CHAPTER TWELVE
Two days after her uncle’s accident, Micki was still annoyed with fate. Just when she’d decided to make use of the makeover changes she’d done inside and out and enjoy one more night with Damian, fate had held her to her original promise to keep her hands off.
Uncle Yank had broken his hip and needed immediate surgery to repair the damage done in the fall. Between recuperation and physical therapy, he was looking at a long haul. She spent the night of her uncle’s party at the hospital. Since they’d sedated him for the pain, he hadn’t been able to have a coherent conversation with Lola, so that relationship was still on hold.
Meanwhile, Micki and Sophie were taking turns dog-sitting Noodle the Labradoodle, who refused to eat, sleep or drink alone. Uncle Yank had spoiled the pooch rotten and if they didn’t keep up his bad habits, the dog cried day and night. The neighbors had left notes of complaint on both Sophie’s and Micki’s doors, forcing them to take Noodle to work along with them. They’d also been alternating visiting hours at the hospital in order to take any burden off of Annabelle, who’d been ordered by the doctor to take it easy on her feet and on her stress levels.
Though she wished her uncle hadn’t hurt himself so badly, Micki didn’t mind the added chaos in her own life. With Damian out of town, she was happy to have her mind occupied with other things. When she had time to think, she tortured herself with what might have happened had she not been stuck at the hospital their last night together.
Her body tingled at the thought of making love with Damian once more, of what his hot, hard body felt like pressed against hers as he drove into her again and again and again.
She sighed, then caught herself and realized she was moaning aloud while sitting in her office going over paperwork.
“Nice, Micki,” she muttered.
“Woof!” Noodle answered her from her perch on the chair reserved for clients. Apparently, Uncle Yank gave Noodle the run of the furniture as well as his life.
“You miss him, don’t you, girl?”
The dog let out a whine, laid her head down on the expensive leather and covered her eyes with her paws.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Micki said, laughing.
She checked her watch and realized it was almost time to relieve Sophie at Uncle Yank’s bedside. It had been two days since the accident and the doctors wanted him up and out of bed to begin the difficult process of making him mobile in order to prevent pneumonia or infection from setting in. It wouldn’t be fair to subject Sophie to that hell all by herself.
Micki grabbed her purse and walked out of her office. “Amy, if anyone needs me I’m at the hospital. I’ll check in when I can, okay?”
“Don’t worry about anything on this end. We’ve all got things covered. You just get your uncle back to his cranky old self.”
“Put that way, it shouldn’t be all that hard after all.” Micki laughed. “Wish me luck,” she said and headed for the hospital and the grouch of the century.
* * *
Yank lay in his hospital bed and pretended he was sleeping while Lola paced the floor, muttering to herself. Only a blind man couldn’t see he had a choice to make, he thought wryly. He just wasn’t ready to make it yet.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me Spencer was gay? Why didn’t he tell me himself?”
Lola turned around, obviously startled he wasn’t sleeping. “Why? Are you interested in him?” she asked.
“Ha-ha.”
Lola walked toward the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
At the reminder, he winced and pushed the pain medication button on his IV. “Like I broke my hip and had major surgery.”
She nodded. “I figured.”
“You’re avoiding my questions.”
She grabbed a chair and pulled it closer to his bedside, then smoothed her skirt and sat down.
Her new position gave him a direct view of the tank top beneath her blazer—and her cleavage, which looked damn good for a woman her age.
“I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t my secret to tell, and Spencer didn’t tell you because…I don’t know why. He kept it quiet because the industry’s so male-oriented, he didn’t want to make any of his clients uncomfortable.”
“That’s bullshit,” Yank muttered. “Nobody cares about his personal life, only his ability to negotiate the best damn contract he can.”
Lola’s eyes sparkled with appreciation and he squirmed beneath her gaze. He wasn’t used to her looking at him with anything other than frustration and disgust. He’d nearly forgotten what her approval felt like.
It felt good.
“I sent Sophie home for a shower and Micki’s coming back in time for the physical therapist to help get you out of bed.”
“I can’t move.”
“You have to move or else you’ll end up with twice as many problems. Here.” She shoved a contraption the night nurse had brought by. “Breathe into this and make sure you get that pressure thing up to ten. You don’t want to get pneumonia on top of everything else.”
He scowled. “Damn bossy woman.”
