Fair Play (22 page)

I pay the cab driver and hurry into the warmth of the beautiful private hospital’s lobby. I’m stunned at the number of players milling around inside and even more surprised when every one of them turns to me, seemingly full of recognition and hope.

I am not this well-known in the sports world. These guys are looking at me like their baby sister who’s come home for summer break after a long year at college. It wouldn’t surprise me to have one of them come and pick me up in a bear hug and spin me around. I recognize every one of them as teammates of Adam’s, but I’ve never met any of them personally.

I frown and look away from the sea of red and gold to the volunteer at the information desk to my left.

“I’m looking for Adam Silver’s room,” I say to the grey-haired woman seated there.

“You and the rest of the world. I’m sorry honey, but I can’t give out any information.”

I step back and read the sign affixed to the desk. “Isn’t this the information desk? Where else would I go for information?” I ask. I’m being obnoxious. All I have to do is give her the password Greg sent me, and I’d be allowed up, but she was rude. There are nicer ways to tell someone the patient’s information is being kept private.

“Yes, it is, but you’re the hundredth woman who’s asked to see Adam today and frankly, I’m tired of telling you girls that his status is private. He’s in the hospital, not a night club, and he’s not taking visitors.” The haggy receptionist crosses her legs and lowers her eyes to a magazine spread out on the desk in front of her.

The hundredth woman, huh? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised ASS has floozies from all over inquiring about his health as if they mattered to him, and maybe one of them does, or two or three.  I don’t know, and I don’t care.

“I’m Amethyst Amero, Mr. Silver’s private nurse. I believe the password is Arch,” I say with a dose of attitude and a dash of smugness.

I would have been able to guess the password even if Greg hadn’t sent it to me. Adam and I grew up in St. Louis and our favorite place to be was at the top of the arch. Arch was the password he gave me in college to get into the stadium. I applied for an internship as a student nurse for the football team my freshmen year. Two other girls and myself were chosen, but I was the only one seriously interested in sports medicine. Jess and Vicky only wanted access to the team’s locker room and the hot players. I took advantage of the benefits and sat for hours dissecting Adam’s plays, assessing the team’s weaknesses, and admiring the moves that earned him the nickname Silver Snake.

The cranky white-haired volunteer sits up straight, clicking away on her keyboard.

“Yes, you are on the list of expected visitors,” she says before lowering her voice. “He is in the ICU down the hall behind me and to the right, all the way at the end, bed seven.”

No apology for being rude, no look of remorse, just curt directions to bed seven in the ICU.

“Thank you.” I hoist my carry on higher on my shoulder and pull my suitcase down the long hall. God, I don’t want to be here; I’d rather be anywhere on earth than this hospital right now. Like alone in the middle of the dessert in Nevada with no water or sunglasses or even worse, in an igloo in Alaska eating whale blubber. A shiver shoots up my spine at the thought of being trapped in a place where the average temperature in January is twenty and the total hours of daylight for the month is seventy-eight.

I ring the unit clerk from outside the locked ICU doors and wait, tapping my foot and gripping the strap of my bag until my knuckles are white. I can’t decide which sensation is stronger in this moment: nausea, chest pain, or the urge to run.

When the clerk presses the button and the big metal doors click and swing open, I decide it’s the urge to run hands down. But I don’t; this is my career and if I want to be a partner in the company, I have to be professional and treat this like any other assignment.

“Can I get your name please?” the clerk asks.

“Amethyst Amero, I’m here for Adam Silver.” My voice is shaky, and I can feel a fine sheen of perspiration breaking out on my forehead. Be professional, look confident, and never let them see you sweat. That’s what my mom used to tell me when I was preparing for a job interview or meeting someone important. I wish she were here to chant that mantra for me. I could really use a cheerleader right about now.

“Ms. Amero, yes, they’re expecting you. His room is around the corner there on the left, number seven.”

Seven, of course it is. I’ll bet he demanded bed seven, room seven, seventy-seven or seven hundred and seven be written into his contract as his room assignment if he were ever injured. He’s that superstitious. 

