Harley Brennan, Running Back Page 11

“The doctor…”

  “What?” But he didn’t peel his gaze from the television.

  She mustered her remaining strength to yell, “PETE!”

  That got his attention. He turned to face her as she burst into tears. Out of energy and scared, she slid down the wall to the floor. He was up and on her in a minute. The strong man eased her to her feet.

  “Sweetheart, what is it?”

  He whipped a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped her face. She clung to him as best she could, being the size she was.

  “We have to go.”

  “What? Did your water break?”

  She shook her head.

  “We have two maybe three more weeks, honey. I know you’re nervous.”

  “The doctor called and said we have to go now!”

  The color drained from his face. “What do you mean, now? Is something wrong? Jo, baby, say nothing’s wrong.”

  “Of course something’s wrong. Get the keys. I packed already.”

  Pete flew as if he was on a witch’s broom, up to the bedroom for her bag and the keys, then into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, then outside to bring the car as close to the front door as possible. He put it in park, helped his wife into the front seat, and buckled her in. He cupped her cheek and sported a small smile. “It’s going to be all right, Jo. The doc is great, and I’ll be with you all the way.”

  She wiped tears off her cheeks and nodded. Pete ran around the vehicle and jumped behind the wheel. About to peel out of the driveway, he stopped as his daughters, Lexie and Lyssa, were pulling up to the curb. He rolled down his window.

  “Can’t stop now, girls. Taking Jo to the hospital.”

  “Don’t you have three weeks left?” Alyssa asked.

  “Not now, Lyssa,” Pete barked at his daughter. He threw the car in gear and roared away.

  “Take it easy. Take it easy,” Jo said, her voice shaky.

  When they arrived at the hospital, Pete’s color had not returned. Jo had explained to him on the ride over what was wrong.

  “Don’t know what to do,” Coach Bass mumbled, pacing.

  The doctor joined them as they were on their way to Jo’s room.

  “I don’t know what to do, doc,” Pete repeated his dilemma.

  “Nothing. We’ll induce her. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll have to do a C-Section.”

  “A C-Section!” Jo’s husband exclaimed.

  “Pete, it’s not major surgery. She gets a spinal and won’t even be unconscious.”

  “But you’ll cut her.”

  The doctor patted the distraught man on the shoulder. “She’ll be all right, Pete. I’ll be there the whole time, watching over her.”

  At his words, Jo managed a feeble smile. “But who’s going to hold Pete’s hand?”

  The doctor laughed before excusing himself. The nurse helped Jo get undressed.

  “Ice chips, Coach. That’s all she’s allowed. No fluids. If she dilates and has a vaginal delivery, then she can have water. But if it’s gonna be a Section, only ice chips.”

  The nurse set up the fetal monitor, took Jo’s blood pressure, jotted down the results on her chart, and left.

  Pete kissed his wife. “I love you, Jo. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” His eyes watered.

  She took his big hand between her two small ones. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “I know Doc Peterson will take good care of you, but still—I’m not happy.”

  “Me, neither.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “Aw, honey. Don’t cry. You’ll be fine.”

  “And the baby?”

  “He will too.”

  She leaned over to check the baby’s heart monitor. The beat was strong and steady. Jo smiled. “He’s doing okay.”

  Pete handed her his handkerchief and kissed her hand. “That’s my girl. Keep him safe in there until it’s time to come out. And keep yourself safe too. I love you, Jo. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to your wife, if I have anything to say about it.” Doctor Peterson entered the room and picked up Jo’s chart.

  * * * *

  Pete went to the lounge to get coffee and call his daughters while the doctor checked Jo for dilation. The coach slurped the hot liquid while the house phone rang.

  “Hey, dad, how’s it going? How’s Jo? How’s our little brother?” It was Lexie, the more levelheaded of the twins.

  “She’s okay. But it’s taking longer than they thought. How are you two getting along?”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Lyssa said, taking over from her sister. “I’m making pasta. Robbie and Tuffer are coming over for dinner.”

