Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Gabe
“She’s gone,” I said. Mia’s eyes went wide.
“Took off in a taxi in a hurry for work.” I shrugged and patted the seat next to me. “How long before Tate’s operation is finished?”
“He’s out of surgery now, in recovery. You’ll be able to see him in a few minutes.” She sat next to me and I shifted in her direction, keeping my voice low. She didn’t back away, but she didn’t lean in or make any move.
“You saw him?” I said.
“Only briefly. Enough to smile, tell him it went well, and squeeze his hand. They’re admitting him for one night.”
I heaved a breath. We were talking about Tate when I wanted to talk about us. As if there was an us. All my vaunted graciousness, ability to say the exact right thing was absent, like my brain had been hijacked by something. Emotions maybe. Like I’d turned into a girl.
The thought galvanized me and I leaned close enough to breathe in her scent, like a breezy spring meadow, fresh and light in spite of everything.
“Why don’t you feel more than friendship for Tate? The truth. No hedging.”
Her eyes darted away and she went quiet, retreated inside herself, but I gave her some space because I was asking a lot, asking her to bare her soul when I hadn’t done it myself. After several excruciating seconds, she turned to me, her heart-stopping brown eyes relentlessly expressive and full.
“Because I . . . have feelings for you.” She looked away and shrugged. “But so what. You belong to Denise.”
“Maybe not for long. She wants a diamond and I can’t give it to her. No way. Not the way I feel right now.”
“And how is that?” She looked up at me, her eyes strained with the effort of holding back her hope, her adoration.
“Damn confused.” That’s as much as I could say and it was the truth.
“No matter.” She let out a breath. “You and I could never work.” Deep, dark resignation vibrated in her words.
“Because of damn football,” I said. First time I’d ever disparaged the game I loved more than life.
“No, that’s not it, Gabe.” Her words were soft and pained. That took me by surprise. I’d really lost it. I had no idea how to navigate my way through this. Denise, football and Mia all snaked in a knot of competing forces in my gut. She was about to say more, but a nurse interrupted.
“You can see Mr. Fontanna now, Mr. Wyatt. For a few minutes.” I looked up at the woman in scrubs, ready to make some quip about not being so formal, but Mia spoke up.
“Thank you, Tammy.” Mia stood in a graceful unfolding as if she were a ballerina rising. “I’ll leave you to it, Gabe. I’m heading home. I’ll be back early to be here when he’s discharged.” Mia turned and walked away.
I stood, keeping myself still, straining against the need to follow her, to take her into my arms and find the truth in her, to figure out my feelings, to figure out what the hell I could do to get rid of this uneasy preoccupation.
And knowing that I needed to stay faithful to football even if that meant I could never bring Mia to my bed.
Tammy cleared her throat, “This way, Mr.—”
I swung around. “Call me Gabe. No need to be so formal. Lead the way, Tammy.”
And just like that, I ruthlessly cut Mia from my thoughts, shut her out. Keeping her out would be another matter, but I had to try. I couldn’t afford to let her in and I didn’t want to lead her on. Besides, she’d made it clear she was cutting me out and moving on, even if it wasn’t with Tate.
I went up in the elevator with Tammy and down a hall to a private room, number 314.
“They admitted him already?”
“We don’t fool around, Mr.—Gabe.” Tammy smiled and stood at the door while I pushed it open.
Tate turned to me as soon as I walked inside, looking fairly alert for a guy who just had surgery.
His clavicle and right shoulder were bandaged and immobilized and he had a needle attached to the standard tube for fluids, but he otherwise appeared the same.
“You look bored already,” I said.
He snorted. “They tell me I’ll be falling asleep soon. Thank God. I hate hospitals. I think I’ll close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else.” He didn’t close his eyes, but gave me a curious look as I pulled up a chair and sat next to him.
“Want to play cards? A game of poker with some side action while I have a chance to win money from you?”
“I’d still take your money, even with one hand tied behind my back—or pinned to my side, as the case may be.”
My turn to snort. “You talk to your parents yet?”
He nodded. “Dad’ll be here in a couple of days. They practically had a fistfight about which of them would come out. One of them has to stay behind to mind the business.”
“You’ll be out of here by tomorrow. You’ll be taken care of at home between PT and the team’s medical staff.”
