offered his hand. “You’re doing a good thing, taking care of your family.”
I shook it. “Thank you. You said what I needed to hear.”
“You knew it all along.”
He was right.
And soon Rory would know it too.
The team bus returned us to the practice facility, but I didn’t head for my car. I went to find Coach Thompson instead. He waited in his office, watching a tape of the defensive plays. I trusted they were of our team.
“All-Star. Great game, huh?” He pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks…but this won’t take long.”
“Don’t like the sound of that.”
He’d hate the rest. I seized a breath. It didn’t make it any easier.
“I wanted to talk with you. Been doing some thinking, and I gotta come clean.”
“About what?”
“There’s been…injuries I’ve been hiding. Headaches. Dizziness. Memory loss.”
“Really?”
The room was too quiet. The blood pumped in my ears, finally dulling out the memory of the game’s cheering crowd.
I’d miss that sound.
“The symptoms are getting worse,” I said. “Impacting my life.”
Coach Thompson hummed. “I couldn’t tell. You’ve been playing excellent ball.”
“I didn’t let myself focus on the pain. I ignored it.”
“Good man.”
No. That was the opposite of being a good man. Hell, it wasn’t even brave.
I was too much of a coward to face the consequences of my injuries.
“I’m voluntarily sitting myself for the championship game,” I said. “I can’t risk any further injuries.”
Coach Thompson sighed, buzzing the air through his lips. His chair creaked as he leaned back.
“I’m gonna tell you straight,” he said. “You’re having the best season of your career. How bad could these injuries possibly be? I think it’s in your head.”
The injury was definitely in my head. “It’s too dangerous for me to play.”
“We’ll have you talk to a trainer, not a neurologist. They’re always looking for problems. Gotta justify their paycheck.” He waved me away. “You’ve just got your bell rung again. Nothing a cold beer and some pain-killers won’t cure. Ask the trainers, and they’ll cut you a good prescription. You take two days, rest up, and you’ll be good as new.”
“It’s worse than that, Coach. Believe me.”
“But you wanted to play this season. Hell, I wanted you to play with us. We need you.”
“I have someone else who needs me,” I said. “And she needs me to be healthy. I hate to take myself out, but if I get hurt—”
“You were cleared to play, Jude.”
“It was at my discretion.”
Coach Thompson frowned. “Are you sure you aren’t letting other people interfere with your medical assessments? Doctor Merriweather has consistently interfered with other players this season. I think she’s convinced you that you’re hurt.”
“This isn’t about Ror—Doctor Merriweather. I’m not one hundred percent.”
“Show me any player who isn’t beaten up this late in the season. Sprains, broken fingers, torn muscles. You know this game. No one is healthy. Everyone plays hurt.”
“Look—”
He didn’t want to hear it. “That’s the deal you made when you signed with this team. That’s why you were given millions to play, Owens. Only men play this game, and men know when it’s time to make sacrifices.”
He was absolutely right. That’s why I was here, giving it up. “My decision is final.”
His scowl turned cold. “I didn’t think you were a coward.”
“I’m not.”
“I think you are. I think you’ve let Merriweather poison your mind. She’s manipulating you.”
“She’s the only person telling me the truth.”
“You have more than enough juice left in you to make it through this one game,” he said. “Then you can take off-season to rest and get ready for next year.”
Now my head did hurt. “Next year? Coach, there’s no fucking way I can run another sixteen games next season. I’m out. I’m asking you to respect my decision.”
I reached the door before he spoke once more.
“I know the baby isn’t yours.”
I stilled.
How the hell did he know?
“That doesn’t matter,” I said.
“It matters to Doctor Merriweather. Matters so much, in fact, that you assumed responsibility to save her career.”
My head wasn’t screwed on straight, but even I recognized a threat when I heard it. I spun, tossing aside my chair so I could stare him down, face-to-face.
“Rory’s got nothing to do with this,” I said. “We’re done here.”
“Doctor Merriweather has everything to do with this.” Coach Thompson didn’t look away. “She’s manipulated you into believing you aren’t fit to play, despite a second opinion countering her assessment.”
“What the hell are you saying?”
“I’m displeased with the quality of her work. And Doctor Frolla is concerned with the accuracy of her assessments.”
He’d blackmail me? Was he