Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance

by Sosie Frost

  “Let us know if you need anything,” Coach Thompson said. “We want to keep those guys on the field, right? Can’t win without our boys.”

  “Right.” I gritted my teeth. “That’s the goal. I’m going to check on one of the players now.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  Not yet. “Just doing my job.”

  A job that suddenly felt a lot harder. I gave both men a smile they didn’t deserve and shut the door behind me.

  I expected this sort of resistance from the players, but the coaches? Surely they understood how dangerous head trauma could be. Concussions weren’t injuries that could be taped up, iced off, or injected with cortisone to treat. And repeated injuries had dire consequences for a player in his later life.

  Memory loss. Deteriorating motor function. Changes in personality or temperament.

  Dementia.

  Early death.

  No multi-million-dollar superstar wanted to hear how it all could end, not when the money, women, and fame rolled in. They didn’t care what happened ten years down the road.

  Jude had never cared. A shame really, since he was about to get a preview of his next concussion courtesy of my retribution. Once I kicked his butt from one side of the field to the other, he’d rather get clocked by a linebacker than deal with me.

  But practice had finished before I could grab Jude, and the players filed from the locker room into the cafeteria for lunch. I paced in the back, far away from the lunch line and whatever foul concoction they served for the day.

  It looked greasy. Smelled beefy. Dripped in tomato sauce.

  The joe wasn’t the only thing about to get sloppy.

  “Rory.”

  I spun. Bad idea. My stomach lurched, and I faced the head athletic trainer, Louisa, with a forced greeting. She plopped an apple into my hands.

  “You should eat.” She gave me a warning glance, like I was one of the players trying to get out of icing my knee or taping my fingers. “An empty tummy can make you more nauseous.”

  “Oh no.” I swallowed. Acidy. Ew. “I’m fine.”

  Louisa didn’t buy it. “Fruit is good for morning sickness.”

  My heart stuttered. “I’m…but I’m not…”

  “Oh, please.” She scoffed. “If you knew how many times I’ve heard that. Trust me. Eat the apple. You’ll feel better.”

  “It’s just—”

  “Your secret is safe. Don’t worry. You aren’t the only woman around here who’s been knocked up. A uterus is like a dartboard around the Rivets. Everyone’s aiming to hit that bull’s eye.”

  Her assessment wasn’t entirely anatomically accurate, but I appreciated the candor. I took the apple and excused myself as Jude entered the cafeteria, surrounded by his cadre of offensive weapons. I liked Jack Carson and Lachlan Reed, but I doubted they wanted to see me beat their new running back with his own cleats.

  Jude knew he was in trouble. His grey eyes brightened as I approached, and of course, that quivered me in all the best and worst ways. He held his arms out, trying to protect Jack and Lachlan from my wrath.

  “Rory? Is everything okay—”

  Louisa was right. I did need the apple. I pitched it at Jude’s head.

  At least his motor functions and coordination were in check. He caught the fruit before it applesauced in the middle of his forehead.

  “Jude Richard Owens!”

  Jude panicked. “Uh-oh.”

  Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the one in the line of fire. Jack edged away from us with a not-so-subtle side-step.

  Jude held the apple up, over my head, as I tried to steal it back. “Rory, what’s wrong?”

  I gave one humiliating hop for the fruit before realizing my vertical jump would get me laughed out of training camp. I curled my hands into fists instead.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Jude glanced to his stunned teammates and shrugged. “…No?”

  Wrong answer.

  “One—you better be lying because two—if you’ve legitimately forgotten, your ass is on the sidelines. Permanently.”

  That silenced the cafeteria. A single tray clattered to the floor. The defensive line dove behind a stack of chairs.

  Jude cleared his throat. “Is this about…”

  “Distributing confidential medical diagnoses to unauthorized personnel?”

  Jack whistled. “Jesus Jude, what’d you do?”

  Jude ignored him. “Don’t tell me…Eric?”

  “Oh good, your memory’s back! Just in time for me to knock the sense out of you.”

