Authors: Donna Gallagher
But Pippa still had a job to do today, so she pulled herself together, at least for the moment. While the players and coaching staff went through their last-minute game plans, Pippa busied herself tidying up her equipment, checking supplies and wiping down the massage tables as her team of workers buzzed with excitement over their recent hands-on experience around her.
During the game, Pippa stayed behind in the now empty Jets treatment room underneath the grandstand, waiting for half-time, when the players would return for a brief respite from their action-packed game. She would need to work quickly then, to treat any injuries and re-tape as need be, so the team could return to the field for the second half and finish the game. There would be no time to worry about Rook or Gareth.
After the game would be equally as hectic. Pippa and her team would apply ice-packs to injuries and record those injuries that would need extra attention during the week. She was hoping that all the activity would keep her from thinking about Rook, and how good he had felt beneath her fingers again. The errant thought caused images of their one night together to flood her mind. Tears pooled behind her eyes, and Pippa bunched her hands into fists and pressed them into her eye sockets to keep the emotional flood that threatened from spilling free.
A commotion coming from the tunnel drew Pippa’s attention from her gloom. She heard Flash Mannering, the team runner, shout for her. Flash was one of the former players—his role at the Jets was to run onto the field during the games and give players water or instructions from the coach, or to assist injured players. By the sound of the agitation in his voice, Pippa knew something was terribly wrong. She hurried out of the treatment room and into the medical room.
Chapter Fifteen
Rook knew the minute he heard the crack that his knee was gone, probably for the season. He knew enough about cruciate ligaments to know that if he had torn his, he was going to need surgery and a long rehabilitation. As he lay on the medicab, being transported off the field, he was not only devastated but also in a shitload of pain.
Right from the get-go, his day had been fucked up, starting with when he’d been getting strapped and warmed up. It didn’t matter that he had been lying face down on the massage table—he had instantly felt the change when a strapper’s hands had been replaced by the electrifying sensations of Pippa’s fingers, setting fire to him. He had only with incredible fortitude been able to resist the urge to drag her into his arms. The second she had touched him, his body had gone haywire—sensory overload. His cock, rising into a full, rigid erection, had tried to burst free from the confines of his tight underwear.
He had managed to keep out of her clutches for a month, but of course it had to be on game day that she finally caught him. It was the last thing he’d needed, to be distracted by her—he’d needed to be fully focused on the game. God knew where it would have led if not for Brodie calling everyone together for a last-minute strategy talk, breaking him from her hypnotising hold. It had taken a mammoth strength of will to force his gaze from her and walk away, but he had.
Then there was the unmistakable animosity he’d been feeling from Gareth. Rook had noticed the change in his teammate’s demeanour just before they’d taken to the field, but there had been no time to find out what had been bothering the country boy. God, his life was really going down the toilet fast.
And now this! He was well and truly fucked.
Rook was feeling very sorry for himself as he threw his arm over his eyes and tried to block out the sensations that were beginning to overwhelm him—not just the pain from his leg, though that was excruciating, but the thoughts that niggled away at him that this could be the end of his football career. The only thing, apart from supervising the running of his bar, that Rook knew how to do. The one thing he was good at. The kid from a broken home had made good with his ability to play rugby league at the top level—what would happen if he couldn’t take the field again?
What would he do with his life?
“Pip, it’s Rook’s knee—looks bad. What should we do first, Doc?” Flash shouted out over the engine sounds of the medicab as it stopped outside the medical room door.
* * * *
The club doctor was bent over Rook, trying to keep the leg immobile. He shouted at Pippa to get plenty of ice and compression bandages ready. The first priority was to keep the swelling and fluid under control. Pippa didn’t have time to react to the fact that the injured player was Rook—she just went into action and readied the supplies the doctor had requested.
Pippa could hear Rook moaning from the pain as they moved him from the transport medicab to one of the treatment beds. Her heart broke for him—she knew that if he was in this much pain then the injury was a bad one, most likely something to do with the ligaments and tendons of his knee. She could only hope that it was just a strain, and not a tear that would ultimately need surgery.
