Fair Game: A Football Romance (5 page)

“Good luck. He’s a kinky motherfucker, but I guess you already know that, being his ex and all. Tell him Cherry says ‘hey,’ and he can call me when he’s feelin’ better.”

With that, she sashays out the patio door and across the heated cement surrounding the pool in her trench coat and six inch heels. Definitely a stripper or a prostitute. My suspicions about his lifestyle are confirmed, and then some.

So Adam’s kinky now, is he? I wonder how kinky? No, I don’t. I don’t give a shit what he does in his bedroom. And I don’t care about his stupid bribes either. I snatch the wine and toss it into the refrigerator and the note in the trash. The remote calls to me, however, and I can’t help but want to press the button. I want to know what else the snake has up his slithery sleeve. I scramble over the cold tile floor in only my towel and lock the door. When I pick up the space shuttle remote again, I press the blue button.

The old song “Reunited” from the Seventies by Peaches and Herb plays over the sound system throughout the house. Oh God, what an idiot. I should have left well enough alone, but no, I had to go and press that button. I roll my eyes, so hard it hurts, and jam the red button next to the blue one, praying it will shut off this pathetic attempt at rekindling a romance that died a painful death six years ago. Reunited my ass, the only thing he’s going to be reunited with is my stubborn attitude and hard work ethic.

I’m going to put everything I’ve got into getting this man back on his feet as soon as possible so I can get the hell out of here. There will be no damn reuniting, period.

I shower and change into soft jeans, a t-shirt, and a lightweight sweater. I’m going to freeze, but I’ll be dammed if I’m wearing any of the clothes Adam bought for me. First thing on my to-do list tomorrow is shop for warm clothes.

When my hair is dry and flat ironed and I’ve unpacked my summer wardrobe, I go around the house and gather up all of Adam’s gifts and shove them in the coat closet by the front door. The front door feels like the back, because it faces a large open field. I glance out the window but don’t bother opening the door as its piled high with snow.

In addition to the wine and the basket full of toiletries and medical supplies, I find five outfits with tags on them hanging in the closet. Two new pairs of shoes, a pair of leather riding boots, and costume jewelry that I pray is actually costume jewelry all get tossed in the basket too. I’m not even going to mention the gifts; they are unprofessional. I don’t know what he was thinking. A part of me even considered packing up and checking into the closest hotel. However, that would make Adam more difficult to access and if I’m going to get him in top condition, I need to be nearby, so I suck it up.

The keys to Adam’s car are on the island in the kitchen, beckoning to me. The fob says RR with a picture of the classic Rolls Royce woman with her arms outstretched as if she were flying. I’ve never seen a Rolls Royce in person or on the road for that matter. What an ostentatious vehicle for a football player to drive. He used to be a big Ford truck kind of guy, but I guess that was the old Adam.

I open the fridge and find a plate of precut fruit and pull it out. He probably had this hand-delivered to impress me as well. I’m not too proud to eat his expensive organic fruit though; I’m starving. It would smell up the closet with the other gifts when it spoiled anyway. Maybe when I leave I’ll hide something in the heat register as a going away gift. For now, I’m snacking on perfect juicy strawberries and melon balls before I explore the garage and his fancy car.

I should have been back at the hospital by now. I took an extra long shower and spent more time on my hair than necessary. I want to look nice as a professional, but not so nice that Adam thinks I’m doing it for him.

Out in the garage, I flick on the light and gasp at the sight of the monster Rolls. Having never seen one, I had no idea it would be such a large car. Adam is a big man though. I guess if he’s going to have a luxury car, this is the way to go.

The Rolls isn’t alone in his four-car garage. The second slot has a Harley, the third an SUV that looks more like a mom car, and at the end is a big red Ford truck. Every time I think I’ve got him figured out, I find something like that truck. It’s not new or fancy. In fact, it looks a lot like the one he drove in college.

I don’t have time to explore his different modes of transportation or take another walk down memory lane, so I click the fob and slide into the buttery soft driver’s seat. There’s a start button instead of a keyhole, which is good, because I have no real key on the fob. My car at home has a key and a hole. Old school I guess, but I don’t drive much though, so it works for me.

First things first. I need to open the garage door so I don’t asphyxiate myself before I even get out of here. I find an opener on the console between the front seats and click it once. I press the start button and listen to the smooth hum of the engine. It’s dusk out, so I search for the headlights and switch them on and get one hell of a surprise. Overhead, the ceiling of the entire car lights up with tiny twinkling lights. I sit with my arms extended, gripping the steering wheel, my head leaning against the headrest in awe.