“And Mia. She said she’d come over and cook for me.” He grinned.
The bastard couldn’t know how much that bothered me. Hell, I had no business letting it bother me. And as much as I wanted to burst his bubble about Mia’s status as a girlfriend, I knew it was her place to make sure he knew. So I smiled and nodded.
“Lucky you. No thanks necessary.”
“As much as I don’t want to admit it,” he said, “I do owe you thanks for introducing me to her. She’s special. She—”
I put up my hands to stop him. The last thing I wanted to hear was the litany of everything that made Mia so special. I could recite my own list. Didn’t want to think about it or her.
“I get the picture,” I said. “We won today’s game but next week will be more of a challenge, especially without you to bring that extra pressure on Seattle’s QB.
We’ll need to make some adjustments, but I figure we’ll lose one, two games without you that we would have otherwise won.
Not enough to keep us out of the running.
You’ll definitely be back for the playoffs. ”
He listened nodding, his expression pained.
“Fuck.” He turned away. “I’ll kick ass when I get back. Make up for lost time.”
“Way to channel the anger. In the meantime, let’s dial in some sports news, see what’s going on in the league.” I took the TV remote and turned it on, quickly finding the NFL network.
“So how come you’re here?” he said as I watched the small TV suspended above the bed.
I shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I be here? You’re my team brother, man.
You’re down, but not out.” I turned to him.
“Seriously, I know it’s damn hard to get injured and I know you’re here alone.
Consider the team your family.” I glanced at the clock over the door and said, “In fact, Coach Marini and some of the other guys should be here soon.”
He looked surprised and I grinned because it was obvious he was pleased. Within a few minutes, before the sportscaster finished running through the scores of the day’s games, Coach walked in and a steady stream of guys followed two at a time, including Hunter.
“Coach,” I said. He nodded at me and I saw the surprise register.
“I was wondering where you’d got to after the press conference, Wyatt.”
I moved aside and let some of the other guys in to give Fontanna shit because that’s what they did mostly.
Tell him he was an idiot after telling them how bad they felt about him going down.
But because they all knew this was a relatively minor injury in the scheme of things and that he’d be back for the playoffs at the outside, we all felt more comfortable making light of the situation.
There’d been worse situations to deal with.
I hoped to hell we wouldn’t have any other major injuries this season, though I knew that was a long shot.
When Hunter arrived, I let him say hello, knew he wouldn’t say much more, and I took him aside.
“Let’s go out for a drink.” I spoke quietly, the invitation for him only.
He studied my expression for a second before nodding.
He knew me well enough to know it wasn’t a casual request. Because it wasn’t.
I’d bottled up thoughts of Mia, but my nerves jumped around and the discomfort of my life being askew hadn’t left me.
He’d come with another guy so he quietly told his ride he was leaving with me and we slipped out.
We took my car to Louie’s. It was late, close to closing, but Louie would let us stay as long as we wanted, I knew from experience.
My family had been there, but they were long gone now.
The post-dinner crowd was thinning and we decided to sit at the bar among the regulars, who didn’t bother us.
I nodded at Marco, who was behind the bar, and ordered two Sam Adams. It might be an Italian restaurant, but they had the usual crazy variety of microbrews on tap and in bottles.
I wasn’t in a mood to experiment tonight.
I took the red leather stool at the end of the bar farthest from the door.
It was worn and comfortable and settled me.
There’d only been one couple sitting at the bar, familiar strangers.
We exchanged nods. Hunter took the seat next to me.
“What’s going on, Wyatt?” Hunter said, then stared, waiting. I knew he’d wait as long as he had to without prompting. He was quiet and patient. Opposite of his new wife, Cat. The idea of them as a couple made me smile.
“I have a dilemma.”
“Does this have something to do with Denise?”
“Yes.”
“Then the solution is easy. Cut her loose.” Marco set down two mugs of beer in front of us and Hunter picked his up for a long sip without waiting for me to respond or say any more, as if his job was done.
“I’m surprised. You jumped on that, like you’ve been waiting to give me that advice at the least provocation.”
He grunted something that sounded like no kidding.
I shook my head, staring at the beer as if looking for courage. I didn’t like dealing with troubled emotions, didn’t have much cause. My life was good, always had been as far back as when I started playing football. I preferred not to look further back than that. Why stir up trouble?