Making the Play

by T. J. Kline

  Grant pressed a quick kiss to Bethany’s temple. “What do you say we play a little catch before you have to go home, James?” The boy hesitated a moment, as if unsure he could even let go of Grant long enough to play.

  James nodded but looked to his mother, his eyes begging her to change Grant’s mind. It was almost enough to make Grant cancel his doctor appointment and meetings altogether. Almost.

  BETHANY STARED BACK at Grant through the windshield of her car as she backed out of the driveway of his parents’ ranch. With his hand raised, James had waved goodbye but Bethany hadn’t been able to do anything except think back over the past weekend, wishing that she could have done something differently, something that might have made Grant want to stay. Driving her sleeping son to their empty house, Bethany was greeted by nothing but silence and it was deafening.

  This is who he is.

  She’d known it from the first time she’d met him but that didn’t stop her heart from coming up with what-­if scenarios to torture her. Nothing had shredded her heart the way James’ silent tears had during the ride home. She’d never been so grateful as she was when her son had finally fallen asleep in the back seat. Even then, the trail of silver tears lining his cheeks and the little hiccups as his heart continued to break, even in slumber, shattered hers. She tried to stop the regrets from choking her, threatening to drown her.

  She’d meant what she’d said when she told Grant that their time together was worth every bit of the pain losing him would cause, but that didn’t lessen the hurt. And it didn’t make her feel less guilty about James’ suffering now.

  She pressed the heel of her palm against the left side of her chest, where her heart used to reside. What she hadn’t expected was that this didn’t just hurt—­it was agonizing.

  Pulling the car into the garage, she pressed the button to close the door and unclipped James from his car seat. Scooping his little body into her arms, she carried him into the house and slid him into his bed, removing the microphones and batteries. She brushed her fingers over the hair hanging into his face. At least he was peaceful for now, but tomorrow would bring new difficulties for him as he tried to return to life without Grant. She slid the sheets over his shoulders.

  “Who are you kidding?” she whispered in the darkness. “You’re going to miss him even more than James will.”

  Bethany heard the faint sound of her ring tone from the phone still in her car and hurried back to get it out of her purse, hoping it was Grant. She reached for the phone in the cup holder in time to see that it was only her mother.

  She’d call her back. She couldn’t talk to anyone right now.

  Wandering into the kitchen, she dropped her purse on the counter as the cell phone vibrated in her hand, notifying her of a text message.

  Just got to the airport. I’ll call when I get to Memphis.

  She stared at the screen for a few moments, waiting to see if he was going to text more. When he didn’t, she typed her reply. Have a safe trip. I’ll talk to you soon.

  There was so much more she wanted to add to the message. A heart and an I love you, but she was afraid to say more. She didn’t want to lay any more expectation in his lap when he had enough to worry about. She carried her phone into her room and sat on the edge of her bed, hoping he would text again but not surprised when he didn’t. He had an important appointment tomorrow and needed to mentally prepare.

  Minutes ticked by and she looked around her room. It was funny how it hadn’t reminded her of Grant until now, when he was no longer there and the likelihood of his coming back was slim. She tossed the phone aside and curled up on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest, clinging to a pillow. She barely felt the tears as they started to slide down her cheeks. All she knew was that the pillow she clung to still smelled like the lingering scent of Grant’s cologne, haunting her, reminding her of how close she’d come to having the man of her dreams.

  And how she’d just lost him.

  GRANT GLANCED AT his watch as he hailed a taxi outside the terminal doors. What should have been a seven-­hour trip had turned into a nightmarish twelve hours, most of it stuck up in the air, thanks to a storm in Chicago. He’d be lucky to check into the hotel and get a shower before he had to leave for his ten a.m. physical with his doctors. He was tired, hungry and the only place he really wanted to be right now was lying in a bed with Bethany in his arms.

  Loading his suitcase into the trunk of the cab, he gave the driver the address of the hotel he’d booked for the night. He’d subleased his condo when he’d left and the lease wasn’t up for another two weeks, when spring training was set to begin. He probably should have just canceled the hotel room since he didn’t have time to use the bed he was dying to crawl into. He’d tried to sleep on the plane but images of Bethany and James kept him awake cursing his decision, making him wonder what was keeping him from just turning his back on this ridiculous fantasy of playing ball again.

  Tearful blue eyes filled his mind. The sorrow he’d caused James and Bethany ate at him and Grant knew this misery he was feeling was only a portion of the punishment he deserved.

  Arriving late had its benefits, and Grant was able to check into his room quickly, tossing his bag onto the bed and turning on the shower. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted, but knew he didn’t have time to give in to the weariness that threatened to overtake him. Instead, he prepared coffee in the small pot provided by the hotel. It wasn’t the most appealing option but perhaps a little caffeine would give him enough of a jolt to keep his system functioning long enough to fake his way through this appointment. He stripped his clothing off, tossing it on the foot of the bed before opening the bathroom door, letting the steam pour from the room, invading his lungs. He stood under the scalding water, praying it would burn away the memories of stubborn hazel eyes that refused to ask him to stay.

