Chapter 16 #2
But from my angle, I see the daggers he’s shooting at his coach as he finally says, “My Donovan,” like that sums up the relationship, and it does.
It sums up the way he dips his head to kiss Donovan’s fluff as he switches from a butt pat to a back rub.
The way that no matter how much Donovan yells and no matter how many people — now Evan’s making a move, which Blaise also thwarts gracefully — attempt to alleviate the burden, he holds him snugly.
It’s probably the delirium of all the post-partum nonsense coupled with the medication, but I stupidly try to step in and take the baby, so Blaise doesn’t get in any more trouble. But as soon as I lay hands on him, Blaise spins away and barks out, “Stop touching my baby!”
“Sinclair!” Allore hisses as Gabe gives me the most mortified, apologetic look. But really, it was my fault for sneaking in like that.
“Blaise,” I say gently. “I appreciate you watching him this morning so I could get some sleep, but I . . .”
I close my eyes as my head goes funny again, and now Kai and Gabe are both holding me.
“Look at her,” Blaise snarls. “That’s why I brought him.”
“You can’t just bring babies to practice!” the coach roars while Keira shoots him another admonishing “Blaise!”
He huffs and finally sets Donovan down, but only because he notices the stroller I’ve pushed in, the tall one he hates because it doesn’t go very fast. We all watch as he delicately lays Donovan down and buckles him in before taking the stroller handle from me.
“Thank you,” he says to me, his expression so rigid I genuinely can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Now, can we please get back to practice? He’ll fall asleep by the time we get to the field.”
“Blaise,” I murmur more carefully, making sure I have my head screwed on tightly this time, but the spin has passed. I’m fine. “I’m going to take him home, okay? I’ve got him from here.”
His eyes narrow. The room, the crowd around us, everything seems to fall away as he steps into my space and towers above me so I have to crane my head to look up at him. “You look like you’re about to drop dead. You’re not taking him.”
The commotion stirs up again, everyone saying different things.
The coach still insists the baby needs to go with me.
Keira attempts to take the stroller. Kai puts his arm around me again, although Blaise gives him a look that warns him away, so he grabs a chair for me to sit in.
Gabe has his phone out, undoubtedly calling Joss.
It’s Blaise’s bellow of “Stop!” that gets everything back to quiet.
My brain is swimming again.
Blaise holds one hand out as he drops the bonnet of the stroller and starts to rock it back methodically. “Let me think. Let me think.”
The coach starts a “Sinclair—”
“Let me think! Let me think.” He takes one last deep breath before he points to me. “You’re sick. You keep telling me this is just C-section recovery and you’ve got an appointment in a week, but I don’t care. We have doctors here. You’ll go see them right now.”
“That’s not really what they’re for,” the coach mutters, but he seems to be relieved that at least Blaise is looking for a solution that’s not a baby at football practice.
Blaise’s arm swings to Gabe. “Get Joss here. Now. Cora, too, if she’s in town. I can’t fucking do practice and take care of Donovan all goddamn week if she’s going to crap out on us.”
Several people call him out, but he shrugs them off as he swings back to the coach.
“I will take them to the medical suite, and I will talk to Doctor Keltner. Keira, if you can stay with Tilly and Donovan until Joss or Cora gets here, that’d be killer.
And then I will return to practice. And it’s going to be the best fucking practice you’ve ever seen from me.
I’m about to wow everyone’s goddamn socks off. ”
“I . . . I don’t really have a way to pay for this,” I admit to Doc Keltner two hours later, after Blaise has gone back to practice and Joss has come by so Keira can go back to work, too.
Over on the other side, the training complex, there’s actually some of the fancy massage chairs, and with how pregnant Joss is, she hoofs it over there the moment one of the nurses suggests it.
There’s a quick exam of Donovan done and some blood drawn before Joss takes him with her, but the doctors and nurses all come together to agree that he’s of perfect health, at least.
Actually, they have a conference call with a NICU doctor. Not even a local one. Johns Hopkins. I guess that’s where Doc Keltner has connections.
But Doc Keltner isn’t nearly so quick to release me, even after I offer to go to urgent care instead.
“What Sinclair wants, Sinclair gets,” he says with a shrug as he examines my incision scar.
That’s what he says when I admit I don’t have insurance, as well.
What Sinclair wants, Sinclair gets. He’s the head quarterback, so I get it to a point, but none of this is cheap — especially once I explain that the incision wasn’t messed up, I just had an ovary removed last year and then it was an emergency C-section.
That’s the moment he gets back on the phone, has a quick chat with another doctor, and then tells me we’re moving to the training complex, as well. We’re met there by a gynecologist.
A gynecologist at a men’s football training complex.
Apparently, Dr. Saad and Keltner are friends, she has Mondays off, and she’s a big fan of the Jugs. If helping Sinclair’s gal out is going to make a stronger team in the fall, she’s happy to volunteer her time.
I don’t know if volunteer is the right word, though.
Nothing here is volunteer. There’s a ludicrous amount of money going around.
But after I stress it enough times, Doc Keltner reminds me that it was Sinclair’s decision that I be treated here for now until he gives me a referral for a specialist, so it’s Sinclair’s money.
Which I’m sure he has in abundance. He is the head quarterback, after all.
I’m given a powerful antibiotic for the infection I’ve apparently gotten as well as something that Dr. Saad says will help with any hormone issues stemming from, well, everything.
I allow myself a private, vulnerable moment to take off my cap and ask, “You don’t happen to know if there’s anything that will help get my hair growing again, do you? ”
“Is that since giving birth?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s been struggling to come back in since my second round of chemo. I heard the prenatals would help, but I’ve had barely any growth this year.”
“Well, there’s some bad news and good news there,” she says honestly. “There haven’t been good studies on the effects of minoxidil on breastfeeding patients.”