I take a deep cleansing breath and shuffle down the hall, noting the absence of the smell of disinfectant and urine that usually hang in the air of a hospital. I wonder how they did that and if they would mind teaching other hospitals in the U.S. their method. For being a nurse, I really hate hospitals. That’s why I chose to work for MBS. I’ve always known I wanted to deal in sports injuries, so when I learned there was a place where I could work in patients’ homes instead of a hospital setting, I was all over it.

I’ve been with MBS since I graduated from college. They paid for me to get my Masters degree in nursing. They also helped me earn my Nurse Practitioner degree; my goal is to be a partner within the next two years. I have a perfect record with my patients so far—not one unsatisfied patient in four years. I pray that Adam isn’t the one to ruin my average.

Chapter Four

Adam

Mom’s here. I haven’t seen her in years. Still haven’t, technically, since I haven’t opened my eyes. When she kissed my face, I smelled the old familiar scent of fabric softener and chocolate chip cookies on her skin. I wonder if she was baking when she got the call to come to Virginia?

I’m a jerk for not opening my eyes. I love my mom. She’s the best. She did everything she could for us growing up, and she put up with my dad, but I want Amethyst to be the first person I see.

Coach is here too. Coach is always around. He’s like a watchdog, always looking out for the team, especially me. Coach is the only person who knows about my father’s gambling and the blackmail.

He sensed something wasn’t right the first few months I was on the team. I played like my life depended on the win. I was vicious and calculating, overthinking and overworking myself. He knew if he didn’t get to the bottom of my issues, I’d fizzle out before I became a star, and he knew I was star material.

When I told him about dad’s gambling problem and the threats against my family and Amethyst, he understood. He praised me and called me an upstanding young man. It helped knowing I had someone in my corner; Coach is like the father I never had.

My dad was good at two things: getting my mom pregnant and losing money. He was an expert at both. Mom had to secretly have her tubes tied after my youngest sister Courtney was born.

My dad was an ass, always preaching about the Catholic Church’s views on birth control and what a sin it was to prevent babies from entering the world. All the while, he was out gambling away every penny he earned, and his large family kept growing.

He lost so much money that my mom had to start doing home daycare to put food on the table. I don’t even think she really knew there were extra kids in the house.

There were seven of us, and we did our best to help her with chores and caring for the daycare kids. Sometimes, she would write the number of kids in the house on the chalkboard in the kitchen. She said it was for measuring portions, but us older kids knew it was her way of keeping track of us.

When I left for college, things got worse. Without me around bringing in money from my part time job and hounding dad about his gambling, he got in deep. I didn’t know exactly how deep until I graduated.

Everyone came up for the graduation ceremony; no one in our family had hopes of going to college. We were too poor. I was lucky enough to get a full ride on a football scholarship. Watching me graduate was special for my parents. Or my mother at least— Dad only came to warn me about the loan sharks that were going to pay me a visit.

And visit they did. The day after I graduated, they showed up at my frat house, demanding millions that I didn’t have. They were smart though. They knew I was NFA bound, and they knew how much I loved my family and Amethyst. I was perfect blackmailing material.

They had connections, and within hours, I was packed up and on a flight to Virginia, signed with the Redkings. I didn’t have time to think about other options. I didn’t even get to confront my dad about what he’d done to my life. They snatched me up and relocated me—mobster style.

Amethyst is here. My mom is talking to her. I can’t wait to set eyes on her, but I have to keep my feelings in check until I find out what is going on between her and Vinnie. 

I paid Dad’s debt off two years ago, but those fuckers decided to continue blackmailing me in other ways. They dropped the threats against my family but never took Amethyst off the table. If I quit paying, then she would be dead before I could reach her.

They also threatened to frame me for taking performance-enhancing drugs and raping women in clubs. These are evil people with Mafia connections, and I have no doubt that they could make it happen. Women throw themselves at me left and right, so the rape thing would be absurd. And it would be insulting if anyone believed the drug story with my kind of natural talent.

