Chapter 10 #2
My insides roll over on themselves, and though I have forced myself not to think about all the kid said this morning, I know there is merit in his words.
If he does a good job, when I return from this surgery—if I’m able to make a full recovery—there is a very solid chance I might not be the starter next year.
And if that happens, I will likely either be traded or ask for a trade because I won’t ride the bench for the rest of my career.
And with that comes a whole new set of discord.
One, I am a Boston man, born and raised. This is my town. This is my team.
Second, I now have a son and a woman I want to make part of my life, and now their lives are here.
All that means is you’ll have to fight harder to come out on top.
Right. Except I’m sure we all know it’s never that easy. Just ask Rocky after he lost to Apollo Creed. The good guy doesn’t always get what he deserves.
“Damn. Will you check out the tits and legs on that one,” Ace, a wide receiver sitting two guys down from me says, and all at once our heads collectively turn. Instantly, I grit my teeth when I lock on Wynter, standing across the field talking with Dr. Horowitz, the team neurologist.
“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you,” I snap, losing my patience for the second time today.
“That’s my… doctor.” Because I can’t call her anything else.
Not in public at least. I stand, ready to drive my point home, only Coach Cardone beats me to it.
He grabs Ace by the back of the jersey and hauls him up until he’s standing.
“You are to run every damn step in this stadium twice, and if I ever hear you disrespect Dr. Hathaway again, you will be fined and benched for two games. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Coach.” Ace looks as shocked as Leo did this morning when I slammed him into the locker. “I meant no disrespect.”
“Better not have. Now go!”
Ace throws all of us a quick parting glance and then takes off. I sit back down, and Ryder, my center, leans over and whispers in my ear, “What in the hell do you think is going on there?”
I shake my head. “No clue.” But it’s definitely something.
“If you hadn’t spoken up, I was gonna lob him upside the head for being a misogynistic ass, but Coach reacting that way?”
“I know.” Because it wasn’t about him being a misogynistic ass and how that’s unacceptable to any woman. It was about Wynter specifically.
“Do you think Coach and that new doctor are a thing?”
“What?” My head jerks his way, my expression hiding none of my revulsion. “No way. He’s old enough to be her father.” I’m about to say she hates him and does nothing to hide it when I get stuck on that last statement.
“Wouldn’t be the first time, man. That’s all I’m saying.
” Ryder throws a hand up and then turns back to Coach, who is still talking.
Only I can’t focus on anything he’s saying.
When I looked her up, I glossed over her family history, but I do remember reading that she had a mom, and her stepfather was Gary Hathaway.
No mention of a biological father.
I’ll admit I know nothing of Coach’s personal life. It’s none of my business, and as a player, it’s inconsequential to me doing my job.
But… the way he defended her just now and their dynamic every time I’ve seen them together, I knew there was something between them. I just didn’t assume…
I look back over at him, studying his face for the first time. His hair is lighter than hers, and I don’t catch any physical resemblance to Wynter except… his eyes. Coach has green eyes. Just like Wynter’s. Just like Mason’s.
Holy shit.
If it’s true, that would make Coach the biological grandfather of my child. Does he even know about him?
Somehow, I’m on my feet, and Coach’s head swivels in my direction, raising a “what the hell do you think you’re doing” eyebrow at me.
“Dr. Hathaway is here for my pre-op evaluation,” I mumble. His lips form into a thin line, clearly unhappy I interrupted whatever it is he’s yelling at everyone about, but he gives me a firm nod, and I walk away, moving across the field with quick strides.
Wynter is oblivious to everything as she laughs and chats with Dr. Horowitz, who is staring at her like she’s cream and he’s a cat. My teeth set on edge when he touches her shoulder, and if he doesn’t remove it from her body now, he’s about to lose a digit.
Funny, I never considered myself a jealous man, but I nearly had a heart attack yesterday when she was talking about bringing a hockey player home, and then Ace made that comment, and now this doctor is about to die because he’s pulling out his phone to get my woman’s digits.
This unbearable green-eyed monster seems to have taken up permanent residence within me where she’s concerned. She’s messing with my head and my life in every possible way, and instead of running for the hills, I only want more.
“Sorry, Dr. Flirts Too Much, you’ll have to get her digits when she’s available, which will likely be sometime around the next coming of Christ.”
I grab Wynter by the arm and spin her around, marching us toward the locker room without slowing my steps.
“Hey!” she barks, trying to extricate herself from me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? That was totally inappropriate. He works at the hospital with me.”
I grunt. “Yet another reason why he can’t have your digits.” I throw her a side-eye. “I warned you. I’m the ultimate cockblocker.”
“More like the ultimate caveman, only I’m not yours to club over the head and drag away to your cave.”
Wrong . The word blares through my head but thankfully stays put and doesn’t get me into even more trouble. “You’re here for me, Dr. Hathaway. No one else.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. You’re my surgeon. My hot baby mama. If you think I’m going to let anyone else near you, you’re crazy.”
The lights in the trainers’ room flip on when we enter, and then I’m pulling off my shirt and hopping up on the table.