“That sounds like a patriarchy thing,” I mutter. Having cancer in parts of the body that men don’t have has given me a particularly harsh view of the medical field.
She nods. “Yup. Men make hair growth meds for other men. And the other most effective medication, finasteride, is bad bad bad. As in, if you come across a bottle of it while you’re still breastfeeding, don’t open it.
But I promised you good news. I’m going to give you a referral to a onco-dermatologist.”
I cringe at the length of that title. That’s an expensive word right there. “I don’t have insurance,” I repeat.
There’s another, more stern, more pained nod. “I was told you’re here because Blaise Sinclair asked Doc Keltner to see you. Is he the baby’s father?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to lie to anyone or—”
“No, no, no! It’s not my business. It’s just that, yeah, this is all really expensive out of pocket, and if he’s not supporting you financially . . .”
“He’s just a friend who’s been helping me with Donovan.” And even that feels like a lie, but there’s not much else I can say.
She thinks for a moment, and honestly? If she’s about to say tough cookies, hair is a privilege, not a right, I’ll accept that.
But instead, she scribbles on a sticky note and passes it to me.
There’s a name, a number, and a note to have them call her.
“I’m not sure how much she’ll be willing to do, but she owes me a favor.
Usually, I tell new moms that it’s just part of the process, but it doesn’t sound like that’s the case for you, and you don’t need extra stress right now. ”
“Especially if your stress is making Sinclair stress,” Keltner jokes, and I give him a weak smile. I know I’m nothing to them except an obstacle in the way of a winning season. I get it.
They send me home with Joss, who’s quiet, worried. Damn, she doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need my mess.
But the quiet afternoon we have is good.
We veg. Gabe brings us dinner, a smorgasbord of pizza and wings and other bar fare from a favorite spot of theirs.
It’s enough food to feed a family of twelve, but Gabe’s a monster, Joss is pregnant, and the antibiotics are already working their magic.
I have a better appetite than I’ve had since I came home from the hospital.
There’s a bit of everything left over for Blaise and maybe lunch tomorrow, but that’s it.
“Did he have to stay late because of Donovan?” I ask, watching as Donovan drools all over Joss, who’s so happy to hold him that her eyes have gone wet. With him being premature and then my poor health since coming home, no one’s gotten to see him yet.
Gabe waves my question off with a hearty laugh.
“Nah. Well, sure, he got a late start, so he’s probably got some time to make up at the end, just because there’s stuff that needs to be done, but nah.
Quarterbacks just have a lot of extra training in general.
I’ll usually stay late, too, but . . .” He gives a shrug while he makes moon eyes at Joss, playing with Donovan.
Their jobs are important. They might not be anything but entertainers, not in the grand scheme of things, but there’s so much money invested in what they do that they don’t have lives that normal people do.
Normal people do their nine-to-five and then go home and live their family lives.
Last year, Gabe was probably training every second he could.
But now, he’s about to be a dad, and what’s important for him is shifting.
But that’s going to put more weight on Blaise.
He rearranged furniture the other day, so now the sofa has a position where he can watch the TV from it.
Gabe and Joss camp out there and watch a movie while I nurse Donovan in the recliner.
I should tell them to go, that I feel fine now, and I’m home, so I don’t need a babysitter, but I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
And now that I’m feeling better, I’m also seeing more clearly how sick I’ve been.
Having another set of eyes on Donovan is great, especially when Gabe volunteers to change him for me, and I’m sound asleep by the time he’s finished.
When I wake up, I’m tucked into bed properly, my feet and back propped up so I know it was Blaise who did it when he got home.
He’s on his sofa with Donovan asleep on his chest. I should be worried, but the hand he’s got on Donovan makes me think that if the baby started to slip even a little bit, he’d be awake and scooping him up in a heartbeat.
Blaise has taken lots of photos of Donovan. I’ve heard he’s not allowed to post on social media, so I’m not sure what he does with the photos. I’ve even caught him getting a couple with me in them, although I don’t have any false illusions there. He’s surely cropping me out as much as possible.
He doesn’t have any of himself holding Donovan, though, so I take this chance to aim and snap a couple.
I look through them for the best one, debating cropping it so it’s obvious he’s not on a beat-up old sofa.
Not for the first time, I wonder why, if he insists on staying, he doesn’t use his millions of dollars to buy something more comfortable.
I don’t expect him to buy anything for the apartment, but he has so much money I don’t understand why he wouldn’t ensure his own comfort.
His phone vibrates for half a second, but just like I imagined for if Donovan started slipping, he tenses right up, startling Donovan into a short whimper, then calms again before blinking a couple times and grabbing his phone.
Once he sees what I’ve sent, he smiles at his phone and then looks over at me.
In the middle of the night, sleepy and slightly befuddled, there’s a softness to his expression and a gravel to his voice. “Feeling any better?”
I nod. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
“Okay.”
Well, it’s not polite, but it’s not exactly mean. “And I’m sorry if I got you in trouble with your coach.”
“Wouldn’t be a new pre-season if I wasn’t in trouble for some dumb shit,” he mutters.
“Okay, well, I’m sorry I was the source of it this time. Are you in big trouble?”
“Not as long as I don’t do it again. So you need to stop fucking around. And I guess I looked like shit on the field afterward, so now I gotta do a bunch of extra work with my trainer. I gotta sleep.”
He says it with a huff as he resituates himself on the sofa, still on his back but turned into the cushion.
“Hey, Blaise?” I whisper. “Would it help if you slept on the bed?”
He glares at me over his shoulder, peeved at me.
“There’s, umm, not a lot of space, but you can put Donovan between us, and you’ll probably get a better night’s sleep for it.”
He actually grumbles about it before huffing again but rolling up onto his feet and getting into bed next to me.