Out of Bounds (Love & Football Series)

Out of Bounds

(Love & Football Series)

by V. L. Jennings

Copyright by V. L. Jennings 2013

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this eBook. The eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

*****

Prologue

What I feel for you seems less of earth and more of a cloudless heaven

--Victor Hugo

A baby.

Peaches sighed and shook her head at the irony of it. She hated to think she was one of those women that began a family too soon. She hated to think even more that she would have to put her career on hold to make it happen. And what would she do once it was here? Stay at home?

But this was the first that Loren had mentioned it since their trip to Nashville. Plus, she can remember after that game how she tried to surprise him with the news. She had muted the lights, poured the non-alcoholic bubbly to enjoy. The next thing she knew they were lip-locking, and the news flash had to wait until the following morning.

And she couldn’t forget the look on his face.

Especially when she handed him a plush, baby-bear rattle. Its sound was almost imperceptible, and it was the cutest thing.

He didn’t get it.

We’re having a baby.

"We’re what?"

And tears filled her eyes because he had taken too long to answer.

You don’t want it? Or you’re not ready?

When he was to reply his cell rang and it was his father. They were on the phone quite a while and then he had to leave for football practice. Needless to say it was a bust.

Still, her very first appointment had been a week ago and he went, and afterwards the ride home was stilted and silent. But in all fairness he had to go out of town with the team—his mind was obviously on bigger and better things—and there simply wasn’t any time to make small talk on it.

Small talk.

About a baby.

The circumstances that surrounded their marriage alone were based on earth-shattering events. There wasn’t any lingering engagement period like from the ‘50s when each family was given ample time to adjust to the new couple and their newfound life to come. There weren’t any Bride magazines purchased, where Peaches could browse and leisurely select her wedding apparel and fantasize about the big moment to come. Uh-uh, their marriage was born under harrowing circumstances—less than a year ago. And now he wants her to believe he’s ready for a baby.

Whatever.

So now she wasn’t in the mood for love-making.

And the scar beneath her left breast itched something fierce.

She unhinged her arms from around Loren’s neck to vigorously rub it. Aah. The relief of its urgent summons gave her goose bumps, since she never wished to over scratch it and have it bleed, or under scratch and have it yearn for more. So the scrub would have to do.

And she repaired the towel she had set around her, stuck its corner in her cleavage and stood to leave the bed.

Peaches?

Uh-huh?

Where are you going?

There was no mistaking the edge in his voice. To get a negligee. It’s drafty.

"Uhhh. Right now? I’ll keep you warm," he added with a touch of humor in his voice.

Yep, Loren was exasperated. He was raring to go and she’d said kaput on the flames of desires. Right now.

Located by the bath was her walk-in closet, and she moved with breathtaking speed to get there. A spacious section of its own, there hung dozens of lace, satin, gauzy and silk negligees and their matching bed jackets in assorted sizes and colors. Since she wasn’t feeling exceptionally sexy, she put her hands on a translucent one that was chocolate in color and shrugged into it. Floor length, its V plunged to her belly button in the front, and its straps were an inch-wide. Next she slipped on its jacket and tied its waist with a satin ribbon.

And she was parched again.

The task of dressing done, she glided to her bedside and grasped her glass of water; lifted its rim to her lips. She had finished most of its contents already and found it hadn’t moistened her throat but had ended all too soon. She wished for more to drink, and decided she wanted soda instead.

And Loren cautiously observed her procrastination.

Peaches, honey, let’s talk, he said while patting the mattress. Come back to bed.

Umm, but I’m thirsty. I want 7UP. She put her glass down on the nightstand and Loren began to throw back the covers.

I’ll get it for you.

No, don’t get up. I’ll get it.

She needed to clear her head and the trot to the kitchen below would do the trick. Truly, her emotions were a big ball of psychedelic yarn that was rolled into one big mass, and she was uncertain as to why she was picking a fight with him. He loved her, loved their baby . . . Doesn’t he?

