Finding Infinity (Infinity Series)

by Layne Harper

  He’s my tragic hero bathed in the moonlight. His face is relaxed. He’s staring out into the night sky. I’m not sure if he’s happy, or sad, or what his emotions are. It’s almost as if he’s posing for a photographer, and has been asked to hold still just a little while longer.

  There’s something that I learned about Colin early on in our relationship; In round one, if you will. He handles high-pressure situations in the moment like the professional that he is. Big games don’t bother him. He’s able to take his nerves, stress and anxiety, and turn them into fuel for a big game. This is what separates highly successful elite athletes from those who only achieve mediocre success. However, when the game is over, even if the outcome is in Colin’s favor, he needs his alone time to decompress.

  I remember the college game the first year that we were dating, when the Aggies were not expected to beat the number one team in the nation. We did. Colin was successful. I watched him; instead of celebrating with his teammates, he was sitting on the team bench, staring at the football field while everyone went crazy around him. It was the first time I ever saw that reaction from him, and I’d been so concerned.

  Over the following two years we dated, I learned that this is what makes Colin, Colin. Win or lose the game, at some point Colin needs to “be,” as he calls it. Previously, that meant a slow and long lovemaking session, followed by Colin retracting into his shell.

  Now, as I stare at him, I realize that’s what he’s doing. It’s also what he did at the hotel in Los Angeles the morning after we made love again, for the first time in eight years. I’d thought this was his way of letting me know I was a one-night stand, and was furious with him. I now know that he just needed his time to process what happened.

  Today had been a huge day. Not only did we get married, but I also told him that I was ready to give him a baby. I should have known my man better. For his personal life, this was the equivalent of beating the number one team in the nation. I put too much on him. I should have waited, and told him about going off the pill later this week.

  The more I watch him, the more of a jerk I feel. I haven’t even been his wife for twenty-four hours, and I’m already a screw up. I climb out of bed and walk over to him. He senses me nearing him and picks his head up, and looks at me. His face is unreadable. His eyes are blank, but demeanor seems to be peaceful. “Whatcha doin’ awake, beautiful girl? I thought I’d put you in a coma,” he says softly.

  I don’t respond, and snuggle into his lap. “I shouldn’t have told you yet about getting off the pill. I’m sorry.”

  He kisses my head and then repeatedly as he strokes my hair. “Of course you should have. You gave me the best wedding gift possible.”

  I look up into his warm, soft eyes. I run my hand over his face feeling the rough stubble meeting the velvet soft skin where hair doesn’t grow. “It was too much for you, in one day. I’ll do a better job of protecting you in the future. I promise.”

  “Oh, my beautiful girl knows me too well,” he says, with a slight chuckle. “Nothing’s changed, baby. I still need my ‘being’ time.” He lets out a deep sigh, and adjusts me on his lap. He says in a content voice, “I’m so happy. I never thought I would be this happy again. When I left you in College Station, I didn’t think I would know what happiness felt like again. Today, is the first time since then that I’ve felt pure, uninhibited, no-strings-attached happiness. It’s not an emotion that I’m quite familiar with.” I have to lean in closer straining to hear what he’s saying.

  His honest words crush me. A tear seeps out of my eye, because I know what he means. It finally feels like we’re not clinging on to this relationship. We can finally settle into our life, together.

  He uses his thumb to wipe the tear from my face. I snuggle against his chest, even deeper, listening to his heart beating knowing that the thump, thump is for me. “I know exactly what you mean. I get it. Do you need to be alone, or can I stay with you?”

  “I’d always prefer you to be with me. Never alone, baby. Not anymore,” he whispers against my bare shoulder.

  Silence settles over us, and minutes tick by. Our breathing falls into rhythm with each other as our chests rise and fall as one. “Remember when you used to tell me football stories as I fell asleep?”

  Colin chuckles again, and kisses my head. “I do.”