“And you love me, Yank Morgan—don’t tell me you don’t.”
“Even if I did, and I ain’t admitting nothing yet, don’t you think you deserve a helluva lot better than a man who’s going blind and now has a busted hip?”
She glared at him, the frustration and annoyance back full force. “Don’t you think that’s my decision to make? That’s been my point all along.”
“Are you saying I could tell you I love you just so you could turn around and make the ‘decision’ to say I’m not what you bargained for anymore?” he asked, outraged by the thought.
Lola treated him to a smile he couldn’t figure out. “I’m not saying yes or no. Life’s full of risks and it’s time you took one.” She rose from her seat. “One beyond standing up on a chair and ranting like a fool,” she muttered and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” It wasn’t easy to admit, but he didn’t want her to leave.
“I have a lunch date and then I have to get back to work. I promised the girls I’d start going over the files and figure out who can cover your clients while you’re laid up. The merger’s got to be on the fast track now.”
He’d had a hard enough time swallowing his pride and agreeing to join his firm with Atkins, but he couldn’t let the agency flounder and the girls’ PR business suffer. What with the young agents nipping at his heels, it was a smart business move. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Okay. Make sure Irwin draws up the paperwork. I want my lawyer doing the drafting,” he said to Lola.
“Then I suggest you talk to one of the girls and have them arrange it. I don’t work for you anymore, remember? And I didn’t hear I love you, Lola, or I’m sorry, Lola, come out of your mouth, so I don’t really feel compelled to help you out.” She reached for her purse, which had been lying on the moveable tray. “Besides, I’m still working for Spence, and until the merger’s complete, that would be a conflict of interest.”
Yank punched his covers with his hand. “Of all the—”
“Good morning,” Micki said in a too-cheerful voice as she walked into the room.
The little peacemaker had probably heard the arguing from the hall and decided to come fix things.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Lola smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing you need to worry about. I was just leaving, so he’s all yours.”
“Oh, joy,” Micki said, laughing.
“When are you coming back?” Yank asked Lola.
She turned. Her eyes held a fierce determination he’d seen only once before, when she’d given him her ultimatum and then walked out.
His stomach churned in anticipation.
“I’ll be back when you have something to say that I want to hear.” She waved goodbye and walked out the door. Out of his room and out of his life.
“Pardon my French, but I suggest you shit or get off the pot, Uncle Yank. The woman may have the patience of a saint, but even saints have their limits, and she’s obviously reached hers,” Micki said.
He leaned back in his bed, everything in his aging body aching. “I need a nap.”
“You need to get out of that bed,” the chipper physical therapist they’d met yesterday said as she strode into the room.
And with that, Yank entered a hell that was second only to watching Lola leave him again.
* * *
The Renegades split the two-game series with Los Angeles. Tomorrow was a travel day, which gave the team some freedom tonight, although Coach Donovan insisted they remain in the hotel and hit their rooms by midnight. Damian sat at the hotel bar, nursing a beer with his teammates, participating in jokes and wondering how Yank and Micki were holding up.
He didn’t plan on calling Micki, thus proving to himself that while he was on the road, only his career mattered. But that hadn’t stopped him from tossing and turning in his cold, lonely hotel bed, wondering what she was doing, what she was wearing to bed, and most of all, whether or not she was missing him.
He rose and walked over to the bar to order a fresh drink.
“Hey.” A drunken Carter sauntered up beside him.
Although Damian had watched him down drink after drink tonight, Carter had been unusually quiet and subdued this road trip, making Damian wonder what trouble the rookie had up his sleeve.
“How’s it going?” Damian asked.
The other man shrugged. “It’s going.”
Damian waited for Carter to leave, but he lingered, then grabbed a stool and sat down.
As team captain, Damian had listened to the guys when they’d had problems that might interfere with their game and he’d given advice based on his years in the league, but in the short time Carter had been with the Renegades, he’d never come to Damian for a damn thing. As far as Damian could tell, Carter needed no one except his ego.
As Micki had once said, he was young. He’d learn.
The way the kid lingered now, apparently he wanted something.
“Two Guinnesses,” Damian said to the bartender, ordering Carter’s drink of choice tonight. Damian waited for them to be served and turned to the rookie. “Okay, what gives?”
The younger man tipped his head to one side, then raised his glass. “To peace.”
