Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,17

genuine, more like a warning. “I’ve been touring every team in the league this week, checking on those involved with the fellowship. Believe me, you don’t want to get overwhelmed with one patient.”

Coach Thompson smiled. “Use your best judgement, Doctor Merriweather. My guys are itching to play. If they’re fine, let’s get them on the field. You can check them over as you wish during practices. Probably would give you a better indication of their health that way.”

Or it could cause any number of physical and mental problems if they weren’t healthy enough to step on the field. Clayton should have known that. A man of his position, power, and intellect should have realized when a situation required more objectivity. Then again, I learned that lesson all too late myself.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Coach Thompson said. “We want to keep those guys on the field, right? Can’t win without our boys.”

“Right.” I gritted my teeth. “That’s the goal. I’m going to check on one of the players now.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

Not yet. “Just doing my job.”

A job that suddenly felt a lot harder. I gave both men a smile they didn’t deserve and shut the door behind me.

I expected this sort of resistance from the players, but the coaches? Surely they understood how dangerous head trauma could be. Concussions weren’t injuries that could be taped up, iced off, or injected with cortisone to treat. And repeated injuries had dire consequences for a player in his later life.

Memory loss. Deteriorating motor function. Changes in personality or temperament.

Dementia.

Early death.

No multi-million-dollar superstar wanted to hear how it all could end, not when the money, women, and fame rolled in. They didn’t care what happened ten years down the road.

Jude had never cared. A shame really, since he was about to get a preview of his next concussion courtesy of my retribution. Once I kicked his butt from one side of the field to the other, he’d rather get clocked by a linebacker than deal with me.

But practice had finished before I could grab Jude, and the players filed from the locker room into the cafeteria for lunch. I paced in the back, far away from the lunch line and whatever foul concoction they served for the day.

It looked greasy. Smelled beefy. Dripped in tomato sauce.

The joe wasn’t the only thing about to get sloppy.

“Rory.”

I spun. Bad idea. My stomach lurched, and I faced the head athletic trainer, Louisa, with a forced greeting. She plopped an apple into my hands.

“You should eat.” She gave me a warning glance, like I was one of the players trying to get out of icing my knee or taping my fingers. “An empty tummy can make you more nauseous.”

“Oh no.” I swallowed. Acidy. Ew. “I’m fine.”

Louisa didn’t buy it. “Fruit is good for morning sickness.”

My heart stuttered. “I’m…but I’m not…”

“Oh, please.” She scoffed. “If you knew how many times I’ve heard that. Trust me. Eat the apple. You’ll feel better.”

“It’s just—”

“Your secret is safe. Don’t worry. You aren’t the only woman around here who’s been knocked up. A uterus is like a dartboard around the Rivets. Everyone’s aiming to hit that bull’s eye.”

Her assessment wasn’t entirely anatomically accurate, but I appreciated the candor. I took the apple and excused myself as Jude entered the cafeteria, surrounded by his cadre of offensive weapons. I liked Jack Carson and Lachlan Reed, but I doubted they wanted to see me beat their new running back with his own cleats.

Jude knew he was in trouble. His grey eyes brightened as I approached, and of course, that quivered me in all the best and worst ways. He held his arms out, trying to protect Jack and Lachlan from my wrath.

“Rory? Is everything okay—”

Louisa was right. I did need the apple. I pitched it at Jude’s head.

At least his motor functions and coordination were in check. He caught the fruit before it applesauced in the middle of his forehead.

“Jude Richard Owens!”

Jude panicked. “Uh-oh.”

Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the one in the line of fire. Jack edged away from us with a not-so-subtle side-step.

Jude held the apple up, over my head, as I tried to steal it back. “Rory, what’s wrong?”

I gave one humiliating hop for the fruit before realizing my vertical jump would get me laughed out of training camp. I curled my hands into fists instead.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Jude glanced to his stunned teammates and shrugged. “…No?”

Wrong answer.

“One—you better be lying because