All of that added to the threats on Ame’s life drove me to the edge of sanity. They sent photographs of her traveling for work, getting on and off of planes. The note that accompanied the photograph led me to believe that they were going to plant a bomb on the plane that would detonate as soon as it hit cruising altitude. It would explode into a billion pieces and rain down on the good people of the United States with no survivors.

So I paid, and she lived.

I’ve been on the fence about what to do, but the moment my leg snapped, it was clear. It’s time to take my life back; it’s time to bring Amethyst home.

Chapter Five

Amethyst

The ICU rooms are positioned in a semi-circle around a large nurses’ station where every patient can be seen at all times if necessary. The entire semi-circle is made of glass with doors that slide open and shut with curtains on the inside to pull for privacy.

I approach room seven and thank God that he is not alone, or awake. His coach and his mother are sitting in two chairs a few feet from the bed. I pause to look at his ruggedly familiar face; he looks so peaceful. It must be the drugs. I snort to myself.  I hang back, waiting for what I don’t know—a sign maybe or an invitation?

There’s no way he requested me for this job. He did after all walk out on a thirteen-year relationship without so much as a glance backward. When he wakes up and finds out they’ve hired me to help him recover, he’s going to freak the hell out.

Star, his mother, looks up and sees me staring into the room. Her hand shoots up, and she waves me toward the door. When Coach sees whom she’s waving at, he’s on his feet immediately, opening the door and pulling me in.

“Ame, come in, please. Thank you for coming so quickly,” he says.

“Hello. It’s nice to see you again, Coach Hampton,” I say. I hardly get the words out before Adam’s mother envelopes me in a breathtaking bear hug.

I’m so stunned by her greeting that my body becomes rigid in her arms. With my arms still at my sides, I stand looking over the petite woman’s shoulder at the coach with a look of confusion. He shrugs, and Star pulls away to look at me through her glassy red eyes.

“Oh Lord have mercy. It’s good to have you here, Ame. I’ve missed you so much. Thank you for coming to help my son.”

“Of course, it’s good to see you again, too.”

It’s not good though; it’s confusing.

When Adam left, she wouldn’t even open her front door for me. The house that was my second home was suddenly off limits, the love of the people inside included.  Having Adam disappear was magnified a million times over when his family shunned me as well. And Adam comes from a big family, three brothers and two sisters, Adam being the oldest. The Silvers knew everyone in our area, and sometimes it felt like the whole city had turned their back on me.

I’m not sure how to deal with this unexpected welcome, so I decide to go with the flow and see how it all unfolds.

“He’s going to be so happy you’re here. I didn’t want anyone but the best for my baby boy. You have to help him, Ame; he can’t live without football.”

Star begins to cry, and the butterflies in my belly are replaced with a burning flame of anger. How can she stand there and act like nothing ever happened? It’s as though Adam and I are still great friends after mutually agreeing to break up when he graduated six years ago. He isn’t going to be happy I’m here at all; he’s probably going to go ballistic. And from the looks of his injury, he may have to learn to live without football.

His leg is bandaged, braced, and propped up at an angle. I know after watching the play and seeing his leg that he’s got an avulsion fracture and most likely a proximal tibia fracture. God, this is going to be heartbreaking. No matter how much I hate him, I don’t like seeing this.

“I’ll do everything I can, Mrs. Silver. It looks pretty serious though. When can I talk to the surgeon?”

“He’s supposed to be coming around soon. I told him you were coming,” Coach says, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s got to be a wreck. Adam was his ticket to another America Bowl win next month. He knows it’s not happening without the team’s star quarterback.

“His name is Dr. Moto. Do you know of him?” Star asks.

“Oh yes. He’s one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country. He doesn’t usually practice here, does he?” I ask.

I know he doesn’t work here. I’ve worked with him in California, and he is literally the best, most talented orthopedic surgeon around. I ask anyway, wondering how they got him to come all this way so quickly.

“No, he was here for a conference. We were lucky to get him on Adam’s case right away,” Coach says.

“Yes, really lucky. I’ve worked with him. He can make miracles happen for sure.” I say.

