Intercepting Daisy

by Julie Brannagh

  Catherine handed her the tablet and got up from the table.

  The article was entitled “Is Overtime Parking Grant Parker’s Biography?” She glanced at the photos accompanying the article, and she was in one of them. It was a little weird to see cell phone pictures of herself with Grant at Purple and Skillet Diner on Twitter. She hadn’t noticed people taking pictures. Then again, she’d been so lost in Grant she wouldn’t have noticed a nuclear bomb dropping in the neighborhood.

  Daisy skimmed the text. The blog post read like something from a tabloid. According to the writer, Grant had been involved with a number of women in the Seattle area. Four of them had been willing to speak out about their involvement with him, which hadn’t lasted longer than a single night. They all mentioned that he’d told them he wasn’t interested in a relationship, he wanted to spend the night with them, and he had no intention of seeing them again.

  The Sharks wanted their fans to think that Grant’s personal life was squeaky clean, and it was all a lie. The writer finished by asking the reader if he or she would want their children looking up to Grant Parker as a role model or as a man.

  Daisy felt anger rising with every word she read. How was it any of the writer’s concern who Grant had slept with, how often, or with how many? He was single. It was nobody else’s business what another adult did in his or her personal life, squeaky-clean public image or not.

  She reread the story. It sounded like a witch hunt, the kind of thing that a spurned lover would write. It had nothing to do with football or the Sharks or sports. It was a deliberate smear on someone Daisy knew wasn’t perfect but who had shown he was a good person. It wasn’t newsworthy. When the Sharks’ front office saw it, she knew it was going to have an immediate and negative effect on Grant’s career.

  He’d told her how he felt about visiting the sick kids at the hospital. Would the hospital still let Grant visit the kids there, or would they think he was some kind of bad person for having casual sex with other consenting adults?

  Catherine sat down in her chair again. “The kettle’s on. Or should I get the vodka and a shot glass instead?”

  Daisy pointed at the computer screen. “She’s freaked out because he’s slept with other women? It’s not against the law unless he’s secretly married or something. Why would she care?”

  “She says that the Sharks have spent a lot of time and resources building him up as some purer-than-the-driven-snow role model. If he’s exposed as nothing like that, what does that mean for his career? Even more, how is that going to affect you? You don’t want the same thing to happen when you sleep with him, do you?”

  Daisy glanced up from the tablet screen.

  “We slept together last night.”

  “What? He wasn’t here this morning,” Catherine said.

  Daisy closed her eyes and wished she hadn’t been so stupid for the ten thousandth time this morning. “I kicked him out.”

  Catherine’s mouth dropped open. “You kicked him out? Did he try to hurt you or something? What happened?”

  “Of course not,” Daisy said. She fidgeted a bit. “I didn’t want him to think I was clingy.”

  Catherine stared at her. “I don’t get it. Was the sex bad?”

  “No.” Daisy could feel the heat rising in her face as she remembered how great the sex had been. She was torn between being bothered that she now knew for sure he’d had lots of practice and being intrigued by what else he knew that they hadn’t tried yet. She’d had practice too, which made her a gigantic hypocrite. She folded her hands so she’d stop picking at one of her cuticles. “I don’t want him to think he doesn’t actually have to pursue me now.”

  “But you slept with him, you silly goose. What do you think he’s going to think?”

  “I’m not a sure thing?”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Catherine leaned over the table. “Explain to me how you think you’re going to accomplish this.”

  “Mostly, I feel guilty,” Daisy said. “I should have told him about the book. I couldn’t get the words out.”

  “He’s going to find out sometime. You need to tell him,” Catherine said. “Come on; you can do it. Put on your big girl panties. Maybe he’ll think it’s funny.”

  Daisy dropped her face into her hands and let out a long groan.

