Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (22 page)

The Fighters kick off, and the defense goes on the field. It's another strange thing, being on the field level. I can't see nearly as much of the game as when I'm in the stands, but there's a sort of visceral, emotional connection that even being in the second or third row on the center line doesn't give you. I can hear the players calling to each other, yelling at each other, and even some of the nearly constant smack-talking. How did I ever think games were somber events? I mean, I remember my days in high school basketball before Thomas, and even us girls were constantly digging on the other team, talking constantly. What was I thinking that football players are any different?

The defense holds the Ottawa offense after a very short drive, and Tyler leads the offense out, the crowd giving him a roar that deafens me. He's been embraced by the Toronto crowd, even more than before. Now he isn't just an athlete putting up tremendous performances, he's a Fighter, and a Torontonian. Still, there's been a lot of questions, and the buzz is heavy on the television today leading up to the game. Since his much publicized turning down of Baltimore's offer, he hasn't done any interviews, only issuing a single short statement through the team. I've memorized it.

I smiled when I first read the message, as not only did Tyler protect my privacy, but he included me and my parents as part of 'his family.' The idea of us being together forever has been on my mind more and more as time's gone on, especially after Dad gave his blessing.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I miss the first play, wincing when I see Tyler picking himself up from the turf, where he's just gotten sacked. He nods once and covers the holes on his helmet, listening for the call in from the sidelines from Coach, and sets up the offense again. The ball snaps, and he pumps once before letting loose a pass down the right side that goes long, and we're punting.

Jogging off the field, Tyler's frustrated, and as he comes by I call out to him. “Tyler!”

He looks over and pulls off his helmet. “Great start, huh?”

I shake my head. “Don't worry about it. Don't worry about me, or the doctors, or anything else. You go out there and play your ass off.”

Tyler looks into my eyes, then nods in understanding. I can read it in his eyes, he's carrying too many burdens. The new deal, Dad's funeral, my emotional bitchiness, the team's expectations . . . all of it. He's carrying lead weights in his wristbands and shoes even before fatigue sets in. “I'll try.”

“You can do it. I'll help you. Remember, we're a team too, right?”

Tyler nods, then grins. “Damn right. Okay.”

Ottawa scores a field goal off their next drive, and our kickoff team gets stiffed, putting Tyler and the offense pinned at our own ten yard line for the start of the next drive. “Tyler! Kick their ass!” I holler as he jogs out again, loud enough that a few of the other players look over at me in surprise. “What?”

Vince, the backup quarterback who's playing in his last season before becoming a coach, gives me a thumbs up. “Didn't know you could yell that loud. Good to see it.”

Tyler and the offense strike quickly, with the lightning fast plays that have made the Fighters a highlight reel team this season. We've lost five games, but it certainly hasn't been Tyler's fault.

I'm caught up in the game, only resting when the team jogs off the field for halftime. Sitting on the bench with the cheerleaders before their halftime performance, I'm surprised when Tyler comes out of the tunnel, still in his gear. “April, can I talk to you?”

“Sure,” I reply, wondering what the hell is going on. Where's the rest of the team, and why is Tyler out here instead of warming up and getting ready with the rest of the Fighters?

Tyler comes around and takes my hands, pulling me up. “I've been thinking, and well . . . I don't want to wait any longer. I was going to do this at home after the game, but with what you said, I don't want to wait.”

The whole stadium goes silent, a thick held breath as Tyler gets down on one knee, holding my hand. I'm not breathing, and I'm barely aware of everyone else surrounding us. Francine, the other cheerleaders, the thirty thousand fans . . . they're in another universe. Instead, all I can see is Tyler reaching into the fuzzy pouch that he keeps around his waist to keep his hands warm, and he takes out a little black case, and opens it with a flick of his thumb. “April Gray . . . you're the woman I love. Would you do me the honor of accepting this ring, and becoming my wife?”

