Page 89 of Play the Last Card
“I know who she is. I know where she lives. I know where she works.” I gaze at him. His face is emotionless but his eyes are darkening and he looks almost angry. “I found her a few years ago after the details of my adoption became public and I was making my own money to be able to pay someone to look. I ended up telling my parents but they were just supportive, as I suspected they would be.”
“Did you meet her?” I ask him.
“No. I never want to meet her. I have never had the urge to know her, to speak to her. I don’t care what excuses she has or reasons she cares to give me. I found her because I want to avoid her. I hated walking through life knowing she’s out there and could pop up at any moment. When I learned she was living in Boston, I started to avoid the city. When we played here, I’d fly in and out but I’d never linger. I never joined my parents when they travelled back here. I hated Boston. All becauseshechose to call it her home.”
As Scott takes a few deep breaths, his thumb rubbing mine with our hands still clasped together, I watch as the anger fades in his eyes.
“I realized pretty quickly that I was meant to come to Boston. As much as I hated it and protested the move, something was drawing me here.Youwere drawing me here.”
“Me?”
“I told Jeff Brady thank you but no thank you.” Scott nods. “I only took the call as a consideration to his reputation; I was never ever going to say yes. But after I hung up the phone with him and went back to whatever I’d been doing there was just something tugging in my gut telling me that maybe I made the wrong choice. That feeling stuck around for a whole week before I called Coach back and told him we could talk. Even when I signed, it was no longer than a year because I was so sure that I’d be uncomfortable living so close toher.But something was still telling me that I should come here so I did. Then I met you.”
Scott takes a sharp breath and reaches up to cup my face. His thumbs stroke across my cheek and his fingers splay down my neck. My body warms under his touch and I relax into him.
“If anything,anythingin your gut is telling you that taking Billy to a game is the absolute wrong decision for you, I will respect that and we can make other arrangements to get him there. But I think if this is what he wants then you should try.” Scott gazes at me, his eyes searching my own. I allow myself a moment to get lost in the pretty green, gold flecks swirling around and around the inner ring as he watches me right back.
His beautiful, grounding green. It’s becoming a lifeline. A tether.
When he told me about organizing this for Pops I felt relieved. A little anxious and guilty because I hadn’t been able to do it myself but overall, relieved.
I take a calming breath, shaking off the lingering anxiety still clawing at me and focus on the warmth of his body. “I can do this.”
“You can,” he agrees.
“It’s just a game.”
He nods. “And when you’re watching that field, you focus on me. On my number. On my plays. On me.”
“On you,” I agree, leaning in to kiss him gently.
***
Scott took care of everything.
When I say everything, I mean it.
A week after I agreed to the Christmas Day game, the day itself arrives and I’ve been an anxious mess from the moment he left me in bed this morning. I dragged myself through my breakfast and morning routine to get ready. When I stepped outside at the sound of a car horn, I realized Scott had meant what he said when he whispered in my ear before leaving me with a kiss.
“Just get dressed and be there. Focus on me, baby.”
Just before lunch, a car pulls up the curb outside the house. Blacked out windows, a huge SUV with so much space inside it I swear I could live in there comfortably. Once I’m settled into the seat, the driver informs me that we’re stopping at the hospital. Pops is waiting, decked out in Boston Broncos gear, alongside one of the nurses, Sara.
Pops tells me that the only way Dr. Bryden is letting him do this is with the proper care, so his favorite nurse volunteered for the extra hours and outing. I’m sure the fact she gets to meet a team of NFL players has zero to do with it.
We turn up at the stadium and get escorted by a golf cart to an underground private parking lot.
“They didn’t have this back in my day,” Pops murmurs as he stares out the window at the giant painted tunnels. I watch him closely as a few security guards help him out of the car and wheel his chair into the elevator. Pops is speechless—not something that happens all that often—as we are let into the box suite overlooking the stadium and thefield. Katie and Grant are waiting for us, drinks and snacks already in hand.
“You made it!” Katie squeals, hurrying over. “This is insane. Mystery football man did very well.”
I only hum in agreement, my eyes darting around the room.
Pops sets himself up at the very front of the box, right against the windows that look down at the seats that are filling fast. Waves of white and navy move around below us, fans pouring in. I walk over to him, looking down at the green field. Players litter the field, warming up or crowding the sidelines.
I scan the field for the number eighteen but I’m too far up and there are too many people. I can feel the anxiety creeping up my neck.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Pops asks quietly. No one else can hear him, just me.