It’s so pretty. It sort of reminds me of that show, “Pimp My Ride,” where they did makeovers on cars that by all rights belong in the junkyard. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a babbling brook in the back seat or a disco ball mounted on the dash. That thought makes me giggle, and I realize how tense I’ve been. I relax and loosen my grip on the wheel and snort. It’s an unflattering habit, but I can’t help but snort when I laugh. It’s the way I am.

I need to loosen up and remember that this is temporary, extremely temporary. In the whole scheme of things, a couple months is nothing when I compare it to the rest of my life. I can do this. Adam isn’t going to mess with my head. I won’t let him.

Chapter Eight

Amethyst

Once I had the basics down, driving the Ghost is a dream. I didn’t want to leave it in the parking lot of the hospital for fear someone might ding the door or scratch the pretty opalescent white paint. I pity the bird that dares to shit on the Silver Snake’s baby.

I end up paying ten bucks to put it in a garage across the street. I’m sure he’s insured the shit out of it, but I’m not letting anything happen to it on my watch. Inside, I easily find my way to the ICU and find that he’s been moved to a medical surgical floor that specializes in orthopedics. This is extremely good news. It means he’s doing better than they expected, but I’m not surprised. He’s like a wrecking ball, crashing through a thick brick wall when it comes to achieving goals. He’s always been thirsty for a challenge. The higher the goal is set for him, the better. Well, this one’s a doozy, but he’s on the right track.

He’s sleeping when I peek into his room, so I step out and ask to see Dr. Moto. I stand scrolling through my emails on my phone outside Adam’s room until he arrives.

“Hello Ms. Amero, thank you for meeting with me tonight. He’s improving at an amazing rate. I’ve never moved someone out of ICU this quickly after surgery, but he can be a persistent man.”

“Oh believe me, I know all too well.”

“Do you two know each other?”

“Yes, we grew up together in St. Louis. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

“Ah, so that’s why he insisted on you and only you as his NP. He wouldn’t let me put him under in the OR if I didn’t promise to get you here.”

“Yeah? It’s a little strange, because we haven’t been in contact for six years.”

“You’re okay with the assignment, though? You’re on board for helping him recover? Because I think he will improve by leaps and bounds with you at his side.”

“Why thank you, Dr. Moto, I appreciate your vote of confidence. So what are we looking at for a recovery plan? Do you think he’ll be home this week?”

“Yes, if he continues like this, he could be back at home in two or three days. He’ll be bedridden though. He can’t bear any weight on that leg for a couple of weeks. The team’s physical therapist will come to the house regularly, but I still foresee about six months to recover, minimum. Usually it’s a year. I can’t guarantee him he’ll ever play again, but he’s not hearing any of that. He thinks he will be back on the field in four months.”

I cross my arms over my chest and pull one side of my mouth up in a well-informed smirk, shaking my head.

“Don’t underestimate him, Doctor. If anyone can do it, then it’s that man in there,” I say, hitching my thumb over my shoulder toward Adam’s room.

“You’ve known him a long time; I hope you’re right.”

“Is he taking his pain meds?” I ask.

“Yes, much to his dismay. If we weren’t putting them in his IV, he would never take them. I don’t know if he’s a masochist, but he certainly seems to want to experience the pain.”

I don’t know about the masochist thing, but I do know Adam is horrified of becoming addicted to anything, even coffee. He believes it’s something that can be inherited, and his father was a terrible gambling addict. He also had to sit by and watch as his brother nearly killed himself doing drugs and drinking; from that moment on, he’s been a loud voice in the fight against drugs. He founded an organization called JDS, Just Don’t Start, that teaches young kids not to try drugs even once.

“Adam is careful about addiction. His brother had a really big problem with drugs and alcohol. I’ll try to talk to him about it.”

“Ah well, that makes perfect sense then.”

The sound of a call light interrupts our conversation, and I look up and find Adam awake.

“Speak of the devil,” I say, pointing up at the blinking call light over my head.

“Alright, I think we’ve covered our plan of attack. Get him home this week, start PT, and convince him to take pain meds. Let me know if you have any other questions. I’ll be here for the next few days.”

“Thank you, Dr. Moto.”

He shakes my hand, and I return to Adam’s room.

“Finally, I called like ten minutes ago,” Adam says, his voice full of irritation and a scowl on his face. I sigh, “It only rang twice. I was right outside your door. You’re awfully impatient, aren’t you? Have you been giving the nurses a hard time?”

“No, I could give you a
hard
time though, if you’d come over here.”

“Can it, Adam. I’m not falling for your crappy lines. What is it that’s so urgent?”

“I feel claustrophobic. Can you open the blinds?”

“It’s dark out. There’s nothing to see.”

“Don’t care. I wanna see something other than these four walls. You know me, Ame. I’m an outdoorsy kinda guy,” he says with a sly grin.