I can't find the words, but I nod, bending down and kissing him tenderly. I'm aware of an explosion of sound around us, and I realize that more than the cheerleaders, we've become the halftime show, and I laugh as Tyler picks me up and holds me off the ground, my arms around his neck and shoulder pads. We're kissing again, and I think we'd still be there if Francine doesn't interrupt us by patting me on the arm. “Congrats, but I think Tyler's got the rest of halftime to take care of still.”

I giggle and let Tyler set me down, taking the ring and putting it on. It's perfect, and I wonder how in the world he was able to get my size and even get it picked out and still surprising me. “You know, you keep making big announcements on the field,” I tease Tyler as I see the rest of the Fighters come out of the tunnel for their end of halftime warmups. “You want to get married here, too?”

“Hell no!” Tyler says with a laugh. “As soon as the season's done, we're taking a few days and going somewhere warm. Cali, Hawaii, Florida, the Bahamas, I don't give a damn . . . but we're getting married somewhere warm. I want to see you in a bikini on our honeymoon.”

“One of your rules?” I ask, and Tyler shakes his head. “What then?”

“An idle wish. We'll discuss it after the game, okay?”

I shake my head. “Tell you what. You throw another two touchdowns, and we can do the wedding anywhere you want. You don't, and we're doing it where I want.”

“Careful Tyler,” Francine jokes. “You might get married in the middle of Manitoba with snow up to your butts that way.”

“Then I guess I'll have to throw three, just to make sure I'm not joining the Polar Bear Club. We'll talk after the game.”

Three touchdowns is exactly what Tyler throws, and with the win, the Fighters secure second place in the Eastern Conference, giving us a home game in the first round of the playoffs with one game left up in Edmonton. With my permission Tyler attends the press conference after the game, answering questions about his deal, our engagement, and more. I'm surprised, in fact, when someone calls my name afterward, and I see that it's Trisha James, coming over with a digital recorder in hand. “Miss Gray, can I ask you a few questions?”

I look toward the front of the room, where Tyler's left to shower and get changed, and I nod. “A few. But I'm not used to this sort of thing, so I might not be able to help you out.”

“That won't be a problem,” Trisha says. “Just . . . where did you meet? I checked up on you guys after the television interview, and there's a rumor you two were childhood sweethearts?”

“Something like that,” I admit. “I bet Tyler can tell you the story better than I can for a sit-down if you want to book him.”

“And give him the appearance fee,” Trisha says with a laugh. “You sure you're not becoming his manager instead of his PA?”

“Well, girl power, you know,” I joke. “But no, he's the love of my life. I'm a lucky girl.”

“So are you two going to get married quickly, or wait a while?” Trisha asks. “I've got a friend who works the style and lifestyle desk who might want to know.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I have no clue. I've only been engaged a couple of hours, we'll have to discuss that sort of thing later.”

Trisha clicks off her voice recorder and tucks it into her bag. “And family?”

“We'll see there too,” I answer. “Sorry I couldn't be more help.”

She shakes her head and smiles wistfully. “You were great.”

She gives me a little handshake and leaves, and I head to the back where Tyler is showering. I want to go into the locker room, but that's a players only area, and so I wait in the hallway for him, but not long. Instead, he comes out, and takes my hand. “You know, you didn't have to be quite so impulsive,” I tease as we start to walk. “When I said let it all go . . . I didn't quite mean that.”

“I know,” Tyler says with a chuckle. “Just . . . from the time I first started playing football, I've always wanted to do something like that on the field. No better day than today.”

“Even with what we might find out Monday?” I ask, worried. “Tyler . . . I don't want to rain on our day, but if the tests come back . . .”

“Then we'll be married before the ink's even dry on the diagnosis,” Tyler says quietly. “I will treasure every day with you, and if you can't remember some day . . . I'll remember for the both of us.”

I nod and hug him from the side. “Then let's go home and make some memories.”

T
he University
of Toronto Hospital is supposed to be the best in the city, and some people even say it's the best in Canada, but I'm still nervous as April and I go into the waiting room. Maybe the stories are bullshit, but I wasn't impressed by what I saw at the hospice in London, and I've heard too many stories about the problems of Canadian managed care.