  GRANT WENT FOR another run on Tuesday morning, did a few errands, and pointed his car toward Children’s Hospital for a visit. He wanted to call Daisy. Maybe a text was better. They’d been exchanging texts, but he didn’t want her to think he was desperate or something. When he wasn’t worrying about why she’d booted him out or that she wasn’t really into him, he was sifting through the list of things he needed to accomplish before he was due at the training facility tomorrow.

  He was pretty sure that the guys on the team would laugh at him for doing so, but he’d had the picture that Emma drew for him while he was in the hospital framed. He’d hang it up in his condo soon. He wasn’t the most sentimental guy, but something about a little girl thinking of him when she probably didn’t feel great made him want to cry or something.

  Most players didn’t bother with their own fan mail. They got gifts (and solicitations) from fans all the time. Once the novelty of having a complete stranger invite you to their wedding or another life event wore off (someone else named their baby after him, which he was still a little freaked out about), there wasn’t a lot to monitor. Some of his teammates still read every letter. They liked the ego stroke from knowing that someone had actually sat down at a table with pen and paper and gushed over them.

  He’d talked with Emma on a few occasions now. Obviously, building a friendship with a five-year-old (and her mom) was slow, but it meant a lot to him that she cared. Goofy but true. Hopefully, he could see her today.

  He loved being around the kids because they didn’t expect a thing from him outside of an autograph and a few minutes of his time. He relished the shy smiles and hugs he got from children who forgot how much pain they were in or how sick they were as he perched on the side of their hospital beds to talk a little. They offered their affection (and their friendship) so freely. He found himself thinking about them on days he wasn’t scheduled to visit.

  He’d actually called the nurses’ station to check on Emma a couple of weeks ago.

  “I’m so sorry, Grant,” one of the nurses had said. “We can’t share that information with you. It’s against hospital policy.”

  “I don’t get out of team meetings until seven or so tonight. Let’s say I sneaked in there a few minutes before visiting hours are over,” he said. “Will her parents be okay with it if I wanted to say hi?”

  “I’ll let them know,” the nurse had said. “Ten minutes, Grant.”

  “Got it.”

  He had poked his head around the doorjamb of Emma’s room just before eight PM that night. Emma was falling asleep in her mom’s arms as her mother sang a lullaby. Grant gave her a reflexive nod. Her smile was tired, but she nodded in response.

  The nurse had caught up with him as he walked away and pressed a piece of paper into his hand. “Emma’s mom says to text her if you want to know how she’s doing. Here’s her number.”

  Some of the kids he visited each week had been in the hospital for months. Most of the kids recovered and went home. A few never left. He wasn’t sure what to say to the parents he knew sat at their kids’ bedside day after day hoping for a miracle. It took him a few visits to figure out that a gentle squeeze on the shoulder or a hug meant more to those parents than anything he could say. They were grateful that he (and his teammates) didn’t avoid their child.

  He was grateful that they included him.

  He pulled into a parking space outside of the hospital entrance. He grabbed the tote bag of stuff for Emma he’d brought out of the car and strode to the electronic doors that led into the hospital. Four younger kids stood outside in Sharks gear. It wasn’t especially warm today, and he wondered where the hell their parents were. Someone should know
they were out here.

  “It’s Parker!” one of them cried. Seconds later, he found himself in the midst of four laughing, chattering little kids who were pulling on his pants leg and talking all at once.

  “I saw you make a touchdown on Sunday!” a little girl with a ponytail and no front teeth lisped out.

  “Will you play catch with us?” a little boy asked. “I got a football in my room.”

  “My mom said that you know Seth Taylor. He’s my favorite,” another little girl informed him.

  “Derrick Collins said you’re late,” a child in a bathrobe, pajamas, and slipper socks informed Grant.

  Grant crouched down next to the young man in the PJs and robe. “Do your parents know you’re out here?”

  “I don’t think so,” he proudly informed Grant.