His words took Damian off guard. “As I recall, you rejected the same offer a few weeks back.”
“A lot’s happened in a few weeks. Enough to make me respect my elders.”
With Carter’s irreverence, the tension eased from Damian’s neck and shoulders. “That’s the smart-ass rookie I know.”
“Tell me something.” Carter wasn’t slurring his words, but his tone definitely indicated he was drunk, and Damian knew the other man wouldn’t be talking to him now if he were cold sober.
“What’s that?” Damian asked.
“How the hell do you do it?”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Always come out on top, smelling like a rose.” Carter nudged his elbow against Damian’s. “Come on, share your secrets.”
Damian glanced at the other man’s glassy eyes and rolled his own. “You really are trashed. How the hell can you think I come out smelling like a rose when my life’s for shit right now?”
Carter glanced away. “Well, yeah, but you’ll come out of it. You always do.”
Damian groaned. “If anything, it comes down to how you live your life. I may be a selfish SOB at times, but I never deliberately intend to screw with anyone else. Maybe it’s good karma. Then again, good karma wouldn’t have me with a pregnant ex-lover.”
Carter shook his head. “I hear you, man. I haven’t exactly been living my life in a way that has much to do with goodwill towards men, if you know what I mean.” He took a long pull of his beer.
“You’ve been a prick,” Damian agreed.
“Yeah. And it isn’t working for me too well. I’m thinking I’ve got to figure out your angle, since you seem to be doing something right.” He slung an arm over Damian’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture Damian didn’t trust for a minute.
Damian wrapped his hands around the beer glass. “So what’s with the change in attitude? Coach giving you shit?”
Carter raised his head, meeting Damian’s gaze. “I’m giving me shit. Actually, a woman’s giving me shit. Do you know what it’s like to fall for someone who won’t give you the time of day?” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “No, of course you don’t. All woman fall at your feet.”
“Tell me something, Carter, because this jealousy of yours is getting old. Would you really want to be in my shoes? Thirty-five, one year left on your contract and a pregnant woman claiming you’re having a kid you never wanted or planned?”
The rookie burst out laughing, taking Damian by surprise.
“What the hell’s so funny?”
Carter rested an arm on the bar and leaned toward Damian. “Well, here’s the thing. My woman is your woman, and as long as you’re in the picture, she won’t have anything to do with me. Won’t return my calls. So would I want to be in your shoes? Hell, yeah.” With that astonishing proclamation, he downed the rest of his beer and gestured for yet another.
“I think you’ve had enough. We’re playing tomorrow,” Damian reminded him. He sifted through Carter’s words in his mind. “My woman’s your woman? Micki Jordan?” Even as Damian said her name, he knew that the notion was an impossible one.
Carter’s belly laugh caused more than one person at the bar to turn and glance their way. “Don’t you see the irony? You don’t even want Carole and she’s slobbering for whatever you’ll give her. I’m willing to take full responsibility for the kid and she’s discounted me like I’m dirt.”
Nothing the guy said made sense, but if Damian had to guess, he figured Carole and Carter had slept together and Carter had fallen hard. Problem was, Damian had hooked them up just a few weeks ago, so unfortunately there was no reason for Carter to “take responsibility.”
“Listen, buddy. You sober up and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“You’re dismissing me the same way she did.”
Damian rose to his feet. “Do I need to remind you about the facts of life? Even if you slept with Carole, she says she’s almost three months pregnant. That makes you an impossible candidate.”
“Not if I slept with her for the first time back in April, which I did. To get back at you. I just didn’t expect to develop feelings for the woman.”
Hot damn, Damian thought, he’d been right all along. Carole had been sleeping around while they were together. He hadn’t figured Carter in her travels, but what the hell. Anyone she’d been with gave him that much more hope that he wouldn’t be tied to her for eternity.
“So when I handed her over to you?” Damian asked.
“We had a good laugh,” Carter admitted. “Oh, and while we’re spilling our guts?”
Carter was spilling, Damian was listening, but he wasn’t about to remind him and ruin the momentum. He wondered what else the rookie was about to confess.
“Yeah?”
He shook his head and actually looked sheepish for a brief moment. “I’m the one who led the photographers to Lacie’s. I hoped you’d get caught with your pants down and get some negative press for a change.”
