Thousand Yard Bride (10 page)

“Put me down,” she gasped. "You said you wouldn't do this!"

“I said wheelchair or my arms, and the chairs are inside,” I told her as I carried her through the emergency room doors. The weight of her was welcome. I wished I was carrying her somewhere more private than a hospital.

In the waiting room, I sat down on a bench with Jo in my lap. An older woman waiting nearby gawked at us. Jo inhaled sharply, fidgeting in my grip but seeming unable to tell me to put her down anymore.

An orderly rolled a chair to us, though, ruining our unspoken we'll-just-stay-like-this agreement. Reluctantly, I put her in the chair, longing for her warmth the second it was robbed from me.

A few minutes later, a nurse called Jo’s name. By that time, her ankle had swollen to twice its normal size, and she could barely move without groaning in agony. Wishing I hadn't been so focused on showing off on the field, I blocked the nurse and wheeled Jo down the hall myself.

No one tried to stop me.

W
hen Hunter picked
me up and whisked me into the hospital, I hoped that he couldn't feel my heart rate increase. It had been surreal to be pressed so close to him again. I'd expected to feel more insulted—he was treating me like an injured kitten, after all—but his solid desire to take care of me erased my anger.

Now, sitting on the table in the doctor's office, I watched as the nurse finished taking my blood pressure. "You’re going to be just fine,” she said, much to my relief.

I was happy that Hunter had stayed in the room with me. I was also happy that he was sitting so close that I could smell his minty scent mixed with his sweat. He was resting in a chair beside me, his shoulder barely touching my thigh. Having him close soothed me, even as my pulse pounded with every glance I accidentally shot toward the front of his padded football pants.

Did he
have
to look so good in those?

The doctor came in, glanced at my ankle and confirmed that I’d need to have x-rays taken. Then he added, “I’m going to run some blood tests, too, Ms. Cooke. You seem to be bruising a bit more quickly than I’d like to see.”

“Oh, bruising like a peach runs in my family,” I said. “It’s no big deal, really.”

Hunter leaned close, pressing a fingertip to my bare knee in experimentation. "Huh," he whispered, glancing at my face, then my neck. "I'd think you have more of them, then. Or do you?"

His unsaid message was obvious.
Did I leave bruises on you the night we fucked?

Looking at the ceiling, I bit my lip and stayed quiet.

A nurse wheeled me to the x-ray room. By then the pain was so bad that I had to focus all my energy on something, anything, to keep from crying.
Screw professionalism,
I thought, allowing my mind to go back to that night in LA. It wasn't a challenge; Hunter had been cradling me in his strong arms just minutes ago.

I replayed every moment. I remembered every sensation. Thinking about Hunter was so distracting that I barely noticed as the x-ray tech covered me in a heavy lead apron and the machine captured every angle of my leg.

Still, I was relieved when the process was over. I was happy to get off of the cold table. I was happy to get back to Hunter. But before wheeling me back to the room, a medical technician announced that he had to take my blood. I tried to protest again, but it was no use. The tech swabbed my arm with alcohol and I braced myself for the prick. I hated needles.

While the technician started prepping to draw my blood, I focused hard. I pictured what Hunter fucking me would have looked like from above. I often visualized things from an angle I couldn't have seen, but could imagine.

This was a tactic that I used in rock climbing. I would imagine looking down at myself from the summit so I could get the full picture of what I was actually doing. It helped put things into perspective.

Now, I was watching Hunter pound into me, then Hunter and I kissing in the hot tub on the hotel balcony at The Standard, the LA skyline silhouetted behind us. I was caressing his tight, wet abs with my hands. He was kissing my neck and my back through my dress. His hand was wandering down my side and over toward my inner thigh . . .

“All done here,” the phlebotomist said, interrupting my daydream. I hadn’t event felt the prick of the needle.

I was happy to see Hunter was waiting for me in the doctor's office. He was talking with the doctor, and both of them were using medical language straight out of some TV hospital drama. I was impressed.

