Intercepting Daisy (14 page)

“I need to check with a couple of people first, but I can guarantee it's awesome, and you will not want to miss out. But I can't do this if even one of you guys is waiting in the parking lot on Tuesdays.”

“So you want me to tell everyone else?”

“I can tell them, but you get to be the enforcer. You get to make sure nobody's out there every Tuesday afternoon.”

Hunter mulled this for a minute or so as Grant followed the group back to their rooms. “I'll do it,” he said.

“That's what I'm talking about.” Grant walked through the entrance to the floor. “So, kid, you hungry at all?”

G
RANT SET
H
UNTER
down outside of his room and headed toward the nurses' station. This morning's rain had given way to a brilliant blue sky and bright sunshine through the hospital windows that looked over Seattle. The walls were covered with cheerful murals and joyful artwork, some of which had been created by the kids currently occupying rooms up and down the corridor. He glimpsed a couple of his teammates thirty or so feet away. If there weren't so many kids around, he'd flip off Derrick Collins for the hell of it. Right now, he was after some snacks for Hunter.

He leaned on the nurses' station as he waited for someone in scrubs to approach. Maybe they had a refrigerator he could raid or something. He could always grab something from the cafeteria.

Monica, the nurse, was heading toward him at a high rate of speed. She didn't look happy, and he braced himself.

“Do you have a minute?” she said as she came to a halt a foot or so away.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

She reached out to touch his upper arm. “I saw that article about you during my break.” She let out a sigh. “I don't care what that reporter says. You have been so kind to the kids here, and I appreciate it. I wanted you to know.”

“What article?”

The hair rose on the back of his neck. There was a problem, and he needed to find out what it was so he could deal with it. The overhead PA went off, and she reached out to pat him one more time.

“I have to go.”

He could feel his phone vibrating with incoming text messages. He reached into his pocket to grab his phone and pull up Google News, but he wasn't fast enough.

Harley McHugh and a camera person emerged from someone's room. Before he had time to react, she spotted him and approached. He saw the red light of the cameraman's equipment come on. Shit.

“I'd like to ask you a few questions, Grant.”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I'd prefer to spend my time here visiting with the kids.”

“Your representation won't respond to my requests for an interview.”

“I'm not willing to be interviewed here.”

“Aren't your visits to Children's each week a public-relations ploy to distract the media from looking into your private life?”

He stared at her in disbelief. She was still talking.

“Wonder how these kids' parents would feel about their kids spending time with a guy who isn't a great role model by any stretch of the imagination?”

“No comment,” he said. “And shut the camera off.”

“I'll bet. I have five women who are willing to speak on-camera about you.”

Grant put his hand over the camera lens and said, “What is your problem, Harley? This passed weird a while ago and went straight into creepy. I don't want anything to do with you. Leave me alone.”

“I have a job to do,” she snapped.

“You're not doing this because of your job. You're harassing me. It needs to stop.”

“I'm looking for information—”

“No, you're not.” Grant looked up in time to see the red light of the camera shut off. His voice dropped in volume. “We were together once. I told you at the time I wasn't interested in seeing you again. It's over. Leave me alone.”

Her mouth dropped open. The cameraman let out a low whistle.

He still wanted to talk with another one of the nurses about some snacks for Hunter, but he needed to put as much space between himself and Harley as quickly as possible. He also needed to find out about the article Monica mentioned. He was willing to bet he already knew who'd written it. He saw a few of his teammates approach out of the corner of his eye.

“Didn't the nurses ask you and your camera to leave fifteen minutes ago?” Seth Taylor barked at Harley.

“No cameras on this floor without permission,” Drew McCoy said. “You must have a problem with reading comprehension, Harley. Did you miss the sign at the entrance?”

“Get out,” Derrick Collins told Harley and her cameraman.

“I've asked for an interview multiple times. Grant is avoiding me,” Harley said.

Kade Harrison strode up to the group. “I guess he has a good reason for that. I saw that blog post. Your boss should fire you for attempting to settle a personal score like that, Ms. McHugh.”

“He's nothing like his image. Our viewers should know,” she insisted.

Kade moved closer to her. Her cameraman backed up in alarm.

“Your viewers should know that Parker dates and has mutually consenting sex with other adults? That's some award-winning reporting right there, cupcake. What's next? He puts his pants on one leg at a time?” Kade said.