  Grant ran his hands through his hair, lathering it with shampoo and scrubbing roughly, trying anything that might rid his mind of the vision of Bethany lying in his arms. He’d been a fool to believe he could hold her, make love to her and leave. With the way he’d grown closer to her each day, he should have known that one time with her would never be enough. Even now, he would give anything to walk away—­from the doctors, the game and his future in football—­get back on a plane and return to her.

  The sound of the alarm on his phone jerked him from reliving the fantasy of his afternoon with Bethany. He’d set the alarm early this morning when he’d been stranded in Chicago waiting out the storm and he realized there was going to be little opportunity for sleep. He’d wanted to make sure he didn’t miss his appointment. The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t really care if he made it, other than the fact that missing it meant he’d given up.

  And that one fact was what was holding him back. He’d never been a quitter. Bethany had basically said the same and he’d loved her even more for recognizing the reality of the man he was. In his eyes, quitting was more than just weakness, it was something he knew he could never do and maintain any respect for himself. If he couldn’t respect himself, he couldn’t ask Bethany to respect him.

  Rinsing quickly, he wrapped a towel around his hips and dug a pair of exercise pants and a t-­shirt from his bag, not even bothering to shave. He quickly brushed his teeth and tossed a change of clothing into a small bag. Pouring a coffee into the to-­go cup in the room, he grabbed it, his wallet and room key before rushing down to the lobby.

  As soon as he reached the ground floor, Grant realized he’d left his phone charging on the nightstand. The clock over the concierge’s desk reminded him that he only had twenty minutes to get across town for his physical. He didn’t have time to wait for the elevator to head back to the room.

  Damn it.

  He was going to have to wait to call Bethany after his meeting. Grant prayed she was too busy with the kids at work today to even notice. “Excuse me, can you call a cab
to pick me up?”

  “Right away, Mr. McQuaid.”

  “Thank you,” he muttered, heading out to the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

  It wasn’t unusual for ­people in Memphis to recognize him and, normally Grant was flattered, but today it was just a reminder of what was at stake with this doctor’s appointment, as well as everything he was placing at risk if he didn’t give it everything he had. Grant rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, unsure why he wasn’t feeling more optimistic about today’s outcome. He’d worked, sweated and literally bled for this moment for the last three months.

  Maybe it was because, regardless of the outcome, he was going to lose something he loved.

  Chapter Twenty-­Three

  BETHANY WOKE SLOWLY, dragging herself from sleep, rubbing at her eyes. They felt heavy, gritty, and it took her a moment to remember why. Before her grief could take root too deeply, James appeared at her doorway, rubbing his eyes.

  “Mom?” His voice was thick with sleep and still groggy.

  Crap! It’s Monday.

  Bethany reached for her cell phone to see the battery dead after she’d dropped it on her bed, waiting for a text from Grant. She bolted down the stairs to look at the clock on the stove. Sure enough, the clock made it clear they were running late. Insanely late.

  She ran back up the stairs and into James’ room, pulling clothes from his drawer and shuffling him into the bathroom. Bethany washed his face quickly, tugging his t-­shirt over his head and signing to him to finish dressing because they were late. As he dressed, she grabbed his earpieces and slid the battery packs onto his arms. She hated having to rush him out of his world of silence but they weren’t just a little late, they were an hour late.

  “Baby, I’m going to have to make you peanut butter and you can eat it in the car, okay? We’re really, really late.”

  I don’t want to go to school, he signed.

  “What’s wrong? Is it your stomach?” Bethany automatically pressed the back of her fingers against his forehead, testing for a temperature.

  James ducked his head. “No,” he mumbled. When he looked up, she could see the tears welling in his eyes.

  “Oh, baby, come here.”

  Bethany held out her arms and he threw himself into them. It didn’t take much for her to know that this had far more to do with Grant’s leaving than it did a virus. She held him as his tears slid over his cheeks, pooling on the shoulder of the t-­shirt she’d fallen asleep in. She leaned back to look him in the eye.

  “What do you think about taking a mental health day today?” His forehead knitted as he frowned. “It’s where you forget about all the things that are making you feel sick or sad, and you watch movies and eat ice cream all day,” she explained.

  James gave her a single shoulder shrug. She’d hoped for a more enthusiastic reaction but it would have to do.

  “Why don’t you go take a bath and I’ll bring in the bubbles after I call the school to let them know we aren’t going to be there today, okay?”

  His lower lip stuck out but he nodded.

  It was a start and that was what they both needed. To simply keep putting one foot in front of the other until it became natural again, even if it meant moving forward without Grant.

  “GRANT, HAVE A seat.”

  After all the testing they’d put him through, he should be glad they’d even allowed him time to shower afterward. Not that he’d had much of an opportunity to stop since he’d arrived almost five hours ago. Between the blood work and the fitness testing, this was the first time he wasn’t being poked, prodded or attached to some kind of machine. Oddly enough, even with his lack of sleep, the realization that the time had come to finally get some answers had him wired and unable to sit still.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m good. I feel good.” Grant didn’t want to sound overeager but he felt like he was in the best physical shape he’d been in for more than three years. “So what’s the verdict?”