I’m coming with, he said, now out of the bed. We’ll need some cheese and crackers, in case we get hungry later. The corner of his lips lifted in satisfaction, and he wiggled his brows in expectation.

Peaches started down the hall with Loren right behind her. I can get those things. I’m not an invalid, you know?

No one’s calling you an invalid, honey. Look, we need to talk. What’s bugging you?

She didn’t know. And she didn’t like that he was following her when she needed the break to prepare her mind for their love session. Truly she had to get a grip on things, and her emotions had now transformed from a giant ball of yarn to a giant ball of nerves. In her haste to get away from him she was careless, and at the winding staircase she began her descent but wasn’t watching her step.

Now the staircase was made of wood, maple in color, and a Persian runner was held in place with golden rods to the tiled floor below. Midway down, her right foot slipped from beneath her and she felt herself slipping. While her hands attempted to gain purchase on the wooden railing, she heard voices—her own screams and Loren’s shouts—when she realized her error and before she knew anything she was bumping, tumbling to the tiled floor below. Her head banged hard against the railing and then the wooden stairs, and though her arms tried to lessen the damage to her person, the sudden jolts of pain seemed to assault her person everywhere.

And all she could hope was that the baby would be unharmed.

Horrified, Loren jumped the remainder of the way, over her still form and blinked tears hoping she would be all right. Lightly he cradled her to him, and his fingers moved hair from her face. Her long luscious lashes were closed, unmoving, and this frightened him to no end. His shaking fingers tenderly patted her cheeks and his eyes fell to a huge knot that was over her right brow. Her face had angry red marks that were turning black and blue and her breathing was soft and erratic. Frightened out of his wits he shouted, Peaches, Peaches wake up!

As gently as he could he placed her down on the tiled floor and sped to the phone located in the living room. There was an ache in his chest, and he could barely breathe. His tears flowed freely, and with a hand thrust in his hair the other held the receiver. Though it had been seconds, it seemed an eternity, and with bated breath he finally heard the directive 9-1-1. What is your emergency?

Chapter One

Jealousy is a disease, love is a healthy condition

--Robert Heinlein

Barbara Stephens was having the time of her life. Her son and daughter were both married and appeared to be happy. Her son was a hotshot football star that flashed across the TV screen in a blaze of glory. A wide receiver for the Colorado Coasters, he was a sight for sore eyes on any cold day. Her daughter was employed in the television arena as well, only she was a Sports Specialist for WXY TV. Married to the sexiest QB in football history, they were having a baby to boot!

So just why was she stuck in this posh hospital working when she should have been at home in bed, or pursuing some other hobby to her delight? Chatting with her co-worker, Gail, about a patient they’d accommodated in Room 1, Luann called in sick for the evening shift, and Gail’s eyes speedily moved down the call list for the next person who (hopefully) would give up their warm bed—or whatever else they found important—and move with lightning speed to come in for the evening.

But Barbara’s thoughts weren’t on that. They were centered on how she and John had decided they would retire at some point, and with the advent of the baby they had decided it would be this year, in the event Peaches would need someone to watch the baby when the time came. And the chances were great she would return to reporting and it would all be good.

They simply couldn’t wait.

Sure, her decision to work at Highlands Memorial hadn’t been an easy one. Having worked in the ER at the county hospital, her comprehension of its workings was unparalleled. Plus her years of experience and age gave her full retirement when she left, and that was a little over two years ago. Thus, she’d told herself that by leaving her former job, where she’d made oodles of friends and acquaintances, was key to mentally distance her mind from such.

And she was doing okay.

Yeah, it was a great idea in theory. But she admitted to herself that she had come to love the many new friends and acquaintances at the new place, too.

And the knife wouldn’t plunge as deep when she walked away.

Thus, she was simply overworking when she could’ve been in the luxury of her own home watching some food network channel or something else of the sort. Still, John’s intention that they become jetsetters and sightsee was something beyond her mental faculties. And working to prolong someone’s life seemed so much more important.

And she couldn’t give it up.

