So what if he was the one who slid the pictures under my dorm room door? So what if he wanted to tear Kirk and me apart? I may not have all the details of what happened that night so many years ago, but one thing is obvious right now, Kirk and I never belonged together. Jude was always supposed to be mine. I wish we’d both had the clarity back then to step up and claim each other.
I just hope he still feels that way when I finally get behind those hospital doors and wrap my arms around him.
Cannon and Lexi arrive next, and I have to repeat my story. I’m still shaky, but the adrenaline has worn off. I’m left feeling exhausted and nauseous. Lexi guides me to a grouping of chairs, holding my hand and trying to get me to relax.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“He’ll be okay.”
“Jude’s a Kingston. They’re the strongest people I know.”
Cannon is pacing the floor from end to end in a rage. I hear him on the phone with his lawyer. “Frank, you need to find this Kirk Bunting fucker and you need to deal with him. Because if I get my hands on the man…” He stops pacing to growl. “If I get my hands on him, you’ll be defending me against murder charges.”
My eyes keep bouncing up and down the hall, in search of medical personnel. What is taking them so long? Why haven’t we heard from the doctor?
By the time Walker storms in, my nerves are absolutely fried. Thankfully, I don’t have to repeat the night’s events to the oldest Kingston brother. Cannon handles that. And judging by the brief look of disdain Walker shoots my way, I think I’ve just found the family member who will willingly agree with me. This is my fault. He knows it. I know it.
Walker throws his fist into the wall, swearing and yelling. He leaves a sizable dent in the drywall. The other families around the waiting room keep shift about uncomfortably, eyeing the agitated tower of a man. Lucas and Cannon try to calm him, which isn’t easy since they’re both pretty worked up themselves.
“We’re pressing charges,” Walker announces, not missing a beat.
“Frank’s law firm is already on it,” his brother informs him.
“I’ll help with that in any way I can,” I offer because it’s the very least I can do.
Walker’s eyes fall on me. “Did anyone record the fight on their phone?”
I sit there, trying to remember. My muddled brain is still moving too slow. “I…don’t know. I didn’t really see what happened outside of the fight.”
Cannon shoves a big hand through his hair. “If other people recorded the brawl, they could go straight to the press. Jude will have to do damage control on top of everything else he’s facing.
Lord. This night has been an absolute disaster.
I should have handled Kirk myself. I knew he was out of control, and I just stood there. I should have pulled him out of that bar. I should have stepped between them. Kirk wouldn’t have hit me. And even if he had, what’s a night in the hospital for me? I would have recovered just fine, without any repercussions.
But now, Jude’s entire career and dream is on the line. Again. And this time it’s all because of me.
After a dozen more eternities of waiting, a tall, graying man with a white coat walks briskly in our direction. “Kingston family? I have some updates for you.”
45
Jude
No!” I shout like a madman, launching the hospital bed remote across the room.
But instead of a satisfying crunch against the wall, the goddamn remote is hooked to a cord. So it comes flying back, smacking against the bedrail, then dangling to the floor. Disappointed. Frustrated. Defeated.
A sick metaphor for my fucked up life.
I glance up at the ceiling. Somebody up there obviously thinks all this is funny. But I fucking don’t. After all that work and against all the odds, my comeback was almost guaranteed. Only to have it snatched from me again in the cruellest way imaginable.
“I’m sorry, son,” the surgeon says sedately. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”
The doctor just confirmed what I already knew. I knew it the fucking moment Kirk’s heel connected with my knee, the moment I felt the loud pop reverberate through my body, the moment my leg gave out, no longer able to hold my weight.
It’s deja-vu. This fresh injury is almost identical to the original damage that halted my career and brought me back to this stupid town to begin with.
My ACL is torn again. A jagged rip that shredded through the surgical graft and then through more ligaments. And for the icing on top of the shit cake? The scans also seem to reveal permanent damage to my knee cartilage. My knee is done.
I’m having a hard time coming to grips with the news. I hear myself asking, “What does this mean for playing football? I’ve been in therapy, working hard at it every day, and I was going to be back on the field at the start of next season.” It’s like I’m trying to convince him—and myself—that this isn’t the end of the road for me. At this point, I wouldn’t even be able to say where my injury is. My whole body is pounding with agony.
The doctor takes a deep, audible breath, shaking his head. I read the sympathy between the lines in his forehead. I’ve seen that look before. From the other doctors who examined me the first time I blew out my knee. Pity. More pity.
“Given the gravity of this new injury and especially given the fact that it’s your second ACL tear, I’d say that playing professional sports just isn’t an option for you anymore. The colleagues I’ve reviewed your file with agree. I’m sorry, Jude. I know that’s not what you want to hear.” He closes his folder definitively and tucks it under his arm. “Let’s just focus on getting this repaired correctly and making sure you can walk without aid.”
The moment the doctor exits and shuts my door, I scream. And then I hold onto the bedrails of this stiff, flimsy hospital bed and I scream some more.
This is not supposed to be happening to me.
