Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trent pushed the helmet onto his head, but it wasn’t easy. Charlie had worked with Ralph to fit packets of cooling fluid in between the padding to make it safer. It was heavier, but he’d assured her that his neck muscles were strong enough to carry it.
In fact, he didn’t remember ever feeling stronger than he felt now, in spite of the fact that Charlie had refused to give him more than half a dose of serum each day since the TIA incident.
All the testing showed an eight percent increase in his muscle strength since the baseline measurements had been taken at the start of the trial. Trent could feel it.
She still had him on no salt and had increased his dose of statins, as well as putting him on oxygen. All the possible precautions that could be taken had been taken. All except for the one she’d begged him for.
He looked over at her now, standing in the mouth of the tunnel because she’d refused to sit in the stands. Before he’d left the training room, she’d asked him one last time, eyes glistening, serious as an undertaker, to not play in tonight’s football game.
The sharp stab of pain through his shoulder blades was his punishment for telling her no, that he had to play. The twist of tension in his muscles wouldn’t stop him.
He’d instructed Ralph to stay with her as long as she stayed on the field, but Trent hoped to hell she’d take her seat. He didn’t want to see the guilty worry on her perfect tragic face every time he came off the field to the bench, like his conscience taking on the persona of a scolding angel.
Refusing to look back at her again, he took his place in the line of players as someone sang the national anthem. He willed himself to focus on his breathing. Nothing else. Stay in the moment.
The football gods were on his side when the coin flip went their way and he told the ref that the Minutemen would receive the ball.
The coaches agreed with him that they needed to get out to a fast start.
And there was no way he wanted to sit on the sidelines watching and waiting to get on the field. He was too amped up.
“You ready for this?” Coach Parker took his arm, stopping him as he trotted by to take his place on the field.
“I’m ready to kick ass. Long bomb to Jamie for play number one and a hundred bucks says we score.”
“You’re crazy.” Parker looked at him and Trent met his eyes with intense seriousness. “Okay—you’re on. For a thousand.”
Trent nodded and then ran onto the field, taking his place in the huddle. He called the play and the excitement in the men surrounding him jumped up a notch. Jamie grinned.
“You’re crazy. That’s why we love you.”
Trent fell back into the shotgun formation and Jamie went in motion to his left.
He made the truncated play call, designed to take the defense off guard.
He caught the snap, looked left, faked, came up in the pocket, pumped once then looked right where Jamie streaked across the field.
Trent pulled his arm back, feeling every muscle ready to release its massive power for the long precise throw to the far sideline halfway down the field.
It was a sixty-yard throw and he let it rip in a perfect bullet spiral, arcing over the defender who couldn’t keep step with Jamie.
While the crowd erupted in a deafening cheer, Trent watched the ball fall over his friend’s head and into his hands. Jamie ran without breaking stride, put a stiff-arm out to ward off one defender and then leapt across the goal line in a tumble, holding onto the ball.
The elation, a special high Trent had ever only experienced on the football field—with one exception—took over him as he fist-pumped and yelled like a banshee warrior.
Running down the field, accepting bumps and barks and slaps of congratulations from his teammates, he met Jamie and lifted him into the air.
It was excessive, he knew. It was only the first play of the game.
But there was no way the opposing team—or anything else—would stop him from winning this game.
Not even his own goddamn body. He did the sign of the cross as was his habit after scoring and returned to the huddle, adrenaline rushing but under control.
“Keep the pedal to the metal the whole game, team. We’re going for everything from now until the end of the season when we win it all. Two-point conversion play number three.”
Charline took her hands from her face when the roar of the crowd erupted. It was the first play of the game and her heart beat crazy fast as she jumped up and down in excitement when she watched Jamie tumble into the end zone. Ralph fist-bumped her and her eyes flicked back to Trent.
Ultimate joy lit his face, humbling her. Who was she to tell him he couldn’t have that? Who was she to think she might replace that in his life? The startling honesty of the question calmed her heart down and wiped the smile she didn’t even know she’d been wearing from her face.
