken over losing the man he had become.
And now, he picked up Grant every weekend, but that was okay with me. I preferred having Grant with me as much as possible, so I could keep an eye on him. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Steven to care for him properly, it was just that I was Grant’s mother; that’s it, that’s all.
“You know, Mom,” Grant called from the couch, “with all the trades happening, the season is in for a real shake up.”
I walked further into the living room, then sat on the armrest of the couch. “Really?” As much as I couldn’t care less about sports, it was hard not to know a thing or two with how much Grant followed them. You’d be amazed at the sports trivia I knew. “And which sport are we talking about?” He was watching baseball, but…
“Football, Mom,” he said, his tone clearly indicating that I should know this.
I nodded, though he wasn’t even looking my way. “Of course,” I agreed. It was July, and I knew football preseason was going to start in August, and so, even though he was watching baseball right now, that didn’t mean anything.
“The draft wasn’t too impressive, except for the running back from Oregon State, but I think I’m going to reserve any harsh judgements until after preseason.” My lips curled in between my teeth, and I did my best not to laugh.
My kid was one of a kind.
“And Joel Schumacher’s injury is career ending, poor guy,” he said sympathetically.
“Joel Schumacher?”
Grant looked over at me-because commercial-and said, “The forward for the Oaks, Mom.” Ah, basketball. “The poor guy isn’t even two years into his contract.”
Poor guy, indeed.
I knew I was going to lose him as soon as the commercials were over, so I said, “Hey, Grandma and Grandpa Miller sent me a text to tell you they’ll be Skype calling you later this evening.” Grant smiled his excitement, but quickly focused his attention back on the game.
My parents, Donald and Mindy Miller, were retired and living on a small ranch in Montana. My father used to own a bar, which my brother, Justin, now owns and operates, and my mother used to be a city clerk. They had fallen in love with Montana a few years ago when they’d gone on vacation there, and when they decided to retire last year, that’s where they had chosen to do it.
Justin was thirty-three, but he’s been working at the bar since way before it was legal for him to be. He had begun working there in college, and two years into the collegiate lifestyle, he’d told Mom and Dad he wanted the bar. Even though Justin was older than me by three years, they had asked me how I had felt about it, and when I had made I clear that I’d had no interest in the bar, Dad had brought him onboard, and the rest was history.
And while I had met Steven in college, and had gotten married early, Justin hadn’t gotten married until about three years ago. I was happy for my brother, but it kind of sucked that our children were going to be so gapped in age. Grant was already eight, and while Justin and Nancy were pregnant right now, our kids were going to be damn near ten years apart. Justin might be three years older than me, but I was the one who had gotten an early start with marriage and children.
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I headed into the kitchen to start dinner when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and smiled at the name flashing across the screen. Of course, I answered. “Hey.”
“His name is Ted, he’s a real estate developer, he’s divorced with one daughter, and he’s got two brothers.” I closed my eyes, and almost thumped my head against the cabinet overhead.
Instead of giving myself brain damage, or a very big bruise, I let out a deep sigh. Rachel Filmore was my very best friend, and she has been for years. Unfortunately, she was very happily married and that made her think all women needed a man to be happy.
I didn’t agree or disagree.
“Rachel,” I bemoaned, “how many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested in blind dating?”
“It’s been two years, Andie,” she reminded me, but, trust me, I didn’t need reminding.
I grabbed a frying pan out of the cabinet. “I’m not opposed to meeting someone, Rach,” I replied, feeling like we have this conversation at least once a week. “I just don’t care for blind dating.”
“Ugh,” she sighed dramatically.
I really didn’t have anything against dating, and I wasn’t still hung up on Steven. Yeah, there were still these disheartening moments when the good memories would make random appearances in my mind, but I wasn’t still in love with Steven. And while two years might seem like a long time, it really wasn’t. Not when you had spent those two years picking up the pieces of your broken marriage, while at the same time, learning everything you could about your child’s illness. When Grant and I had moved into this place, almost a year ago, it was the first time since he’d been diagnosed with chILD that I’d felt like I could finally breathe. It had felt like things were finally beginning to settle, and it had felt…reassuring.
I wasn’t sure if Steven was dating anyone right now or not, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were. He wanted more children, and I knew, no matter how many times he’s apologized for the remark, that, deep down, he really wanted another son. One who wasn’t broken. However, we didn’t talk about our personal lives with one another. I dropped off Grant on Thursday evenings, and he dropped Grant off on Sunday evenings. That’s it; no more, no less.