Bad Girlfriend (First & Last #4) (30 page)

“Ford, your mom is frantic to talk to you,” Leah said, shoving the already dialed phoned to my ear.  Jesus, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to my mom.

My dad had left us when I was seven, and my mom had raised me alone ever since.  Right after my dad left she signed me up for a flag football league to keep me out of trouble while she was working.  She’d worked two jobs so I could play football.

I never stopped playing.  Busting my ass to get a scholarship to LSU was as much for her as it was for me.  It was a stepping stone to a professional career in the NFL.  I would be able to take care of my mom for once.  The only thing that kept me going when she told me her cancer had returned
was knowing that in a few short months I would be drafted.  I could afford the best medical treatment for her, and she could finally beat the cancer that had plagued her for five years.

Now I had to talk to my mom and tell her that I had failed her.  I took the phone from Leah just as my mom answered on the first ring.

“Ford!  Honey, how are you?”  My mom asked, and I could hear the worry in her voice.

“I’m okay, mom.  I just woke up so I haven’t talked to the doctor yet.”

“I want to fly down and be there with you…”

I interrupted her, “No, mom.  I’ll be okay.  I’m sure I’ll be out of here soon.  Don’t do anything yet.  I’ll call you later when I know more, okay?”

I was able to convince my mom to stay home, and I wished I could convince myself as easily that everything would be okay.

The rest of the day served only to drive me deeper inside myself.  My doctor came in to explain the surgery I would be having the following morning to repair the bones in my leg.  Most of it was over my head, but I did catch that there would be various pins and screws holding my leg together.  After the surgery I would be in the hospital for another week while I worked with a physical therapist to develop a recovery plan.  It would be six more weeks before I could bear weight on my leg.

The doctor hesitated before saying it was unlikely I would ever be able to play football at the high level I had been.  He volunteered that information; I hadn’t even bothered to ask.

By late afternoon I had convinced Leah, Josh and Grady to leave so they could catch their late flight home.  They all wanted to stay to see me through surgery, but I just wanted to be alone.  It was my actions alone that put me here, and I didn’t want to hear the forced optimism in their voices.  Although it was a serious injury, the surgery itself was fairly
routine.  That was enough to convince them to go home.

Soon after they left, my team came to visit, also on their way to catch their flight home.  To say it was an awkward visit was an understatement.  Nobody knew what to say to me, and they seemed to be afraid to talk about the game.  I didn’t have it in me to put them at ease, so after twenty minutes of crickets chirping, Coach sent them all out.  He stayed behind and pulled up a chair next to my bed.

“I talked to the doctor, Ford.  I know you’re facing a tough road ahead.  I want you to know that I’ll be here for you.  The guys are heading home tonight, but I’m going to stay here until you’re released to go home.”

“You don’t have to do that, Coach.  I’ll be fine,” I replied woodenly.  In just one day I had become an expert at saying I would be fine.  Too bad I didn’t believe it for a second.

“I understand that you might want to face this alone, but I’m still going to be here - in the waiting room at least, if you don’t want me with you.  You’re one of my players.  You are my responsibility.”

Coach was the closest I’d ever had to a father figure, and I knew he would be there for me.  But there was an emptiness spreading through my chest, and it prevented me from reaching out to anyone.  It had been less than twenty four hours since my world had collapsed on top of me, and I just wanted to be alone. 
To wallow, to rage, to grieve.

It wasn’t just my future I had lost; I had let my mom down.  She would adamantly disagree, but it wouldn’t change the regret I would always feel.  The moment when I decided to keep running instead of sliding and ending the play would replay over and over in my mind.

The surgery went as expected, and I minimally cooperated with the physical therapist.  In the week that I spent in the hospital I didn’t turn on the TV, I didn’t take any phone calls, and I didn’t let Coach in to see me again.  My life as a quarterback was over, and it was just too painful to remember what could’ve been.

My scholarship would extend through the spring semester, but what was the point in going back?  My major in sports management was chosen without much thought.  I had been counting on playing football professionally, not using my college degree.

So when I was released from the hospital, I dropped out of school and went home to Penn Yan, New York.  As soon as I was able to get out of the wheelchair and walk without crutches, I started tending bar at The Last Call.  It kept me busy and helped my mom pay the bills.

Life went on around me - my mom continued to fight her cancer, Grady got his shit somewhat together and threw himself into his work, Leah and Josh made plans to start a family.  As for me,
the emptiness remained.  I was perpetually stuck in that moment when my leg was broken and my dreams along with it.

Chapter One

Poppy

Angela slid the file containing the information of my new assignment across her desk to me.

“Now, Poppy, are you sure you want to continue with the terminally ill patients?”  She asked me kindly.

For the last two years, I had been working as a home health aide.  Not a nurse, but someone certified in CPR and first aid as well as state certified as a nursing assistant.  Along with my other part time job as a yoga teacher, it was how I paid my rent and put myself through college.  This job was also a stepping stone in my plan to become a doctor.

My last four assignments had been with patients at the end of their terminal illnesses.  Essentially Angela was asking me if I wanted to continue to watch my patients die.  It was always hard to say goodbye, but it was something I felt I needed to do.  There weren’t many aides who would take on these patients because of the emotional toll - on the patient, the family and the aide.

“I’m sure.”

Angela nodded once and leaned back in her chair.

“All right.  Your shifts will start tomorrow afternoon and run Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday from 2:00 pm to midnight.  Will that work with your school schedule this semester?”

Mentally running through my classes at school as well as my yoga classes at the community center, I said, “That’ll be fine.  I have all morning classes this semester, and yoga is just on the weekends.”