  Dr. Grady glanced in the folder in front of him, flipping through a few pages before he folded his hands over it and sighed. “Grant, I know you feel like you could climb a mountain. In fact, that you could probably do. But I just don’t feel that your body can take the strain of another season. You’ve had several concussions in the past year, too many. The brain can only take so many hits before it begins to show signs of chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Even if you don’t have signs of CTE now, who knows what will show up in the future? Not to mention that the C5 and C6 vertebrae are showing some deterioration of the disc. You probably remember that these are the two vertebrae we were most concerned with during your last injury.”

  Grant knew what was coming. He’d known it before he’d flown to Memphis. He should have saved them all the time and just stayed home with Bethany, not put everyone through the torment. “So what are you saying, Doc?”

  “In a nutshell, you’re finished with football, Grant. It’s time to retire and move on to the next chapter of your life.”

  Grant’s jaw jutted slightly as he tried not to clench it. The doctor tried to make the future sound great, and it might have worked if he had a next chapter to begin but, in reality, Grant had nothing to build a life on save a few side investments and an offer from a network.

  You have Bethany. Go home.

  The image of his beautiful Bethany filled his mind, his arms aching to hold her. But what good was he to her or James now? Unemployed and, other than the job in New York, unemployable unless he wanted to mentor rookies on his old team in hopes it might turn into a coaching job one day. He had his business degree but he’d never planned on doing anything with it because there had only been one profession on his mind, and now that was being stripped away from him. Bethany and James needed a man who could provide for them, a man who could take care of them, not a has-­been with nothing to offer. He didn’t even have his own place to stay unless it was a canvas tent in the foothills.

  Grant ran a hand through his hair. “So you won’t clear me to play?”

  He knew there was no real point in asking but the words slipped out anyway. He wasn’t sure what else to say, which way to turn, as his world seemed to crash in on itself.

  “As your doctor, I can’t recommend that you play. I doubt the team doctors will see it any differently, but you’re welcome to see them instead and try. But, Grant, as your friend, I’m telling you not to do this. You take many more hits like you did last season and I don’t see those vertebrae holding up. It would only take getting hit once, or landing the wrong way, and you could be paralyzed. It’s too risky.”

  Grant rubbed his fingers and thumb over his chin. “Life is risky,” he pointed out. “The same thing could happen on a horse at my parents’ ranch.”

  “True, but how often have you fallen off a horse and taken a hard hit to the head the way you do in football, day in and day out? Is it something you do every single day?”

  Grant knew there was no arguing, cajoling or begging that was going to change this situation. He’d suspected this was going to be the outcome but to hear the words finally spoken, to know with absolute certainty that his career was over when he still felt in his prime, was devastating.

  “Grant, you’ve got a lot ahead of you.” Dr. Grady cocked his head to one side, as if trying to read Grant’s expression. “This is a setback, but you are the most tenacious man I’ve ever met. Take some time and think about what you really want to do with the rest of your life. Then go do it.”

  This coming from a man who didn’t have the same statistics at his disposal that Grant did. He knew most retired football players ended up bankrupt, that most ended up with broken bodies and empty pocketbooks. For all the media hype about million-­dollar contracts, most players never saw the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, either because of injury, poor money management or corruption within the system. He’d taken a few steps to m
ake sure that didn’t happen to him but, unfortunately, those few investments weren’t enough to create the future he wanted with Bethany and James now and he was at a loss as to which way to turn now.

  BETHANY SLID HER phone out of her desk drawer as Julie led twenty-­five Kindergarten students out to recess. It had been two days since she’d gotten the initial message from Grant telling her he’d call. Tapping the screen, she searched for a text message that she knew wasn’t there. She checked her voice mail again, even though her phone didn’t show any missed calls. He hadn’t called, nor had he send a message by text, email or carrier pigeon.

  Face it, Bethany, you’ve been blown off.

  It was just as likely he was busy. She was trying to stay positive, to trust the man she had met here in Hidden Falls and ignore the speculations being thrown around in Memphis on television. But it wasn’t easy when her father called demanding to know the latest information about Grant McQuaid’s rumored retirement. It hadn’t gone over well when she told him that she honestly had no idea about what he had planned, nor did it keep her father from asking if he needed to hunt the man down while he was in town. Obviously both of her parents could see the writing on the wall faster than she had—­if she didn’t know about his retirement decision, she wasn’t as close to Grant as she’d thought she was.

  If he loved you, he’d have told you his plans, talked them over with you.

  She scrolled through the text messages on her phone again.

  “Nothing yet?”

  Bethany nearly dropped the phone when she saw Steven standing in the doorway. She slid her cell back into her desk and rose, smoothing her maxi skirt over her thighs. “Sorry, I should have gone out there with you guys and not stuck you with all the kids.”