  “Well, then, I’d better get you back inside. The nurses will be worried, bro.” He wasn’t sure how old the kid was, but he scooped him up easily. He wasn’t heavy. Most of these kids had permanent IV sites; he’d learned during his first visit to be careful so he wouldn’t accidentally make more work for the nursing staff.

  “I can walk,” the boy told him. He had spiky, dark red hair, a dusting of freckles across his nose, and regarded Grant through ice-blue eyes. “Derrick said some other stuff too, but my mom would take away my screen time if I said it.”

  Derrick was a well-known prankster among the Sharks. His wife, Holly, was pregnant with their second child. He was also under some financial duress at the moment; Holly was fining Derrick fifty dollars for every obscenity or off-color comment that came out of his mouth at home. It seemed Holly and Derrick’s two-year-old son, Michael, had started imitating his daddy, which really wasn’t acceptable at the play group Holly had enrolled their son in. Grant also knew that Derrick had put five hundred dollars in the swear jar recently after someone dented his Escalade in the grocery store parking lot.

  “I know you can walk, buddy, but you’re about to freeze out here. Come on, you guys.” The kids followed him through the automatic doors and moved down the corridor toward the floor most of the young oncology patients’ rooms were on. Grant noticed a couple of nurses up ahead darting from room to room. He could pretty much guess what they were doing.

  “Ladies,” he called out. “They’re right here.” He glanced down at the kids still clinging to his pants legs and chattering away. “You guys shouldn’t have been outside.”

  “We were waiting for you.”

  “That’s really nice, but you scared the nurses. Look at them. They’re worried about you.”

  “We didn’t go far,” the little girl with the ponytail said. “It’s boring being in here all the time.”

  “I know that,” he said. “But you can’t leave unless they say so.”

  One of the nurses came running out of the room, stopped in the corridor, and exclaimed, “Oh, thank God! You found them!” She rushed forward, dropped to her knees in front of the little group, and reached out to clasp the kids in her arms. “We were so scared. Everyone’s looking for you.”

  “We didn’t go that far,” the kid in his arms said.

  “Hunter, you shouldn’t be out of bed at all. What got into you?” the nurse said. She had tears in her eyes. “What did you do with your IV?”

  “They took the needle out to change the bag—”

  “We’ll put it right back in. You kids.” She was in full-on mom scolding mode, but Grant could see the fear in her eyes. Other nurses were descending on the little group, and he saw a lab-coat-wearing doctor in their number as well. “I know you want to see the football players, but you can’t go outside to wait for them. We didn’t know where you were.”

  One of the little girls put her hands on either side of the nurse’s face. “We’re sorry, Monica. Don’t cry. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

  The other children were led away by various nurses, and Grant followed with Hunter. The kid felt so slight in his arms. Grant understood he was pretty sick, but no kid should feel like this. Hunter slung one arm around Grant’s neck.

  Maybe Grant should start bringing Dick’s Drive-In milkshakes when he came to visit, like Drew McCoy had for months now. If Hunter could keep them down, it might help.

  “So, Hunter, I want you to promise me something,” Grant said.

  “What’s that?” Hunter said.

  “Will you tell the other kids that I will do something special for them if they will agree not to sneak out to meet the football players in the parking lot?”

  “What do you mean by special?”

  Damn, this kid drove a hard bargain.

  “I need to check with a couple of people first, but I can guarantee it’s awesome, and you will not want to miss out. But I can’t do this if even one of you guys is waiting in the parking lot on Tuesdays.”

  “So you want me to tell everyone else?”

  “I can tell them, but you get to be the enforcer. You get to make sure nobody’s out there every Tuesday afternoon.”

  Hunter mulled this for a minute or so as Grant followed the group back to their rooms. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Grant walked through the entrance to the floor. “So, kid, you hungry at all?”