“I'll bet he has a beer or two after a game on Sunday nights. Alert the media,” Seth said.

“I heard he has an ice cream habit. Bro's entire freezer is packed with Ben & Jerry's pints,” Derrick said. “He can quit at any time.”

“Yeah, he's big on the ice cream. And he probably likes to walk around his house in his underwear too,” Zach Anderson said.

“Bast—jerk owes me twenty bucks,” Brandon McKenna called out. “He's such a cheapskate. That's the last time he plays poker with the boys and me.”

“I thought you were playing for M&M's,” Zach said.

“Taylor kept eating them.” Brandon joined the small group and gave Harley a raised eyebrow. “I think you're done here,” he said to her. He threw one arm around Grant's shoulders. “Come on. I'll teach you some stuff that will get you an ESPN
30 for 30
, buddy.”

“This isn't over,” she said. Harley turned on her heel and stalked away, followed by the cameraman.

“Oh, it's over, all right. Say hi to your program manager for me,” Derrick called after her.

Seth Taylor slapped Grant on the back.

“Son, your tail-chasing days are over. Daisy's a great girl. You'll never find anyone else like her.”

“He's dating Daisy?” Brandon said. “Daisy the flight attendant?”

“Shit, yeah,” Kade said.

Brandon caught Grant's eye. “Propose now before she gets away. And you're doing an interview with me instead.”

G
RANT DUCKED INTO
one of the hospital waiting rooms a few minutes later to pull up the local news station's website on his phone. It didn't take him long to find the blog post Harley had written. He sank into a chair as he read. It was worse than he thought.

He could hear his teammates talking and laughing with the kids as he sat alone and stared at his phone's screen. He'd known that the day would come when everyone would find out what kind of person he really was, and having it out in the open wasn't the worst part. He'd lied to most of the people he knew. He'd tried to be what the Sharks' front office, the coaching staff, the team, and his parents wanted, and he'd failed at all of it. He'd finally gotten to the point where he felt like he was part of the team, and he'd blown it all.

There would be more articles about him. This was too juicy for the sports media to ignore. It wasn't the fact he'd slept around. It was the fact that the team had gone all in on portraying him as some kind of overgrown Boy Scout, and it turned out he wasn't. It was bad enough that he wasn't the QB Tom Reed was. Reed wasn't perfect and never pretended to be, but people would forgive a lot when the Sharks were in the playoffs due to his play. Again.

Even worse, he didn't know why he'd kept encouraging the lies. He'd told himself so many times over the years that he didn't want to betray his parents' values and wanted to be a good example for younger Sharks fans. If he'd been who he really was this whole time, he might not have been asked to make so many personal appearances or been touted by the team as such a good example. He wasn't sure how he was going to deal with so many people's disappointment in him.

He poked at his phone's screen with one finger and scrolled through his contacts list to find Blake's number. He hit the little receiver icon next to his name.

“Hey,” Blake said after the first ring. “How are you?”

“I think I need your help again.”

“Your coach and the PR group would like to have a conference call with me later. I guess the shit has hit the fan.”

“Yeah.”

“There's not a lot we can do about the reporter besides tough it out. She'll run to her employer and her colleagues and scream that you're trying to censor her.”

“I don't care about her.”

“I'd ask you what we've learned from this, but I guess this may be an indelible lesson. Take a deep breath. We'll get through this.”

“Maybe.”

“Things will be fine. You are not the first person in history to want to keep your private life private. I'll talk to you when I have news.”

“Thanks,” Grant said. He heard Blake disconnect. He jammed his phone back into his pocket and sat, lost in thought.

He thought he could pull off the biggest BS campaign of all time on the biggest, brightest stage possible—that of a starting QB in the NFL. What was he thinking?

A woman's voice interrupted his troubled thoughts. Emma's mom, Malia, had tracked him down.

“Grant? How are you doing? Is this a good time?”

He got to his feet and reached out to shake her hand. “Of course. How is Emma doing? Is there anything I can help with?”

“She's still in quarantine. She'll be out in a few days. She's been asking for you.” Malia grinned at him. “Thank you for the tablet and the other stuff you sent. You really didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I hope she'll be better soon.”

“She will. Would you like me to call and leave a message at the team's headquarters when she's able to see you again?”