Then again, this is all on the Fighters' supplementary insurance, and with that amount of coverage comes remarkable service. We're seen by the doctor quickly, a redheaded woman named Dr. Banks.

“Miss Gray, have a seat. I read your file, and looked over the DNA scan that the last doctors did four years ago.”

“What did you find?” April asks, and I take a seat on the stool that's against the wall. “Did they miss anything?”

“Not at all. In fact, the test was done by one of my mentors,” Dr. Banks says. “Still, I went line by line through the scan, and there's nothing there that says that you are genetically inclined toward early onset Alzheimer's.”

“Then what's with these mood swings? I'm bitchy half the time, crying another half, and just feeling off the rest of the time,” April protests, then takes a deep breath. “See what I mean?”

Dr. Banks taps at her clipboard, thinking. “Well, how about I run you through the cognitive tests, and we can take another blood sample? I won't get the genetic lab results back for a month or so, but the cognitive tests can at least give us a baseline.”

“Why a month?” I protest, suddenly upset. I've tried to be April's rock this whole time, but I can't hold back any more. I need to know as much as she does. “It can't be that hard, can it?”

“Actually, Mr. Paulson, it can,” Dr. Banks says, arching an eyebrow. “There's a lot of genetic material that makes up the human body, and while we can do chromosome typing in just a few hours, scanning for specific gene sequences takes time. I wish I could tell you it'd go faster, but even if we sent this to Johns Hopkins or Harvard, you'd be looking at a few weeks.”

I'm fuming, but there's no arguing. “Okay . . . okay. So what're these cognitive tests?”

“Something I have to do with just the doctor,” April says, trying to comfort me. “You'll need to leave the room, but it shouldn't take long, just an hour to an hour and a half or so. It's okay, I've done this before.”

I look into April's eyes and blink, trying not to let my fear show. “Okay. I'll go find some trouble to get into.”

“Stay away from the nurses,” April teases, then kisses me. “Or else you won't get any dessert tonight. I'll text you when I'm done.”

I leave the exam room and wander the hospital, leaving when I realize it's really not all that different from any other hospital I've been in, and that it's boring as hell. I walk out the front and look around, and decide to walk over to the government building that's only a block and a half away. It houses the Ontario Legislative Assembly, what I guess would best be called a State House in the USA, and as I stand in front of the dark brick building, I have to admit it's got a certain sense of old school charm to it. It's not overly grand like the California one, there's none of the pretentious use of marble or granite. Instead, there's a sense of somber gravity, like the men and women who work here know that they're not here for themselves, but instead for the people of Ontario.

After a while of walking around and shaking a few hands of the people that recognize me, I get back to the hospital and head upstairs. The exam room is still closed, with the little red tag on the outside that tells me that whatever it is Dr. Banks is having April do, she's still doing it. Instead, I sit down and let my hands dangle between my knees, looking up at the television on the wall.

“I wouldn't waste my time with that crap,” a voice says behind me, and I turn to see Vince coming into the waiting area. “Last time I was here, I sat through three hours of daytime television, and never once did I see anything worthwhile. My advice is next time, bring a book.”

“Advice noted,” I said, shaking hands with Vince. “So what brings you down here?”

“You and April,” Vince says with a smile. “My last regular season is nearly done, man. It's all about my transition, and part of that means checking on my quarterback . . . and my friend. At least, I hope.”

“Damn right,” I answer, patting the seat next to me. “It's going to be strange next year, breaking in a new guy underneath me. It'll be nice having you around to help with that. Although it's going to be strange calling you Coach.”

“Meh, I'll still be Vince, you know that,” Vince says. “So how long has she been in there?”

I look up at the clock, doing some quick checking. “One hour and . . . eleven minutes,” I say. “April said the checks could take up to an hour and a half, but after walking around the Legislature Building, I headed back here. Too damn cold, and even the politicians are wanting to say hi today.”

