by Frost, Sosie
“There’s a little bar the guys were talking about around the corner. McCrees. They said the food was good, and a couple of them are going to harass the rookies there tonight. Meet me there at eight o’clock.”
“W—why?”
“Because you need to eat, and we need to talk.” Jude stalked to the door. “I won’t take no for an answer, Doc.”
“Jude, I’m not going to sway my professional opinion—”
“Then I’ll appeal to you personally. I’m fine, Rory. No five-minute test will prove a damn thing about my head. We’ll meet for dinner, eat, and you’ll see that I’m good to play.” He paused. “And then we’re gonna figure out what to do with you.”
“I don’t need anything done with me. I can handle myself.”
“That makes two of us. Don’t keep me waiting.”
The door closed behind him.
My body shut down. Exhaustion. Nausea. Muscle aches. A headache that wouldn’t quit.
None of it compared to the simple thrill that coursed through my veins.
Jude Owens asked me out to dinner.
…Where was he sixteen weeks ago?
2
Jude
My memory wasn’t great anymore, but I couldn’t afford to forget about Rory.
I’d set two alerts on my phone to remind me.
8:00 – Rory @ McCrees
Still seemed weird to see her name flash on my screen though. Not that her contact information wasn’t in my list, but I usually called Eric when I needed something. Seeing her tonight shouldn’t have excited me as much as it did, but it wasn’t like I had a thriving social life in my new home.
I reached for the TV remote, but the Sports Nation broadcast shifted topics to something more familiar.
Me.
Ainsley Ruport’s smug grin filled the screen. Tonight’s top story—the rumors about my return to the league.
For eleven years, reporters had discussed my talent, my skill, and my amazing play on the field. Once, they all said the same thing—no defense can stop running back Jude Owens.
Now?
Ainsley chortled into the camera, his brow somehow sweaty while sitting behind a desk. “The rumor around the league is that free-agent Jude Owens is looking to sign a one-year contract with the Ironfield Rivets. It’s no secret the Rivets need firepower. After last season’s photo-gate scandal, Ironfield was stripped of their first and second round draft choices. But are they desperate enough to sign Jude Owens?”
Desperate? What the hell?
I toyed with the television remote in my left hand, the vibrating cell in my right. Time to go to McCrees…but Ainsley wasn’t finished.
“Owens might have the legs, but he’s rushing from the line of scrimmage directly into another concussion.” Ainsley grinned at his co-hosts. “The Rivets are wasting space in the salary cap if they sign Owens, a man who probably won’t even last a full season with his history of injuries and medical—”
The rage seethed within me. Blinding. Churning.
Inescapable.
Terrifying.
I pitched the remote across the room. At least, I thought it was the remote. I accidentally tossed my cell-phone instead. I swallowed a vulgar profanity and the quick bite of anger. The wires in my head must have shorted, and my left hand moved instead of my right.
Fuck. I hoped I hadn’t destroyed my phone.
Again.
I turned off the television and forced a breath through my lungs. The raging fog cleared.
What was happening to me? I never once had anger issues. Never had the impulse to break a remote or argue with a second-rate sports reporter.
I blamed it on frustration, not the concussion. I needed to get back on the field. Soon. I’d sat around for a year, only working out and running my own conditioning drills with a private trainer. No real contact. No pads. No football. That sort of inactivity didn’t do a man any good.
No matter what the doctors said.
I retrieved my phone. It was okay, and it still buzzed with the alert.
8:00 – Rory @ McCrees
Damn. I’d nearly forgotten again. I knew better than to let my mind wander or get irritated. I’d broken every rule I’d set for myself by watching TV.
Recovering from my concussion took proactive management. No sitting until my chores and responsibilities were done. Every event and reminder was categorized and entered into my phone. And, when I felt a headache approach, I’d retreat to the dark and quiet of my room.
So far, my plan had worked. I never let the injuries define me. I credited perseverance. Purpose.
Pain-killers.