He texted his cell number to her as he spoke.

“How about you call me directly? Be sure and give her a big hug from me. I miss her smiling face.”

“She thinks she's going to marry you when she grows up.” He saw the same weary smile he'd seen on the faces of so many other parents at the hospital over the past months. “She's so excited to see you play on Sunday. We promised her that we'd turn on the TV in her room so she could watch.”

“When she feels better, I'd love to host your family for a game. We'll make sure she's in a suite, so she doesn't get cold or exposed to a lot of people.” He had a feeling Daisy would enjoy meeting Emma.

As Malia walked away from him, he pulled up Daisy's number and hit the Dial button. She answered on the first ring.

“I know we weren't going to see each other again until Thursday, but what are you doing tonight?” he asked.

A
FEW HOURS
later, Grant watched Daisy's car pull into the parking spot next to his in the small lot flanking several soccer pitches in Redmond's Marymoor Park. She waved at him as she gathered some stuff off of the passenger seat. He glanced out of the car window into the gathering darkness.

Heavy, angry-looking gray clouds were closing in overhead. The soccer fields were lit up like daylight due to two banks of floodlights on either side. Several women in team uniforms were kicking a ball around one of the fields a short distance away, while others stood on the sidelines.

He hadn't heard from Blake yet. Nobody else from the Sharks had called him, either. Actually, that wasn't true: Seth Taylor's wife, Jillian, had called twenty minutes or so ago. She'd invited him over for dinner at their house tonight.

“I really wish I could,” he'd said. “I have a date.”

“Bring her along. I'm trying out new recipes,” Jillian said.

“Maybe another time?”

“I'd love that,” she said. “Seth said it was a tough day.”

“It's better now,” he assured her. “Thank you. And I hope that you and Seth will come over to my place some time.”

“I'll bring some food,” she teased. He knew Seth's wife loved to cook. Even more, the tenderhearted Jillian would be patting him on the back and telling him everything would be okay.

“Thanks, Jillian,” he said.

“Call us if you need us,” she said.

The heaviness inside lightened a bit as he ended the call.

He shoved himself out of the car. He didn't make it in time to open Daisy's car door for her, but he held out his hand for the beat-up duffle bag she carried.

“That's my team,” Daisy said as she indicated the group already on the field. She slammed her car door shut. “We're called Drink and Sing. Are you sure?”

“Sure about what?”

“We're not professionals. I love to play, but you do not see NFL production values out there.” She let out a sigh. “There's no concession stand. And it might rain.”

“I'm not going to melt,” he said. “I told you that I really wanted to watch your match.”

“The other team is called Beer for Breakfast.”

“I like this already,” he said. “Let's go.”

He carried Daisy's gear bag across the field. The wind was picking up a little, but it wasn't raining yet. Daisy pulled her hair back and fastened it into an abbreviated ponytail. She pulled a thin Under Armour headband over her forehead to keep the bangs out of her eyes as they walked along.

She stopped fifty feet or so away from the group on the field.

“Will it bother you if people recognize you and want to talk?”

“No.” He reached out for her hand. “What's wrong?”

“I'm really excited you're here,” she said. “I hoped you'd want to see my game. But I don't want people to bug you or make things uncomfortable.”

“Everything's going to be fine.” He squeezed her small, cool hand. He felt her fingers curve around his in response. Just holding her hand was a thrill. “We'll have fun.”

She didn't look altogether convinced. She didn't let go of his hand, though. He walked them over to the sideline and handed the bag back to her. She unzipped it, pulled out some shin guards, and stuck them into her socks. She yanked on a team-colors fleece pullover and jammed her hands into leather gloves.

“I'm ready,” she told him. “Our goalie's here today, so I might be standing on the sidelines with you.”

He reached out for one of her hands and kissed the back of it. “Have a great game.”

“I will,” she said. She joined her teammates, who were now stretching in the middle of the field.

Another guy a few feet away held out his hand. “I'm Charles,” he said. He had a British accent. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well. I'm Grant.”

“I'm a Sharks fan. I know who you are.”

Grant gave him a nod of recognition.

“My wife brought her rain gear. I have a bad feeling they're going to need it.”

“Has your wife been playing long?”

“She's played soccer since she was six. She had a scholarship to college, and she tried out for the Olympic team. Our house is a soccer world,” Charles said. “I played at university in London.”