Rage ripples through every limb. It’s almost strong enough to entirely blot out the intense pain in my knee. The pain is there, all right. It’s throbbing inside the cells of my swollen, double-sized joint. But it’s no match for the agony pulsing through my heart.
I’m done.
Life as I know it is officially over.
No more practices. No more games, playoffs, or championship rings. No more locker room pranks. No more teammates to call my brothers. No more cushy retirement fund in 10 years.
No. More. Football.
The sting of my disappointment needles the backs of my eyes. I don’t even try to stop the tears as they fall.
A nurse pokes her head through the door. “Your family is here. Is it okay to send them in?”
“No,” I grunt.
The smile falls right off the lady’s face when she sees the state I’m in. I can’t imagine what I look like, a hulking professional athlete sitting here broken and powerless and blubbering. Thanks to a man I once called my friend.
Kirk knew exactly what he was doing when he sucker-kicked my feet out from under me. The jealous fucker was trying to end me. Congratulations, jackass. You did.
If only my stupid, fucking heart hadn’t gone and fallen in love…
Don’t even go there, Jude. Don’t even try and blame this on Iris.
I lie back and shut my eyes, scrub my hands down my face. I can’t think about Iris right now. Not when my mind is warped the way it is.
At some point, another nurse comes in and stabs me with a needle, setting up my IV with some miracle-making liquid painkillers. Morphine, I’m sure.
“Your family is still in the waiting room,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “They’re really worried and want to see you. Maybe we can just bring in two at a time?”
“No,” I say, my voice gritty and tired. “No one.” I bark again.
What is their obsession with freaking visitors? I’m the one in the hospital. I am the one in pain. I’m the one who has to call my coach to tell him to drop me from injury reserve because I will never, ever be
returning to football again.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but I wake when someone brings in a food tray. “It’s well past meal time, but I managed to snag you a sandwich and a fruit cup,” the same mild-mannered nurse from before tells me in this saccharine sweet voice that annoys the hell out of me. She pauses, hesitates. “Your people are still here, waiting…”
I don’t want to see any of my family. I’d rather just let this morphine seep into my bloodstream until exhaustion creeps in and pulls me under again. But I know that if I don’t show face soon, my mom will cry herself into a dehydrated frenzy, Cannon will end up suing everybody, and Walker will punch inanimate objects and throw hospital chairs until security personnel kicks them all out.
“Send them in together. I just want to get it over with.”
Moments later, Ma rushes in. “Jude!” Her tears come instantly. I open my arms for her and she practically throws herself into me for a hug.
My father and brothers stand back, their expressions saying everything they won’t say out loud. Mom rambles comforting words against my chest even though she’s clearly in need of comfort herself. I shut my eyes to avoid her anguish as my own tears come again.
Eventually, my mother pulls back to inspect my face. She brushes my tears with her fingertips. “Baby, Iris is here,” Ma says softly, “and she’s a wreck. She’s asking if you’ll let her see you.”
Right now, I’m motherfucking mad at the world. Angry that I didn’t smash Kirk’s ugly face in when I had the chance. Rather, I chose to be the bigger person…and he smashed me instead.
He should have never had the clear shot to attack me, but I was too worried about Iris’s wellbeing to do what I should have done.
More than anything, I’m pissed at myself for getting involved in the first place. But I just had to be the hero. And that’s exactly what landed me here.
Without a job. Without a body. Without a future. Unable to walk myself to the toilet to take a damn piss.
Iris…
I love her. With all of my heart, I love her. But in this moment, I hate Iris Merlini, too.
46
Iris
After three days of wallowing around the house in a stained T-shirt and my penguin pajama pants, I realized that I’d have to give peopling a shot sooner or later. So although everything in me is rioting to spend another day in bed feeling sorry for myself, I showered and put myself together, then drove into town.
Now, I’m sitting across a conference table from Cannon and Lexi, trying to keep my focus on what they’re saying. Their new non-profit organization is headquartered inside the Kingston Realties building in the heart of town.
Lexi gives me a soft smile. “I spoke to Sarah and Joe yesterday and they’re willing to let you volunteer at the flower shop for a few weeks to look over their shoulder, y’know, learn the ropes and decide if this is something you really want to get into before you officially put in your offer.”
All I have in response is a small nod.
“Let’s talk about marketing.” Cannon leans across the table and slides a few sheets of paper at me. “I know it sounds kind of morbid but many flower shops see a significant portion of their revenues from memorial services, so we should look at making a few calls to establish partnerships with some funeral homes in the area.”
“Okay…” I sift through the documents feeling completely overwhelmed.
“And you know I’ll send all my brides-to-be your way for their floral arrangements.” Lexi offers a smile.
“In terms of funding,” Cannon says cautiously. “You’d mentioned that you’d be proceeding with financing from Jude—”
“That’s no longer an option.” I quickly cut him off, hoping my voice doesn’t shake too much when I utter the words.
I’m proceeding on my own. Always on my own. The way it’s always been. No support. What’s new?
The married couple shares a brief glance. I clear my throat. “What are my other options?”
