by Alice Gaines
She’d still have to work hard, but she’d do it on her own terms. If only she could have told Grant…
Chapter Eight
A trip to the head coach’s office shouldn’t feel like a visit to the principal, but Grant couldn’t help feeling that it meant bad news. Most of the time, conversations with Brad Simmons happened on the field, either during practice or a game. So going to the office meant he was going to hear something the coach didn’t want the others to know about.
He’d had a good season last year. Only a few interceptions, they’d made the play-offs, no major injuries. Training camp had gone well. They’d won their first pre-season game, with Jimmy Harrington at the helm. And there it was—the reason for his sour stomach. Harrington.
When he got to Brad’s office, he knocked on the open door. Brad looked up from his computer and smiled. “Come on in, Grant. And close the door.”
Yet another sign this was private. Brad couldn’t be calling him on the carpet for anything, and he wasn’t going to bench him. He needed to chill. He took a seat in one of the visitors’ chairs across from Brad. “You wanted to see me.”
“I did.” Brad tipped his executive chair back. “You’ve been watching the Harrington kid, right?”
“Couldn’t miss him.”
“What do you think about him?” Brad asked.
“As a person?”
Brad chuckled. “He has a very distinct personality, doesn’t he?”
“That isn’t the word I’d use.” Hotshot. Arrogant SOB. Twerp. All those things came to mind.
“I want to know what you think of him as a player,” Brad said. “Does he have it in him to win in the NFL?”
“Shouldn’t you ask the coaches that?”
“I did ask them. Now, I’m asking you.”
Great. He had to evaluate his successor. No, his competitor for the only job he’d ever wanted—the only one he was qualified for. Still, he wasn’t going to lie to Brad. If he told Brad the kid sucked and the kid went on to win for another team, he’d be a SOB himself. Besides, Brad had given him his first shot at the big leagues. He owed Brad total honesty.
“Harrington acts like a jerk off the field, but when the rubber meets the road, he’s solid,” Grant said. “He has a great work ethic, and he stays calm under pressure.”
“That’s what the coaches tell me, too.”
“If you add in his natural talents—speed and strength—I think he has it in him to be a starting QB, at the least,” Grant said. “He might even turn out to be a great one.”
“That’s your honest assessment?” Brad asked.
“I have no reason to tell you something I don’t believe.” Especially something flattering about his competition. “Harrington’s definitely not a wasted draft pick.”
“Thanks, Grant.” Brad didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and the two of them just looked at each other. “Have you thought about how many more years you’re going to want to play?”
Oh, man. Talk about a freight train coming right at you. He should have seen it. “I’m not over the hill yet.”
“No, of course not. You’re my starter for the foreseeable future.”
Why did people use that phrase? No one could foresee the future. In his position, Brad had to be vague about what was coming down the pike. If the team started losing games, Brad would have to make adjustments, and if that meant ditching the old QB for the new one, so be it. “I’m not ready to plan for retirement for at least a few years.”
“Glad to hear it.” Brad’s smile seemed somewhat less authentic than it had when Grant had first come in. “In the meantime, though, we’ll need to bring Harrington along. It takes years to train an NFL quarterback.”
Didn’t Grant know that? He’d had to sit on the bench and watch his predecessor while he’d learned the ropes. College ball was great, but this was a whole different league, with different offenses to learn. And he’d had to learn to read defenses, too, because he liked keeping his head between his shoulders.
“We’d like for you to mentor Jimmy,” Brad said.
“You mean…be like his dad?”
“No, no, no.” Brad held his hands out in a gesture that was supposed to reassure Grant. “More like a teacher.”
In other words, he was supposed to train his replacement. He should have seen that coming, too. Well, the QB before him had helped him out, at least some. Besides, it might be fun to rub it in that the twerp had a lot to learn. Grant could call him “son” and “kid.” That might irritate Harrington. “I’ll do what I can.”
“We’re going to play Jimmy a bit more. Give him some experience,” Brad said. “He did well the first time we put him out there.”
Maybe the twerp could get his block knocked off, too. Grant could sit on the bench and watch that happen.
“Of course, we’ll only play him in games where the score’s out of control,” Brad said. More reassurance. “You’re our go-to guy, Grant.”
“Anything else you wanted?”
“That’s it.”
Grant got up. “I’ll go find the kid and instill a little wisdom.”
“Thanks.” Brad returned to his computer. The meeting had ended.
Halfway to the locker room, his phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket and discovered a whole new kind of trouble. His mother was on the line, and he hadn’t called her since he’d told Beth he would. She’d want to know what happened with Katy, and he didn’t have the answers he knew she wanted to hear.
He ducked into a conference room to answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“My son is alive. I was beginning to wonder.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been busy.”
“A phone call doesn’t take long,” she said. “I want to know how you are. Anything new and exciting I should hear about?”