As he carried on a medical conversation that was way over my own head, I realized how smart Hunter was. He never got credit for his brain at all in the media. All anyone cared about was his sexy body or his moves on the field. I was realizing very quickly that Hunter was more than just a hunky football pin-up. He was a real person, an interesting person.

I listened intently, trying to make sense of my diagnosis.

“She has a syndesmotic sprain. The tibiofibular ligament’s completely ruptured,” the doctor said. Hunter nodded, his brow creasing.

“What did he just say?” I asked Hunter, feeling annoyed at my cluelessness.

Hunter translated, “That means that you have a high ankle strain. Up here,” he said, stroking the top part of my good ankle for just a moment, turning my insides to melted butter.

The doctor added, “Looks like you landed pretty hard. Ouch.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “So what does this all mean? Am I ever going to walk again?” My lame joke did nothing to conceal the worry in my voice.

The doctor said, “I'll give you a brace, and then you," he turned towards Hunter, "can get your little lady home and get that ankle iced, compressed, and elevated. You know the drill by now, don't you, Hunter?”

“Will do.” Hunter smirked at me, mouthing ‘little lady.’ I rolled my eyes but didn’t bother correcting the doctor. I wasn’t Hunter’s girlfriend, but why argue the point? We’d be out of here soon enough.

“I’ll call you later if anything unusual shows up in your test results. For now, you should be good to go,” the doctor said breezily as he wrote something on his clipboard.

As Hunter helped me down and onto crutches, a nurse knocked on the door. She called the doctor out into the hallway. “One moment,” he said, motioning for us to stay in the room as he stepped away. Hunter and I were left in silence.

“How are you holding up, Jo?” Hunter asked, looking at me as though I were some injured fawn he wanted to nurse back to health.

“I’m really fine,” I said. “I’m not made of glass.”

"Oh, I know that much," he said softly. He winked, making my heart skip. "I know

how . . . rough I can be with you."

Digging my fingers into the tops of my thighs, I sat there awkwardly until the doctor returned. He was wearing a strange look on his face, looking between us both with uncertainty. “We got your blood test results back, Joanne.” He stepped closer to me and put a fatherly hand on my shoulder.

The first thought that entered my head was that I had cancer or something. I felt faint. My stomach turned. “What’s the problem?” I asked urgently. “Whatever it is, just say it. I can take it." I covered my mouth. "Wait, no. Please don't tell me I'm dying."

“What?" he laughed, shaking his head. "Nothing so grim. But, it looks like you two are pregnant."

The tension that had started to melt when he'd laughed now came back with a vengeance. My eyes widened, a high pitched whine filling my ears. "I must have misheard you," I said, hardly hearing myself.

The doctor smiled fondly, his eyes warming on me. “You’re going to be a mother."

A mother. Pregnant. Me.
"Impossible," I said, so quietly he didn't hear.

Hunter stood up, his shoulders rigid. "Say that again."

"Pregnant," the doctor explained. "Congratulations. I can tell you’re both excited, I’ll get out of here and let you celebrate.” He shut the door, the sound as hard as a foghorn. I jumped, reaching for my crutches, but Hunter put his hands on mine and stopped me.

"Jo," he said flatly. "Did you hear that?"

"I need to get home," I said, trying to move around him.

"Jo! Stop, look at me."

I wanted to do anything except that. Hunter held me still, his eyes so magnetic I was pulled into them. I couldn't read his face. Was he happy? Sad? "This can't be real."

His eyebrows knotted together. "Is it mine? Is that possible?"

I didn't like that implication. Shrugging off of him, I hobbled out the door. "You think I banged some other jackass in the past month?"

"Jo—"

"Yes, it's yours."
I'm pregnant with Hunter's baby.
What the hell were we going to do?

Hunter helped me into his car and we headed home without speaking. My ankle was still killing me, and my mind was running a mile a minute. After about fifteen minutes of awkward silence, Hunter cleared his throat and spoke up.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, his eyes focused on the road.

