Shot Caller (A Bad Boy's Baby Novel) (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Maddox

I
grit my teeth as the medics set to work stitching up my head. My heart is
beating so hard that I can barely hear the raised voices shouting all around me
over its clamor. Forcing myself to focus despite the pain, I take in the scene
playing out before me here in the examination room. 

“They
gave that fucker González a red card,”
Glover fumes as he charges into the room
to check in on me, “So there’s that at least.”

“They
should give him a swift kick in the crotch, if you ask me,”
Poppy replies, watching
over the medical team’s work as they patch me up.

“Fuck,”
I mutter, wincing as a
shot of pain radiates through my skull, “Go easy with that needle, would you?”

“You’re
lucky you’re still conscious,”
the
medic replies grimly, “If you’d fallen just a little bit harder, we’d be
looking at a fractured skull here.”

“Where
is she?
Where is she?
”
a
furious voice rages from the hallway.

I
look up to see Barry O’Leary charging into the exam room, his eyes bugging out
in his rage. He spots Poppy standing beside me and jabs a fat finger her way.

“You,”
he snarls, nearly foaming
at the mouth, “You little—”

“Watch
it,”
she
cuts him off, taking my hand in hers.

“What’s
the problem, Barry?”
Glover
asks wearily, “I’ve got enough to deal with right now, in case you haven’t
noticed.”

“This
girl defied a direct order from me to stay off the goddamn field,”
Barry roars, “I told her
we couldn’t spare the time, just like you said at the top of the game, Chris.
And she still ran out there the second her boyfriend was involved.”

“In
case you haven’t noticed, my
boyfriend
has a serious head injury,”
Poppy shoots back. “I
wasn’t going to let another one of your bad calls do him any harm.”

“Are
you hearing this?!”
Barry
appeals to Glover, “I can’t work with this girl. She has no respect for
authority.”

“I
respect those who earn it,”
Poppy
tells her boss, squeezing my hand, “And those who give respect in return.”

“See
what I mean?”
Barry
scoffs, “She went against my orders and yours, Chris. There’s no keeping her in
line.”

“It’s
a good thing she went against your orders,”
the medic chimes in, rinsing the blood off
my head, “Walcott needed immediate attention back there. It couldn’t wait.”

“I
told you not to use up any time unless it was an emergency, Barry,”
Glover tells the head
trainer, “You should have seen that this was an exception.”

O’Leary’s
head looks fit to explode as Glover chastises him in front of everyone.

“Bottom
line is, I want this girl gone,”
Barry finally growls, glaring across the
room at Poppy, “I get a say in who makes up my team, don’t I?”

“Sure
you do,”
Glover
says, laying a hand on Barry’s shoulder, “Ms. Abrams, we’ll have to consider
whether or not there’s a place for you here after this—”

“You
can’t fire her for making the right call!”
I shout, leaping up from the table.

“Easy
Mad,”
Poppy
warns, “We haven’t checked you for a concussion yet—”

“Fuck
my concussion,”
I
roar, marching toward O’Leary, “Just because you’re a shit trainer, doesn’t
give you the right to deprive this team of someone who actually knows what
she’s doing.”

“I’ve
been an athletic trainer since before the two of you were born,”
Barry shouts back,
spittle flying every which way.

“I
don’t give a sweet fuck all about your resume, mate!”
I snarl, towering over
the pathetic old man, “If you get rid of Poppy, you can say goodbye to me too.”

“What
are you saying, Mad?”
Glover
cuts in.

“I’m
saying that if she goes, I go,”
I
tell them firmly, “That’s a bloody promise.”

A
tense silence falls over the room as I take my stand against O’Leary. Glover’s
jaw pulses as he looks between me, Barry, and Poppy, making some quick choices
on the fly. Despite our differences, I trust Glover to do the right thing for
the club here. Hell, I’ve bet my place on the team on it. And if my bet is off,
if I lose my place here on the Empire, that’s it for me and my redemption tour.
At long last, Glover takes a deep breath, laying a hand on Barry’s arm.

