Page 34 of Playing for Love

Gabe

“She’s gone,” I said. Mia’s eyes went wide.

“Took off in a taxi in a hurry for work.” I shrugged and patted the seat next to me. “How long before Tate’s operation is finished?”

“He’s out of surgery in recovery. You’ll be able to see him in a few minutes.” She sat next to me and I shifted in her direction, keeping my voice low. She didn’t back away, but she didn’t lean in or make any move.

“You saw him?” I said.

“Only briefly. Enough to smile, tell him it went well, and squeeze his hand. They’re admitting him for one night.”

I heaved a breath. We were talking about Tate when I wanted to talk about us. As if there was an us. All my vaunted graciousness, ability to say the exact right thing was absent, like my brain had been hijacked by something. Emotions maybe. Like I’d turned into a girl.

The thought galvanized me and I leaned close enough to breathe in her scent, like a breezy spring meadow, fresh and light in spite of everything.

“Why don’t you feel more than friendship for Tate? The truth. No hedging.”

Her eyes darted away and she went quiet, retreated inside herself, but I gave her some space because I was asking a lot, asking her to bare her soul when I hadn’t done it myself. After several excruciating seconds, she turned to me, her heart-stopping brown eyes relentlessly expressive and full.

“Because I . . . have feelings for you.” She looked away and shrugged. “But so what. You belong to Denise.”

“Maybe not for long. She wants a diamond and I can’t give it to her. No way. Not the way I feel right now.”

“And how is that?” She looked up at me, her eyes strained with the effort of holding back her hope, her adoration.

“Damn confused.” That’s as much as I could say and it was the truth.

“No matter.” She let out a breath. “You and I could never work.” Deep, dark resignation vibrated in her words.

“Because of damn football,” I said. First time I’d ever disparaged the game I loved more than life.

“No, that’s not it, Gabe.” Her words were soft and pained. That took me by surprise. I’d really lost it. I had no idea how to navigate my way through this. Denise, football and Mia all snaked in a knot of competing forces in my gut. She was about to say more, but a nurse interrupted.

“You can see Mr. Fontanna now, Mr. Wyatt. For a few minutes.” I looked up at the woman in scrubs, ready to make some quip about not being so formal, but Mia spoke up.

“Thank you, Tammy.” Mia stood in a graceful unfolding as if she were a ballerina rising. “I’ll leave you to it, Gabe. I’m heading home. I’ll be back early to be here when he’s discharged.” Mia turned and walked away.

I stood, keeping myself still, straining against the need to follow her, to take her into my arms and find the truth in her, to figure out my feelings, to figure out what the hell I could do to get rid of this uneasy preoccupation. And knowing that I needed to stay faithful to football even if that meant I could never bring Mia to my bed.

Tammy cleared her throat, “This way, Mr.—”

I swung around. “Call me Gabe. No need to be so formal. Lead the way, Tammy.”

And just like that, I ruthlessly cut Mia from my thoughts, shut her out. Keeping her out would be another matter, but I had to try. I couldn’t afford to let her in and I didn’t want to lead her on. Besides, she’d made it clear she was cutting me out and moving on, even if it wasn’t with Tate.

I went up in the elevator with Tammy and down a hall to a private room, number 314.

“They admitted him already?”

“We don’t fool around, Mr.—Gabe.” Tammy smiled and stood at the door while I pushed it open. Tate turned to me as soon as I walked inside, looking fairly alert for a guy who just had surgery. His clavicle and right shoulder were bandaged and immobilized and he had a needle attached to the standard tube for fluids, but he otherwise appeared the same.

“You look bored already,” I said.

He snorted. “They tell me I’ll be falling asleep soon. Thank God. I hate hospitals. I think I’ll close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else.” He didn’t close his eyes, but gave me a curious look as I pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

“Want to play cards? A game of poker with some side action while I have a chance to win money from you?”

“I’d still take your money, even with one hand tied behind my back—or pinned to my side, as the case may be.”