“A miserable, festering, pain in the ass?”
His scowl turned into a smile, impressed at my insult. “That would be accurate. In any case… chin up, and straighten your shoulders,” he said, snapping back to a stern voice. “Richardsons don’t hold their heads down.”
I did as I was told, feeling lighter than I had in a long while as my father headed toward the door. He opened it, then stopped with his hand on the knob to look back at me.
“For the record, fifty million is a solid number. And… don’t fire your assistant.”
After that he was gone, and I blinked a few times, processing his words. When it hit me, my face grew hot, and I hit the intercom button on my desk phone.
“Presley… get your ass in here, now.”
We were going to do it.
We were actually going to win this.
Yes, before this play we’d been five points behind, but just one touchdown was all it would take. And we were about to get it.
Everybody in the sky box was up on their feet, watching as Trent did the quick footwork necessary to spin out of reach from an opposing player, barely dodging a sack. We gasped, collectively, as he took a step back and fired the ball right down the middle.
Right into Jordan’s hands.
The first would-be tackler missed, and Sanchez came out of nowhere, keeping the defenders away from Jordan as he cut across the field. My heart swelled as Jordan’s impressive speed quickly ate away at the distance between him and the end zone.
Four yards… Three yards… Two yards.
“Ohhhhh!”
A collective groan went around the room as a safety dove at Jordan from behind, taking him down by his legs. Jordan’s top half smacked into the turf, the ball rolled free from the security of his hands… and the Kings were not this year’s Super Bowl champions.
Jordan rolled onto his back, remaining on the ground as celebrations exploded around him. Confetti burst in the air in the wrong colors, and he just… didn’t get up.
He’d been so close.
He smacked a hand to his chest, and I could see it heaving up and down, like he was having trouble. He’d been running for his life though, so it wasn’t strange that he’d need to catch his breath… but he still wasn’t getting up.
I ignored the condolences from somebody in the box as I moved closer to screen. At the same time I started to suspect he wasn’t just distraught – something wasn’t right – Trent did too. I saw him walk up to where JJ was spread across the ground, and bend to say something. Jordan touched his chest again, and suddenly Trent was up, yelling, and coaches and players were surrounding him too much for me to see him anymore.
I have to get there.
I never ran as fast in my life.
Out of the sky box, through the halls crowded with fans, some celebrating, some somber, I raced my way towards the field. I didn’t bother with the elevator, I took the stairs, sprinting through the crowd to get to where Jordan was.
On the field, my focus was singular: getting to him.
I rushed past live interviews, shoving the Patriot’s #12 out of my way, my sense of dread building the closer I got.
“Move!” I screamed, shoving a few of his teammates out of my way, and dropping to my knees beside him. They’d gotten his helmet off, but he was still having trouble catching his breath as the field medic tended to him until the medical cart arrived. Seeing him there, writhing in pain, was easily one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Suddenly, my freezing him out, so much that our only correspondence over the weekend had been me texting him to say: “Good luck on tomorrow’s game.” just seemed… stupid.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, desperately threading my fingers through his. I didn’t wait for a response before I stroked his cheek, trying to get him to meet my eyes. “I love you, okay?” I said, and he squeezed my hand back, with a labored, jerky nod. I pressed my lips to his forehead, cheeks, and mouth as gently as I could before I was pulled back so he could be loaded onto the cart that pulled up.
“Aye, let her ride with him,” Trent spoke up, helping me onto the cart to sit beside Jordan before anybody could object. The coaches exchanged a look, but nobody said anything. Coach Lou just climbed up too, and signaled for the driver to take off.
“Thank you,” I yelled to Trent, who gave me a little salute as we turned, weaving through the crowd. I gave my attention back to Jordan, who I was glad to see sitting up, but still… he was wounded. I knew without asking, and I didn’t even mean just physically. To lose a game so important to him, and then not even be able to walk off the field… and there wasn’t even anything I could do to make this better for him.
The medic riding with us was already talking about giving him something for the pain, which would probably put him to sleep. Underneath the towel draped over his head, Jordan nodded, his chest still heaving.
Sleep would probably be merciful.
And if I didn’t do anything else… I would be there when he woke up.
Twenty-three
What the fuck…
The grinding pain that had ripped through my shoulder subsided, just barely, as I lowered my arm back to the bed. I’d woken up groggy, feeling like I was in a thick fog, with an annoying itch irritating my arm.
It took a few seconds to realize I was in a hospital bed, but as soon as I did, everything came flooding back.
Almost.
I remembered catching the ball, dodging the tackle, grinning at Sanchez as he ran up, blocking for me on my right side. We were about to win it… I was finally about to get another ring, and then…
I wasn’t.
It was fuzzy after that. I remembered hitting the ground, feeling like something had snapped, the ball rolling out of my hands. I got onto my back because it felt like I couldn’t breath, and the pain… the pain was fucking blinding me. Somebody was over me, asking what was wrong, but all I could do, barely, was point to my chest. The Coach Lou was there, and… Nicki.
Where was Nicki?!