Ready. Anxious for her to put her hands back on me.
Only she’s standing by the door with her arms folded, eviscerating me with her eyes.
Even as they smolder ever so slightly at me shirtless.
It’s a good look on her, I’ll admit. It certainly makes my dick hard, but then again, so does everything she does.
“This can’t happen.”
There she goes with that bullshit again. “Uh-huh. I know. You’ve already told me.” I just haven’t told you yet that I don’t care.
I’ve wanted her from the second I saw her in that bathroom, and I’ve wanted her ever since.
I wanted her before I knew about Mason. When you meet the woman you consider to be the most beautiful you’ve ever seen and she just so happens to not take any of your shit, marrying her is your only option.
But considering I’ve technically only known her less than a week, I’ll play by her rules while removing any man who tries to take what I already consider to be mine.
“Are we doing this or what?”
She cocks an eyebrow and then pushes away from the door. Grabbing the vitals cart, she wheels it over and slaps a blood pressure cuff on my arm, pressing the button on the screen for it to start inflating.
“Have you thought any more about my offer?” I ask, since she’s not talking to me now.
“Yes.”
I smirk. “And?” I press when she doesn’t follow that up.
“And I haven’t decided yet.”
Fine. I’ll let it ride for now. The monitor lights up with my blood pressure and heart rate, and then she sticks a probe on my finger while setting the earpiece of her stethoscope in her ears. The cold diaphragm hits my chest, and I make a noise.
“Shhh,” she admonishes, standing against the table next to me, her body so close I can smell her shampoo. Her skin. “I’m trying to listen to your heart.”
“Is it beating out your name?”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch her lips twitching. She slides the thing all around my chest and then moves it to my back. “Deep breaths.”
I start sucking in deep breaths as she listens to my lungs, and when she’s done with my back, she's in front of me again, putting the stethoscope right below my collarbone. After she’s done with that, I snatch the diaphragm up and bring it to my lips.
“Move in with me,” I whisper into it, so I don’t blow out her ears. She pauses, staring into my eyes, and I see Coach in hers even more now when we’re this close. “How’s my son this morning?”
She smiles, despite herself. “Good. He ate two scrambled eggs and some strawberries and then watched a signing video with me before I had to leave.”
I frown. “Signing? Is he hearing impaired?”
She removes the stethoscope from her ears and drapes it around her neck.
“Yes. It’s a minor deficit, something they’re watching closely, but they told me it could get worse, or that he could require hearing aids when he’s older, or that his speech might be delayed or altered.
Considering he said ‘mama’ on Friday, I’m not so sure about all that.
Anyway, signing helps him communicate things he can’t yet say, like milk or cereal or more or all done.
It helps to alleviate some frustrations and tantrums children might have from not being able to express what they want, and since he does have this impairment, I figured it was good for him all around. ”
I have so many things to learn about him. So many things I don’t yet know. “I’ve already missed so much, and he’s only ten months old. What’s the sign for Daddy?”
With her eyes on me, she spreads the fingers on her hand wide and then brings her thumb to her forehead and bounces it twice.
I mimic the motion. “Can I do that with him? Please?” I tack on.
She audibly gulps, biting into her lip, but nods.
I capture some of her hair and tuck it behind her ears. “You have very green eyes, Wynter Hathaway. They’re beautiful on you, but also familiar. Like I’ve seen very similar ones before.”
She freezes, her eyes rounding and her lips parting as she sucks in a breath. Her gaze flickers between my eyes, trying to read what she suspects I’m intimating.
“Did he tell you?” she finally asks when she’s weeded out the answer.
“No. He defended you rather aggressively when a player made an inappropriate comment about how hot you are. My center asked what that was all about, and in doing so, asked if you were with him. My first reaction was to kill my coach, but then I made what I thought was an off-hand comment about how he’s old enough to be your father. And it hit me.”
She looks away, her arms crossing over her body. “Gary Hathaway is my father.”
“But not biologically. Right?”
“I don’t want to talk about Joe.”
I cup her jaw and turn it back until she’s looking at me. “Does he know about Mason?”
She licks her lips and shakes her head in my hand. “No. At least I don’t think so.”
“I’m getting the impression that’s how you’d like to keep it?” I check.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want to tell me why?”
“No. Not right now.”
“Did he hurt you, Wynter?” My tone comes out harder, more demanding than I intend, but the idea of him being abusive, whether physically, verbally, or emotionally, makes me want to do everything I can to protect both her and my son from him—by any means necessary.
“Not in the way you think,” she says quickly, clearly reading me. “All you need to know is that I don’t consider him my father, and I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“You hate football players.” It’s all coming together now.
“I hate football players,” she parrots.
I absorb that for a moment, knowing she doesn’t fully trust me yet with herself, but also knowing we’ll get there, and then nod. “Okay. When do I have surgery?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?!” I yell.
She’s smiling at me now. “You said you wanted it done as soon as possible. Tomorrow by six in the morning, you’ll be on my table.”
Oh, hell.