by Violet Paige
“You love me?” His eyes hardened.
I nodded. “I do.” I held up my palms. “But it doesn’t change anything. You don’t have to say it.”
He reached behind me, drawing me into his lap, and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips, and it was more of a turn on knowing what he had just done to my body.
“I love you, Doc.”
I pushed off of him. “What?”
“I’ve never said it before. But hell. Yeah, I love you. Every part of you. I love this. What we have.”
“Oh my God. I do too. All of it.”
His phone started ringing. “Shit, that’s the car for me.”
“Now you have to leave? After that?” My body and my heart were singing with heat and desire for him like I’d never felt. I wanted to wrap myself up in his arms. I wanted him to fuck me until we couldn’t breathe. I wanted mind-blowing emotional sex that we’d never forget. Wes Blakefield just said the L word.
“Yeah.” He smiled devilishly. “Gotta go. But I’ll see you Friday?”
“Completely unfair.” I pouted. It was as if he had planned it all along. Drop this huge emotional bomb on me and then walk out the door.
He leaned down to kiss me. “But think how awesome Friday will be.” He waggled his eyebrows.
He left me naked on his bed as he headed off to become a Super Bowl champion.
All week I kept the TV on the sports channel. I couldn’t get enough coverage about Wes or the predictions for the Wranglers. He was everywhere. In every commercial. On every talk show. He was the Super Bowl’s golden boy.
We texted when we could. I sent messages in between surgeries, and he sent me dirty promises of what to expect when I arrived Friday night.
I shoved my phone in my pocket when I saw Dr. Evans walk around the corner.
“Dr. Ashworth, ready for your trip?”
By now the entire hospital knew I was dating Wes. The press hounded us every time we left the apartment. I still didn’t know the names of the people I worked with, but they all knew mine.
“Leaving tomorrow.” I smiled. “My first Super Bowl.”
“Tell Wes we’re all pulling for him.”
“Of course.”
“Before you go, I wanted to ask you something.” He spoke softly.
We were close to the doctors’ lounge. “Let’s go in here,” I suggested.
Luckily, it was empty, and I walked to the coffee pot to refill my thermos. “Is it a patient consult?” I asked.
“No. No. Just curious if you’ve gotten a call from a reporter. I believe her name is Jenny Nichols.”
“A reporter? Is it a piece on the new equipment we’re using on ankle reconstruction? Because I still have my doubts if we should continue the funding.”
He pulled his glasses down. “She’s not from the Med Journal. She’s a sports reporter.”
“Huh.”
“I guess you haven’t heard from her?”
I shook my head. “No, what did she want to talk to you about?”
“I’ve avoided her calls. But I’m sure it has to do with Wes’s hand.”
I stopped stirring my coffee and looked at my older colleague. “What would she want to know about his hand?”
Dr. Evans eyed me. “I don’t think we should discuss it. It’s better for both of us if we don’t.”
“You brought it up, Dr. Evans. And really, I’m in the dark. What does Jenny Nichols want?”
“Let’s just say that someone might have tipped off the press as to the seriousness of Wes’s injuries and that his recovery was lightning fast.” His bushy mustache twitched.
I peered at him, trying to piece it all together. “We didn’t release any information on his medical status.”
“No, but you and I are not the only ones who knew he had surgery. The team said it was a severe sprain.”
“Oh, God.” I covered my mouth. Was there someone in our hospital who had leaked Wes’s medical information?
Dr. Evans tapped my wrist for comfort. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. It’s only my curiosity. The team doesn’t distribute illegal substances. Neither do you or I. So, his recovery is truly a testament to what an amazing surgeon you are and his capacity to heal. Nothing more. We followed and upheld our medical ethics.”
But I knew there was more. I had known for weeks. Wes didn’t heal on his own.
“Thanks for letting me know.” I smiled weakly, feeling the nausea hit me in a gigantic wave.
“I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”
I looked down at my coffee as he walked out of the room. The nausea rolled again in my stomach and I ran for the trashcan. This couldn’t be happening. There was a reporter digging into Wes’s recovery. I didn’t know whether to tell him or keep it to myself.
Would it keep him out of the Super Bowl? Would he be so distracted he’d screw up? Would she actually uncover something I didn’t want to know?
I sat on the bench, clutching my thermos. I had almost forgotten this part of Wes existed. These past few weeks, I had seen the sweet and sexy side. The side that had turned into a one-woman man. The side that told me he loved me.
I had forgotten that before me, he drank and gambled and slept with a different woman every night. Winning was his everything. He told me. He told me he crossed a line to repair his hand. God, why didn’t I find out more? Why didn’t I try to stop him?
The pit in my stomach grew. What if he still was that man?
25
Wes
I smiled in front of the cameras. My cheeks hurt from smiling so damn much. I was tired and cranky. This was supposed to be the best week of my life, but all I could do was countdown to Friday.
Coach Howell sat next to me while the press fired questions, and Sam Hickson was on my right. I’d give Stubbs a hard time when I saw him for bowing out of this one.