  “Can I tell you a love story while you fall asleep?” I sound bashful not sure if my story will be as good as some of the ones that he’s told me.

  “Sure,” he says, as he lifts me up and carries me back to bed. When he has me situated, horizontal, against him, I begin.

  “There once was a handsome prince named Edward. Like, he was the Prince of Wales, and heir to the British throne. He fell in love with an American named Wallis Warfield Simpson. She also happened to be married. He met her at a party, and although it wasn’t love at first sight, he did fall in love with her over the course of a couple of years.”

  Colin glances at me. “Is this a real story?” He kisses my cheek.

  “Yup. They were a real couple. Now, just listen,” I shake my head but give him a smile so he knows that I’m not angry. He rubs my arm, as if to let me know he’s listening. “When Wallis separated from her husband, Prince Edward and her began their love affair. They enjoyed a couple of years of each other’s company before Parliament got wind of their relationship, and became anxious because she was, well, not British, and a commoner. Then, Prince Edward’s father, the king, died—and Prince Edward took over the royal throne. A media uproar broke out. Who was the woman he was with? It was scandalous.” I pause my bedtime story looking into Colin’s eyes. “Remind you of anyone else you know?”

  Colin chuckles. “It sounds a bit familiar, except I’m not a king, and you’re not a commoner.”

  “Oh really, McKinney?” I ask as I roll my eyes. “You aren’t a quarterback god, and I’m not a lowly doctor with no claim to fame?”

  He tickles my side and says, “Finish your story, Mother Goose.”

  “Anyway, Prince Edward is miserable. Like miserable with a capital M. Not too soon after, Prince Edward abdicates the throne to his little brother. He told the world in a radio broadcast that he couldn’t be king without his woman by his side.

  “Wallis finalized her divorce from her husband, and then the two got married in a small ceremony and spent the rest of their lives in France, where they lived happily ever after. The end.”

  He snuggles me closer to him, and holds on to me tightly. “I understand. I couldn’t live without you. None of this would mean shit.”

  “I heard that story for the first time in my British Lit class in college, but it went in one ear and out the other because it had nothing to do with medical school. Then, I rediscovered it when I was working on our wedding. I like the story, and it reminds me of us.” I place my hand on his stomach, allowing my fingers to trace his muscle tone.

  “I can’t think of a better bedtime story for our wedding night than that one,” Colin says as he drifts off to sleep.

  I’m not tired after my short bliss coma, and lie next to him, studying his beautiful face and thinking about the story. The first time I read it, I thought what an idiot Prince Edward was. Seriously, he gave up the British throne for a twice-divorced lady? But then I reread it, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I did that. Not in the grand fashion of Prince Edward, but I gave up my medical practice for Colin, who’s divorced. I completely changed my life for love. I could sympathize with the constant hounding of the media. I wondered if there were paparazzi digging through their garbage and hiding in Prince Edward’s bushes to snap a picture of the couple?

  The more research I did on the couple, the more I sympathized with their story. What Prince Edward gave up was huge and momentous, but what Wallis gave up was equally important, just not on the same scale. She gave up her anonymity. She presented herself to the world for its harsh judgment. On top of that, she had to watch the man that she loved give up everything, including his country
, for her. Me giving up my town home in Houston doesn’t seem so bold anymore.

  Was it worth it? Did Prince Edward think giving up the throne for Wallis was worth it? No one will ever know what was in his heart, but I know that everything that I’ve done for this man, the one pressed against me, is worth it. I adore him, and I can’t wait to be pregnant with his child.

  Chapter Nine

  Colin

  No one’s happier about training camp starting than quarterback Colin McKinney. “Maybe you guys will start reporting about our upcoming season, rather than my personal life,” Colin said, at the Cowboy’s media day. Rumor has it that he married Doctor Caroline Collins during the off-season, but getting him to confirm it will never happen. Although, I can tell you that he was wearing a wedding band on his left hand.