“It’s
the half,”
he
says wearily, “I need to go have a chat with the team. Come with me, Barry. We
need to have a chat too.”

“You’re
not seriously—?”
Barry
sputters.

“Let’s
go,”
Glover
says firmly, glancing back at Poppy and the medics, “Give Walcott a full
examination. We need to follow protocol for head injuries, here.”

The
medics guide me back to the table as Glover marches O’Leary away. I glance up
at Poppy, who stares back at me with misty, amazed eyes.

“I
can’t believe you just did that for me,”
she breathes, as I settle back onto the
table.

“You
didn’t think I was going to let them get rid of you, just like that?”
I reply, taking her hand
back in mine. “You’re gonna have to do a lot more than be good at your job to
get away from me, Poppy Abrams.”

A
huge, grateful smiles spreads across her face as the medics give me a proper
once-over. Looks like I might just be back in her good graces after all. And it
only took a blow to the head to get here.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Poppy

“Good
news is, he’s not concussed,”
the
medic tells me. He’s pulled me into the hallway outside Mad’s examination room
to have a word.

“What’s
the bad news?”
I
ask, crossing my arms.

“Bad
news is, another blow could do serious damage if he goes back out there,”
the medic replies.

“You
know Mad,”
I
laugh softly, “He’ll want to play the rest of the game if we let him.”

“I’m
gonna leave that up to you,”
the
medic replies, “You know him better than anyone.”

“Great,”
I sigh, shoving a hand
through my hair, “No pressure, right?”

“Right,”
the medic smiles, taking
his leave, “You’ll have the right call.”

I
take a moment to collect myself out in the hallway. It’s the first quiet second
I’ve had to think since González attacked Mad. Finally, I let the feelings I’ve
been holding at bay wash over me—fear for Mad’s condition, outrage at O’Leary
trying to throw me under the bus, pride at the way Mad stood up for me. But
above all, I’m relieved. Relieved that Mad’s injury wasn’t worse, that he’s
still here with me. Nothing like a crisis to put things sharply into
perspective.

“Hey,”
I say softly, stepping
back into the exam room, “How’re you feeling?”

“Oh,
just peachy,”
Mad
laughs as I close the door, “Never better.”

I
walk slowly up to the exam table, taking in the sight of Maddox laid out before
me in nothing but his shorts. His bloodied uniform top lays on the counter, and
the sight of the red stain brings tears to my eyes.

“I
was so worried about you,”
I
whisper, sitting down on the edge of the table beside him.

“I
wasn’t,”
he
smiles, laying a hand on my thigh, “I knew I had you looking out for me, didn’t
I?”

“When
I watched you go down…
All
I could think of was that the last time we spoke was during a fight,”
I go on, shaking my head.
“If anything happened to you…”

“But
it didn’t,”
he
said firmly, “And nothing’s ever going to. I told you, it’s gonna take a lot
more than that to tear me away from you.”

“Good,”
I smile, “I’m gonna hold
you to it.”

We
fall in silence for a moment, the faraway sounds of the stadium rumbling above
us. The sudden sensation of deja vous hits me like a punch in the gut as we sit
in this exam room together, tucked away from everyone else in the world. It’s
been eight years since we first found ourselves giving into our feelings for
each other that night at the university training center. Who would have thought
that under all that youthful lust there was something even more powerful at
work? Something real. Something lasting.

“So,
get this,”
I
smile, brushing Mad’s hair away from his forehead, “I’m the one who’s gonna
have to decide whether you get to play in the second half.”

“Huh,”
he grins back, “Why do I
feel like we’ve been here before?”

“My
thoughts exactly,”
I
tell him.

“Well,
obviously I’m going to play the second half,”
he goes on, swinging his legs over
the side of the bed. “I’m all patched up, aren’t I?”

