Touchdowns and Tiaras: The Complete Boxed Set

by Frost, Sosie

  She sighed. “Me?”

  “You didn’t enter my life; you gave it meaning. You made it worth something more than stats and injuries and whatever pride a number on a jersey gave me. And I didn’t just get you…I also got Genie.” I pulled her closer. “My second wish was that the baby would be mine.”

  Rory cried, but she didn’t brush away the tears. “Of course she’s yours. I wish she was your blood, but—”

  “That doesn’t matter. I love her. I love you.” I kissed her once more. “My third wish is that you’ll let me keep loving you. That we can be together. That we…endure this together.”

  “It was wrong of me to leave you,” she said. “The baby needs you. I need you. And I want to help you, Jude. I’ll be there, every step of the way. I promise.”

  I grinned. “I never knew I wanted something as much as this game.”

  “If it helps, you’ve already won my heart.”

  “Doc, I haven’t even started working for it yet. That changes now.” I bumped her head back for a kiss. “I’ve gotta go win a football game, but the instant I’m in your arms…”

  “You focus on the game first, All-Star. You better bring Genie home a win.”

  “Don’t waste a wish on that.” I kissed her. She tasted like roses and sweetness. “I’ll make you proud.”

  “Just don’t make me worry.”

  The guys poured from the locker room, heading to the field to warm-up. I glanced at her tummy. She was ready to pop, and I had no idea how she remained standing.

  “You’re making me worry,” I said. “Are you sitting with Leah and Piper?”

  “We’ve got ourselves a luxury box right next to the bathrooms.” She patted her belly. “Probably the best seat in the house while Genie bounces on my bladder.”

  “Go. I’ll find you after…during the celebration.”

  She pulled me in for a kiss once more. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  A wayward hand struck my shoulder pads. Jack hauled me from Rory with a shake of his head.

  “Wine and dine her later, All-Star,” he said. “We got a game to win.”

  I hesitated only to rub her tummy. Jack swore, ripped his glove off, and did the same.

  “Can’t hurt,” he laughed. “Thanks, Rory. Keep an eye on Leah?”

  “I’ll strap her to her seat if the game gets rough.”

  “Hmm, restraints.” Jack grinned. “Might have to try that. Maybe that will do the trick.”

  Rory waved goodbye and waddled through the tunnel, aiming for the VIP boxes somewhere above the field. Jack’s voice stayed low.

  He walked with me to the field. “I thought you weren’t playing.”

  “I tried.”

  “What happened?”

  “I…wasn’t given a choice.”

  He swore. “Can you handle this?”

  “It’s never stopped me before. I’m gonna get you that win.”

  “And I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

  I followed our quarterback to the field. We led the guys through the warm-ups and returned to the locker room before player introductions.

  This was it.

  Ten minutes to go until the biggest game of our fucking lives.

  My heart pounded too quick, keeping most of my nerves suppressed under the rush of blood through my ears. The constant woosh was a comfort at least. Better than the crush and grunts of the linebackers who would soon aim for me.

  Jack gathered the team in the tunnel, pulling us together with shaken hands and slaps to our helmets. He didn’t have to hop a bench for his speech, we gave him our attention. He shouted over the roar of the crowd.

  “This isn’t a game anymore! We have an opportunity, men. And we’re going to seize it.”

  The guys cheered. Jack held up a hand to silence them.

  “I’m looking around, and you know what I see?” he asked. “Men who have been defined not by their actions, but by their reputations. Men shackled to their images. Bad boys. Beasts. Adrenaline junkies. All-Stars. They define us by what they think they see in us. Trouble-makers and men looking for a score. Men who aim to hurt. Men who live dangerously. Men who are nothing but a statistic.”

  The guys quieted. Jack grinned.

  “I see more. I see men who I’m proud to call my friends. Men who want to be protectors instead of monsters. Men who put their families first. Men who are just learning what family is, and that they aren’t in this world, on this team, alone.”

  A few men clapped. My adrenaline surged, and it felt good. Clean.