Nothing was going to stop me from getting back onto the field. This game was my passion. My self-admitted obsession. My dedication to the sport made me one of the greatest players in the history of the league. All I needed now was a championship, and my career would be complete.
Or it’d be over.
But that was up to Doctor Rory Merriweather now. Little, pregnant Rory Merriweather.
Jesus.
In the past, the doctors who had treated me were older, greyer, and easily swayed with promises of VIP booths and season tickets. I would have traded my soul for a chance to get onto the field, and it often worked. But now one doctor stood in my way.
It had to be her. Eric’s kid sister. A cute girl. A good girl. A pregnant girl.
And if I ever found the man who knocked her up and left her on her own? It’d be the one time I didn’t mind getting a little angry and a lot violent.
Fortunately, I lived close to McCrees. Rory met me just outside the door.
Had she always been this beautiful? Rory had matured into a lovely woman, retaining a hint of girlish cuteness in her pudgy cheeks and fluttering, almond eyes. Her complexion was more ebony than honey, and her long dark hair bounced in curls. Classy, but approachable. Pretty, but with a charmingly awkward shyness.
When we were kids, Rory used to say that she hated her smile. That it was too big. She hid behind a tempered smirk for most of her life. If I regretted anything from when we were younger, it was that I never told her that I thought her real smile was…
Perfect.
And it stayed perfect even now. Rory bit her lip and twisted her fingers in the skirt of a little yellow dress. The pale gold contrasted her black skin in a playful tease.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
She brushed her hand through her hair. “Yeah, right. I spent half of the day on my knees.”
“Well…that explains the pregnancy.” I laughed. “Why wasn’t that part of my exam?”
Rory’s eyes widened. She covered her face with her hands. “No! I meant I was throwing up. Not…Jude Owens, since when are you such a trouble-maker?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Yep…marking that down in your health assessment. Patient exhibits suicidal tendencies by provoking a pregnant woman.”
I smirked. “Oh, come on. When have you ever been in trouble? You never broke a curfew. You had perfect grades. You were president of clubs I didn’t even know our school had.”
“And if I wanted to hear how I’ve ruined my career and future; I’d have gone out with my step-mother tonight.”
She half-joked, but I wasn’t going to let her be ashamed of herself. “You haven’t ruined anything. Not your past, not your future, and not tonight. I’m gonna make sure you have some fun.”
Rory poked at me. “I’m trusting you, Jude. No one else knows. It stays that way.”
“Your secret is safe with me. Hell, I’ll probably forget about it by tomorrow.”
She frowned. Uh-oh.
“Kidding,” I said. She didn’t believe me. Neither did I. “Are you hungry?”
“I have no idea. The only thing I want to eat is confetti cake.”
Fair enough. “Well, allow me to be a little over-protective. You should eat something more substantial.”
“I consider it a comfort food.”
“Conf
etti cake?”
“Well…it’s the only meal that’s as fun coming up as it is going down.” She shrugged “I’ll take any positivity I can get.”
“Say no more. I’ll be your confetti cake tonight. We’ll work this all out, you and me.”
“You’ve always been such a nice guy, Jude. You haven’t changed a bit.”
I wished I could say the same. God, she was absolutely stunning. Was it the years apart that made her so much more…amazing?
But it didn’t matter. One thing hadn’t changed. She was my best friend’s little sister. I’d do well to remember that. Hell, that was worthy of a reminder. Every day at noon, I’d set an alert.
12:00 – Don’t be an idiot with Rory
Who was I kidding? The alert needed to remind me at night, when my mind would wander with dangerous and tempting thoughts.
McCrees wasn’t any place to take a lady, but the bar seemed nice enough for two friends. Still, it was a better arena for the Ironfield Rivets hazing ritual.
Tonight was karaoke night.
“J-u-u-u-ude!”
The call was loud, exaggerated, and bellowed like a wolf-howl. Wolves were Scottish legends, Lachlan was a Scottish name, and that made it easy for me to cheat and remember who the Rivets’ tight-end was.
