Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,83

season?” He leaned forward. “Perhaps the hormones are impacting her judgment?”

“Fuck you. We’re done here.”

“Unlike Rory, I can separate my emotions from my medical assessments. Do you want my opinion?”

“No.” I launched from the chair. He was lucky I didn’t slam it over his desk. “And if I see you anywhere near Rory, I won’t need a functioning brain to kick your ass.”

“You’re cleared to play, Mr. Owens.”

I hesitated.

“That’s what you want, right?” Frolla asked. “Permission to batter yourself senseless? Far be it from me to deny you, especially when you’ve already done me such a favor with this…baby.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“A good deed never goes unpunished. You can play. I’ll sign my name to it.”

My jaw ached, clenched too hard. The pain was nothing compared to my headache.

“Why?” I asked. “Why are you letting me play?”

Frolla stood, buttoning his lab coat. “What do you want to hear, Mr. Owens? That you’re healthy? That you’re fit as a twenty-year-old? That you’ll have no longstanding mental issues as a result of your career?” He snorted. “Use what brain cells remain and realize the truth. You play football, one of the most dangerous sports to mental health. You’ve sustained five documented concussions over your twelve seasons, not counting the ones you’ve hidden or that have gone unnoticed. Your brain is a mess, one giant bruise that will cause you problems when you are older.”

The air squeezed from my chest.

I had wanted a second opinion. Good intentions paved my way to hell.

But who was I kidding? I knew what the diagnosis would be long before Rory came into my life. I knew what was wrong and what I had to do to prevent any more damage.

Maybe once I’d have stepped away.

But now? What did it matter?

“What do we do?” I asked.

“You need tests. Scans. MRIs. Different medications.” Frolla arched an eyebrow. “This can all be completed after the season.”

“Yeah?”

“If you wish. Finish your career, Mr. Owens. Take your rightful place in the Hall of Fame with your championship secured. I’ll do this as a favor for you.”

I didn’t want to be in his debt. “And what do you want from me?”

“Keep Rory’s little secret between us.”

“I can’t control her.”

“You won’t need to. She wouldn’t jeopardize her reputation with these dirty secrets. Imagine how it would make her look. At worst, people would assume she manipulated you and lied about the paternity of the baby. At best, she’ll look like a whore who slept around and couldn’t identify her baby’s true father.”

“And if she says it’s your child?”

“If she chooses to destroy her reputation, I’ll ruin her career.”

Bastard.

This man didn’t realize how lucky he was to still be breathing.

“So, Daddy,” Frolla said. “I need you to maintain this lie. Play your games. Get your win. Have a family. But if you complicate this arrangement, Rory will be humiliated. I’ll see to it personally.”

Like I had a choice.

I delayed answered only for as long as it seemed proper before accepting his deal.

I don’t know why I’d even hesitated. It’d protect Rory, and that meant I had nothing to lose.

So I’d get hit. Bruised. Potentially hurt. At least I’d have my championship. I’d find my purpose in life.

Until my career came to an end.

Until I lost Rory and the baby.

Until I had nothing left.

19

Rory

Was it a betrayal if I meant to save the man I loved?

I stood before the door to Coach Thompson’s office. Hand raised.

Hesitating.

Jude would never forgive me for this.

But even he had to realize how dangerous it was for him to get on the field? If he took one more bad hit…

He could be ruined for the rest of his life.

Early dementia. Memory loss. Personality disorders. Depression.

The list was a terrifying as it was inevitable. I couldn’t cure it—I could only protect him. Remove him from the source of the problem and pray that he’d understand one day.

Maybe.

Or maybe I’d lose him forever—the only man I had ever loved, the only man I could ever envision spending my life with.

A man who might’ve been a friend.

Lover.

Father?

It didn’t matter. The Jude I wanted most was a safe Jude, one who treated himself with the same respect he gave me.

I knocked. Coach Thompson called me inside.

And I should have known he wouldn’t be alone.

“Hello, Doctor Merriweather,” Coach Thompson said. “Come in. You can join Doctor Frolla and me.”

Clayton’s glance wasn’t subtle.

He surveyed my swollen tummy, though he had no right to even look at me. I was five weeks until eviction, and I