  I was ready.

  Jack held his arms out. “You know we aren’t stereotypical, bad boy jocks. We’re a team. And we’re not just taking the field looking for a win. We’re playing tonight to prove who we really are. We’re proud.” The team cheered. “Fierce!” They grunted. “The baddest motherfuckers on the field!” The guys hollered.

  “Fertile!” Lachlan pumped his fist in the air.

  Jack crossed his fingers. “Holy fuck, I hope so.”

  The guys laughed, but Jack wasn’t done. He met every single stare, faced his men, and grinned.

  “We are more than just the number on our jerseys and the reputations that precede us. We’re a team. We’re a family.” He held his hand up. We joined him, each man reaching into the huddle. “We made it where we are fair and square. And now? We’re gonna win!”

  The team roared just as the announcers introduced the players.

  The stadium rocked with excitement, and we rushed onto the sidelines to prepare for the greatest game of our lives. Music swelled. The fans screamed. And the team braced for kickoff.

  Then we hit a goddamned wall.

  I’d played twelve years in the league. Held more rushing records than I could count. And I’d never played a game where every yard, every inch we gained was wrung from our own blood.

  We managed a field goal in the second quarter after Jack took a blistering hit and nearly stayed down. He clawed his way out of the grass, hobbling to the sidelines. His limp matched Lachlan’s. And no one bled as much as Cole, breaking his nose the old-fashioned way and dripping over his jersey, the field, and every towel offered to him.

  Half-time was a welcomed relief. We crowded in the locker room, fucking exhausted, staring at a score of seven to three. I didn’t expect to go into the second half losing, but I sure as hell wasn’t letting it stand. I’d been stuffed at the line, held, tackled the instant the ball touched my hands.

  No more.

  We dragged our broken and bruised bodies into the fourth quarter, but the score stayed the same.

  We needed a touchdown, and no way in fucking hell was I letting this game end without earning those six points. Not now. Not after the career that got me here, the blackmail that kept me on the team, and the woman watching in the VIP seats above.

  With five minutes remaining, Coach Thompson ordered a hurry-up offense. Time had stopped while we lined up on the thirty, and we were closer to the end zone than we’d been all day.

  Jack relayed the play to the huddle. A pass.

  “No.” I grunted the words through sheer exhaustion. “Give me the ball.”

  Jack eyed the team. “Think you can get through?”

  “They’re expecting a pass. Give me the ball. I’ll get our yardage.”

  “You sure?”

  Lachlan agreed. “I’m getting nowhere. They’ve been all over me down field. I want a chance to block and hit one of these fuckers myself.”

  Jack grinned. “That’s all I needed to hear. Wait for the audible.”

  We broke the huddle, and I lined up behind Jack, heart-pounding. The tremor in my hand had cleared, and the throbbing pain in my head dulled.

  This was it.

  One chance. One good run, and we’d change the momentum of the entire fucking game. I had to get the guys a little closer to the goal. Open up the field.

  Jack barked the audible. No fog this time. My mind immediately deciphered the play
-call.

  A run up the middle, just as I’d asked.

  I felt it—that instinct when I knew I’d break through the line of scrimmage. Sweat dripped in my eyes. I cracked my fingers as I clenched a fist.

  Jack shouted for the snap. I raced forward and took the hand-off, securing it against my midsection and bursting into the fray. Bodies twisted. Men swore. Blood pumped.

  And I found my daylight.

  I bent, churned, and rushed through. Past the linebackers and into the open field. Through the secondary as they broke ranks and turned to chase me.

  The end zone lay before me…undefended.

  The stadium thundered as I sprinted the field. I cut outside, chasing the sidelines as the hash marks counted down for me.

  The twenty.

  The fifteen.

  The ten.

  The defense closed in. I saw the safety rushing across the field, full-speed and aiming for me.

  I could either brace for the hit or cross into the end zone. I chose wrong.

  I dove across the goal line, slamming into the painted grass just as the safety struck me.