  Jude took the threat seriously. He faked a chuckle. “You win, Doc. Let’s go eat, calm down, and we’ll discuss it. Hell, I’ll even take you out for lunch. Just…don’t look at me like you’re planning to cram that apple down my throat.”

  “Wrong end, Jude.”

  “Oh snap!” Lachlan backed away. “Run, Jude! Before she makes you turn your head and cough!”

  “Rory, I’m sorry,” Jude said. “Let’s go get something to eat and talk this out?”

  I wasn’t going anywhere. I grabbed the apple. “We’ll eat right here.”

  I took one bite, swallowed hard, and then ate another.

  “What do you know…” I chomped a piece too big for my mouth. “I’m full. Let’s go—”

  I accidentally inhaled.

  And the chunk of apple lodged in my throat.

  I couldn’t tell if it was karmic or divine intervention, but the bite of fruit wedged in my airway.

  Nothing like deep-throating Johnny Appleseed to let my tonsils commune with nature.

  This was bad. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cough.

  Couldn’t smack Jude for this enchanting little catastrophe in the middle of the Rivets’ lunch hour.

  I reached for his hand.

  “I know, I know,” Jude said. “Look, I’m sorry. Are you sure you want to talk about it now?”

  Lachlan attempted to come to his defense. “Yeah. It is sloppy joe day. Kinda the best day around here.”

  Jack swooped in, elbowing Jude. “Word of advice. Go. Buy her lunch. Buy her jewelry. Just don’t piss off a team doctor. She who controls the jock strap controls life. Goes for doctors and wives.”

  Tears sprung to my eyes. I thumped my chest.

  Lachlan laughed. “And how much jewelry does Leah own?”

  “I used my signing bonus to buy a diamond mine,” Jack said. “And she wasn’t half as expensive as bribing Louisa after I’d pulled my hamstring. Christ. Feels like I’ve spent this whole fucking summer either flat on the examination table or pinned to the bed. Either way, I’m getting yelled at with my pants down. It’s best to surrender and do whatever they want.”

  My chest ached. I tried to cough. It got me nowhere.

  Lachlan seemed sympathetic. “So no second baby yet?”

  “I’m fucking exhausted.” Jack rubbed his face. “It wasn’t this hard before.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem?” Lachlan elbowed his side. Jack gripped his arm and nearly broke his wrist. Lachlan grunted. “Or stress. It’s probably the stress.”

  I was better off running face-first into the wall to smash the apple in my throat. I beat on Jude’s arm as I clutched my neck. That got their attention.

  Lachlan panicked. “Shit, I’m bad at charades.”

  Jack swore as he stared at me. “Fuck, she’s choking!”

  I practically applauded the quarterback. At least the team was in his competent hands.

  I, however, was slowly dying.

  Jude leapt into action, grabbing a chair for me. Unless he planned to bash it into my back, it wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good.

  “Rory, are you okay?” Jude searched the cafeteria. “Who’s a doctor?”

  I frantically pointed to myself. Not that it would help.

  Eight years of medical school. Two hundred thousand dollars in debt. Selling my soul for a fellowship. And all I learned was that an a
pple a day would keep the doctor at least six feet away.

  And under.

  Jude smacked my back, a shade above a naughty spank but too low for a decent rub. I gestured with my thumbs upward.

  He slapped my neck.

  Oh, good Lord, I was going to die.

  The panic swelled, but I couldn’t let my vision go fuzzy without saving my own butt. I spun around, slamming my back into Jude’s chest. I wrapped myself in his embrace—not how I’d imagined this fantasy playing out. He folded his palms, and I positioned them at my diaphragm.

  I hoped I was miming the Heimlich maneuver and not giving him a twenty-dollar lap dance.

  “Are you sure?” Jude gripped me tight. “What about…”

  I didn’t listen. I jerked his hands up once more, desperate for air. He grunted and heaved with me.

  Once. Twice.

  Out popped the apple.