This explained why she was sitting here talking to Gail about the poor lad in Room 1 who had been slicing cucumbers at this ungodly hour of the night and had inadvertently sliced through his index finger instead. His mother was as shy as a church mouse, but his father seemed to have an undercurrent of anger, anger that did not go unnoticed by the resident in staff. The explanation was shady at best, and this was duly noted in the patient’s chart. The proper authorities had been notified.

It was going to be a long night.

I bet you’re happy with your daughter, said Gail. Hunting and pecking for the numbers on her keyboard, she had a few vitals on the poor lad she had to insert into his Electronic Medical Record. Somehow she had forgotten this important task earlier.

"Hmm-umm, we sure are. And those boys are headed to Hawaii for the Big Bowl! I can’t believe the Colorado Coasters are going to the Big Bowl! Bet that’s gonna be loads of fun! I should have planned better, and John and I would’ve gone for sure!"

And you both would be looking so cool out there on the beach, Gail said with a half-grin. With your sweet honey-blond bob and slamming figure—how’d you stay so little after the kids?

Are you kidding—I’m in a size ten! And I was in a six before they were on the scene!

Whatever. I can so seriously see you out there in a tankini that’s sheer at the waist and your designer eyewear, strolling on the beach like a starlet from Hollywood! You’d be the envy of every mother out there! Not to mention that milk-chocolate stud of a husband you have!

Barbara laughed at Gail’s antics, the slim RN that was maybe pushing thirty. Her hair was long and set in a high pony, and she was probably really cute if she’d added extra makeup and wore lip gloss. Barbara figured maybe she did when she wasn’t in a work setting where death and destruction knocked on their door every night, thus her preferred choice of toiletries was appropriate.

Meanwhile Noreen, the Head RN for the nightshift, appeared with a slip of paper in her hand. She’d scrawled something on it and with a furrow the size of the Mississippi on her forehead she looked at Barbara.

And Barbara couldn’t help but hear the siren’s approach.

Lifting her head to its screaming direction, she peeped over the mauve counter to see its advance—in fact all of the Emergency personnel had done so—and readied themselves for action. No time to ask Noreen what her note was about—she would see about the patient at hand—and find out soon enough what was going on.

With a start she bustled from her chair to prepare for the square conveyance, which had skidded to a halt at its designated location. It jarred back and forth from its jolted stop, but the ambulance technicians had alighted its sides to rush to the back and swung open its huge doors to swiftly and safely expel its occupant.

And in an instant Barbara was there to get an update . . . and gasped aloud when she looked into the familiar face. Somehow the EMT’s voice snuck into her blaring thoughts.

. . . White female. Twenty-one year-old victim of a fall down the staircase in her home. Husband—who by the way is the Coasters’ QB—says she slipped—

"No, she’s Black—mixed . . . she’s pregnant, Barbara informed. Then from shock and in a whisper she added, S-she’s my daughter."

In all the fuss Barbara vaguely recalled Noreen’s asking if she wanted her to cover, if she wanted to sit in the waiting room. But it meant she would have to be with Loren, and at the moment it was absurd.

He was supposed to be taking care of her child, not scaring her to death by following her down the stairs where she had that nasty fall. There was no mistaking the hard hits bestowed upon her person as she rolled down like an unfurled carpet, and there was no mistaking the fact that she may have incurred a concussion in the process.

Sure, he said that as soon as he placed the call she was coming to, her fingers to her head when she loudly said "Ow!" By her side lickety-split, he didn’t want to chance moving her in the car so he went for a washcloth and a freezer pack to place on her head until helped arrived.

And she felt sleepy again.

Frankly, she didn’t care what the tiff was about, and she was so angry that she would have cursed him out. So her only recourse was to work her weary behind to the bone and make certain her daughter was comfortable.

Still, she was nervous, and her eyes warily scanned the waiting room to see what Loren was up to. By now Cole, John and Carlos were in attendance—a couple of hours had elapsed. She remembered Cole’s wife, Angie, was in Hawaii to prepare for the skirmish—she being a Sports Specialist as well. Doing various interviews next week, she wasn’t in attendance.

