Game For Love
Page 44
Julie stood up. "I'm coming with you."
"I don't need a babysitter. I'm not going to do anything that'll get more bad press."
"I know you don't need a babysitter," she said in such a gentle voice that Ty felt like a jerk. "I was thinking you might need a girlfriend instead."
He pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn't." She pressed a kiss onto his lips. "Let's go."
The thirty-minute drive felt more like three days, and Ty got some insight into what it must be like to be a parent. He hoped like hell that Jack was okay and that his father hadn't already shown up to make things worse. Inside the hospital, Julie scanned the map on the wall. "Let's check pediatrics first." He followed Julie onto the elevator, keeping his head down. No eye contact with strangers was crucial; he didn't have time to sign autographs and bullshit about football. Jack was sitting in a blue chair in the corner of the pediatric waiting room, his head hung so low his chest was crammed up against his chest.
"Hey, buddy."
Jack looked up at the sound of his voice, then he wiped away a tear running down his cheek. "You came."
"I'm always around to help out a friend." He let go of Julie's hand and took the too-small seat next to Jack. "What's up?"
"Nothing, I guess. I was playing with some guys in the neighborhood and sprained my wrist. The doctor said I could go home." His head fell back to his chest. "I thought I broke it, but I guess the sound I heard was just the other guy's helmet hitting mine."
Inwardly, Ty winced. "Hurts like hell, huh?"
He knew the drill with sprains. Lots of pain, no sympathy, and you were expected to get right back out there on the field.
Jack shrugged, playing tough guy.
"They said I should take these every four hours." He held up a sample bottle of children's Motrin. Ty leaned forward on his knees. "You hungry?" Jack nodded. "Starved."
"I know a place that makes great burgers. Used to go there after games." For the first time since they'd walked into the waiting room, Jack's eyes lit up.
"You're not taking me straight home?"
Ty looked the kid in the eye. "You haven't told your dad yet?"
Jack shook his head. "He's going to be really mad."
Jack's dad was going to shit a brick at the thought of his little prizewinner's future possibly getting screwed up. Ty was pretty sure Jack's days of neighborhood pickup games were over.
"First we'll eat lunch. Then we'll tell him. Together."
Julie stood up. "I'll let the nurse know we're heading out." The first sign that Jack was feeling better was the endless chatter that filled first the waiting room, then the car, and then their booth in the back of The Boardwalk, a burger and pizza dive that had survived the endless Silicon Valley boom.
But rather than feeling better about everything now that Jack clearly was on the mend, what had happened with Jack hit too close to home. Way too close.
All week at football camp, Ty'd had the uncomfortable sensation that he'd been stepping into his past. He could guess what Jack's life was like: teachers pushing him into the next grade whether he'd earned it or not, never having to be accountable for screwing up on or off the field simply because everyone—coaches, his drunk-ass dad, girlfriends, even his buddies—wanted a piece of his success. Ty could see into Jack's future. He'd go to college for the exposure, not an education, and he'd quit the minute a seven-figure deal landed in his lap.
From that point forward, he'd live in fear of getting hurt. Later, when he had more money than he knew what to do with, he might break down and hire some secret tutors to teach him all the things he'd missed along the way, like reading and science and an appreciation for something other than football. Was he just as bad as everyone else in Jack's life? After all, wasn't he on the verge of sending Jack back home after making some excuses to his father about how accidents happened, and not to worry? Ty had never thought of himself as a chicken shit. Until now.
Turning to Julie, he said, "Jack and I need to talk outside for a few minutes, man to man. You don't mind, do you?"
She smiled at them both. "Take as long as you need. I'll just sit here and work on my French fries." Jack followed him out of the restaurant and they sat down on a bench just outside the window. Julie munched on fries and pretended not to look at them.
He'd never known a woman could be like her. Soft and warm, yet hard when she needed to be. A dozen times smarter than anyone he knew, and at the same time sexier than hell. Jack kicked a rock off the sidewalk. "You wanna go over what we're going to tell my dad, so he doesn't get too pissed?"
Ty focused on Jack's expensive sneakers. Nothing but the best equipment for this kid, whether he deserved it or not. Unfortunately, if he didn't lay down some hard truths and set Jack straight, no one ever would. Everyone else had too much to gain from Jack's eventual success.
"I was a lot like you when I was a kid."
"Really? Cool."
"My dad was pretty messed up a lot of the time. Still is, actually."
"Did he freak when you got hurt?"
"Sure did. All he cared about was whether I could play in the next game, or if the injury would affect my future. I acted like I wasn't in pain, even when I was." He paused. "Is your arm still throbbing?" Jack nodded. "A little." He swallowed. "A lot, actually. But I don't want my dad to know." Ty had a feeling he was screwing this up. Big-time. "You got any hobbies? Something besides football?"
"You mean like my Xbox 360?"
Ty grinned. "Not exactly. I was just wondering if you like to read or build things."
"My dad says I'm supposed to focus on football. He says it's going to make us rich." It was going to take every ounce of Ty's self-control to keep from rearranging Jack's father's face.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Getting rich in football depends on a lot of things." Jack frowned, probably because it was the first time anyone had ever told him fame and fortune wasn't a sure thing. "Like what? I've got the skills."
"You do. But things happen. You could get drafted onto a Super Bowl-winning team." Jack smirked like he already knew that was going to happen.
"Or you could get hurt, like some of the super-talented guys I knew in high school and college, and your career could end." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." Jack thrust his chin out. "That didn't happen to you. You're a huge star."