  Full force. Helmet first, he crashed against my head.

  My vision immediately blackened.

  I fell.

  And the only image I saw in the darkness was a memory of Rory.

  24

  Rory

  I gripped my tummy. The Braxton Hicks contractions weren’t fucking around now.

  They made a tense game entirely too uncomfortable. I checked my watch. I’d been cramping on and off since the first quarter. With five minutes left in the fourth, I was ready to get up, go for a walk, lay down, curl up, do anything to get cozy again.

  I rubbed my back. Even that hurt.

  Leah stopped pacing long enough to shake her head at me. “You do realize that you’re in labor?”

  “I am not.” My voice cracked as a painful cramp eeked through me. “I’m fine.”

  Piper held both of her children in her lap. Rose bounced and giggled, waving frantically at a sleepy Sammy punking out on Leah’s shoulder. Ethan slept soundly, despite his mother’s frantic cheering whenever Cole took the field.

  “Take it from me,” Piper said. “You’re having contractions. You’re in labor.”

  I laughed. “I’m the one with the medical degree. This is false labor. I have ten days to go yet.”

  Leah held out her phone. The text from Elle was a betrayal.

  She’s definitely in labor. Tell her good luck!

  I sighed. “And tell Elle to keep working. Doesn’t she have a game to photograph?”

  “She might have a birth announcement to do soon,” Piper grinned.

  “I’m fine.” I gritted my teeth. “It’s just…uncomfortable.”

  Leah agreed. “Probably because you’re pushing out an eight-pound watermelon. It might pinch a little.”

  “Well, I’ll let you know in a week. When I’ll actually be delivering this baby.”

  “A week. Two hours. Who’s counting?”

  This was ridiculous. I ignored the women—the very experienced women who had already given birth and knew the signs—and focused on the game instead.

  The team lined up on the thirty, and I had no nails left to bite. We were down by four in a hard-hitting, harder-scoring game. We needed something, anything, to get ahead.

  “Jack’s audibling.” Leah was a better color commentator than any TV announcer. “He’s changing the play. What the hell is he—Come on, Jack! Snap the damn ball!”

  We all flinched, including Genie. Apparently she was tired of the low scoring game as well.

  That…or she wanted a front-row seat.

  The ball snapped, and Jack handed off to Jude. My chest clenched, but he broke through the line and into the clear. He raced down the field in a dead sprint, just as fast and powerful as he was when he was ten years younger. The rocketed to their feet. I followed, just a little slower.

  My stomach clenched as hard as rock, but I didn’t think it was the excitement.

  Uh-oh.

  Jude leapt into the end zone.

  “Touchdown!” Piper and Leah screamed together. The kids shouted too.

  I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t cheer. Couldn’t do anything but stare.

  My body blitzed in a sudden shock of pain.

  And Jude didn’t get up.

  The team scattered to the end zone to celebrate, but their cheers were short-lived. Jack raced back across the field, shouting for the medical staff.

  Jude was down.

  Limp.

  Lifeless.

  “Oh God.” Leah grabbed my arm. “Rory—”

  I didn’t let myself panic.

  “I’ve gotta get down there.” I headed to the door and gasped. “I have to…help…”

  Something wet wooshed down my leg, drenching my skirt.

  Well, that wasn’t good.

  “Oh, no.” Piper leapt away from the torrent of inconvenience that gushed like a freaking fountain from my nether regions. “Your water just broke!”

  Leah’s eyes widened. “We have to get you out of here. You need to go to the hospital!”

  “No.” I checked my cell phone and set a timer. “I have to go to Jude.”

  “Rory, you’re in labor.”

  “I don’t care. He’s hurt.”

  I would not get upset. I had flipped out enough this week. Cried when the peanut butter jar was empty. Cried harder when I was covered in sticky peanut butter after reaching inside the container for the last swipe. Lost my mind completely when I got stuck in the bathtub trying to rinse away the rest of the peanut butter.

  But now things were serious.