Provided he continued to greet meet me in such an excited manner.
It seemed likely. And irritating.
Lachlan waved us towards the cluster of Rivets hanging near the bar. Most of the guys took their seats for the karaoke show. Rory spooked the rest, like she was about to haul them onto the bar and snap on a rubber glove. No one wanted to be the first player benched because of an injury we couldn’t even see. The league’s neurological fellowship made everyone paranoid.
Including me.
“You make quite the impression, Doc,” I said.
Rory wasn’t as thrilled. “I’m only trying to help—them and you.”
She wouldn’t be helping if she forced me to hang up the cleats. “Forget the job tonight. I’m just here for a beer and a nice dinner with the most beautiful woman in this bar.”
“Right…and what are the chances you remember the five words I gave you during the exam?”
“You’re off the clock, Doctor.”
“I didn’t check my lab coat at the door.”
“Give me time. I’ll strip you by the end of the night.”
Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.
Rory’s eyebrow arched, and I nearly apologized. I didn’t know if it was a side-effect of the injury or proximity to a pretty girl, but the last thing I needed was to look like some horn-dog asshole.
Still, I liked that shocked smirk of hers.
The bravest of the players approached us. Jack Carson hopped a booth and shook my hand.
“Jude! Great to see you. Are you cleared to play yet?”
I respected Jack—and I liked him more now that he seemed to settle down and take the game as seriously as I did.
I nodded to Rory. “That’s up to the doc. Cross your fingers for me.”
Jack grinned. “I’ll do more than that—I’ll beg. I need this man on my team. The thought of Jude Owens in my backfield? Jesus.”
A beautiful black woman appeared at his side, rolling her eyes as she grabbed the iced tea pitcher for her table. “If he’s coming on too strong, smack him. Sometimes it’s the easiest way.”
Jack surrendered with his arms up. “I’m man enough to admit when I’m star-struck. This is Jude-fucking-Owens!”
The woman winked at me. “Oh! So you’re the one he’s been talking about. Jude this, Jude that. He won’t stop talking about you and the running game. I swear, if Jack wasn’t married to me, he’d propose to you.”
“Either way, I’m on my knees,” Jack said. “Though you’ve never complained about that, Kiss.”
The woman extended her hand with a flustered smile. “Hi. I’m Leah, and now you know entirely too much about me.”
“I’m…Jude.” I guessed they knew that—the entire league knew that. “And this is Doctor Rory Merriweather.”
The introductions were cut short as the rapid flashing of a camera blinded everyone at the bar. Lachlan’s wife, Elle, popped up beside us.
“Lachlan’s about to make an ass out of himself singing some karaoke.” She quickly changed the batteries in her camera. “I’m not missing a minute of this. You guys coming?”
Leah waved a hand, beckoning over the other couple waiting for drinks.
I didn’t need a mnemonic device to remember Piper Madison—now Hawthorne, her married name. For all twelves seasons of my career, Piper’s father served as my agent. I practically watched Piper grow up. Never thought she’d marry a man like Cole Hawthorne. Neither did her father.
However, it wasn’t Rory’s presence that kept The Beast from joining us.
It was mine.
The last thing I wanted was to be the source of another man’s guilt. Granted, Cole’s temper often got him into trouble, but that was part of the game. The life we chose was brutal and violent. I wouldn’t fault a man for doing his job.
Piper forced Cole to the bar, and she gave me a hug.
“I can’t tell you how excited I got when Dad said you were signing with the Rivets,” Piper said.
“You actually like football? When did that happen?” I asked.
She tugged on Cole’s arm. “I have a reason to watch now.”
I offered my hand to Cole. “I’m glad we’ll wear the same colors this year.”
Cole averted his gaze as he shook my hand. “Yeah. Right.”
Jack grinned. “I got a good feeling about this season. I can feel it. Jude’s gonna bust this offense wide open. Rory, you gotta clear him soon so we can get to practice.”