“That was f—cking ridiculous,” Ralph said. “Pardon my French.”
She nodded at him, trying to get back her smile. The entire Minutemen bench was shouting similar French words of celebration.
“Don’t worry about me, Ralph. I am French after all.”
He laughed at her silly, stupid, lame joke.
She was happy for Trent, that the game started out in the best way possible for him, scoring in the first minute.
Now all they had to do was last for the next three quarters and fourteen minutes.
She had more confidence in him than she did in herself as her heart started beating fast again.
She let Ralph talk her into sitting in the stands for the second half, where she joined Violet and a few other women.
Having people around her forced her to be on her best behavior, forced her to watch the game without covering her eyes when Trent got hit, to smile and cheer when they scored again or made a defensive stop.
But going through the motions didn’t stop the tension and worry from idling in the background.
Not even when the game was over and they’d won, clinching the playoff spot.
She jumped from her seat like everyone else, but even as she celebrated the win and gave Violet a hug of mutual congratulations, she couldn’t stop the regret from taking hold.
The gut-wrenching knowledge that this meant Trent would be playing more games, bringing more chances for him to compromise his health, to endanger himself, opening himself up to a stroke or worse, kept any real joy at the victory from her.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I know we haven’t had a chance to talk about it, but—” Trent had his arm around her as they stood in the tunnel.
It was late. The postgame press conference had gone on longer than usual.
They lingered before going outside to the cold to their respective cars.
She wouldn’t be going home with him tonight.
She had a hard time figuring out where she stood now.
At half the prescribed dosage, she was no longer giving him serum per the protocol.
With the adjustment, she didn’t know whether she should continue to record his data for the study or not.
John Doe was an anomaly, but the data could still be useful. Maybe.
Charlie didn’t want to think of him as John Doe any more. What bothered her most was not knowing where she stood with Trent personally. Were they still pretend-engaged if he was no longer John Doe?
“What?” she said.
“Do you want to come home with me—to ‘Bama—for Christmas? Just for one day and one night. It’s all the time I have.”
She went still, everything except her wildly beating heart. The idea that her relationship with Trent strained her heart terribly floated heedlessly through her head.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.” Her stomach did a flip. Her mouth went into an automatic smile, even though she had to say no.
“I would love to come with you, actually, but I can’t—”
“Your mother? I figured.” He turned away.
“Trent, I mean it. I would like to meet your family and share a big fat family Christmas with you. I think it would be a real kick. But there’s no way I can leave my mother now—not even for one day and one night. Not to go that far away. I’d never forgive myself if—”
“It’s okay. I know.” He smiled, a real genuine smile, but it faded. “Besides, it’s probably best they don’t meet you. There’s only another month or so left in the season.” He shrugged. “For us to be engaged.”
Her stomach dropped. He was right. She needed to straighten out her head.
They had a deal and some dirty secrets. That’s all they had—all they would have in the end.
Even if he won the Super Bowl and she got her serum approved for the next stage, the second, larger-scale drug trial, they would need to move on, to disassociate from each other to keep their secret forever.
Unless things went bad and the secret went public. Then they would share a spectacularly tragic end to their respective careers.
“You’re right.” Her words were too bright. “But you’ll still come over tomorrow for Christmas Eve?”
“Sure.” He put his fan-charming smile back on. “It’ll be fun.”
It sounded to her like he meant it would be about as fun as a root canal.
“Good night then.” She pulled from his hold. Or tried to.
“Charlie,” He pulled her back in. “It will be fun.” He whispered and lowered his mouth to hers.
His kiss was tender, but not lacking in passion and not lacking in his special brand of sex-citement that lit her up every time without fail, even when she felt sad, even when she knew she should be putting distance between them.
Though Christmas Eve wasn’t officially a holiday, there was a suspension of all work at the lab, no appointments were made for that day, and nothing would happen unless there was an emergency.