“Calm down,” she said, suddenly there, like I’d pulled her from my thoughts. Her hand was on my arm that didn’t hurt, rubbing back in forth in a soothing motion as the incessant beeping from the vitals monitor slowed down.
My vitals monitor.
“You’re okay,” she said, in that same calming voice, and some of the fog lifted. I turned to her, took in her red, puffy eyes, messy ponytail, and wrinkled tee shirt.
“What time is it?” I asked, struggling to get words through my dry throat.
She must have heard it in my voice, because before she answered, she pressed a straw to my lips, encouraging me to drink the cup of ice water she had ready. “About five in the morning.”
“You been here all night?”
A little smile came to her lips, and she nodded. “Yeah. Jess just went to go get you some breakfast, since we figured you’d be up soon. She also told the nurses I was your fiancée so they’d let me stay. Even without a ring, the whole world saw what happened, so… it was pretty easy to believe.”
“… what happened?”
“You broke your clavicle,” she said, squeezing my arm. “When that sonofabitch tackled you, the way you fell… your doctor is coming back in a few hours to talk to you about surgery. I’m sure Eli and Coach Lou will be through as well. Trent wants us to keep him updated, let him know when you’re ready for visitors. Your mother is on her way too.”
I nodded, setting off another flash of unexpected pain. But still… a clavicle break was a relief – it wasn’t the type of thing that ended a football career.
Usually.
“Do you want me to get the nurse to give you something more for the pain?” Nicki asked, looking concerned. But those dark circles under her eyes seemed like more than just lack of sleep to me.
“Nah,” I said, careful to keep my head still. “I feel loopy enough, I don’t want that shit. I want you to tell me what else happened, that made the nurses believe we were engaged.”
I frowned. “You guess?”
“Yeah, that’s not really accurate, is it? I definitely outed us, when all those people on the field, and all those cameras and mics picked up me acting a fool to get to you. Kissing all over your face, telling you I loved you like we were on the damn Titanic. It was all very, very high drama.”
There was… a lot in her tone. Exhaustion, embarrassment, frustration, and just enough humor for me to grab on to.
“Damn… you did all that for me?”
She met my gaze. “There is a video, with over two hundred thousand views the last time I checked it, of me shoving Tom Brady aside in the middle of his Super Bowl postgame field interview, set to “Move, Bitch, Get Out the Way”.”
My eyes went wide. “You shoved Tom Brady?”
“I shoved Tom Brady.”
“And they set it to Luda?”
“They set it to Luda. Luda retweeted it.”
“Damn, baby. That’s… fucking hilarious, I’m sorry,” I said, bursting into laughter – something I immediately regretted when pain ripped through my entire upper body. Nicki was gracious enough to tend to me for a few minutes until it subsided, but as soon as it had, she looked right at me, eyebrow raised.
“See there? God don’t like ugly.”
“You’re right,” I said, taking a deep, painful breath to keep from laughing again. “So you outed us… now what?”
The little bit of humor that had been on her face dropped away, and she shook her head. “Now… the social media excavation of my entire life, and subsequent dragging begins. Has already begun. For the last… nine or so hours, I have been a golddigger, the NFL’s corporate slut, an escort, a spy planted by the Patriots, an ugly bitch, and… oh yeah, a large group of very nasty people, across all social media platforms are sure that my father abused me as a little girl and groomed into the Kings’ private whore, available to all players. So… it has been just wonderful,” she finished, her voice breaking with emotion, eyes glossed with unshed tears.
Holy shit.
“Where’s your phone?” I asked, holding up my hand even though the movement hurt.
Nicki smiled. “Presley took it already, a few hours ago. And Jess has been cursing people out all night – entertainment while you slept. That, and giggling through the Tom Brady video with me.”
I made a mental note to give Jess a very, very nice gift, and motioned for Nicki to give me her hand. I squeezed it when she obliged. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you… turning you being down for me into something ugly.”
She shrugged. “I actually expected this. I’ve seen it a ton of times. Look at what the internet did with those pictures of Jade and Trent, you know? I just wasn’t mentally prepared to do it tonight. Not while you were laid up in hospital bed.”
“I’m still sorry,” I said, squeezing her hand again. “So I guess Eli knows now too, huh? Has he said anything to you about it yet? I wanna be there for that conversation.”
She shook her head. “Eli actually already knew. Before last night. I broke the news to him Friday, and I think he was probably waiting until after the game to say anything to you.”
Shit. Was I going to be able to be there for her on any of this shit?
“Well, what did he say? What about your job?”
The smile came to her face again. “Long story short… he said he loves a second chance story. So he’s okay with us. And I can keep my job. He actually told me tonight that anyone who had a problem with it could kiss his ass… but I still think you’ll be placed with a new ADPS.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It does.”
Neither of us said anything for a few moments, but then I nudged her hand. “So you broke the news to Eli Friday, huh?”
“Yeah… why?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Should I take that to mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“You absolutely should not,” Nicki countered, her expression completely serious. “I love you, Jordan. And I want this to work. But you can’t lash out at me like you did about that mess with your father. You can’t shut me out. You can’t hurt me, just because you’re hurting. Not when I’m trying my damndest to prove that I’m all in, trying to make up for hurting you, trying to… be my best. I need you trying too.”