Angela motioned to the information sheet on the patient and gave me a quick rundown of the situation.  Unfortunately her cancer had stopped responding to treatment, and I would likely only be on this assignment for a few months before she passed away.

Often the most difficult part was dealing with the family of the patient.  Usually the patients had accepted their diagnosis by the time they required a home health aide, but the family members were the ones who stayed in a state of denial for much longer. 
Sometimes right up until the end.  That is probably the reason I continue to take these assignments.

When I was ten years old my father died of lung cancer.  It wasn’t until after he was gone that I realized what had happened.  During the entire time he was sick, for eight long months, my mother repeatedly reassured me that he was going to get better.  I never got the chance to say goodbye.  Ten years later I still wished I had been able to tell him how much I loved him, to know what was coming and be able to prepare for it.

“Poppy?”  Angela’s voice brought me back to the present.  “You will let me know if this gets to be too much for you, won’t you?  I have plenty of easy cases I can switch you to.”

“No, I’m fine.  Thanks, Angela.”

Helping other families go through this difficult transition somehow made my own loss a little easier to take.  Taking the patient’s information sheet and address, I headed home for a long evening of homework.

My phone rang for about the twentieth time today, and I was seriously tempted to hit Ignore again.  Dropping my
bookbag on the floor just inside the door, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and answered it.  Now that I was home from work and class, I didn’t have a good excuse to avoid my mom’s calls.  I loved my mom, but the only possible reasons she would be calling me with such urgency were either to line me up to babysit my brothers or to talk about plans for Thanksgiving.  Neither of those topics sounded appealing to me, but I couldn’t avoid her forever.

“Hi, Mom.
  What’s up?”  I asked, hoping to avoid small talk.  I had a ton of homework this week, and I was starting my new job tomorrow.

“Poppy! 
Finally.  Have you been avoiding me?”  My mom wasn’t one for small talk either.

I walked the few steps it took to cross my small studio apartment and collapsed on my bed, which also served as my couch, my desk and sometimes my dining table.

“No, Mom.  I’m not avoiding you.  I had two classes this morning, and then I had a lab this afternoon.”

She huffed out a breath and got to the reason she was calling.  “We’re going to Buffalo to spend Thanksgiving with Rick’s family this year.  I need to know if you’re coming with us.  Rick’s sister needs a final headcount for dinner.”

Since moving out right after high school, I tried not to spend any extended amount of time at home.  It’s not that I don’t love my family, because I do.  But they drive me freaking crazy.

I get a lot of confused looks when I explain that I work two jobs so I can have my own miniscule apartment when my family lives a mere ten miles away.  People always ask why I don’t live at home to save money.  My answer is that I am saving my sanity by not living at home.  And riding in a minivan for several hours with my mom, my stepdad and my four year old triplet brothers was my own personal idea of hell.

“I don’t think I can go out of town this year, mom.  I have a couple of big papers due at the end of the semester, and I will probably have to work some over Thanksgiving break.”

“Okay, honey.  That’s fine.  The other reason I called…”  I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t care that I wouldn’t make it for Thanksgiving, but crap. 
Two reasons for calling?  Today is not my day.  “Can you babysit for us in a couple of weeks?  Rick has a work thing.”

I sighed and closed my eyes to regain my inner calm. 
“Sure, Mom.  Just text me the details.”  Rick had a “work thing” every other month.  If my mom was just honest and said “my kids are hell on wheels and I need a break,” I might be more inclined to help her out.  Maybe.

After hanging up with my mom, I unpacked my bag and turned on my ancient laptop.  Just like my car, it was on its last leg.  I prayed nightly that both would last just a few more months until I had enough money saved up to replace them when the time came.

While I waited for my laptop to go through the five minute boot up routine, I searched in my econo-size fridge and pulled out ingredients for a salad.  Just as I was chopping a tomato, my phone beeped with an incoming text.

Brooke:  I’m on my way up.

Oh, no.  Not Brooke.  Not tonight.  I need to get started on my paper for my Public Health class, and homework was not something Brooke understood.

Before I can throw on pajamas, mess up my hair and pretend to be sick, there is a quick knock on the door.  Knowing I sometimes forget to lock the door, Brooke opened it and walked right in.  She was dressed in some semblance of a tiny black dress and extremely high black stilettos.  Her bright red hair was curled and teased and topped with a black headband with black cat ears.  And…is that a tail?  Only Brooke could wear such a ridiculous excuse for a costume and do it with confidence.

Brooke is my landlord.  Well, actually her grandmother is my landlord.  Brooke was raised by her grandmother and still lives here with her.  I rent the small studio apartment over their garage.  Ever since I moved in here two and a half years ago, Brooke has made it her mission in life to corrupt me.  Not that I’m a super goody-two-shoes, but I am too busy with work and school to go out and party all the time.  Brooke does hair at the salon downtown during the day and spends her evenings searching for Mr. Right, although she only ever ends up with Mr. Right Now.

“What are you wearing?”  She asked, eyeing me with barely concealed disgust.  That was my question for her.

I look down at my faded jeans and black long sleeve t-shirt with a purple witch on it.  My nod to Halloween.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Brooke breezed past me and set a large bag down on my bed.  She started pulling out clothes and laying them out on the bed.  “You cannot wear that to the party.”

“What party?”

She stopped unpacking and turned to me with an exasperated expression on her face.  “
The
party.  At The Last Call.  Their annual Halloween party.”  When I just stared at her blankly she threw her hands up in the air - hands that were holding a very small plaid skirt.  “The party you agreed to go to.”