Happily Ever All-Star: A Secret Baby Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,84

looked every bit the part of an expectant, darling momma-to-be.

But Clayton bore no resemblance to a doting father.

And I’d be damned if my daughter ever learned the truth.

Of course, a pregnant tummy did nothing to strengthen my position as a medical consultant to the team. No one could be taken seriously while smuggling a watermelon under their shirt, even when tossing out phrases like inner-cranial bleeding and immunohistochemical brain analyses.

“I needed to speak with you regarding a player,” I said.

I didn’t expect him to listen. Coach Thompson let me speak, but I knew what his answer would be.

“Jude Owens is in no condition to play this week,” I said. “Perhaps the rest of the season, pending further testing and examinations.”

Coach Thompson wasn’t swayed. “You expect me to sit my starting running back on the eve of the playoffs?”

“It’s necessary. Jude is exhibiting symptoms relating to his post-concussion syndrome. I suspect he’s even suffered an additional concussion that has gone undetected.”

Clayton frowned. “Surely with your proximity to Mr. Owens, you’d have noticed changes in his health and behavior?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Because you suspect he has another concussion?”

“Because I can’t be sure without further testing. I’m recommending that he is listed as inactive for Sunday to prevent any further injuries.”

Coach Thompson folded his hands, but his voice lost all warm cordiality. “Doctor Merriweather, I understand your…concern, but you can rest your fears. Owens is perfectly fine.”

“With all due respect—”

“Doctor Frolla cleared him to play this morning.”

The air squeezed from my lungs with the help of Genie’s untimely kick. “You cleared Jude to play?”

Clayton nodded. “He came to me for a second opinion.”

The second opinion. He actually did it.

But why did he go to Clayton?

“Why would you clear him?” I asked.

“He passed my tests.”

“Bullshit. You know as well as I do how severe his symptoms are. You’re putting him at risk!”

Clayton rarely argued. No need. He never took responsibility for the consequences to his actions.

“He passed my tests, and I allowed him to make the final call,” he said.

“But of course Jude would say he wanted to play!”

“He understands his body and limitations.”

“No, he doesn’t. Or if he does, he’s willfully ignoring the consequences.”

“And what would you have us do?” Coach Thompson asked.

“Bench him! Keep him out of the game. Take away his helmet and force him onto the sidelines. He won’t stop unless someone physically prevents him from taking the field.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Clayton dared to nod at my tummy. “Perhaps you’re a little sensitive, given your current condition?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about my current condition.”

“No? Strange. I remember a time when that’s all you wished to discuss with me.”

“Go to hell.”

Clayton stroked his eyebrow. “Is your relationship with this player interfering with your judgment? Would you prefer to release his case to me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then perhaps I should remove you from the fellowship?”

“Because you were so benevolent when you first gave me the job?”

“You’re fortunate I allowed you to stay, given your circumstances.”

“This isn’t just my circumstance.”

“You’re right…” Clayton’s voice darkened. “It’s Jude’s as well…unless for some reason, you wish to clear your conscience?”

“At least I have one,” I said. “Why are you doing this to him? Do you want him to get hurt? Is that it? Some sort of retaliation for the baby?”

Coach Thompson interrupted us with a grunt. “We’re getting off-topic. Owens will play. That’s the end of this.”

Why didn’t they understand? “I am begging you. If Jude gets hurt—”

“Then he gets hurt!”

Coach Thompson slammed his hands against his desk. I flinched.

How could a man be so cold?

“For fuck’s sake—he’s a grown man,” he said. “I’m paying him a goddamned fortune to run the ball for me. I don’t care if he gets a headache. I don’t care if he gets knocked out or if he crushes his skull on the field. As long as he gets my ten-fucking-yards and a first down, that’s all he’s good for. Save the romance for the off-season—we’re going to the championships. Jude Owens will lead us there on a smear of his goddamned brains if that’s what it takes!”

Silence. I couldn’t breathe.

I stared into the eyes of a monster, remorseless and vile.

Coach Thompson calmed, returning to his seat. “Show yourself out, Doctor Merriweather.”

“But—”

“And if I were you, I’d start my maternity leave immediately. Do yourself a favor and stop looking for trouble.”

I shook my head. “I have to do my job. Someone has to protect these players.”

“Your job…” Clayton warned. “Is to do what Coach Thompson asks of you.