I massaged my temples, wondering how long it would be until the painkillers they’d sent me home with really kicked in. “What am
I
going to do, don’t you mean? I can handle this, Hunter. This is my mistake. Just forget about it.”

“I was there that night, too, you know. Like it or not, we’re in this together."

My panic turned to anger. Did he think he could control my body? I didn’t know if I was more mad at myself or at the situation. I snapped at him, “You’re my client. I slept with you, and I messed everything up. This is a nightmare.”

I saw that my words stung him, but I meant it. I'd jeopardize my career and his because I'd let myself get caught up in a moment, no matter how amazing that moment was. Everything was uncertain.

The only thing I knew for sure was that I would have to fix this somehow.

I
n all my days
—and nights—sleeping with as many women as I could, I’d never gotten anyone pregnant. While I liked to fuck, I wasn’t a fucking idiot. I always put on a rubber. I’d gone through enough condoms that the condom companies should have sponsored me or at least given me a bulk discount. I was a walking endorsement for safe, albeit prolific, sex.

Until Jo.

I couldn’t remember what happened in LA that led to me being so damn careless. I could easily remember how hot it was. I could still picture Jo in that dress. Her body was crystal clear in my mind.

I remembered pulling her into the jacuzzi, then carrying her to bed. I remembered the way her skin felt, but I couldn’t remember putting on a condom.

When the doctor had walked into the room and told us the news, I'd wanted to bash my head against a wall for being such a moron. But I couldn’t undo what I’d done. We had to come up with a game plan.

I watched Jo out of the corner of my eye as I drove her home. I didn't know how to deal with someone like her. She was so independent, and yet there was still a vulnerability about her that made me want to take care of her. We were in a mess we'd both created, but she was acting like this was all her.

I wanted to scream “Fuck!” out loud the whole way to her apartment. Instead I just drove.

When I dropped her off at her place, I insisted on helping her inside. It was the least I could do. “I don't need your help,” she snapped.

I wasn’t angered by her tone. If I was in her shoes, I’d probably react the same way. But I couldn’t just sit there in my car and watch her hobble to her door.

“I don't care if you don't want it," I said. "You definitely need my help."

She dropped one of her crutches; I bent down, offering it to her. She eyed it like it was on fire, then took it with a frown. "Fine. I need some help, let's get this over with."

I helped her through the door and inside to her small one-bedroom apartment. Her place was really homey. While the furniture was mismatched, it seemed to all come together in a welcoming sort of fashion. It was a stark contrast to my place. She had a comfy looking overstuffed blue sofa which I helped her onto.

“You can go,” she said. “My sister, Lanie, will be here soon.”

“We need to talk about this, Jo.”

“Not now,” she said.

“Not now?" Laughing bitterly, I threw my arms up. "We’re talking about a kid here, Jo. That's happening
now
whether you want to face it or not."

Tossing her crutches onto the floor violently, she shouted, "I'm facing it! I'm facing it real hard! I hooked up for the first time in my life with anyone, and the stars align to make sure I get knocked up by that guy!"

"I’m not just some guy, Jo. I'm this baby's father."

"I'm
definitely
facing that part, believe me."

Disgust crept up the back of my throat and made me taste coppery sourness. "So that's it. You really think I’m that much of an asshole that I would just let you raise some child on your own? Do you think I’m that much of a monster?”

Her eyes were shiny, and she looked so small in that chair. “What do you suggest, Hunter? If you try and come clean about banging your publicist and getting her pregnant while trying to show the world that you’ve changed, no one will ever trust you again. You could lose your deals with Croc-Cooler and Outside the Boxers, not to mention future sponsorships.”

Rapidly I shook my head. “I don't give a fuck about any of that bad press shit right now, Jo.”

Leaning forward, she pressed on with her voice rising. “And football? Your father told me that if you couldn’t prove you've changed that he'd trade or cut you from the team. I don't think he was kidding.”

My heart shriveled at her reveal. “That’s total bullshit. He wouldn't. He’s just being an ass like always.”