“Oh, who'd you run into?” Vince asks. “Last time I ran into a government worker who wanted my signature, it was the policeman who was giving me a parking ticket.”

I chuckle at the lame joke. It helps with the tension. “I don't know his job, but he said his name was . . . Wynne. Dalton Wynne, I think.”

“Really? Wow, you get around to high places,” Vince notes with an appreciative whistle and a raised eyebrow. When I return the look, he shakes his head. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Should I?” I ask. “No offense, Vince, but I'm just a football player.”

“Dalton Wynne is the Lieutenant Governor of Ontario. He's the highest appointed office in the province.”

“Then why do you call him Lieutenant Governor?” I ask. “Wouldn't Governor make more sense?”

“Canada, man. Canada. Tell you what, over the off-season, come by my house. I'll give you my son's old social studies book. After all, it looks like you'll be sticking around quite a while.”

“Deal. It'd be nice to see where you live. Sort of get used to the idea of family.”

The tag next to the exam room door changes, and the door opens. April's still inside, but Dr. Banks comes to the door. “Mr. Paulson? We've completed our tests.”

I swallow at the doctor's tone. She sounds so serious still. She glances at Vince, recognizing him, then back at me, and I get up carefully, my feet tingling and my hands going numb.

I go into the exam room, bumping my shoulder on the door frame as I see April's face. She looking down, picking at her thumbnail, and I can't help it, I just want to hold her. I rush over and pick her up, holding her tight. “It's okay, babe. I love you. I promise . . . I'll be here.”

“Mr. Paulson, have a seat please,” Dr. Banks says, and I set April down carefully, afraid I might break her. “Mr. Paulson, I'm sorry it took so long. There were a few extra tests that I wanted to run when I did my interviews with Miss Gray, and while the tests were easy enough, I didn't have the supplies and had to get them from the dispensary.”

“The what?”

“The pharmacy,” Vince, who's followed me and is leaning in the doorway, says. I nod gratefully, but barely acknowledge him other than that.

“So?”

“We have figured out what is the cause of Miss Gray's mood swings and some of her other symptoms,” Dr. Banks says, reaching over. “She has . . . well, some might call it a parasite.”

“A parasite? Like, something inside her? Can it be removed?” I ask hurriedly, taking April's hand. “Tell me that she's going to be okay at least, Doc.”

“Oh, she'll be fine,” Dr. Banks says. “As for removal, well, it’s possible, but most people decide to let the parasite come out naturally.”

“What? What type of fucked up Canadian thinking is this? You just let a parasite stay until it decides to come out on its own? What the hell . . .”

“What do you want to name it?” April asks, and I hear a smile in her voice. I look over and see that she's still looking down, trying to suppress a grin, and I'm confused. “Most people name them.”

“Name? What are you talking about? Who names a parasite?”

“I named my first one Timothy, and the second Stephen,” Vince says, laughing, and I feel like everyone's in on the joke but me. I'm still confused, scared and worried, and why the fuck won't someone tell me what's going on?

“Mr. Paulson . . . your fiancée is pregnant,” Dr. Banks says, and suddenly, it all becomes so clear. Parasite. Ha. A good one.

I'm too stunned to laugh though, and I look at April. “You mean . . . we're going to be parents?”

April nods and turns her head, and I can see that she's smiling and crying at the same time. “Yeah. Congratulations, Tyler. You're going to be a father.”

I hop off the table and pick her up again, hugging her tightly. “No, thank you for being the perfect woman for me, and the only woman who I want to ever have children with.”

We stay there, holding each other tightly, until Vince clears his throat. I set April down again and look over at him. “Do I get to tell the guys? I mean, before practice today. Or would you two like that honor?”

I look at April, who smiles. “May I?”

I nod and kiss her sweetly on her precious lips. “Of course, my love. How do you want to do it?”

April smirks, and in that smile, I see forever, and it looks perfect.