"I don't need a babysitter. I'm not going to do anything that'll get more bad press."
"I know you don't need a babysitter," she said in such a gentle voice that Ty felt like a jerk. "I was thinking you might need a girlfriend instead."
He pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn't." She pressed a kiss onto his lips. "Let's go."
The thirty-minute drive felt more like three days, and Ty got some insight into what it must be like to be a parent. He hoped like hell that Jack was okay and that his father hadn't already shown up to make things worse. Inside the hospital, Julie scanned the map on the wall. "Let's check pediatrics first." He followed Julie onto the elevator, keeping his head down. No eye contact with strangers was crucial; he didn't have time to sign autographs and bullshit about football. Jack was sitting in a blue chair in the corner of the pediatric waiting room, his head hung so low his chest was crammed up against his chest.
"Hey, buddy."
Jack looked up at the sound of his voice, then he wiped away a tear running down his cheek. "You came."
"I'm always around to help out a friend." He let go of Julie's hand and took the too-small seat next to Jack. "What's up?"
"Nothing, I guess. I was playing with some guys in the neighborhood and sprained my wrist. The doctor said I could go home." His head fell back to his chest. "I thought I broke it, but I guess the sound I heard was just the other guy's helmet hitting mine."
Inwardly, Ty winced. "Hurts like hell, huh?"
He knew the drill with sprains. Lots of pain, no sympathy, and you were expected to get right back out there on the field.
Jack shrugged, playing tough guy.
"They said I should take these every four hours." He held up a sample bottle of children's Motrin. Ty leaned forward on his knees. "You hungry?" Jack nodded. "Starved."
"I know a place that makes great burgers. Used to go there after games." For the first time since they'd walked into the waiting room, Jack's eyes lit up.
"You're not taking me straight home?"
Ty looked the kid in the eye. "You haven't told your dad yet?"
Jack shook his head. "He's going to be really mad."
Jack's dad was going to shit a brick at the thought of his little prizewinner's future possibly getting screwed up. Ty was pretty sure Jack's days of neighborhood pickup games were over.
"First we'll eat lunch. Then we'll tell him. Together."
Julie stood up. "I'll let the nurse know we're heading out." The first sign that Jack was feeling better was the endless chatter that filled first the waiting room, then the car, and then their booth in the back of The Boardwalk, a burger and pizza dive that had survived the endless Silicon Valley boom.
But rather than feeling better about everything now that Jack clearly was on the mend, what had happened with Jack hit too close to home. Way too close.
All week at football camp, Ty'd had the uncomfortable sensation that he'd been stepping into his past. He could guess what Jack's life was like: teachers pushing him into the next grade whether he'd earned it or not, never having to be accountable for screwing up on or off the field simply because everyone—coaches, his drunk-ass dad, girlfriends, even his buddies—wanted a piece of his success. Ty could see into Jack's future. He'd go to college for the exposure, not an education, and he'd quit the minute a seven-figure deal landed in his lap.
From that point forward, he'd live in fear of getting hurt. Later, when he had more money than he knew what to do with, he might break down and hire some secret tutors to teach him all the things he'd missed along the way, like reading and science and an appreciation for something other than football. Was he just as bad as everyone else in Jack's life? After all, wasn't he on the verge of sending Jack back home after making some excuses to his father about how accidents happened, and not to worry? Ty had never thought of himself as a chicken shit. Until now.
Turning to Julie, he said, "Jack and I need to talk outside for a few minutes, man to man. You don't mind, do you?"
She smiled at them both. "Take as long as you need. I'll just sit here and work on my French fries." Jack followed him out of the restaurant and they sat down on a bench just outside the window. Julie munched on fries and pretended not to look at them.
He'd never known a woman could be like her. Soft and warm, yet hard when she needed to be. A dozen times smarter than anyone he knew, and at the same time sexier than hell. Jack kicked a rock off the sidewalk. "You wanna go over what we're going to tell my dad, so he doesn't get too pissed?"
Ty focused on Jack's expensive sneakers. Nothing but the best equipment for this kid, whether he deserved it or not. Unfortunately, if he didn't lay down some hard truths and set Jack straight, no one ever would. Everyone else had too much to gain from Jack's eventual success.
"I was a lot like you when I was a kid."
"Really? Cool."
"My dad was pretty messed up a lot of the time. Still is, actually."
"Did he freak when you got hurt?"
"Sure did. All he cared about was whether I could play in the next game, or if the injury would affect my future. I acted like I wasn't in pain, even when I was." He paused. "Is your arm still throbbing?" Jack nodded. "A little." He swallowed. "A lot, actually. But I don't want my dad to know." Ty had a feeling he was screwing this up. Big-time. "You got any hobbies? Something besides football?"
"You mean like my Xbox 360?"
Ty grinned. "Not exactly. I was just wondering if you like to read or build things."
"My dad says I'm supposed to focus on football. He says it's going to make us rich." It was going to take every ounce of Ty's self-control to keep from rearranging Jack's father's face.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Getting rich in football depends on a lot of things." Jack frowned, probably because it was the first time anyone had ever told him fame and fortune wasn't a sure thing. "Like what? I've got the skills."
"You do. But things happen. You could get drafted onto a Super Bowl-winning team." Jack smirked like he already knew that was going to happen.
"Or you could get hurt, like some of the super-talented guys I knew in high school and college, and your career could end." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." Jack thrust his chin out. "That didn't happen to you. You're a huge star."