  McKinney looks to be in the best shape of his career. I personally watched him run through his practice drills, and he’s definitely a man with an eye on the prize.

  I’m off. I feel like shit. I’ve got no power in my arm. I ache all over, and I want to go home and go to sleep.

  “What the fuck, McKinney?” my passing coach yells at me. I shudder and look down at the green grass under my feet. We’ve been working on throwing drills for a couple of hours, and my throws are getting less accurate each time.

  I hate admitting the obvious: I’m sick. Being sick is for pussies without immune systems. That’s not me. Our first game of the season is Monday night, at home, in two days. Being sick is not a fucking option.

  “You’re throwing is for shit. My seven-year-old daughter can throw more accurately than you.” I know he’s goading me. He knows that I’m sick. I know that I’m sick. I’ll be damned if I admit it to anyone. I’d rather die on this practice field, right here, right now, than tell anyone what’s going on. This is my fucking spot. This is my team. I will not sit out. The starting quarterback spot is mine.

  I’ve taken away a veteran’s position on the team. Karma is a bitch, and I’m due. The guy backing me up, Tucker Wilson, is fucking phenomenal. I can feel his nasty, filthy breath against my neck. I’m the quarterback, and I will not give anyone second thoughts about it.

  “Just got a head cold. I’m fine. A little fatigued. Maybe we should watch some game film for a little while,” I reply, as fucking chipper as I can muster. The Dallas heat is beating against me. My fever is raging and I’m dizzy. I’ve been too sick to eat or drink much of anything, and I haven’t told a soul. I know if I don’t get some AC soon, though, that’s it. I might pass out. I pray that he gives me the out that I desperately need.

  We step inside the cool film watching room. It looks like the nicest movie theater ever. It’s so fucking cold that I break into a sweat.

  “Get to the training room, you’re fucking green,” my coach growls at me.

  I try protesting, but I feel too bad to get much out other than, “Okay.”

  I stop by my locker on the way and grab my phone and wedding ring. I know that they’re keeping me. I’m staying here until I’m well enough to play football, even though that means not being at home with Charlie.

  I walk into the training room and spot a table in the corner. There’s a blanket lying near it. I grab it and crawl on to the orange, padded, flat table. I haven’t been sick like this in years. It’s too early for the flu, but it sure feels like it.

  The doc, who’s got greying hair, maybe in his early sixties, comes over almost immediately and takes one look at me as he shakes his head. “Caroline keeping you up too late at night?”

  “Fuck off. I’m pretty sure that I have malaria. Just fix it,” I say, through chattering teeth.

  He smirks at my joke and then asks me about a million fucking questions, and I answer as politely as possible. If they’d just let me go home and sleep for about twenty-four hours, I would be fine.

  He uses a cotton swab to take a sample from my throat, and it takes everything I’ve got not to barf on his shoes. He does a flu test. He shoves a thermometer in my mouth. He pokes and prods my neck feeling my glands. I lie there, wishing for death. And then he leaves.

  Soon enough, he comes back and informs me that I have strep, as in the virus that children get, not thirty-something-year-old football players that are in the top physical shape of their lives.

  “You’re contagious, my friend. The good news is that we can get you on an antibiotic immediately, and you should be fine by Monday. The bad news is that you probably contaminated the whole fucking team because you didn’t drag your sorry ass into the training room the first time you felt a throat tickle.”

  God, he’s making me feel like a real shit-heel. However, at the moment I’m not sure if the very little that I’ve eaten today is going to stay in my stomach, so I keep my mouth shut. “Can I go home?” I ask. I sound fucking pathetic.

  “You’re not driving,” he states without an ounce of sympathy. I know that I just made his job that much harder. He didn’t tell me no, though, and that makes me feel hopeful.

  “I’ll call Caroline,” I reply.