A reporter in the front row raised his hand. “How are you feeling about going up against the best scoring team in the league?”
Howell fielded the question. It wasn’t like it hadn’t been asked fifty times this week. “Our defense has studied. They’re trained. We’re ready for what they have. We don’t plan on letting them be the highest-scoring team on Sunday.”
Everyone in the room chuckled. It was easy to get a laugh out of the press.
A nerdy type next to him asked the next question. “Wes, what has been your training regimen this week?”
I pulled the mic closer to my chin. “I work with the trainers on my diet and I try to get a workout in in between press events. Standard stuff we do on the road. Nothing special this week.”
“Wes, Wes!” I pointed to the man in the back row. “Do you think Jenny Nichols is going to get any traction on her story?”
“Jenny Nichols? Is she here?” I’d never heard of her.
“The reporter who posted that your injury a few weeks ago may have been more than a severe sprain.”
I chuckled. “You boys know people are always trying to dig up exposés before the big game. This is the Super Bowl. It should be about the players. The teams. The men who worked their butts off to get here. Next question.” I passed over him and moved to another reporter, hoping he had something for Hickson or Coach, but I could feel it. The fear that Jenny fucking Nichols might know something.
It wasn’t a good feeling.
We left the press conference and rode back to the hotel. Sam was on his phone the entire time, texting who the hell knows, and Coach was answering calls from ownership. That one damn question at the press conference had made the headline. Nothing else mattered right now. There was a firestorm of emails and texts blowing up my phone.
I looked down when I saw Lennon’s number pop up.
“Hey, Doc. Can’t talk right now.”
“Wes, what’s happening? There are reporters downstairs in the lobby.”
“What?” I sat forward in the backseat.
“I got home from work and they were there like they were wait
ing for me. The only way I got up to the penthouse was because the concierge blocked them while I ran into the elevator.”
“Shit,” I whispered. “What did they ask? Did you answer anything?”
“They wanted to know if I had any comments on your injury. They wanted to know what medications I gave you.”
“Did you say anything?”
“Of course not.” She sounded pissed. “But this is insane. I can’t leave. They’re stalking me.”
The car pulled up to the curb and Coach and Sam slid out, leaving me in the car alone.
“I can get you out of there.” I tried to think what security team I trusted to escort her from the building, but I’d pay whatever I had to in order to keep her away from those vultures.
“I’m supposed to fly to San Diego tomorrow.”
“I know. I know.” It was all happening so fast. It was starting to crash down, and they had barely scratched the surface of this story. If I could make it through the weekend, and walk out of here with a Super Bowl ring, there would be a way to handle the press.
“This is exactly what I talked to you about,” she seethed. “You’ve risked it. Everything, Wes.”
“No one knows anything. The only story that’s out there right now is that I might have had more than a sprain.”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I’ll fly you out tonight. Beat the press by a day. We can talk.”
“I can’t leave. I have patients.”
I scratched the back of my head. “I need you here.”
She sighed into the phone. “I can try to get someone to cover my shift. I’ll call you back.”
I felt the relief sink into my shoulders. She could be here tonight. By my side. Battling this with me.
“I’ll book the flight.”
“All right, but I’m worried this is going to get worse before it gets better.”
“It might. But it’s going to blow over, Doc. Trust me. I’ve ridden out worse scandals.”
It wasn’t the right moment to tell her about how many women had accused me of knocking them up, or the guy who threatened to expose my private gambling ring. Ben was just one more on that list of people I’d paid off to keep their mouths shut.
“I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yes, you will. I’ve gotta go. Coach is waiting.”
I walked into the sunlight and into the hotel. I wasn’t prepared when a reporter popped up from behind a plant.
“Wes, do you want to comment on the rumor that you used HGH and regenerative gels to repair broken bones?”
“Who the hell are you?” My hand was already balled in a fist.
“Jerry Cole with the Sports X.” He pushed a recorder in front of my face. “Is it true? Did you use substances banned by the AFA?”
I shoved his hand out of the way. “I’m not commenting on rumors.”
“So was it really a break and not a sprain? Did the Wranglers lie about your injury?”
I walked away, heading toward the elevator.
“Did your girlfriend help you get the HGH? Did she have access to the illegal substances? It’s Dr. Lennon Ashworth, right?”
At the mention of her name, my eyes blazed. Who did this fucker think he was? Before I had a chance to deck him and flatten on the marble floor, Stubbs was next to me, pulling me into a conference room. He slammed the door behind us.
“Calm the fuck down, Blakefield.”
My chest was heaving. My pulse was thumping.
“They’re going to drag her into this,” I groaned.
“Stop right there.” He put his hands up. “I don’t want to know anything. Nothing about your hand. Nothing about HGH. Nothing about you and your girlfriend. Don’t say another word. If there is an investigation, I want to be able to say I know nothing. Got it?”
“Then why’d you drag me in here?” I glared at him, feeling my blood pressure starting to drop.
“To stop you from punching out that reporter in front of everyone. I can’t help you with what’s already happened, but maybe I can stop you from making a mistake today.”