  Jude was hurt. Badly. The trainers still attended him on the field, and the cart was rolling over to take him away. He could move, so the hit hadn’t paralyzed him, but I’d never worried about anything below his neck. Jude was half-man, half-ox. Nothing slowed him down except for his rattled head.

  And they’d need my help with that.

  I could still walk, but I was…dripping. That was entirely too gross for the VIP booth. Leah left Sammy with Piper, but Piper was already on the phone with her father, Jude’s agent. Paul Madison was on his way, though she whispered in warning that he should probably meet Jude at the hospital.

  Leah and I detoured into the bathroom. I gripped the sink, nearly cracking it in two as another contraction squeezed the air out of me.

  I tried to pat myself dry, but I wasn’t getting to the locker room anytime fast. Fortunately, Piper and Leah’s connections to the team’s management delivered a security guard with a cart.

  Leah hopped on.

  I did my best and beached myself like a whale on the tailgate of a go-kart.

  The blinking yellow light cleared the path through the stadium…my leaking kept the crowds from following. I figured I’d be blubbering after the game—either from a win or loss. But no one mentioned washing out the championship game in a tsunami of my own soup.

  The game continued, but the action poured into the locker room. The team doctor kept Jude on the cart. Leah helped me down, and I hurried to him, pushing the trainers from my path and ripping a stethoscope off of one of the interns.

  Jude sat up…but it wasn’t him. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t really speak. He clutched at his chest repeatedly, scaring the ever-loving hell of out of the staff who thought he had a rib injury too. I cleared them away.

  “He’s trying to protect the football,” I said. “His mind is still on the field. Jude?”

  I ripped a pen-light out of another trainer’s hands. Louisa edged the doctor from her path and tossed on a blood pressure cuff. She checked his vitals and stuck an oxygen monitor onto his finger.

  His pupils were dilated, only mildly, but that gave me no comfort. He didn’t respond to his name.

  I called it again, louder.

  “Jude?” I spoke clearly. “I need you to listen to me. I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”

  But I sure as
hell wasn’t.

  I shifted away from him, holding my stomach. That contraction was…bigger than the last. I pulled my phone out and marked the time since the previous one.

  Seven minutes?

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I grunted.

  Louisa stared at me, eyes wide. “Rory, are you in…”

  “Yeah, it’s just a baby.” I ignored the panicked glances of the medical staff and concentrated on Jude. I took both of his hands in mine. “Jude…listen to me. I want you to squeeze my fingers. Both hands. Lemme feel it.”

  “You’re beautiful…” He stared at me. “I know you.”

  Oh boy. “Squeeze my hands. We don’t have much time.”

  Louisa fretted. “Rory, we have to get you to the hospital.”

  “I’ll go when he goes.”

  Jude squeezed. Weakly. At least I got a reaction from him. He smiled, winced, then smiled again.

  “You’re having a baby.” His words were slow.

  “Believe me, I’m well-aware. Can you squeeze only with your right hand?”

  “My baby?”

  I refused to cry. He needed me strong. I needed to be strong. Genie needed me strong.

  In fact, she was demanding it.

  “Yes, Jude. It’s your baby. Squeeze my hand.”

  He didn’t squeeze. His brow furrowed. “When…did we have a baby?”

  “About…” I guesstimated in my head. “Six hours from now. Squeeze my other hand.”

  “His vitals are good,” Louisa said. “I’ll check again in five minutes and see if they’re deteriorating.”

  “Thank you.” I waited for Jude to squeeze my left hand. “Can you touch your nose for me?”

  He poked himself in the eye. Swore. Tried to get off the cart.

  “Outta my way.” He batted at Louisa. “I’m having a baby. Gotta…get an epidural for Rory.”

  “And this is why I love you,” I said. “Any other day I’d let you quest for painkillers, but I really need you to sit down now.”

  I glanced at the training staff. Their expressions revealed the same dread I felt. Though they didn’t have an actively laboring baby stomping on their knotted stomach as well.

  Jude obeyed me, but he grasped his head before throwing up.