“I know that,” I assured her. “I’ve been realized how stupid that shit was, but Nicki you wouldn’t even talk to me. You shut down on me, for weeks.”
“I was letting you focus.”
“You were being petty.”
Nicki rolled her eyes at that, but didn’t deny it. Another few moments of silence passed before she squeezed my hand. “We’ve still got some work to do,” she said, barely above a whisper, as she used her free hand to stroke my hair.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We do. But I want to do it. We have something here, baby. If we can just get our shit together.”
She nodded. “Yes, we do. That is the belief that is keeping the slaughter of my character from hurting so bad. Those people can say what they want, but I have something with you. Something beautiful. I’ve seen players take worse hits than you did last night. Get knocked unconscious, seen their blood, and bones. And it was messed up, and sad, of course. But it was part of the game. However… seeing you on the field. In so much pain that you were disoriented, and could barely breath, I….” She stopped for a second, to calm herself, and pushed out a deep breath. “If I could go back in time, I would do exactly the same thing. I don’t care that the world knows that I love you. I mean, I care, and the words hurt, but I don’t care. Those people don’t matter. You matter. And I’m sorry it took seeing you get hurt to remind me.”
“Nah,” I said, cringing as I shook my head. “I did that to us. That was my fuck up, that even had you upset in the first place. I’m sorry. For lashing out at you in the first place, and for doing it because I let my father get in my head. He’s gotten between us twice now, and I promise you… I won’t stand for that shit happening again. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Lay up here with me,” I said, words that immediately earned me a scowl.
“I’m not getting in there with you, you’re hurting! I can’t be all over you like that.”
“I can see and hear how exhausted you are,” I explained, meeting her eyes. “I don’t know where they found this bed, but from my angle, it seems like there’s room. Get up here and lay with me. Please?”
Nicki rolled her eyes, which let me know that I’d won. “Your ass doesn’t play fair,” she said, then slipped off her flats, and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Jess is going to think I’m crazy,” she said, easing down onto the bit of empty space beside me as gently as she could.
“Jess is going to mind her business.” I ignored the pain just enough to turn and kiss Nicki’s forehead as she settled into the space under my uninjured arm. “After she gets back with this food and shows me this video.”
“I must say… I’m surprised to see you up and about,” Chloe said, pushing her bangs out of her face. “I thought you’d want a little more time to heal before we had this meeting.”
I shrugged – with just one shoulder. “I’d rather have it now. As soon as I get any type of clearance, I’m spending all of my time in physical therapy.”
Only two weeks had passed since that Super Bowl loss, but that didn’t stop me from scheduling this time with Chloe. I was in a sling that kept my arm from moving, which was supposed to be helping facilitate my healing after surgery to realign my broken collarbone. It was jacked up that it had to be on the same side I’d already had rotator cuff surgery, but… shit happens.
“Would the team doctor be ready to have my ass for having you out like this? You know I would have met you at your home, right?”
I shook my head, gingerly. “Nah, nothing like that. I’m supposed to be moving about as normally as I can, and I actually have lit
tle minor exercises and stuff they prescribed. Just nothing strenuous yet.”
“Good,” she nodded, pulling her bag into her lap, and opening it. She took out a folder and opened it, sliding it across the table to me. I grinned when I recognized what it was.
#1 – be taken seriously
#2 – gain father’s respect
#3 – Nicki
“So,” she asked, folding her hands together on the table. “These were your goals when you and I met four months ago. How do you think you’ve managed so far?”
I chewed at my bottom lip for a second, thinking about it. “Well… the first one is easy. You definitely did your thing with that.”
“It is the only one I promised I could do anything about,” she reminded me with a smile, and I nodded.
“That’s true. And I did like you said – didn’t stop living, having fun. Just not as conspicuous, not so much. Focused on something you and my homeboy told me – not giving the media any negativity to work with. My injury is gonna mess up my ability to be hands on with the kids at my camp this summer, but I’ll still be there. Plus, my game performance this season. The way they talk to and about me now… it’s just different.”
Chloe smiled. “Indeed. I was very impressed with how you handled the aftermath of that interview your father gave.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t easy.”
That shit was still vividly branded in my head. My father had chosen Zone Report of all places to give some bullshit interview to Cedrick Rochester. He’d taken the opportunity to talk shit about me, my past, current, and future seasons, all of which were bleak according to him. As I watched that from my bed, with Nicki tucked at my side, my friends and teammates available with a few key presses on my phone, and my mom and sister making life as comfortable as possible, it finally clicked for me.
That was the final straw.
That motherfucker knew I was hurt. The whole world did. He hadn’t even been to see me, sent a card, a text, a flower, nothing, but he could go on TV to spread bullshit?
Fuck him.
The only reason I wasn’t pre-arranging an ass-whooping for as soon as my broken bone healed was that he’d kept Nicki’s name out of his mouth. Cedrick tried to take him there – pussy ass dude – but I guess he realized that was dangerous ground.
Love on the Highlight Reel (Connecticut Kings Book 2) Page 29