  “Robbie Anthony and Tuffer Demson?”

  “Do you know anyone else named Tuffer?”

  “I don’t want those animals alone in the house with you girls.”

  “We’re not exactly girls anymore, Dad. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re both twenty-one now. So, who we see isn’t any of your business.”

  “As long as you live in my house, it’s my business,” Pete yelled into the phone. Blood pumped into his cheeks.

  Before he could say anything more, he noticed several people entering Jo’s room.

  “Gotta go.” Pete hung up and stopped at the door. “What’s going on?” he asked a nurse coming out of the room.

  “Toxemia. We’re taking her to surgery.”

  “Surgery? Do we have to?”

  The doctor emerged from the room, took Pete by the elbow, and pulled him to the side. The coach peeked in Jo’s room and saw the nurses prepping her for the trip down the hall.

  “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but the toxemia has gotten worse. Her vitals aren’t good. Her liver is shutting down, and her platelet count is almost down to ten percent. If we don’t operate now, she could bleed to death when we do.”

  Pete clutched the doctor’s arms to keep from collapsing, and whispered, “Death?”

  “The only way to fix this, to stop the toxemia, is to take the baby. So, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “We expect she’ll bounce right back to normal. Go on. Scrub up. We have to get moving.”

  “Scrub up?”

  “Don’t you want to be there right after we bring your son into the world? The anesthesiologists should have finished administering the spinal by now. We’ve given Jo some painkillers, so she’ll be woozy. Beth’ll get you ready. I’ve got to go.”

  Before Pete could reply, the doctor was off, headed down the hall at a good clip. Not but a moment later, the door to Jo’s room opened, and she was being wheeled out. The bars on the side of the bed were up, and there was a man at each.

  She looked tired and pale. She lay still, but her eyes were open.

  “Jo!” Pete’s heart rate spiked. His pulse pumped in his neck. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Pete?” She sounded unsteady, as if she had been drinking.

  “We’re taking her down to the O.R. now.”

  The nurse, Beth, followed them. “Come on, Coach. We have to get you ready. Follow me.”

  “Can’t I go with her?”

  The woman shook her head. “Nope. I’ll give you what you need. They do the surgery alone, but you can go in right after. Come on. It’s all right. She’s got at least two doctors in there with her.”

  Tears stung at the backs of his eyes. Pete Sebastian, crackerjack quarterback, strong coach, warred with his emotions. He adored his wife. Worry shot through him like an arrow. Formidable Jo Parker Sebastian. Well, hell, she doesn’t look so tough now. And she needed him.

  Pull yourself together. Be strong for her. She’s in crisis.

  His training kicked in as he marched behind the nurse. Focusing his attention on her words was a Herculean task. Slowing his pace to keep in step with her, when all he wanted to do was race down the hall to Jo, required every ounce of self-control.

  He chang
ed into scrubs and paced outside the O.R. When he got the call, he washed for the proscribed amount of time then entered the sterile room.

  Pete almost lost his lunch. His stomach lurched, and tears couldn’t be contained. She was on her back, her arms, straight out were strapped down. She almost looked like Jesus Christ lying down. Her face was pale, her eyes closed.

  The cries of a baby grabbed his attention.

  The nurse held a tiny infant. She wiped him down, swaddled him, and turned to Pete. “Meet your son.”

  Pete’s mouth was as dry as a drought in the desert as he stared at the newborn. He couldn’t swallow and breathe at the same time. “How’s Jo?” he squeaked out.

  “She’ll be fine. We’re putting her in intensive care until her platelet count returns to normal.”

  “What is it now?”

  “Ten percent of where it needs to be.”

  Pete sucked in air as Beth tapped his shoulder. He turned to face her and opened his arms. She laid the baby in, and he instinctively cradled the little boy to his chest. One glance down and he was captivated by a pair of bright blue eyes and a perfect face. He looks just like Jo.