“Come and sit down, dear. I’ll take your bags.” Mrs. Silver removes my bag from my shoulder and rolls my suitcase behind one of the chairs they vacated. She offers me her seat. I’m too tired to be polite, so I accept.

“So, they say he can probably go home in a couple days. Gonna need lots of PT and help for a while. You up for the job, Amethyst?” Coach asks.

“As long as Adam’s all right with it. I’m actually a little surprised to be here. We don’t have the best history.”

I look at Star, and she’s picking imaginary lint off of her pants, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Oh yeah? I thought you two were friends,” Coach says. His forehead is overly wrinkled for his age from all of the years outside on the field, but the deep groove between his eyes says he doesn’t know about our breakup.

“We used to date in college. It wasn’t the most ideal breakup,” I say, trying to keep my explanation simple. Coach’s eyes narrow, and Star coughs nervously.

“He had you written into his contract specifically four years ago as the only nurse allowed to do extended care for him if it were ever necessary.”

“What?”

Did he say Adam put me in his NFA contract? He thought of me? He only trusts me to handle his care?

“Yep, nobody does that, but he insisted. So far it hasn’t been an issue. He’s never so much as had a cold his entire career, but well … now it’s an issue.”

Before I can question either of them, Dr. Moto strolls into the room surrounded by an air of confidence. We all begin to stand, but he silently holds up a hand and moves to examine Adam.

I relax in my chair and watch the superstar surgeon assess Adam. Coach and Star are on the edge of their seats, waiting for him to give them news. Star is wringing her hands, and Coach is bouncing his leg up and down like a basketball. These two need a couple of Valium. Adam couldn’t be in better hands, and there’s really no news at this point. He’s just had surgery. All we can do now is wait.

“Adam, can you open your eyes?” Dr. Moto asks.

Okay, now I’m on the edge of my seat too. I wish he hadn’t asked him to do that. I’m not ready. Until a couple minutes ago I was ready for a fight, some humiliation and maybe even a dismissal. But now, knowing what he’s done with his contract has me off balance.

Star knows this is messed up. She did the exact same thing he did. She shut me down, turned me away, and abandoned me when I needed her the most.

“Adam,” he says again, and Adam’s eyes flutter open.

“Hello there. How are you feeling, Mr. Silver?” he asks.

“Like a three-hundred-pound fucker broke my leg,” he says. He sounds like he’s been screaming for days, and his voice cracks. Still blunt and to the point, still Adam.

“Well, that’s to be expected,” Dr. Moto says.

“When can I play again?”

The sharp intake of my breath is the only sound in the room for a painful ten seconds. He’s barely awake from anesthesia, and he’s thinking about playing again.

The black hateful half of my heart gets squished to the side by the red half full of love and compassion for a moment. He’s so helpless and vulnerable right now, nothing like the cocky womanizing jerk in the tabloids. It’s hard to hate him in this moment of pure hopelessness.

I hold my breath and wait for the news. Will he give him hope? Is there hope? Maybe the injury isn’t as bad as it looked. Maybe Dr. Moto was able to perform some miracle or new experimental technique that heals ligaments and bones lightning fast. I keep up on the latest breakthroughs though, and I haven’t heard talk of any such revelation.

“Adam, I’m going to be honest and say I don’t know. You suffered a tibia fracture and a torn ACL. I’m sure you know both injuries take at least six months of physical therapy, sometimes longer with a fracture as severe as yours.”

Thank God he didn’t sugarcoat it, or not much anyway. The average professional athlete needs about a year to recover from something like this, but Adam isn’t your average athlete. Far from it. He’s a machine. A total warrior. If anyone can overcome this injury, it’s him.

“I’ll be back on the field in four months,” he says as if there’s no doubt it can be done. Dr. Moto nods in agreement, knowing it’s not worth arguing about at this point. We have a long road ahead of us with plenty of time to set more realistic goals.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Where is who, Adam?” Dr. Moto asks.

“Amethyst,” he says.

Dr. Moto looks at me and waves me over.