He’s referring to all of the picnics and walks in the woods that ended with us tangled up in each other’s arms on a blanket making love. Or at least, I was making love. I doubted every aspect of our long relationship in the months that followed his disappearance.

I walk to the window and pull the metal chain to raise the blinds. I look out the window down into a parking lot where a couple is getting out of their car. The woman is pregnant; she carefully waddles around the car as the man rushes to her side to help her.  It’s times like these that my biological clock begins to tick. And that damn clock is loud and annoying. I’m only twenty-seven. I have plenty of time to meet a nice man and have some kids. My original master plan was to be well on my way to a large family by now, but my original plan included Adam.

“I don’t know what good this is going to do. It’s pitch black outside.” I turn around and catch Adam staring at me with the most interesting expression. We may have been apart for years, but I still know him. I can read him. His eyes are wistful and tender, full of longing and something that I can’t quite put my finger on. Pain maybe? Not the physical pain from his injury. This is emotional and deep. Maybe he’s feeling shitty about what he did to me.

I slap my hands on my hips to snap him out of this uncomfortable moment.

“So, the doctor says you can go home in a few days if you keep doing well.”

He blinks with purpose, his long lashes fanning over the dark circles under his eyes. He doesn’t respond, and I begin to pace, wrapping one arm around my waist, propping the opposite elbow. I raise my hand to my mouth and tap my lip with my finger.

I used to chew my nails down to nothing when I was a kid. When my friends were painting their long beautiful nails, I sat on my pink nubs, too embarrassed to let them be seen. I quit years ago. Being around Adam seems to have brought back the urge.

“Why are you nervous, Ame?”

“I’m not,” I say, lowering my hand.

He drops his and looks up at me with suspicion. Two frown lines form between his eyes, and I know he’s onto me.

“Okay, so yes, I’m a little nervous. I still can’t understand why you chose me for this job. We haven’t spoken a single word since you … well, since.”

“Since I left?”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it.”

“Ame, hold still. All your pacing is making me dizzy, woman.”

I stop at the foot of his bed where his bare toes peek out of his bulky brace. I place my hands on the footboard.

“That’s better, thanks. I wanted you because you’re the best. I don’t trust anybody else. That’s it; that’s all. Mystery solved. Satisfied?”

A nurse briefly knocks on the door and enters the room, marching toward Adam.

“Did you need something?” she asks curtly, canceling the call light on the wall. It’s been going off all this time, and she’s only now coming in to see what he needs?

“Nope, got everything I need right here,” he says, gesturing toward me.

“I’m sorry. He wanted the blinds opened. I got it, but I didn’t know where your cancel button was,” I say, apologizing for something I shouldn’t really have to apologize for. Another old habit from my days of being insecure.

“Oh, okay then,” says the frazzled nurse, hustling back out of the room.

“Do you understand why I wanna get the hell outta here? Those bitches are too busy to even do their job.”

“Those
bitches
are overworked and underpaid. We don’t all get money thrown at us for playing a game.” He can be so crass and irritating.

“I do a hell of a lot more than throw a ball, and you know it.”

He presses his elbows against the mattress in a futile attempt to move up in bed and winces when he disrupts his leg.

“Fuck, I hate this thing,” he curses at his leg, and I round the bed to help him.

“Hold on a minute. Stop moving and let me help you.”

He pauses, and I press the button to lower the head of the bed while he looks up at me with glassy eyes. I loop my arm under his, and a moan rumbles from deep in his chest. “Push up slowly. Smooth, deliberate movements are less painful.”

“Okay, boss.”

Huh. I like the sound of that.

He successfully moves himself up a couple of inches, but before I can pull away, he grasps my arm and pulls me until we are nose to nose.

“You’re so pretty, Ame. Even prettier than you were in college, and you still smell the same. How is that?” he says. We are so close that it’s comical. The only thing visible is a blurry outline, and I’m sure that’s all he sees of me. I glance up at his IV pump. He’s got a pretty good dose of morphine going on there.

“It’s called soap, Adam, and you’re groggy from the medicine. I don’t look any different than I used to.” I do look a little different, but I can’t resist disagreeing with him.

“Mmm, yes you do. Come closer. Let me smell you some more.”

“I can’t get any closer, Adam. You need some sleep.”

I peel his fingers from my arm and straighten up.

“Close your eyes. I’ll buy you a bar of Dove when we get home, and you can smell exactly like me.” I pat his arm, and his eyelids slide shut.

I stand for a long time looking at him. He hasn’t changed much either. He has a few scars from minor injuries and a lot of tattoos. This is even harder than I thought. All the anger I have built up inside from the years apart is being held back by a dam of responsibility. I want to tell him how much he hurt me. How he left me hollow and empty for months and damaged for other men forever. I want to scream at him and shake him and tell him he’s a pig for sleeping with trash like Cherry.

But I can’t.