Chapter 24 #2
He blinked a few times to clear his eyes, but she was still blurry.
“Are you seeing double? Tell me, Trent, it’s important.”
“Blurry. You’re blurry.” He held onto her as he felt the car come to a stop.
“Thank God we’re at the hospital. I need to get you to an examining room.”
“Examining room? Get Ralph. He’ll help.” He might not feel right, but sure as hell knew he didn’t need half the world knowing he was having a dizzy spell.
Charlie took out her phone and started talking to Ralph. The driver opened their door. Trent willed himself to slide over and get out. He almost stumbled but the man helped him. Then Charlie was at his side and walking with him to the entrance and up an elevator.
“Ralph is meeting us up on the third floor where the children’s ward party is and he said he found us a private examining room.”
“What the hell, Charlie? It’s probably something I ate or drank.”
She guided him off the elevator where they met Ralph. He could see better now and nodded at the man. They both walked him into a room a few doors down the hall as if he were an invalid. He pulled his arms away. He could walk fine. He looked around the room. The spinning had stopped. Thank the lord.
“I’m okay, Charlie. No more blurriness. Dizziness is gone.”
She looked at him and he saw the fear in her eyes, the serious doctor in every rigid feature. He knew what she was thinking. His gut roiled. He wanted to protest and deny, but he couldn’t let himself be a fool, be a weak coward. He had to face it. Now.
He hefted himself onto the examination table she’d pointed at.
He said to Ralph, “We need Coach Parker to cover for us.” He spoke as if they were a team, but it was all on him this time, his problem, not theirs.
Charlie put a hand on his shoulder.
“I need to look at you, Trent. I need to find out.”
He nodded.
She feared it was a mini-stroke, a TIA—transient ischemic attack—caused by a temporary blockage of blood vessels in the brain.
She was hoping that was all it was. While TIAs shared symptoms of a stroke such as the dizziness, blurred vision, or speech disturbance Trent had exhibited, they lasted for only a few minutes to several hours.
She needed to take a very close look at his eyes to get a better idea.
“The fact that your symptoms are already improving is a good sign, but you know what I’m looking for.”
He nodded. She turned to Ralph. “I need to examine his eyes to see if he’s had a TIA—”
“A ministroke? You think he’s had a damn stroke?”
“Calm down. It’s far from a stroke.”
She searched the room for an ophthalmoscope but there was none so she had Ralph go to find one. She stayed with Trent, giving him ice water and aspirin. Ralph slipped back in the room with the instrument about five tense minutes later.
“They’re asking for him. Jamie is covering—though he’s worried since he didn’t believe my excuse that Trent had too much champagne. He knows Trent better than that.”
She ignored that issue for now and concentrated on looking in Trent’s eyes.
“Can you open your eyes wide for me? How many fingers?”
She held up three.
“Three, I’m all right now. The blurriness is gone.”
“I’m going to give you a funduscopic exam now, which means I’m going to take a look at the deep structures of your eyes, particularly the retina and its blood vessels, to see if I can pinpoint signs of a TIA.”
She felt him stiffen as she held the instrument up in front of him.
“Ralph, get a light and shine it for me.”
He did so.
“I’m looking for retinal vasculature abnormalities.”
“Sounds serious, Doc.”
He sounded more like himself now, but she didn’t allow the blip of hope to interfere with her examination.
Going over every microscopically enhanced spec in a tiny grid so as not to miss a thing, she examined each retina with painstaking care, then finally backed up and straightened.
Putting the ophthalmoscope down, she heaved a sigh. Ralph clicked off the light.
“Well? Out with it, Charlie.” Trent gave her an unrelentingly brave stare.
“I see faint signs, very small abnormalities, only a few and only on the right side.”
“Which means I’ve had a TIA and I need to take aspirin daily for a while.”
“Still smart as a whip. No TIA is going to slow your smartass brain down, is it?” She forced the flippancy because if she didn’t, she might cry. “I’ll prescribe a more effective statin and we can pick it up at the clinic on the way home.”