  I managed one gasp before everything else tried to come up with it. My dignity. My charm. Every ounce of my professionalism.

  I made it to the garbage and spat most of my breakfast into the can.

  The team watched in abject horror, but the offensive line was the first to give a riotous cheer. Just the introduction to the team I wanted.

  “Jesus, Doc. Are you okay?” Jude pulled me into his arms. It was the second time I couldn’t breathe.

  I might have melted into him…had I not dissolved into panic instead.

  “Did I do it right?” Jude’s voice echoed over the cafeteria. “Please tell me I didn’t Heimlich out the baby!”

  4

  Jude

  I’d fucked up.

  I didn’t even have a concussion to blame it on—just the sheer panic of squeezing a pregnant woman around the middle so hard it’d dislodge an apple stuck in her throat.

  But it wasn’t the fruit that was forbidden this time—it was the truth.

  “Holy shit.” Jack helped Rory into a chair. “Are you pregnant?”

  If the cafeteria hadn’t silenced before, now the team’s testicles zipped into their bellies. Nothing like a rogue mother-to-be to make half the guys question their life choices and count the days since their last hook-up.

  The trainers rushed into the cafeteria, but the commotion summoned even more of an audience. Rory waved away any medical help, but she stared as Coach Thompson rushed through the doorway.

  And he’d brought another doctor.

  I’d already forgotten his name, but I remembered his position. He was the head of the fellowship program

  Rory’s boss.

  Fuck me.

  “I’m fine.” Rory stood, more embarrassed than harmed. “Thank you all for…watching.”

  The red-headed trainer—Louisa?—offered her a bottle of water. “Maybe you should sit down?”

  Rory’s hand fell to her tummy. Did she realize she rubbed little Genie again? At least it seemed to relieve her.

  And me.

  Louisa took her pulse. “That was a lot of stress.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “But the baby—”

  Rory gritted her teeth. “Is fine. I promise. I should be getting back to work.”

  No one moved. Coach Thompson guided his guest into the cafeteria and grinned at Rory.

  “Well, that was quite a scare you gave us, Doctor Merriweather!”

  “Sorry, Coach Thompson…Clayton. I don’t even like apples.” She smiled, but her voice cooled as she greeted her boss. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

  That scene should have wrapped up by now. I nodded to Lachlan and Jack. They took the hint and gestured for everyone to return to their lunch. A wave of disappointment crashed over the team—partly because their entertainment was over, but mostly because the horny bastards realized they couldn’t score with a pregnant woman.

  Coach Thompson frowned, though he tip-toed around the conversation. “So, Doctor Merriweather, will this…condition interfere with your work?”

  Rory didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not. The pregnancy has nothing to do with the fellowship. Right, Doctor Frolla?”

  Coach Thompson tilted his head. Disappointed?

  Lecherous old man.

  “I didn’t know you were married,” he said.

  Not a time for old-school values, but Rory didn’t react. “Not that it’s important, but I am not married. Yes, I’m pregnant, but this will not impact my job in any way.”

  Clayton apparently disagreed, but the bastard had the decency to stay cordial. Like he had any idea how much stress she was under.

  “I hope you’re right, Doctor Merriweather,” Clayton said. “These are the sorts of complications which should have been discussed during our interview.”

  “I didn’t feel that it was relevant.”

  “I trusted you with this responsibility. This fellowship is a highly competitive opportunity. I denied many qualified applicants to give you this chance.”

  “And you made the right decision. You won’t even know I’m pregnant. I can handle the fellowship.”

  “Alone?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  Clayton scowled. “Every doctor participating in this fellowship is my concern, especially when one foolish decision might impact everyone’s reputation.”

  That son of a bitch. No one spoke to Rory that way.

  And no one was going to take this opportunity away from her. Not when she’d finally made it, earned her rightful degree, and found a respectable job in a career she’d prepared for all her life.

  If Clayton was this much of an asshole now, I could only imagine how insufferable he’d become when she started to show, if she had any complications, or if she needed help. He’d fire her, and he’d replace her with another doctor.