I hung my head. “Thanks.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
“I would.”
“Get up to your suite. Get on the phone with your agent and come up with a plan.”
I chuckled. “You make it sound simple.”
“This is all just noise, man. Noise because no one wants the Wranglers to win.” He slapped me on the back, then poked his head out the door. “That guy’s gone. I think you can head up now.”
“Thanks, again.” I felt calmer, less likely to slug someone. There was a way out of this. There always was. I just had to figure out what it was, and how much it was going to cost me.
26
Lennon
I was about to land in San Diego. My world felt ripped apart. The press hounded me. Wes had been accused of cheating the AFA rules, and I was five days late. I was never late. My period ran like clockwork.
One thing at a time. I couldn’t tell Wes about that now. Could be a total false alarm. But I couldn’t help it. My hand went to my stomach, wondering if there was a little life there. Had Wes and I made a baby? My chest clutched with anxiety at the thought. We couldn’t be parents. And not now, with this scandal falling from the sky.
I walked down the jetway, stopping to find my luggage before locating the sign with my name on it. Ever since I left Wes’s apartment with a new security detail, I felt the need to look over my shoulder. I didn’t trust anyone. I couldn’t strike up a conversation with the lady next to me on the plane who babbled on and on about her twins. What if she tweeted something about me? What if she tried to weasel out some personal detail about Wes?
This level of scrutiny had made me paranoid, and it had only been a few hours since the news broke.
The driver took me downtown to one of the hotels on the water. It was the perfect San Diego scene. Romantic and magical. The lights sparkled on the water. But all I could think about was what Wes and I had to face. He was waiting for me. He had actually said on the phone that he needed me.
I straightened my shoulders and walked through the revolving door.
I knocked softly on the door. It opened, and Wes’s massive shoulders filled the frame.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Doc.” He pulled me inside, crushing my mouth with his lips. “Welcome to San Diego.”
I didn’t want to let go. I hadn’t seen him in days, and it felt good to be in his arms. To feel his strength wrap around me. He was warm and safe. I forgot about the storm brewing outside and just listened to his heart beat against his chest.
“I missed you.” I tipped forward on my toes to touch his lips again.
“It’s been a hell of a week here.” He took the bag off my shoulder and rolled my suitcase into the bedroom. “I already have a glass of wine for you.”
I twisted my lip. “I don’t think so. Maybe some ice water. Still feeling a little queasy from the flight. We had a lot of turbulence.” I couldn’t believe I had made that up, but I wasn’t going to scare him for no reason.
“Uhh, okay.” He dropped a few cubes and poured water into the crystal glass. “Here you go.”
“So, what’s the latest? What did your agent say?” I sat on the couch and waited.
“Lennon, I have to tell you. I want to tell you all of it.”
“Okay. What’s the plan?”
“I’m not talking about the plan and how I’m digging myself out of this fucking hole. I’m talking about the truth. The truth you asked for weeks ago.”
I stared at him. His jaw was set in determination. “I’ve been taking HGH. Injections in my thigh.” He sat next to me. “And I had a procedure done by a doctor to fuse my bones together with a gel.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know. I know you think I’ve crossed a line and I did. Hell. I knew what I was doing. And I didn’t care. I wanted to win. I wanted to be he
re at the Super Bowl. It was all I could think about. All I could dream about.”
“And now? Do you still think it was worth it?” I asked quietly.
“Maybe.” He hung his head. “That’s the thing. I still want to win. And if it wasn’t for this damn reporter, I wouldn’t think anything about it. I’m only worried about being caught. I’m not sorry about the drugs or the procedure.” He cupped my cheeks between his hands. “And I want to be able to tell you I’m sorry. I know you think it’s wrong. And I play dirty. I cheated. I only care what you think about me. I don’t give a damn about the rest of the world. But I don’t want you to look at me thinking I’m a liar. Because with you, I’m not.”
“Are you going to admit what you did?”
He dropped the warmth against my cheek. “No. Why would I do that?”
“To own up to it. To be honest with the AFA and your fans.”
“Before I left Sunday, we said something to each other.”
I’d never forget it. The way the word had rolled off his tongue. The moment I knew he owned more than just my body.
I nodded my head.
“And I do. I love you, Lennon. But you can’t ask me to do this. I’m not going public. My agent has a way to kill the story and the investigation. It’s going to take a huge chunk of my savings, but I’ve got new endorsements lined up. I’ll recover the money in three months, tops.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re not serious. You’re going to live with this lie?”
“It’s done. My hand is healed. I deserve to play in the Super Bowl. If I confess, it will ruin every man’s life on the Wranglers. Their kids’ lives. Their wives’ lives. I’m not going to do that to them just because you think it would make me an instantly morally acceptable man.”
I closed my eyes. This wasn’t the way I thought it would go. I thought the plan would be to hold a press conference and explain the medical transformation that had taken place. I thought he would want honesty and forgiveness.
“I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to change. You warned me, didn’t you?”