The only problem with a statin was that the blood thinning/blood clot prevention qualities made him more vulnerable to serious bruising with trauma. She didn’t want to open that discussion now, but they’d need to talk about it tonight.
“Sure. But right now, we need to get back to the party. To the kids.” Trent hopped off the examining table with his usual lithe form, as if he’d suffered nothing more than a paper cut.
They left the examining room to rejoin the party with the children.
“We should leave as soon as possible,” she said under her breath.
He nodded. But when he walked into the decorated space that had been the children’s ward, lighting up the faces of every kid in the room, and many of the adults, tension gripped her.
She watched him approach the crowd with his professional smile in place.
Zeroing in on the children, he reached down and picked up the nearest little boy, giving the toddler his best, heart-stopping real smile.
Though she realized that maybe it was only her heart that was stopping, for layers of reasons, only the first being that her concern for his health was in the red zone.
After an hour of laughing children, countless autographing of everything from pajamas and photos to footballs, Charlie came to the conclusion that Trent was in no hurry to leave.
Ralph came to her with two glasses of champagne and handed her one of them.
She took it, but lacked the appropriate celebratory attitude that should go with champagne.
Her mood went more appropriately with a shot of whiskey.
“He doesn’t want to leave,” she said.
Ralph grunted and took a gulp of champagne.
“He doesn’t want to go home and have the talk about the implications of the TIA,” she said, “that maybe now it’s too risky for him to keep playing football.”
Ralph turned to her. “He has no intention of stopping, no matter the risk. That train left the station the minute he put on a uniform fifteen years ago. So you might not want to bother with that argument. Save yourself some grief.’
“That’s ridiculous. He has to stop some time.”
Ralph shook his head. “Only if it kills him.”
A pang of fear struck her at the truth of Ralph’s words, but she shook it off. Not on her watch.
“How much champagne have you had to drink, Ralph? You always were a morose drunk.”
She smiled in spite of her temptation to take his drink and dump it on his head. He laughed a humorless laugh.
“And you always were too smart and too serious for your own good.”
“Whatever that means.” Charline turned her attention back to Trent.
If she had to drag him out of there, she would.
It was time to leave. Time to have that talk.
No matter how much she dreaded it, the anxiety and fear for his health, for him as a person, someone she cared about, she wouldn’t stop pushing him.
Though pushing Trent into a corner was the last thing any sane person ought to do.
With his head resting against the back of his couch and his eyes closed, he tried to relax, breathing deeply and thinking about nothing.
It would have worked if it weren’t for Charlie’s presence.
Her vibrating tension hovered like a force field sucking the air around her, reaching inside him and tightening his chest. He wondered if it had been a mistake to bring her home with him.
But he knew that was cowardice talking. They needed to have their talk, he needed to convince her to hold the line, stay the course.
All that bull crap. Because he sure as hell wasn’t quitting now.
Or ever. Once they cleared the air, the tension in him would be gone, the slight but stabbing headache would disappear. That’s what he was betting anyway.
“Do you have a headache?” She read his mind and when he opened his eyes, he shouldn’t have been surprised that she stood a few feet in front of him with her arms folded across her chest. He let his eyes travel to her beautiful face, not even marred by the clear anxiety.
The anxiety he’d caused. Suddenly he wanted to erase her worry more than anything.
It had nothing to do with his football career, but only for the fact that it caused her pain.
He hated seeing her distraught.
“No,” he lied. It was a small lie proportionate to the slight headache.
“I don’t believe you.”
He smiled. “Then why did you ask?” He leaned forward then stood, realizing his moment of relaxation was over. Taking a deep breath, he walked around the Christmas tree to the window, his favorite spot for contemplation as of late, to gaze out at the nighttime city, lit up and alive.
“Trent, you can’t continue to play football. You—”
He turned around, trying to unclench his jaw as if she’d hit him, as if he needed to brace for an onslaught like she was a defensive tackle.