“And you also love American football.”

“My wife loves it even more than I do. She'll want to say hello later.”

“I look forward to that.” Grant felt a huge raindrop land on the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I should have brought some rain gear myself.”

The referee was already pulling on his rain poncho. Grant reached back for the hood that unzipped from the collar of his North Face jacket. Seconds later, the clouds opened and lashed the soccer fields with a torrent of icy rain.

T
HE FIELD WAS
a sea of wet, cold puddles and mud by the half. Drink and Sing's regular goalie slipped and pulled something in her knee; she was on her way to Evergreen Hospital's emergency room in Redmond for x-rays as soon as some of her teammates helped her limp off of the field.

Daisy's drenched uniform stuck to her body like glue. She looked like she'd rolled in the mud as well. She tried to pry chunks of turf and mud out of her cleats with one hand while hopping on one foot. Of course, she wiped out. It was a good thing she and Grant hadn't planned on going out to dinner after the match.

One of her teammates came running and pulled her out of the mud. The rain was coming down so hard it was difficult to see the other end of the field.

“Are you okay?” the teammate called out.

“I'm fine. God, it's awful out here.”

“The Beer folk just lost their second goalie to some kind of sprain. Their coach is talking forfeiting.”

“We only have another half. We can do it,” Daisy said.

“I love to play, but if they're offering a forfeit, I'm taking it.”

“Gotcha.”

The ball came flying out of nowhere and smacked Daisy in the face. It was wet, cold, and muddy, and it hurt like hell. At least she managed to grab it before it got past her and landed in the goal. She took a few steps forward and booted it onto the opposing team's side. Another of her teammates tried to advance the ball. It was stuck in a huge mud trough.

There was nobody covering the opposing goal. The other team had started with fewer players to begin with and had since had a couple who'd hurt themselves and were on the sidelines.

“If we can score here, we can get the hell out!” Daisy's team's coach shouted from the sidelines. If Drink and Sing lost any more players, she'd be playing too.

Daisy could see her teammates trying to pry the ball out of the mud with their cleats, slipping and sliding in the mud and doing what they could to make that score. The bank of lights overhead couldn't compete with the howling wind and sideways rain. She'd never played a game in weather this bad, and she saw another one of her teammates bend over and clutch her knee. Seconds later, Daisy heard the roll of thunder in the distance.

The ref blew her whistle. “I'm calling this game. It's not safe out here,” she yelled. “Get your stuff and get your asses home, ladies.”

“Who wins?” the Beer for Breakfast coach shouted back.

“Why do you care? Let's get out of here before we drown,” the ref yelled.

The two teams attempted to meet and shake hands on the side of the pitch. A Beer for Breakfast player told them, “We'll shake hands next time.”

One of Daisy's teammates called back, “Let us know how your injured players are.”

“I'll do that,” the coach said. “Get home safe, everyone.”

Grant held Daisy's elbow as they crossed the sodden, muddy field. He should have worn some cleats himself. It was slick, they were both drenched, and nothing had ever sounded as good as a hot shower.

“My place or your place?” he said.

“My place is a couple of miles away.”

“Let's go then.”

Grant followed Daisy's Nissan Rogue as she drove slowly through the streets of Redmond, which were awash with water. November in Seattle was all about storms, but the sheer amount of water washing over the road was worrisome. They needed to be off the road.

Daisy pulled into her townhouse development off of Avondale Road, led him around a block of tidy, gray-painted buildings with white trim and well-kept landscaping, and pulled into a double driveway on a corner. She hit the garage door opener and gestured for him to drive inside. He pulled to a stop instead and hit the button to lower his window.

“Let's get inside,” he called out.

Daisy paused long enough to grab her handbag out of her car's trunk. They hurried into the garage and up a small flight of stairs to a door leading to the laundry room. Grant noticed that Catherine's car wasn't in the garage as they passed.

“Catherine isn't out in this, is she?” he said.

“She's at Declan's.” She yanked off her cleats and dropped them by the washing machine. “I'll deal with those later. Want me to put your jacket in the dryer?”

They probably should have gone to his place. He could call downstairs for food and a bottle of wine. He had a warm, cozy condo to relax in and a closet full of clean, dry clothing. But Grant knew she'd be more comfortable here. He could make do for one evening.