The confirmation of something Damian had suspected all along should have infuriated him but, coupled with Carter’s admission about Carole, Damian found himself in a forgiving mood.
“And instead they decided I’d rescued Micki and I was a hero. Must’ve pissed you off.”
Carter nodded. “Enough that when you didn’t show up for practice and Sophie Jordan said you were doing rehab work at your island home, I called the airport and had them hijack your bags.” Again, the other man glanced away, obviously unable to look his captain in the eye.
“What else?” Damian asked in a lethally low tone, his forgiveness now coming in short supply.
Carter rose to his feet and stumbled unsteadily. “Promise you won’t hit me.”
This had to be bad, Damian thought, and winced before even hearing the news. “Just spit it out.”
“I was the one who leaked the pregnancy news to the press and before you say I’m an ass, I’ll do it for you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt Carole. I was just looking to get back at you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Which doesn’t make it any better, I know. But losing Carole taught me a lesson and I’m damn sorry.” He hung his head.
Damian didn’t know how much was drunken rambling, how much was truth, but at least Carter had developed a conscience. Enough to confess his sins, and those confessions had Damian wondering. And gave him legitimate reason to demand a paternity test from Carole without feeling guilty.
“Let’s go get you sobered up,” Damian said, not bothering to address anything Carter had admitted.
“You aren’t going to kill me?”
Damian glanced at Carter’s pale face. “Nah. I think I’ll spare you. But if this repentant stuff is all an act and you pull a stunt like that again? I’ll be using your balls for batting practice.”
Carter grinned, a drunken grin. “Fair enough.”
“Carole know about any of this?” Damian asked.
Carter shook his head. “But I’m going to tell her because, starting tomorrow, I’m turning over a new, responsible leaf. She’s gonna see I want to be in her life even if the kid turns out to be yours.”
Damian shook his head and prodded the drunken man toward the bank of elevators in the hall, all the while wondering if fate would be kind to Damian Fuller, the man who’d been given everything.
And hand him this one thing more.
* * *
Micki opened a bag of Tostitos she’d bought in the hospital cafeteria. She popped open a can of Diet Coke for herself and put Uncle Yank’s can on his bedside tray for him to enjoy later. While he dozed, she curled up on the chair in his private room and settled in to watch TV. Despite her best intentions, the channel landed on WPIX and the Renegades came into view on the small screen.
The Renegades were in the field, down by two runs in the seventh, no outs, bases loaded. She watched a ball fly toward center field. She raised the volume.
“…And Fuller goes back, back to the far wall. He’s there. He jumps. His hand hits the wall as the ball lands in his glove but he manages to hold on to it! Fuller prevents a grand slam but can he keep the number of runs down to a manageable level?”
Holding her breath, Micki leaned forward in her seat.
“Rodriguez scores on the sacrifice fly! Fuller throws to third and Baressi holds up at second base. Damian Fuller keeps the damage to one run.”
Micki let out a long stream of air. “That was close.”
“He’s got some mileage left in him yet,” Uncle Yank said from his bed.
She turned. “You’re up!” she said, surprised.
“What do you expect when you blast the television like that?”
“How are you feeling?”
“It hurts.”
She knew what the admission cost him. “Sophie’s been making phone calls. We’re getting you the best physical therapist there is. You’ll be up and about in no time,” she promised her uncle.
He nodded. “You’re good girls. I don’t tell you that often enough.”
Micki smiled. “Yes, you do.” She rose, walked to the bed and leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek.
“Oh, shit. Make it louder,” her uncle said, suddenly agitated and pointing wildly toward the TV.
Micki turned and grabbed the remote, which was wired to his bed. She raised the sound, but she’d already caught sight of Damian in the outfield, surrounded by his coach and trainers.
“…And Fuller is helped off the field. We don’t know the full extent of the injury or if it’s related to his last stint on the DL, but as soon as anything comes our way, we’ll report it back to you.”
Micki hit the mute button once more. She met her uncle’s worried gaze with one of her own. Her stomach plummeted because she knew, whether or not this injury kept him out of the game, Damian was going to take it as yet another sign that the career he loved was coming to an end.
“This can’t be good,” she said aloud.
Her uncle shook his head. “But you can’t fight age forever,” he said, thoughtfully.
Micki wondered if he was referring to Damian or to himself.