As the doctor carefully examined Rook’s knee, trying to flex it and check the stability of the patella when bent, Pippa watched the pain register in Rook’s eyes, saw the strain make his jaw tense and his lips disappear into just a thin line. His face paled, going a sickly shade of grey. She felt helpless, could not take the pain away from him until the doctor gave her the go-ahead to administer something.
Why hasn’t Doc given Rook the green whistle?
she wondered, angered that the painkiller had not been administered already.
Why must he suffer?
Pippa was desperate to help Rook. To soothe that pain etched over his handsome face. She curled her hand to her side, digging her nails into her palm just to stop the temptation to stroke his clenched jaw line.
As soon as the doctor was finished with his investigation, they strapped Rook’s swelling knee with a compression bandage, elevated the injury and packed it in ice.
“Rook, I can’t be sure until we get an MRI, but I think you might be lucky. It feels like a strain or grade one tear of the medial collateral ligament. I noticed that when bent, your knee—while painful—is still quite stable, not loose and floating around. If I’m right it’s a good prognosis. With the proper care and rehab we’ll have you back on the field before the end of the season. Any tear over a grade one—that is more than ten per cent of the tendon’s fibres torn—and you would need surgery and be looking at a very long recovery and rehabilitation period.”
Pippa listened intently to what the doctor was saying to Rook, but wondered if Rook was taking any of the information in. He looked distraught, and it was more than just the pain, she knew. All players worried about forced retirement due to injury, but Pippa was convinced Rook would be able to make a full recovery. She just had to convince him of that. Unfortunately, the half-time siren sounded and Pippa had to leave Rook in Doc’s care, and to his own demons, while she tended to any running repairs needed on the Jets players who would be returning for the second half of the game.
The atmosphere in the team room was thick with tension. Everyone seemed to be trying to deal with the knowledge that Rook, their playmaker and captain, would not be returning to the field. Brodie, as a coach should, tried to inspire and fill the nervous players with the confidence that as a team, they could bounce back from the obvious setback. He was changing some of the game plan to make allowances for Rook’s absence—Gareth was to take over the captaincy role. The half and playmaker role would be covered by a youngster from the substitution bench, Josh McQuade. Although a young man full of potential, the new rookie would probably be slightly out of his league.
Pippa was amazed at how calm Brodie and JT remained under the circumstances—really able to inspire the players. The Jets team was full of self-confidence and hyped up as they headed down the tunnel and back to the field for the final period of the game.
Pippa hurried back to Rook the moment she was free. He was still lying, unmoving, flat on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes. But he did have that magical green tube clenched between his teeth. Sucking on the methoxyflurane’s powerful analgesic would ease his pain—or at least make him not care about it. He was still wearing the game-day strip, down to the footy sock and studded boot on his uninjured leg. He looked as if he had been abandoned. The ice-pack on his injured knee had begun to melt and water was dripping onto the floor. Pippa filled another bag with ice and replaced the melted bag. She mopped up the spilt water with a towel before she finally took a tentative peek at Rook’s face.
His silver eyes pierced her heart, the forlorn image he portrayed more than she could bear.
“Oh, Rook, don’t look so sad. It’ll be okay, you can bounce back from this setback. I will do everything possible to get you back on the field quickly,” Pippa whispered, emotion choking her voice as the man she loved—had always loved—lay before her, looking so defeated. “C’mon, Rookie, where’s that cocky, spirited footballer I’ve loved since I was fifteen gone?”
Pippa could not believe she had actually let those words spill from her lips. All she could hope was that Rook would not take her confession seriously—she was so rattled, and acting anything but professionally at the moment.
As Pippa busied herself fussing with the already perfectly positioned ice-packs, trying as best she could to act nonchalant over her words, she felt Rook’s hand on her arm. Too nervous to face him and deal with the words she had blurted out, her heart pounding inside her chest—the noise, Pippa believed, loud enough for Rook to hear—she waited for him to acknowledge her slip-up. She did not notice the doctor had entered the room until she heard him speak to Rook.