  I know that Charlie’s at the hospital. The week after we got married she tossed out every job offer that she’d received, including being a host on some doctor show, chairing a not-for-profit concussion foundation, and teaching at the local medical school. Instead, she decided to work at the charity hospital in Dallas. She’s a surgeon that is on call for bone and muscle trauma injuries. She does rounds as needed. Brad is her nurse. He doesn’t have to deal with whiney patients, vomit, or vaginas. He does see some infections, but says that he can handle it.

  I hit Charlie’s number on my phone and wait for her to answer. I’m not sure if she’s in surgery. If so, I might have to get Jenny to pick me up. A shiver runs down my spine.

  “Hey baby. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until later,” she says, sweetly.

  “I’ve got strep throat and need to go home. Can you come get me?” I ask.

  “Oh no! Sure. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll head your way.”

  Then it hits me. I’m contagious. She could be pregnant. I could give her this, and it could hurt the baby. My heart races. “Never mind. You stay at the hospital. I’ll go check in to a hotel.”

  “What?” she asks, clearly confused.

  “Doc says that I’m contagious. I don’t want to give it to you,” I explain. My throat feels like it’s on fire.

  “Colin, you do know that I work in a hospital, right?” she says, condescendingly. “I’m exposed to far worse than strep throat on a daily basis. In fact, I probably gave it to you. I’ll see you in a few.”

  She hangs up before I can reply. God, now I’m more fucked up. I feel like the hounds of hell have trampled my body, and my stomach is churning. She can’t fucking work in a hospital, around all those sick people, and be pregnant. She didn’t get pregnant the first two months she after she went off the pill, but she could be pregnant now.

  I lie there, shaking under a blanket while I plan how I’m going to get her to quit her job. At least if she was in a practice she’d be seeing patients with broken arms, and not be around contagious people. Maybe she needs an offer she can’t refuse.

  “Hey, doc,” I call.

  He walks over to me and immediately begins to examine me again. “Is the Tylenol kicking in yet?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve met Caroline, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve met her, why?”

  “She’s a Harvard-trained orthopedic surgeon. Would there be a place on your staff for her?”

  He laughs. The fucker laughs at me. “Not wanting her away from home?”

  “Look doc, just between you and me. She’s trying to get pregnant. I can’t have her working at the charity hospital.” I plead my case. He’s got to understand.

  “We’re fully staffed here. Plus, do you really want her hands all over your teammates? Do you know the amount of shit they’d give you?”

  He’s right. So fucking right. I would flip my shit if the guys started trying to get ex
tra attention from her.

  I’ve got to figure out another plan. I make a note in my phone to talk to Brad.

  I must doze for a little while, because the next thing I know she’s looking like an angel standing next to me. Her soft, cool hand rests on my forehead checking my temperature. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.”

  I feel like I’m seven again, and my mom is picking me up from school after I’ve tossed my cookies all over the classroom. As I get off the table, my joints protest. I push down the pain by thinking about Caroline not being around all of those sick people right now and make my way through the doorway, following her out of the training room.

  Once we’re in her fucking matchbox-sized car that is only fit for tiny people and small older men suffering from mid-life crises, I bring up the subject. “Have you thought about the dangers of being pregnant while you work at a hospital?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “I’m going to assume that you’re delirious from your high fever —that you left untreated— and ignore your stupid comment, because if you think for a second that you’re going to manipulate me into changing jobs, I’ll get back on the pill so fast that your head will spin.”

  God, I feel like shit. I should have kept my fucking mouth shut. “Honey, drive fast. I need to get home,” I moan, and lean my head against head rest. My throat is on fire. I’ve missed a couple of meals, and I practiced in the heat for a couple of hours. Not a smart combination. Plus, I swear we hit every bump between the training room and home.

  With each bump, I feel my stomach churning more. The dizziness has reached the point that I have to keep my eyes shut. Fuck. I feel awful. I start the mental talk with myself. We’re almost home. Just a couple more turns…