“If you’d like to apply for a bank loan, our organization would help with the application process and we’d be willing to co-sign. If that doesn’t work, we have other options such as our own internal funding.”
Cannon and Lexi continue detailing all available avenues for securing the cash needed. I try to pay attention but my brain won’t cooperate. All I can think about is Jude and how this flower shop is a project we dreamt up together. We were going to take this on as a team. But now, he won’t even talk to me. He won’t take my calls. He has every right to be angry with me. Still, it hurts.
My friends are doing me a huge favor by meeting with me to discuss my proposed business venture. This meeting is a golden opportunity. My sandwich shop failed largely because I didn’t have the guidance to make sound choices. But this time could be different. Cannon has successfully run a billion-dollar enterprise and Lexi has a natural knack for creative business ideas. Their time is valuable and I don’t want to waste it. The least I could do is make a meaningful contribution to the conversation. But I don’t know how to concentrate when all I can think of is Jude.
Coming to grips with the fact that someone you love actually hates you will do that to you. My heart is broken, and after all the loss I’ve suffered recently, I’m not sure this poor lump of muscle will ever heal properly.
The day Jude was injured by Kirk has become my single worst day. It overshadows the moment I found out Kirk was cheating on me. It overshadows the day he served me with divorce papers.
Of all my shitty days, it’s the day of that stupid, pointless fight that leaves me with nightmares. I spend all my time replaying what I could have done, what I should have done to save Jude from what happened.
I can’t decide which part was worse, watching the brutal, one-sided fight, or hearing the doctor share the devastating news with all of Jude’s family. His career is over. Because of me.
I keep reliving that night at the hospital. Before the doctor even finished sharing the news with the Kingstons, I was rushing to a trashcan near the coffee station and puking my guts out.
That night, I stayed at the hospital long after his brothers all cleared out. I even outlasted Jude’s parents, after they had come back from their tense visit with him. I’d never seen so much pity on a woman’s face before Diana looked at me and shook her head. I remained in the waiting room, sleeping in a small, stiff chair, even knowing that Jude didn’t want to see me. He refused to even let me step foot in his hospital room.
I singlehandedly ruined his life, and now he wants nothing to do with me. I guess I understand his need for distance.
My mind flutters over every moment from the past weeks, each memory hurting more than the last.
Our first kiss standing in the dark, shadowy hallway of my house. Our first time together, against the picture window. Working together at my kitchen table. Exercising and making love in my living room. Jude painting my toenails red, before fucking me in my bed.
It’s funny how many years I spent with my ex, and yet, just a short time with Jude has replaced all of the special memories in my home. I am unable to open my eyes without being hit with a gut-wrenching reminders of our time together.
I’m mad at Jude for deserting me, but so hurt and guilty for what he is going through. I just want to be there for him. To ease his suffering in any way I can. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even want to see me. And I guess he has every right.
I snap out of my thoughts and find my friends staring across the table at me. Shit—they asked a question that went right over my head. “I-I’m sorry, I…”
Lexi gives me that sympathetic smile again. “We were just going over options in terms of flower suppliers but y’know what? We don’t have to do that right this minute.” She glances at the wall clock. “I’m meeting Diana for lunch in half an hour, anyway.”
“We can meet again sometime next week, if you’re feeling up to it.” Cannon closes his computer and rises from the table.
“Thank you for
meeting with me,” I tell them, quickly gathering my things so I don’t have to come face to face with Jude’s mother.
Cannon squeezes my shoulder. He wants to say something but he holds back.
When he exits the room, Lexi gives me a hug. “I know you’re hurting, girlie. And he’s hurting, too. He’s just being too stubborn to see it now.”
“I just wish things were different,” I say as Lexi walks me toward the elevator. I glance down at the chipped nail polish on my toes and am flooded by thoughts of Jude and how he’d affectionately painted them weeks ago. “I wish I’d done things differently that night. I wish…”
The elevator doors open and Diana stands inside.
Fuck…
Jude’s mother slowly steps off the lift. Eyes on me, she gives Lexi a one-armed hug then affectionately strokes her daughter-in-law’s growing belly.
“Hello Iris…”
“Mrs. Kingston…” A small smile pushes through the megatons of guilt weighing on my heart.
The woman pauses and time seems to drag on forever. Then she steps forward and takes me into a hug. “It’s Diana, Dear. It’s still Diana.”
And that’s all it takes for me to dissolve completely. I’m a river of tears streaming onto the shoulder of Diana’s floral blouse. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry for what happened to Jude.”
She strokes my back. When she pulls away, she’s blinking back tears and clearing her throat. “This isn’t your fault, Iris.” She squeezes my shoulders. “You didn’t put him in that hospital bed. Kirk’s bad decisions and anger led to that. And the bastard will pay. But you don’t need to carry any of that guilt on your shoulders.”
In my heart, I wonder if Jude will ever see things that way.
47
Jude
I slip one shoe on, but don’t bother tying it. Simple tasks like that now require an expert level of skill.
Mister Baller: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance (Bad Boys in Love Book 2) Page 24