“Okay then, Rook, I’ve made an appointment for you at the hospital for your MRI scan. It will give us a clear idea of what we are dealing with here.” The doctor continued his one-sided conversation with Rook, unaware of the emotional tension between the two original occupants of the room. “For the time being, we will put you in a knee brace and fit you out with crutches. Stay off the leg completely, keep it elevated and iced. Under no circumstances add heat. I’ve heard you like to recover in a spa, Rook. Don’t go anywhere near it. Clean yourself up in the showers—Pip can help you with that. Go home and rest until the scan. I’ll let you know what comes next once I get a look at the results.”
Pippa choked back a gasp as the doctor mentioned Rook’s spa, the memories of her time with Rook still very fresh in her mind. Her eyes, which only moments ago had been reluctant to meet Rook’s, were now drawn as if by some magnetic pull to his. She was once again trapped under the weight of his stare, mesmerised by him.
It was clear to her that the memory of their tryst was still just as prominent for him, as well.
Pippa had to focus on the doctor’s instructions, but it was not an easy accomplishment when her body was on fire, needy from the memories of Rook and what he had done to her in his spa. Images flashed through her mind, reminding her of the way she had sensually exploded. Her nipples tingled as she remembered the feel of the cold tiles as her breasts had bounced on the side of the spa, while Rook had slammed into her body from behind. Pippa felt the red flush flow up her neck onto her cheekbones as she fought to regain control over her traitorous body, could see that Rook understood what she was feeling, as if he had somehow tapped into her memories and thoughts.
“Phillipa, did you hear me? Do you understand my instructions? Can I leave Rook in your capable hands?” the doctor repeated sternly.
“Yes, Doc—get Rook cleaned up, fit the knee brace and send him home on crutches to rest up for tomorrow’s MRI.”
Pippa was starting to believe she had a future on the stage at the way she’d been able to act so in control when she’d finally answered. Even her voice had sounded quite normal, when on the inside she was in turmoil. Her emotions were building, raging throughout her body like a tornado looking for its most destructive path. How on earth was she going to help Rook, the man who shook her to the core, shower and dress without becoming a blubbery mess of female hormones?
Surely one of the male members of the Jets staff should take over from here?
Chapter Sixteen
Pippa was so caught up in her own thoughts that she did not seem to realise her face was projecting her emotions, or that Rook was watching her with a morbid intensity.
He thought he’d heard her say she loved him, but the look of distaste was clear for him to see—it was written all over her, obviously put there at the thought of helping him shower. He must have heard wrong. The way she was looking now was not the expression of a woman in love, he was certain—it was that of a woman shocked at what she was about to endure.
Rook had also thought he’d witnessed a flicker of desire flash in her ocean blue eyes as the doctor had mentioned his spa, but he must have misread the situation there as well. He assumed it must be the pain medication clouding his mind, and making him see things he wanted to see as opposed to the truth. He really needed to get over Pippa Rodgers. Move on. She just wasn’t interested.
“Shit, what a cock-up this year is turning into. The whole fuckin’ year is shot. All that training, and what for? I didn’t even last through the first game.” Rook couldn’t help his angry tone or his raised voice as his frustrations grew in proportion to the receding pain. “And now I’m going to be forced to endure your presence and good intentions twenty-four fucking seven, not to mention the pitying looks from every other goddamn person I know, and that’s all before Mum gets wind of it…”
The unexpected sound of Pippa’s mobile phone ringing made them both jump, and interrupted his tirade.
“My God! What now?” Pippa exclaimed as she grabbed her phone from her pocket and read the screen to see who was calling.
She was in shock at Rook’s outburst, wondered if anyone else had heard him rant at her. She just wanted to crawl away and find some hole in the ground to hide in. She had not realised how much Rook hated her until now. How could she possibly stay on at the club now, knowing how he felt about her, knowing for a fact he didn’t want anything to do with her and with her heart breaking every time she saw him? Distracted again by the sound of her phone, she finally registered the caller ID.