“Fine then, Hunter. Go tell papa you got your P.R. rep knocked up. Have a few drinks first. It will make it easier. Go.
Now.”

I could swear my molars were cracking from my tight jaw. "You really want me to leave?"

"How many times do I have to say
go?"

I wasn't sure if she was serious about me going and telling my father what had happened, but the fact that he’d threatened my career and had the nerve to tell Jo about it pissed me off so much that her demand was easy to follow.

Ripping the door open, I spoke coolly over my shoulder. "We aren't done discussing this. But you're right. Maybe I do need to speak with my dad."

She straightened up like someone had knifed her in the back. Jo watched me until I couldn't see her anymore, the door slamming behind me.

I didn’t know where to go or what to do, but driving straight over to Dad’s house when I was this angry was definitely the wrong move. Instead I called Reese and asked him to meet me at the Clubhouse bar. I wasn't sure what I was going to tell him, but Reese was the best friend I had and the smartest guy on the team.

The Clubhouse bar was the local hangout for the Hawks and their fans. It was a huge sports bar covered in Hawks paraphernalia from over the years. My least favorite part about it was that my dad’s jersey from the 1982 Super Bowl was hanging in a frame over the doorway. I always made sure to sit facing the opposite way.

I found Reese at the bar. “Want a drink, brother?” he asked.

“Just a soda,” I said. “I need a clear head, man.”

Hearing me turn down a chance at a stiff drink was enough for him to reevaluate me with lifted eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

Dropping on a stool, I hunched forward and rested my forearms on the bar.
Tell him. He's the only guy who can give you advice.
I didn't trust anyone else with this bombshell news yet. “I might as well just get to it. You know Jo, my P.R. rep? Well, we slept together that night in LA.”

Reese smiled at me, showing too many teeth. "Okay. That doesn't sound like the bad part."

Running my hands down my face, I started to laugh. It came out in quick, loud barks. “She’s pregnant, man. I got her fucking pregnant.”

His smile faded away. “Well, damn."

"That's it?
Well, damn?"

Throwing back the last of his beer, he pointed it at me. "Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“I haven't got a clue. I mean, we just found out, and she’s acting like she's alone in this, as if I'm not even here.” My palms came down hard on the bar. "No, actually, she does think I'm here—just clearly too much of a piece of shit to help her with this."

“Put yourself in her place. She’s probably scared shitless that she ruined her career. And maybe yours, too. She’s trying to be tough, I bet.”

That did sound like Jo. "I still need to do something."

“What do you want to do?” Reese asked. “I’m sure your dad’ll be happy to throw some money at the problem and make it all go away. No offense.”

I shook my head. “Jo would never go for that."

"And you?"

Reaching for the soda the bartender brought over, I paused with my fingers hooked under the tab of the can. "Call me crazy, but I don't want her to have to erase this."

Reese was grinning again. "You dig her."

Ruffling my hair, I bit back my half-smile. "She's sexy, smart, and like you said—tough. I guess that qualifies as 'digging' her."

"Okay, so you like her, and you don't want her to get rid of the baby, but is Hunter Daniels Junior,
the
most sought after man in the country, ready to be a dad?"

He was joking around, trying to ease the air. It reminded me of when I'd played polka music for Jo earlier, back when I'd been focused on her ankle and
that
had seemed like the biggest problem in our lives.

Our conversation was interrupted by my phone ringing. Thinking it was Jo, I answered it.

It wasn't Jo. It was my father.

“Bauer told me you left practice today," he snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Hunter? This is—”

I hung up on him.

“Who was that?” Reese asked.

“My old man." I downed more of my drink, swishing the soda around my mouth. "Coach told him I never went back to practice. We’re still in the off-season, and
his
P.R. hire needed someone to take her to the hospital. I play the good guy, it bites me. Nothing I accomplish will ever be enough for him."

“Wait until he finds out about your bun in the oven. You have to tell him, right? Before he finds out some other way?”

“I’d love it if he found out the wrong way," I chuckled cruelly. "Seeing his face as he read it in the paper in public, man."