  Tiny arms and hands waved around. Pete’s gaze followed the limbs and settled on a pair of hands that looked a bit large for the rest of the child. “Big hands. A quarterback for sure,” he mumbled.

  The doctors laughed. One was finishing up the stitches on Jo.

  Pete rushed to her side. “How are you, honey? Here’s our son. He’s beautiful. If you want to call him Trevor, it’s okay with me.” Pete grasped the babe firmly in his large hands and raised him up so his mother could see him.

  Her eyes fluttered then opened. She gazed at the boy for a moment and formed a small smile before falling unconscious.

  “She’s just sleeping.”

  Pete nodded.

  “I’m expecting her to return to normal within a couple of days. We’ve scheduled her to remain with the baby for five days. But if she recovers sooner, then they can go home.”

  Pete shook hands with both doctors. An orderly showed up and wheeled Jo down the hall. Pete followed along, carrying his son. He expected exhaustion to hit when the adrenaline wore off. In the meantime, he flew as high as a kite. The baby started to fuss. When he handed him to the woman in intensive care, he missed the warmth from the child nestled in his arms.

  “Doctor Phillips will be in later to check out the baby. Your wife’s gonna sleep for a while. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

  “I’ll just doze in that chair, if it’s all right with you. I’d like to be here if she wakes up.”

  “Suit yourself. If you need anything, my name is Sheila.”

  “Thanks.”

  The nurse and Pete’s son went to the bassinet. “He’s hungry. I’m going to feed him, unless you’d like to, Coach?”

  A broad smile broke the expression on his face. “Damn right, I would. I mean, yes. That would be great. Give me a minute.”

  Sheila nodded as she fetched a new bottle of sugar water.

  Pete went over to the bed. He stroked Jo’s forehead, causing her to stir. He leaned over and brushed her lips with his. “Baby, you did it. He’s perfect. Beautiful. Thank you, Jo, honey. Thank you for our son.”

  She managed a feeble smile and raised her hand a few inches. Pete grabbed it and kissed the back. She was drugged and tired, but color was beginning to return to her cheeks, ever so slowly.

  “It was a close call, but you toughed it out. I’m proud of you,” he whispered.

  “Go to him. Let me sleep,” she said.

  Pete kissed her again and made his way to the nursery. Pride swelled him until he thought his skin would burst. He sat down, took the bottle of sugar water, and fed the most gorgeous baby in the place—his son, Trevor Sebastian. He figured he’d call the boy “Skip” or “Butch” and everybody’d be happy.

  Chapter Nine

  The Plaza Hotel, New York City

  The sun filtering through the window heated the fabric on the loveseat, warming it from the blast of air conditioning every hotel in the world adopted for the comfort of their guests. Harley hated air conditioning, so he sat in the sun.

  He sipped his second cup of coffee retrieved from the table wheeled in by room service. He had spent the night with Vanessa, the second of the final two he’d chosen. He’d spent the night with Cathy two nights earlier.

  Never one to mess around when it came to making love, Harley had gone much slower than usual. Shit, this is on national television. He didn’t want to look like a rapist or the horniest man on Earth, even if he was. Horny didn’t even describe it. Hanging around sexy, scantily clad babes all the time with no consummation wasn’t doing his raging libido any good. He needed to get back to his old habits, which included getting laid regularly.

  He had counted on Vanessa giving in to her baser desires, but she had the same hang up he did—the publicity. When they’d be asked so many pointed questions, how could they keep private that they were sharing a bed? So, she had deferred. Said it was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough, though he was convinced she was testing him. Would he send her home when she didn’t come across?

  Horny as he was, Harley couldn’t do that. So, they’d had a pleasant night, gorging on hot fudge sundaes at midnight instead of each other. They’d watched movies until they were exhausted and had fallen into bed, asleep within seconds.

  It had worked. After ordering room service, each took a shower—separately—and joined the other for a civilized breakfast facing the stunning view of Central Park. While Vanessa packed, Harley wondered what Shyla was doing and where her next gig was. I have to stop thinking about her. But we’re friends too, right? Bullshit.