“Exactly.
You have five stitches in your head,”
I point out, blocking his exit,
“Seriously, I don’t want you going back out there.”

“Nothing’s
going to happen,”
he
insists, brushing off my concern, “González is out for the game, and no one
else is going to fuck with me.”

“Can’t
you just play it safe for once in your life?”
I appeal.

“Not
a chance,”
he
grins, bringing his hands to my hips.

“There’s
no way I’m going to convince you to stay off the pitch, is there?”
I sigh, resting my hands
on his chest.

“Nope,”
he says, “Not unless you
plan to distract me the way you did last time we were in this situation.”

A
pang of longing sears through my core as Mad alludes to our first night
together, way back in the day. If only I’d known back then that someday that
cocky college superstar would be someone I truly cared about. The father of my
first child…

“Mad,
wait,”
I
say breathlessly, holding him back as he tries to make his way to the door.

“I
told you, I’m playing in the second half,”
he replies, trying to step around me.
“There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I
know, it’s just…there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Right
now?”

“Yes,
right now,”
I
insist, “It can’t wait any longer.”

Maddox
takes a begrudging seat on the edge of the table, looking impatient as hell to
get back to the game. Not exactly the ideal circumstances for this
conversation, but it’ll have to do.

“I
know this isn’t fantastic timing,”
I begin nervously, wringing my hangs, “But
there’s something you need to know. It has to do with…uh…why I got so upset
with you in Rome.”

“Well,
seeing as that’s still a fucking mystery to me, go head,”
Mad replies.

“I…Well…God,
there is no easy way to say this is there?”
I mutter.

“Just
come out with it, Poppy,”
Maddox
implores, “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

“OK,”
I breathe, bringing my
eyes to his, “The thing is…I’m pregnant.”

My
words echo around the quiet room, surrounding us with their weighty meaning.
For a long moment, Maddox simply stares back at me, unflinching.

“Pregnant?”
he finally manages to
say, “You? Is it…mine?”

“Of
course, it’s yours,”
I
tell him, “I’m only at about five weeks or so.”

“When
did you find out?”
he
asks, betraying no emotion.

“I
was pretty sure when we left for Rome, and positive when we got back,”
I reveal.

“But
what…What does that have to do with why you were so pissed at me?”

“Don’t
you remember?”
I
prompt him, “During the Serie A game, when that player shoved the ball under
this jersey…”

“Right.
The ‘baby on the way’
thing,”
Maddox says, “So what?”

“So,
when I took that moment to bring up the idea of having kids, you said they
weren’t for you,”
I
tell him, “You said you couldn't picture having them, ever.”

Maddox’s
jaw tenses as I remind him of his own words.

“Fuck,”
he mutters, rubbing his
scruffy jaw.

“Yeah,”
reply, having trouble
meeting his eyes, “And once I knew how you felt about the whole kids question,
I just…I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to trap you.”

“Trap
me?”
he
repeats, “Poppy…”

“I
just don’t want you to feel like you have no choice in this,”
I tell him, “You didn’t
ask for this to happen. If you don’t want to be a father, I can’t force you to
be.”

“So
you’re…you’re keepin’
it,
then. Are you?”
he
asks, his eyes drifting down to my still-flat stomach.

“I
am,”
I
whisper. It’s the first time I’ve voiced my intentions for this baby, even to
myself. “I never really gave much thought to whether or not I wanted kids
before. I guess since I was never with the right partner, it always felt
impossible. But now that this baby has kind of snuck up on me…I can’t imagine
not bringing it into this world. Raising it myself.”

“Ah…”
Maddox breathes. It’s all
he can bring himself to say.

“So,
like I said before,”
I
push forward, trying like hell to be brave, “You should still get to make your
own decision, just like I’ve made mine. I’m not going to force anything on you.
If you want to be a part of this kid’s life, I’d obviously love that. But if
not…Well. I’m not afraid to go it alone. I’ve been taking care of myself my
whole life, I’m sure I could take care of an extra person, too.”

