Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,31

hell was I supposed to do?

My body moved absent of my mind. I dragged my feet, but they rushed forward. The steps were wrong. I knew they were wrong. But I couldn’t stop myself.

I collided with Jack. He sprawled one way, I fell the other, and the ball popped out.

Whistles blew.

And I waited for the fog to lift.

It was starting to take a little too long to clear.

I sat up slow, but Jack was already there. He helped me to my feet.

“You all right, man?”

“Yeah…” I choked. His name didn’t come to my lips. It fizzled in the grey nothing of my head. I faked a smile. “Just ran the wrong route.”

“Simba’s a pass. Red meant I needed you to block on the right.”

“Yeah.” I’d never remember that. Not without flash cards, silence, and a night alone with my playbook. How the hell was I supposed to do that with Rory so close now? “I’ll get ya next time.”

He thunked my helmet with his hand. Not helpful. “We got this, Jude.”

“Hell yeah.”

I hoped.

The coaches dismissed the team from the heat and exhaustion. A shower helped to clear the last of the cobwebs, and a fist-full of Aleve was my normal after practice cocktail. The guys cleaned up and dressed. Jack caught me as I fit my t-shirt over my head.

He tucked a sports jacket over his shoulders. My memory was hazy, but even a couple years ago, the Jack Carson I knew wouldn’t have been caught dead in a suit. Dead in a ditch, maybe, but not a suit.

But I respected a man who took responsibility for his life.

I also respected the hell out of his wife’s patience.

“Feeling good?” Jack asked.

“Yeah.”

“Knees okay?”

“Fine now.” I grinned. “Ask me again when I wake up tomorrow.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Jack hesitated. “I’m just, checking. You know?”

“Sure.”

“I’m excited for this season.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

“It’s going to be a tough year.”

I knew where he was going with this. “I’m good to play, Jack. The coaches say I’m good. The doctors say I’m good. Team neurologist says I’m good—and she’s a hard ass, believe me.”

“I don’t care about them,” he said. “I want to know if you think you’re good to play.”

“What’s that mean?”

“No one can get into your head and really look around—only you.”

“You don’t think I’m healthy?”

“I can’t make that call. You can. You tell me.”

This wisdom was coming from a man who once had the worst reputation in the league—a partier, a drunk, a womanizer. But I’d been around long enough to see hot-shots come and go. Jack had honestly reformed, but I doubted even he understood the challenges I’d faced, conquered, and still feared.

“Believe me. I’m ready to play.”

“And the drill on the field today?” Jack asked. “You didn’t run the wrong route. Your head glitched. You ran the same play twice.”

“It was a mistake.”

“How many of those mistakes do you make in a day?”

I didn’t need a lecture. “You do your job, Jack, and I’ll do mine. All we need to worry about is getting the ball in my hands.”

“Bullshit. You have plenty more to worry about. You should be scared shitless.”

“Why?”

“You have a kid on the way, All-Star. You need to be thinking about the baby.”

I quieted. The baby wasn’t just getting real to Rory today. Genie was suddenly a very real part of my life.

“I have this under control,” I said.

He didn’t believe me. “How do you manage the memory problems? Crib sheets around the house? You’re a quiet guy, so people probably don’t notice when anything’s wrong. Do you cheat by calling people man or buddy or sport?”

“I’ve never called anyone sport.”

“That’s a good nickname to remember, if you can.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my memory.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t have to explain myself to Jack Carson. So why was I still trying?

“My last concussion was a bad one,” I said. “But I’m here to play. I have a job to do. We can either be a team about this, or you can borrow Rory’s lab coat and play doctor too. I appreciate the concern—”

“Do you?”

No, but I was more of a gentleman than him. “I’m well enough to play. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And even as I said it, even as the irritation bubbled quicker and fiercer than it had any right to flare, I hated myself for considering that he might have been right.

But nothing would stop me from playing this season.

Not my head. Not my medical history. Not even a shit memory.

I wasn’t worried about a little fog. As long