“She’s right here. I’ll let you two talk, and I’ll be back later to check on you again. Listen to the nurses, Adam. Do what they say. I’m told you might be a difficult patient. Don’t refuse pain medicine. You need it for now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do the nurses, and get high on pain meds, got it.”

Dr. Moto rolls his eyes, patting Adam on the shoulder.

I haven’t moved. I’m not sure I can. My feet feel like they’re glued to the floor and my heart is pounding like a jackhammer. The fine sheen of sweat from earlier has turned into an all-out drench fest. A trickle runs down my temple and disappears into the fur collar of my coat.

When Dr. Moto leaves the room, Star and Coach follow him out. They both tell Adam that they’ll be right back. They have to talk to the doctor, but I know they’re giving us time alone. I wish they wouldn’t.

I untie my coat and wiggle out of it. Every sound I make seems like it’s amplified, and I feel lightheaded. Adam and I stare at each other for a minute, both of us unsure what to do next.

“You came,” he says.

“I didn’t know it was going to be you.” May as well be honest. I’m not thrilled about being here.

“I told them not to tell you it was me. I knew you wouldn’t come.”

I stand and move closer to his side. After all he’s put me through and the time we’ve spent apart, he still takes my breath away, and it pisses me off. I like standing over him though; it gives me a sense of power over him. It’s sort of bitchy, but he’s due to be put in his place. 

“Adam, this is my job, like football is yours. I have to be here. And you need me, so let’s try and make this as easy as possible. I’ll treat you like any other patient, and you treat me like your nurse, deal?”

I wait for him to answer while his eyes dart back and forth between mine, searching for something. I don’t know what he thinks he’ll find there. I can tell him what he won’t find: love, forgiveness, mercy, empathy, and not an ounce of sympathy.

Not that those things don’t linger somewhere deep under the black oily stain he left on my heart. They probably do. But I’ll be dammed if I let him hurt me again.

He doesn’t deserve my presence or my nursing skills, but he’s going to get them regardless. I’ll do my best to be nice. It’s not for him. It’s for my career. I’ve worked too hard to allow a self-centered jackass ruin my chance at a partnership in the agency.

“So, we’re going to role play? You’re the pretty, sexy nurse, and I’m the injured bad boy football player?” A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, and I realize I’ve lost him. He knows I’m not going to fall into his trap, and he’s switching up the game. Like a quarterback, he’s setting up the play, looking for the best angle, making a split second decision to change his approach.

“Did you hit your head when you broke your leg? Because I think you’ve forgotten I spent thirteen years glued to your side. I know about your games, Adam. Give it up.”

I place my hands on my hips in a worthless attempt to show him I mean business, and he snorts.

“You’ll come around. I know you too, and you never said no to the Silver Snake.” He lifts one eyebrow high and smirks.

“There was no such thing as the
Silver Snake
when I knew you. And the reason I never said no to Adam Silver was because
he
was loyal and devoted and honest. Three things the
Silver Snake
isn’t.”

He frowns when I refer to him as two different people, but that’s how I view it. The man I spent all those years loving was not the man who abandoned me. He couldn’t be.

“Don’t be mean, Ame,” he says with a slight slur altering his voice. He’s getting sleepy, but as with all things, he pushes through it.

“I’m the same guy you used to love. It’s been such a long time. Let’s have fun. Didn’t your mama teach you to forgive and forget? Let’s start over, right here, right now. Like you said, we could pretend we don’t know each other.” He’s out of breath, and his cocky facial expressions are dulling.

I have an overwhelming urge to punch him in the face and mess up that pretty nose of his, blacken his eyes. Nobody would think anything of it. A three-hundred-pound defensive lineman sacked him, of course he’d be banged up.

I could do it too. I studied Krav Maga for three years after I was nearly attacked at night, walking home from the library in college. My instructor told me I was pretty good. Thankfully, I’ve never had to use it in real life. It’s a good skill to have when you’re a single woman, traveling all over the country living with male athletes. Injured or not, some of them can be pretty frisky, and some are downright obnoxious, like Adam.