Rory shifted, her voice soft. “We’ll…have to see.”
The team quieted, and the excitement fizzled out. Jack cleared his throat.
“So…will you guys join us? Tonight is year two of our newest tradition. The rookies—and Lachlan—get a choice. Serenade us…or have their hair buzzed. Either way it’s a good time.”
Not exactly what I had in mind. I gestured to Rory. “We were actually planning to…catch up.”
“Table’s big enough—” Jack offered, but Leah elbowed him in the side. Whatever impression she got was the wrong one. “Oh! Yeah, sure. You guys have fun.”
Rory’s eyes widened. “Oh no. It’s not like that. We’ve known each other forever—”
Piper winked. “Nope. Don’t explain a thing. It’s about time Mr. Most Eligible got a little action.”
“But, it’s not like—”
Elle waved for everyone to scatter. “Come on, Lachlan’s up. Make hay while the babysitters and grandmas have the kids.”
That got the couples moving. The team rushed to their seats.
So did Rory. She hid her face and collapsed in the booth furthest from the bar.
Shy was cute. Embarrassed was not.
“Doc, I’ll have you know, I’m a pretty good catch,” I said. “You could do a lot worse.”
“I already did.” She shook her head. “And you’re only a catch if you let yourself get hooked.”
Like I hadn’t heard that before. “Not interested.”
“Why not? That plenty of fish in the sea line? They’re talking about you.”
“Well, they can keep trolling.” I handed Rory a menu with a suave smile. She wasn’t buying it. “There’s only one woman I want to entertain tonight, and she’s sitting across from me.”
“And this flattery has nothing to do with the concussion evaluation, does it?”
“Please, I’m nothing if not a gentleman. We’re just catching up. Having a good time.” The menu was too tiny, the lights too dim, and my vision blurring this late in the day. I’d wing it and have a cheeseburger. “Besides, what would you be doing tonight if you haven’t given me this honor?”
“Do you want the polite answer I’d give on a date, or the truth?”
&nbs
p; “You’re talking to me, Rory.”
She poked at the napkins, ripping one from the metal container. “Well, to be honest, I’d be at home fretting. Pacing. Generally reevaluating every conceivable aspect of my life.” She waved the shredded napkin at me. “And don’t you give me that look. If you were in my shoes, you’d be doing some serious introspection too.”
“Good thing I’m not pregnant.”
“That’s a shame. I could publish your case in a medical journal. I’d never have to worry about my career again.”
“I’ll do whatever is biologically feasible to help you. It’s not often I actually like one of my doctors.”
“But I haven’t given you my verdict yet.”
And I hadn’t even begun to change her mind. “Pleasure before business, Doc.”
“That doesn’t sound very Jude Owens,” Rory said. “You’ve always been work, work, work. Work some more. Lift weights, eat right, go to sleep by nine, conditioning, training, studying…”
And look at how far it had gotten me. “Even the best of men need a night off. I choose to spend it here, with a beautiful woman.”
“Appreciating the finer things since your injury?”
And realizing how much I’d missed. A waitress interrupted us, taking our drink orders. We shouted our requests as the team cheered. Lachlan dove onto the stage and called for his rookies to take seats front and center. The bar dimmed, and a spotlight encased him in white.
“Lemme show you how this is done.” Lachlan took the microphone and blew a kiss to his wife. The music keyed up, and Elle hid her eyes as Lachlan’s hips rolled to a raunchy rendition of Heartbreak Hotel.
“Huh.” Rory propped her chin on her hands. “Dinner and a show.”
“Never say I can’t give a lady a good time.”
“Oh, I’m sure you give your ladies a great time.”
She smiled. There was a thrill. Little Rory, almost flirting?
Nope. She buttered me up just to bust my balls.
“If there are ladies,” she said. “Either you’re playing hard to get, or you strike out a lot.”
“I don’t kiss and tell.” Especially with the string of one-night stands that had entertained me over my career. “Besides, I don’t bother with romance. Football is my only desire.”