She meant the interview he’d done in New Jersey—the one where he’d told the world he and Katy were “exploring possibilities.” He went to the conference table and sat down. “We won our first pre-season game.”
“I watched it,” she said. “They played the Harrington kid.”
So, she knew half of the story of his current life. She’d find out the other half in a few minutes, and she was not going to be happy. “Yeah.”
“Are they treating you right?”
He could almost laugh. They weren’t in the business of treating their employees well. They had to win games. He hadn’t stopped doing that, so yeah, everything was great. “Fine, Mom. Don’t take the pre-season too seriously.”
There was silence on the other end. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”
“No, Mom. I’m great.” He was a bit stiff from all the workouts, but what did he expect? His thirty-two-year-old body didn’t take them as well as it once had.
“You’d tell me, Grant, wouldn’t you?”
“I would.” No, he wouldn’t, but for now, he could honestly tell her he was fine. “No injuries. I’m as fit as a horse.”
“All right, then. I won’t worry…for now.” He could almost hear her relax. “But, sweetie, you don’t have to do this any longer. You have everything you need. You’ve even provided for me and Beth.”
He’d managed that much, and the reminder gave him the first jolt of happiness he’d felt in a long time. “I wanted to.”
“I couldn’t have asked for a better son,” she said. “Or daughter.”
“How is Beth and the new husband?”
“They’re great. What about you and Katy?”
He sighed. Here it was—the inevitable questions. “That interview on TV…it was all for show.”
“What does that mean?”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “It was just a PR tour for the team. Katy came along because her boss wanted her to.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why wo
uld her boss tell her to do something like that?”
“It’s complicated.” He put his elbow on the table, hunching over his phone. “I think her boss was hoping we’d get back together again.”
“Then I’m with him. Maybe he can talk some sense into Katy while I do the same for you.”
“It’s not a matter of sense, Mom.” How could he explain this to her? He’d never managed to do it in the past. Maybe because there wasn’t any sense to be had. He and Katy loved each other. No matter what, even at their most angry, they loved each other. This latest bogus reunion had only proved that. More had gone on between them than just sex, although that, in itself, showed that the feelings between them ran deep. “We can’t get along. We only end up hurting each other.”
“You were so happy in college and then when you first got married.”
“But then we grew up and discovered we were different people,” he said.
“Nonsense. You two were made for each other, and one of these days, you’ll both realize it.”
“All I know is we’ve tried it twice now.” If you could count this latest disaster as an attempt. “We’re like oil and water. We don’t mix.”
“Well, I’m going to keep praying both of you come to your senses. With the Good Lord behind me and Katy’s boss pushing her, we can’t lose.”
He couldn’t very well tell her not to pray. It hadn’t worked so far, but it hadn’t done them any harm, either. Still, they could take care of themselves without the Almighty’s help.
“I gotta get back to practice,” he said. “I’ll call you again soon. I promise.”
“And be with Katy when you do.”
“I’m not touching that,” he said. “Bye, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetie.”
At least he’d gotten that settled. Knowing Mom, the subject wouldn’t go away for long, but next time, she wouldn’t have anything new to fuel it. Maybe one of these days, he’d meet someone else, and Mom could make room in her heart for his new love. Or Katy would remarry.
Ah, shoot. That would be one wedding he wouldn’t attend. There weren’t enough martinis in the world to get him through watching Katy marry someone else.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. He had to be honest with himself. Two of the things he most valued in the world either had ended or were coming to an end. He’d train Jimmy Harrington to take over his position as QB. And he and Katy had finally proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they could not coexist.
But he still had his mom and Beth. And he’d adopt a couple of kids and have his own kind of family. And he couldn’t forget his two brothers-in-arms, Adam and Ryan. That ought to be enough to make his mom and her deity happy. But what about him?
…
Going cold turkey sucked the most on Sunday afternoons. All Katy had to do was turn on the TV, and she’d get to watch Grant play. She’d get to stare at his gorgeous body. And most importantly, she’d know how he was doing. She’d know if he won the game or lost it, how many interceptions he’d thrown, whether he’d been sacked.
Not watching him do the one thing he did best—well, not the only thing—was killing her. But she had to be strong. If she gave in, she’d end up wanting him, and then, she’d be tempted in the middle of the night to call him, just to hear his voice. And who knew where that would lead? Backsliding wasn’t an option, so neither was watching his body move like the finely tuned machine it was.
So, she deliberately didn’t sit in the living room with her laptop but went into her office and worked on her desktop. Charlie had been right. She did have a good handle on this case, and it was getting easier by the day. Her current job, preparing questions for a deposition of one of the principals, allowed her to use her creativity in ways other tasks didn’t. If she questioned the deponent right, he’d find himself telling a story…but he’d be doing it the way she wanted. Very satisfying.
She’d just finished another line of questioning when her phone rang. She checked the display. It was Beth, Grant’s sister.
She answered the call. “Hi, Beth, what’s up?”