  Someone who wasn’t as sympathetic to my injuries.

  Someone who wasn’t naïve enough to believe me when I said I was healthy.

  Screw it. I couldn’t let him ruin both of our lives.

  I stepped forward and took Rory’s hand.

  “You don’t need to worry about Doctor Merriweather,” I said. “I’m taking care of her.”

  Training camp had officially been open for a week, but this would be the gossip of the summer. Rory stared at me, wide-eyed, as the team quieted for the newest revelation of the hour.

  She’d thank me for this.

  One day.

  If she ever spoke to me again.

  “Jude?” Rory’s grip tightened. My fingers ached, but at least I could tape them up for the afternoon drills. “What are you doing?”

  “I think it’s time to let the cat out of the bag,” I said.

  Rory disagreed. “I think the cat is perfectly content to stay stuffed in the bag.”

  Lachlan laughed. “And I think someone’s already stuffing that pussy, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

  Jack frowned. “Everyone knows what you’re saying.”

  I didn’t expect a pregnant woman to launch at me, but I braced myself in case Doctor Merriweather transformed into Mr. Hyde.

  “It’s time to tell everyone the truth,” I said. “No sense hiding it.”

  Her hackles raised, disguised by a smile. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Come on, Rory—sweetheart. They’ll find out eventually.”

  “Not if you keep your big mouth shut.”

  She wasn’t making this easy, but I wasn’t letting her throw her reputation away. I tugged her close and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The team shifted, and Rory’s boss arched an eyebrow.

  “You don’t have to be shy,” I said.

  Rory faked a laugh. “And you don’t have to be so forward.”

  “Would you prefer I shout it from the mountaintops?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

  I faced the team. “Look, we’ve been keeping this a secret.”

  Rory edged close just so she could stomp on my foot. “So secret it’s like it doesn’t even exist.”

  “Rory and I have been dating for six
months,” I said. “We wanted to keep it quiet, but there’s no harm in sharing the good news. We’re expecting.”

  There. That wasn’t so hard. Just…potentially suicidal. Sharing her pregnancy with the entire Rivets’ organization meant she couldn’t be pissed at me for telling Eric. This was definitely worse. Figured. I’d finally signed with the Rivets, but I’d be a dead man before I got my team photo.

  But at least her job was safe. I’d played in the league with enough assholes, bastards, and slime. I recognized trouble when I saw it. Clayton Frolla was trouble. I might have been old-fashioned, but Rory was a friend, a lady, and a woman in distress. She needed to be protected.

  And I was the one to do it.

  The team might have offered their compliments with thudded slaps to my back and handshakes, but Rory faced Clayton with a clenched jaw.

  “Congratulations, Doctor Merriweather…” His eyebrow rose. “Odd that you never disclosed your relationship with this player.”

  Rory stiffened. “I didn’t want to cause a conflict of interest regarding his case.”

  “I see.”

  “But if you want to check his charts and test results—”

  “No, that’s not necessary,” Clayton said. “I’ve had no reason to doubt your assessments. If anything, I’d have cleared your boyfriend to play sooner. No sense offering the father of your child any preferential treatment.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Rory’s hand tightened in mine, grinding bone. Her smile turned sweet, and she gazed at me with that rabid glimmer that would probably hurt. “Could I have a word with you in private, honey?”

  Honey.

  Not a traditional battle cry, but it was the word that would inevitably herald the bloodshed. I guided Rory to the relative privacy outside. No sense letting her pin me down somewhere dark and secluded where I’d be punished for my misguided chivalry.

  Most women held men’s balls in their hand—this one threatened his brains.

  I led her to the tunnels, heading towards the practice fields. The Rivets’ training camp had become part fan-destination, part-festival. One of Leah Carson’s ideas to rebuild morale and improve the team’s shaken image with the fans. Food vendors, games, merchandise, and open practices funneled hundreds of people to the camp for the day. Plenty of witnesses.