So she rushed to John’s side.

Promptly John enfolded her, and the tears she had so valiantly held in check now flowed unstopped as the Big Thompson itself.

"Shhh, honey, it’s alright. I’m here" said John.

His words were tender, as any healing balm on an open wound. His hands were graceful on her back, as any experienced figure skater plying tension from her shoulder blades and muscles. But Barbara knew the edge that laced his voice, knew her usually docile husband was anything but docile at this moment. Gently he withdrew to grasp her shoulders and peer into her eyes—into her soul—for the truth.

How is she? How’s our daughter?

No sugar coating it now.

Barbara sniffled, and a palm wiped her eyes. Staring into her husband’s gaze she said, She’s got a slight concussion. We have her in a drug-induced coma . . . We’re moving her to a floor. Five. Her right wrist is severely sprained and she’s . . . she’s got contusions on most of her arms and legs . . . Looks like the baby’s fine, though.

A chorus of sighs erupted in relief, and Loren gripped her elbow. Can I see her?

NO!

Barbara’s mean streak vaporized when she looked into Loren’s face. Truly he was stricken, and he looked older than his twenty-five years of age. His tanzanite-colored eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and her heart went out to him. For a second. Because it was his fault that Peaches had fallen in the first place. Well, maybe she wasn’t as careful as should have been. But with pregnancy Peaches now understood that she couldn’t go tearing around without caution or a care. From henceforth she needed to be wary and slow her road. Those were things she intended to remind her about when she awakened. If she awakened.

A drug-induced coma was nothing to play with, and all she could think about was their unborn baby and how she hoped it wouldn’t severely be restricted from the heavy but diluted dose of drugs they were laying on its mother.

Uh, I’m not sure, Loren, Barbara managed with her narrowed gaze. I’ll check with the doctor and meet you on five to let you know.

Loren’s fingers scrubbed his face and he walked away with a heavy sough. Boy, his mind pummeled his stupidity. To his knowledge he didn’t have a clue as to why he followed her down that staircase, and if he could take it all back he most certainly would. At this moment he wished to reassure Peaches of his love and allay her doubts that he wasn’t there for them. He was. Completely. Unconditionally. He only needed her to know, and if he had to tell her while she was sleeping then it was worth the chance.

On the elevator, his shoulder felt the grip of a hand and he turned to see his father, Carlos, with fear and worry etched across his brow. It was at this moment that he realized his father did resemble Antonio Banderas—only older. She’ll be fine, son, he murmured. Cary’s a fighter—you know that first hand.

Loren gave a nod and his lips made a white line. This was the second life-altering event she had happen to her, and none of it was her doing. When this was over he would make it up to her in a big way—no matter the cost.

Cole and John joined them, but Cole said nothing. The fulminating glare from his green stare spoke volumes for the two of them and with a hand to his chest, Loren finally said, I am so sorry, man. Cary’s my heart and there’s no way I’d ever harm her. I’ll make things right. I will.

Cole and his father nodded and then Cole said, I know. But what are you going to do? She’ll more than likely be here two days, and we leave Saturday for the game. What are your priorities? I mean, you’re in a spot and I can’t tell you what to do. You have some heavy choices to make.

And they were choices Loren was loathe to make.

The group stepped away from the elevator, and Loren discovered people were fluttering in and out of this floor. They found the designated room Peaches was placed in and they sat in the waiting area. Hunched forward in his chair he didn’t acknowledge those who meandered about but wondered at Barbara’s delay in telling him if it was okay to see his wife.

Twenty minutes later she reappeared and crooked her finger at him. The doctor said you can see her now.

Loren wasn’t prepared for what he saw. His lovely wife was lying in a hospital bed with an intravenous bag hanging from a pole at her right side. Wires seemed to be hither and thither, while various machines beeped numbers that he didn’t have a clue about.

And his stare welled at the sight of it.

Peaches’ eyes were closed, and her head was wrapped in gauze around her forehead, but not enough to conceal the huge knot above her brow. Her face was black and blue, swollen in parts, and her right wrist was in