Calming himself for a beat before he spoke, he noticed her eyes glittering.
Hell. If she was going to cry, he was doomed.
It would be like the most special form of torture that only Charlie and a very few select women like his mother and Tammy could use to make him collapse to their will.
“I’m not quitting.”
“You can’t play in the game Monday night—”
He laughed without humor. “Of course I can. It’s the most important game of the season. We win it, we clinch the playoffs. I will play Monday night.” He didn’t say with or without you on my team, but he could see that she heard the implication.
“Trent . . . I’m scared for you . . .” She came to him and he steeled himself as if she were crashing the line and about to level him.
The force of her real caring and fear had an enormous impact on him.
He felt the vibrations down to his bones, deep in his chest. Her feelings for him rattled his soul, shook him up.
But he’d had years of practice steeling himself against any and all foes thwarting his goal. He’d been unshakable for fifteen years and he wouldn’t break now. Not even when she put her arms around him and lay her head against his chest.
“It’ll be all right, Charlie.” He spoke softly and stroked her hair, putting his arms around her, unable to resist the need to console. But all he could give her were words. He would never change his mind. And he never made promises he couldn’t keep.
It hit him then that he’d made very few promises in his life.
“I know a TIA isn’t a good thing, believe me, but I also know it’s not a death sentence so you need to stop thinking as if it is.”
She pulled away and took his face into her hands. “It could be in your line of work, Trent. Don’t fool yourself.”
He said noting, knowing she was being melodramatic. Not completely wrong, but he would take his chances. He’d been taking his chances in this game for the last fifteen years. He didn’t bother to point that out to her, sensing it would do nothing to calm her.
“I’m . . . worried about the effect of the EM HGH-1-JD on you.
We can take you off the serum, gradually.
No one would notice. It would have the least impact on your performance that way.
Then you can go on like you were before and it’ll be like you were never John Doe.
I’ll even find a way to give you your money back—”
“The money means nothing.” He realized it was true, but her words caused a blip of fear to surface that she might stop the treatment whether he agreed or not. He tightened his hold on her without thinking.
“I’d give you another ten million if you wanted it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want your money. That’s the last thing I want from you.” She left unspoken what she really did want. The possibilities gave him pause, made his heart speed up.
Suddenly, he needed to know. “What do you want from me, Charlie?”
“I want you to stop playing football.”
He’d set himself up for that, felt the deflating disappointment and instantly felt foolish. What had he been hoping she would say? He refused to go down that road.
“I’m playing Monday night. I can’t stop now. I’m in it to win it.”
She scoffed and yanked herself from his hold at the canned words and he cursed himself. Pushing a hand through his hair, he reached out and took her arm, gently turning her back to him.
“I’m not wasting all these years of effort. Of sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice?”
He ignored her question. She wouldn’t understand the answer.
He wasn’t sure he understood completely, but it’s the way his life was.
He said, “I’m not going back on the decision I made when I decided to play in the NFL.
I have a mission to accomplish and I can’t stop until I do. Or until I go down trying.”
“That’s foolish, Trent. And I never thought you were a fool.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I am. Either way, I’m playing Monday night.
” He watched her anger and frustration mingle with the concern and caring on her face and tried to decipher how deep each of the emotions went.
His chest clenched so tight with wondering if she cared enough to stick with him that he felt sweat break out on his temples.
He hoped to hell it wasn’t another symptom of the TIA. Or another TIA.
Once again steeling himself, this time defending himself against her betrayal, as if she were one of his own teammates taking a shot at him, he forced himself to ask her.
“Are you with me, Charlie?” A quiver of tension ran through his quiet words and he held her eyes for a long moment, waiting for her response.
Finally, tears glistening, making her dark lashes spike in velvety spokes, her face heartbreaking in its beauty as if she were a heroine in a tragedy, she nodded.
“I’m a bigger fool than you.”