  GRANT SET HUNTER down outside of his room and headed toward the nurses’ station. This morning’s rain had given way to a brilliant blue sky and bright sunshine through the hospital windows that looked over Seattle. The walls were covered with cheerful murals and joyful artwork, some of which had been created by the kids currently occupying rooms up and down the corridor. He glimpsed a couple of his teammates thirty or so feet away. If there weren’t so many kids around, he’d flip off Derrick Collins for the hell of it. Right now, he was after some snacks for Hunter.

  He leaned on the nurses’ station as he waited for someone in scrubs to approach. Maybe they had a refrigerator he could raid or something. He could always grab something from the cafeteria.

  Monica, the nurse, was heading toward him at a high rate of speed. She didn’t look happy, and he braced himself.

  “Do you have a minute?” she said as she came to a halt a foot or so away.

  “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  She reached out to touch his upper arm. “I saw that article about you during my break.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t care what that reporter says. You have been so kind to the kids here, and I appreciate it. I wanted you to know.”

  “What article?”

  The hair rose on the back of his neck. There was a problem, and he needed to find out what it was so he could deal with it. The overhead PA went off, and she reached out to pat him one more time.

  “I have to go.”

  He could feel his phone vibrating with incoming text messages. He reached into his pocket to grab his phone and pull up Google News, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Harley McHugh and a camera person emerged from someone’s room. Before he had time to react, she spotted him and approached. He saw the red light of the cameraman’s equipment come on. Shit.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Grant.”

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I’d prefer to spend my time here visiting with the kids.”

  “Your representation won’t respond to my requests for an interview.”

  “I’m not willing to be interviewed here.”

  “Aren’t your visits to Children’s each week a public-relations ploy to distract the media from looking into your private life?”

  He stared at her in disbelief. She was still talking.

  “Wonder how these kids’ parents would feel about their kids spending time with a guy who isn’t a great role model by any stretch of the imagination?”

  “No comment,” he said. “And shut the camera off.”

  “I’ll bet. I have five women who are willing to speak on-camera about you.”

  Grant put his hand over the camera lens and said, “What is your problem, Harley? This passed weird a while ago and w
ent straight into creepy. I don’t want anything to do with you. Leave me alone.”

  “I have a job to do,” she snapped.

  “You’re not doing this because of your job. You’re harassing me. It needs to stop.”

  “I’m looking for information—”

  “No, you’re not.” Grant looked up in time to see the red light of the camera shut off. His voice dropped in volume. “We were together once. I told you at the time I wasn’t interested in seeing you again. It’s over. Leave me alone.”

  Her mouth dropped open. The cameraman let out a low whistle.

  He still wanted to talk with another one of the nurses about some snacks for Hunter, but he needed to put as much space between himself and Harley as quickly as possible. He also needed to find out about the article Monica mentioned. He was willing to bet he already knew who’d written it. He saw a few of his teammates approach out of the corner of his eye.

  “Didn’t the nurses ask you and your camera to leave fifteen minutes ago?” Seth Taylor barked at Harley.

  “No cameras on this floor without permission,” Drew McCoy said. “You must have a problem with reading comprehension, Harley. Did you miss the sign at the entrance?”

  “Get out,” Derrick Collins told Harley and her cameraman.

  “I’ve asked for an interview multiple times. Grant is avoiding me,” Harley said.

  Kade Harrison strode up to the group. “I guess he has a good reason for that. I saw that blog post. Your boss should fire you for attempting to settle a personal score like that, Ms. McHugh.”

  “He’s nothing like his image. Our viewers should know,” she insisted.

  Kade moved closer to her. Her cameraman backed up in alarm.

  “Your viewers should know that Parker dates and has mutually consenting sex with other adults? That’s some award-winning reporting right there, cupcake. What’s next? He puts his pants on one leg at a time?” Kade said.

  “I’ll bet he has a beer or two after a game on Sunday nights. Alert the media,” Seth said.

  “I heard he has an ice cream habit. Bro’s entire freezer is packed with Ben & Jerry’s pints,” Derrick said. “He can quit at any time.”