“Come on, brother, no you wouldn't. You need to be the one to tell him.”

"Here's the thing," I said, facing him. "If I tell him, he'll lose his mind."

"Nothing to be done about that."

"You're wrong." Reaching over, I grabbed a beer from behind the bar, knowing no one would stop me. "If he's going to berate me, I might as well soften the blow with some booze."

Reese slapped me in the arm, cheering as I downed the bottle.

It burned me down to my guts.

But it didn't remove the nugget of distress over how I was going to tell the world I was about to be a dad.

* * *

I
squealed
the McLaren to a halt in the mansion’s driveway, kicking up a spray of gravel. I hated going to my childhood home because it reminded me of my shitty upbringing.

Sure, when I was a kid, I had everything I could ever want as far as toys and material crap was concerned, but all I wanted was for my dad to treat my mom right.

He never acted like she was his equal. She was his servant and his verbal punching bag. He wasn't even faithful to her. She fought back for a little while, but by the time I was a teenager she had given up and just became his puppet. It didn't take long before I couldn't stand being around either of them.

I opened the mansion door and stormed in. “Dad?” I yelled out in the foyer beneath the two sweeping marble staircases. Aldous, the butler who had worked for my family for as long as I could remember, greeted me.

“What is the matter, Mr. Daniels?” He scanned me over. "Have you been drinking?"

“No more than usual," I chuckled. "One or six, wasn't counting.”

“Oh dear,” Aldous said.

“Oh dear is right. Is my dad home?”

“Yes, I’ll go get him for you.” He climbed the stairs to track down my father.

A couple of minutes later, Dad appeared at the top of the stairwell wearing his smoking jacket and a frown. He addressed me gruffly. “Junior. What is this nonsense? How dare you leave practice early. And Aldous says you're drunk?” I wasn't, but I was beginning to wish I was. “You’re disturbing the entire household.”

“What entire household? It’s just you and Mom.” I walked up the stairwell and met my dad at the top, just outside of his study. I made sure to look him square in the eye. "We need to talk."

"Of course we do. You're a wreck, is Jo doing anything I'm paying her for? Why is she letting you out on the town acting like a jackass?"

"Jo is doing plenty," I said, my hand squeezing the banister. I hated how he talked about her like she was my handler, but worse that he thought she wasn't working hard. Especially when I knew how upset she was at the moment. "She got hurt today, I left to help her."

He folded his arms in his jacket. "She gets paid to keep you in line, not to pull you away from football."

"Speaking of that," I laughed. "I heard you're thinking of trading me from the team."

My father's mouth lines grew deeper. I could have filled them with water and it wouldn't have spilled. "I see. You came here to start a fight about that."

“No, I came here to try and be honest with you. I have news that's better for you to hear from me than anyone else."

"How the hell did you fuckup this time, Junior?"

He didn't seem surprised. Not one bit. That was my breaking point. "You'll love this. Ready? You're about to be a grandfather,” I said matter-of-factly.

That’s when my dad socked me in the jaw.

I spun sideways, nearly falling down the stairs. Gripping the banister, I held my mouth and stared at him with a mix of shock and delight. "How long have you wanted to do that?" I asked, feeling for loose teeth.

“You moron," he growled. "You absolute idiot. Do you realize what you’ve done? What kind of gutter trash did you knock up?”

Black fury turned my voice thick and hot. "I might be a moron, but Jo isn't trash."

"Jo?" he asked, his hands falling to his sides. "
She's
the one? I hired her to keep this exact thing from happening! That dumb bitch! She—"

I came very close to hitting my father. Stomping forward, I shoved him backwards—he leaned on the far wall, gawking at me with seething disgust. "Blame me," I said softly. "If you have to hate someone, let it be me. Jo did nothing wrong. Whatever you do, remember that. I'm the fuckup here, remember? Just me. No one else."

Over his shoulder, I saw my mother watching. Her face was unreadable. It smothered what was left of my anger, and all I had now was a sense of feeling lost. I'd gone and made sure that this secret couldn't be used against me.