  Vanessa didn’t know it, but she’d made the grade. The woman had a lot of class. And beauty. Her long hair, so dark as to be almost blue black, hung thick and luxurious around her shoulders. Harley had had the pleasure of running his fingers through it several times. Her dark eyes held his gaze, and her rounded figure tempted him almost beyond control.

  And she was smart, knew what she wanted. She’d been a model in her small town in Ohio, and now, she was ready to add acting to her resume. She’d done a few commercials already and lusted for more. Harley had worried a tad about her ambition. He wanted a wife and mother for his kids. But Vanessa had assured him she shared his goals.

  Cathy had copped to wanting five kids, which scared the Hell out of Harley. Vanessa had agreed that two was a more manageable number. The more he compared the two ladies, side-by-side, the better Vanessa appeared. They’d make the perfect team.

  Cathy, an athletic redhead, wasn’t as interested in making out as Vanessa had been. She had given Harley pause as to their sexual compatibility, so he had been surprised when she’d agreed to sleep with him. The experience, while curing Harley’s horniness, hadn’t brought them together. She hadn’t climaxed, which surprised the running back, who had done everything he could to get her there. Then, she had apologized profusely, adding to the awkward atmosphere. When they had parted company the next day, relief, not love, had put the smile on his face.

  Cathy played semi-pro soccer. Their love of sports had drawn them together. With her, he had also worried about how she’d feel about putting her career aside to be a mom, until she revealed she wanted so many kids. While he was reluctant to judge based on one trip to the bedroom, it was the death knell for Cathy as a life partner for Harley.

  Tonight, he had to make up his mind, and tomorrow, it was either propose to one girl or send them both home and fail at finding a wife. Failure wasn’t in Harley’s wheel-house. He knew who he’d pick, but shuddered at the thought of the other one leaving.

  Greg Carson took him to dinner while the two women dined together. The men sat at an outdoor café in Central Park. Harley leaned back, holding a frosty beer.

  “Well, are you ready to pick your wife?”

  Harley nodded.

  “I’ve got the ring you chose. And yo
u’re sure now?”

  “Yep. I’m sure.”

  “We don’t want you to have any regrets. No last minute cold feet stuff.”

  “Nope. I came here to find a wife, and I’ve found one.”

  “Vanessa?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “You two seem compatible.”

  “We are. At least, I hope we are.” Harley stuffed any nagging doubt about their sexual chemistry down inside, away from the host’s curiosity.

  Greg raised his glass in a toast. After two more beers, the men made their way back to the hotel. Harley stood at his window, open to the fresh, summer breeze high above the city. Although the stars were often hiding behind a hazy sky, this was a particularly clear night. He stared up at the tiny, diamond-like pinpoints of glitter and sighed.

  He couldn’t help but wonder how Shyla was. Not fair to call her. How will she take it when I get engaged? He knew the answer to that question, and it ate at his guts. He was about to hurt the woman who had held his heart for so long, hurt her bad, deep, and it killed him. But he was on this path and couldn’t stop it now.

  If he pulled out, it would be like dominoes—so many things would fall, so many would get hurt, their trust broken. He couldn’t do it. Besides, even if he did, then what would he have? Nothing. No bride, no pride, and he’d be reviled all over the country. Nope, this train was pulling all the way into the station, whether he liked it or not.

  His cell rang. Hope it was Shyla with a change of heart died when he looked at the dial.

  “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

  “Calling to check on you. Have you made up your mind?” Harley’s father asked.

  “You’re watching the show?”

  “Of course we are.”

  “Mom too? Hmm. Okay. Uh, yeah. I have.”

  “Good. We don’t want you making an ass of yourself on national television. Best of luck and all that crap.”

  In a moment, he found himself staring at the phone. His father had hung up.

  A rueful grin stretched his lips. Dear old Dad. Always worried what the world will think.

  Harley closed the curtains and prepared for bed.