“Are you watching the game?” Beth’s voice held more than a little tension. That wasn’t a casual question.
“Is something wrong?”
“Just turn on your TV,” Beth answered.
A lump of dread coalesced in Katy’s stomach as she went into the living room, picked up the remote, and turned on the television. A football field appeared, and a cluster of players in Grant’s team’s uniforms stood around in a circle. The announcer was talking about an injury.
“Is that Grant?” Katy asked. “Has he been hurt?”
“He took a mean hit, T-boned between two defenders. He went down hard.”
Damn it all. This was exactly what she’d always feared. He had, too, although he’d never admit it. “Is he conscious?”
“No.”
Katy sank onto the couch and watched as a power-driven cart rolled up to where Grant lay on the field, and four men climbed out, two of them carrying a stretcher. The other players backed off, but they still obscured her view of Grant. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t moved.
No, this could not be happening. He’d played for ten years, eight as a starting quarterback. He’d never been hurt. He had to be blessed or something, but maybe his luck had run out. Please, please don’t let this be serious.
“He isn’t paralyzed, is he?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Katy, but I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. I’m sure he’s fine.” But she couldn’t know that. This could turn out horrible.
Cold turkey? What was wrong with her? With him? They loved each other. They had, since the day they’d met. And now, he was seriously hurt. He could be paralyzed, and she wasn’t there for him. Depositions and filings were great—they paid the bills. But they weren’t her life. He was.
“Do we know anything else?” Katy asked.
“Only what you’re seeing,” Beth said. “They won’t tell us anything for a long time.”
“Screw that.”
Finally, the men emerged from the crowd with the stretcher between them. Grant lay on it, and as they drove the cart off the field, Grant lifted his arm, thumb up, to show he was all right. The crowd roared.
“He’s conscious and moving his arms,” Beth said.
That didn’t mean he could move his legs. If he had a spine injury, he could be paralyzed from the arms down. “I know which hospital they use. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Thanks, Katy.”
“Try to keep Vera calm.” Grant’s mother had always been afraid something like this would happen. She’d be beside herself.
“I’m headed to her house now,” Beth said. “Love you, Katy.”
“Love you, too.”
Thank God this was a home game. With the crosstown traffic, it’d take her forever to get to the hospital, but she’d get there. After grabbing her purse and her keys, she ran out of the condo. She almost went straight for the stairs instead of taking the elevator, but that would take longer. The ride down seemed endless, but she finally crossed the lobby and dashed out to the curb.
The first cab she hailed pulled over to pick her up. She opened the door and poked her head inside. “Can you take me to Jersey?”
“It’ll cost you,” the cabbie answered.
“No problem.” She climbed in. “St. James Hospital in Rutherford.”
“You got it.” He pushed the flag down and pulled away from the curb.
She had to remember to breathe. It was going to take forever to get out of Manhattan, but realistically, Grant would spend hours in the ER while they did x-rays and tests to discover the extent of his injuries. He’d still be there when she arrived. He’d need a hand to hold and someone to tell him everything would turn out okay. She intended to be that person.
It would turn out okay. It had to.
After a little while, the sounds in the cab registered. On the radio, a football game was being aired. Grant’s game. Katy leaned forward. “Could you turn that up?”
“Sure.” The cabbie did. “You like football?”
“You could say that.” At that particular moment, with Grant seriously hurt, maybe not so much.
“The quarterback, Grant Howard, took a wicked hit,” the cabbie said. “Everyone’s hoping he’s okay. He sure is one of the great ones.”
“I know.” Didn’t she ever? She’d watched his progress, taking pride with him in his accomplishments. Back then, they’d supported each other—in both wins after failures, for big games or big exams. Both of them had achieved what they had because they had each other’s back. How had they forgotten that? Or maybe she was the only one who had.
At a red light, the cabbie stared at her image in his rearview mirror. “You seem pretty upset. Do you know him?”
“Yeah.”
He kept staring at her. “Say, aren’t you the one from the video?”
Would that blasted thing ever die?
“You are. His ex-wife,” he said. “And I’ve seen you two together on the news lately.”
“That’s me.”
“And you’re going to the hospital to be with him,” the cabbie said. “I’d better get you to Jersey fast.”
…
By some miracle, the cabbie got Katy to New Jersey faster than had to be legally allowed. She paid him his fare and a whopping tip and got out of the cab at the emergency department entrance of St. James Hospital. The ambulance bringing Grant here had only had to travel across part of the state, so it had no doubt arrived earlier. He’d be inside there, and she’d find him.
She remained calm as she approached the information desk. She had to wait for a few people in front of her, and time seemed to grind to a complete standstill. All around the reception area, people sat in clusters, some likely waiting to be called in for treatment and others, no doubt, hoping to see loved ones inside. She’d have to convince the powers that be that Grant was her family. He needed her, and she was going to be there for him.