I
can see the gears of Maddox’s brain spinning, even as he sits silently before
me. I have no idea what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. I just wish he would
give me a clue.

“Can
we…talk about this later?”
he
finally says, his voice ragged. “Later, when I don’t have to go back out on the
pitch and play another 45 minutes?”

“Of
course,”
I
tell him, trying to smile convincingly. “We’ll just…talk later.”

He
rises to his feet and stands before me, laying his strong hands on my
shoulders. Without a word, he plants a chaste kiss on my forehead, hugs me to
his chest, and finally takes his leave of me. I stand looking after him as he
heads back to the tunnel, stunned and confused. Part of me was hoping he’d be
secretly thrilled with the news, as foolish as that sounds. As much as I’ve
tried to prepare myself for his not wanting to be involved with this baby, that
eventuality now feels like far too much to bear.

“Don’t
jump to any conclusions,”
I
remind myself, smoothing down my work uniform, “Just make it through this game.
One thing at a time.”
 

Given
my fallout with O’Leary, I don’t risk heading back to the sideline for the
second half of the game. Instead, I race into my office, shuck off my Empire
duds, and slip into a nondescript zip-up hoodie and jeans. Throwing my hair
into a ponytail, I slip on a pair of gigantic sunglasses as I head for the
elevator—anything to obscure my identity, even a little bit.

The
roar of the crowd grows louder and louder as I ascend from the training
facilities onto the ground floor of the stadium. The second the elevator doors
swish open, I lose myself in the teeming crowd of fans. My heart races as I
make my way toward the stands, trying to blend in as best I can. The last thing
I want is to make a scene, but I can’t bear not to watch the second half of the
game.

At
last, I see the sky open up above me as I wedge myself into the standing-room-only
supporters section. Located on the second level of the stands, this section is
where the most die-hard Empire supporters gather to watch the game. I immerse
myself in the sea of navy and gold, standing up on the bleachers to see over the
heads of the other fans. What else is a vertically challenged lady to do?

Play
is about to resume down on the pitch, and my stomach ties itself in knots as I
watch Maddox stride across the field. He’s got a fresh, bloodless uniform on,
but even from here I can see where the medics shaved a tiny patch of his brown
hair for his stitches. I wouldn’t have let him back on the pitch if I thought
he couldn’t handle it, but I can’t help but worry all the same.

Two
twenty-something guys standing right in front of me in the supporters’ section
are talking enthusiastically about the last few minutes of the first half. I
eavesdrop on their conversation as subtly as I can, trying not to draw
attention to myself.

“González
should be suspended for what he did to Mad Man,”
says the first fan, a tall lanky guy
with a clean-shaven baby face.

“No
doubt,”
replies
his companion, a stocky guy sporting navy and gold face paint, “At least he got
a red card, though. Now we get a penalty to start the second half.”

Of
course. There was no time for the Empire to take its penalty shot after Mad got
hurt in the first half. There was too much commotion there at the end, what
with everyone scrambling to deal with González’s infraction. In soccer, a
penalty is awarded any time the opposing team gets a red card. Penalty shots
are nerve-wracking, thrilling moments—it’s just the keeper against one player
from the fouled team. That means the Empire gets to take a shot at the
Sentinel’s goal, one-on-one.

“Oh,
hell yes!”
the
lanky kid in front of me yells, as the players take their positions on the
pitch, “Mad Man’s gonna take the shot himself!”

I
watch with mounting excitement as Maddox squares off against the Sentinel’s
keeper. Of course. Not only does Maddox deserve the chance to get back at the
Sentinels for what González just did to him, but he’s also our star striker. He
brought the score up to 1-1 just before González lashed out at him. That means
we’ll take the lead if he makes this penalty kick.

“This
is a sure thing,”
the
tall kid says excitedly, jostling his buddy.

“Usually,
it would be,”
the
shorter guy points out, “But Mad just took a blow to the head. What if his game
is off?”