Blitzing Emily (31 page)

A few minutes later, Brandon walked back onto the sidelines to applause from the crowd. He’d changed into Sharks logo warm-ups, and leaned on crutches. Someone had wrapped his leg in ice packs. His teammates were either heckling Brandon or cheering on Jon, the second-team guy behind Brandon, who was putting on quite a show for the Denver offense. Amy was still listening to her television receiver, and Emily was staring off into space.

Amy reached out for her sister’s chin, scanned Emily’s face, and said, “Okay. You look fine. They’re talking about you, so you’re probably going to be on TV fairly soon. Smile and wave,” Amy prompted. They both did. The people around them patted Emily on the back and waved at the cameras. “They’re talking about the fact that Brandon must have asked the coach to put him in for a series, and now he’s going to regret it.”

“So, this is my fault.”

“Of course not. He knew you were excited about being here, and he wanted you to see him play. They can get injured at any time. It’s not like this is something new.”

“Goddamn it,” the guy behind Emily complained. “McKenna’s going to be out for at least four weeks. The preliminary report is a deep thigh bruise.”

“Shit. What the hell was he thinking? He should have been riding the bench with the rest of the starters,” someone else chimed in.

Amy turned in her seat. “He’s not injury prone, and he’s motivated to play this year. He’ll work with the trainer till he’s one hundred percent again. It’ll be fine.”

“Did
she
tell him to play today?” an angry-looking woman demanded, pointing at Emily.

“No, she didn’t.” Amy’s voice was authoritative.

“Can’t she speak for herself?”

Emily was now irritated along with being afraid for Brandon, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. Getting into a screaming match with a complete stranger wasn’t going to help matters. Maybe the best thing to do was to ignore her. Amy stuck one of the ear pods into Emily’s ear so she could hear Brandon’s interview with the network’s sidelines reporter.

“Brandon, what happened?” the woman asked.

“I tackled Mr. Davis in the open field, and his cleats got tangled up with my thigh. The team doctor and trainer think I have a thigh bruise. One thing’s for sure, it hurts.”

“You weren’t expected to play today. Why did you change your mind?”

“I wanted to see how the rookies handled a game situation. Obviously, it wasn’t the greatest decision I could have made.” Emily saw his slow grin. “This’ll give me a chance to catch up on my knitting or something.”

“This is your fiancée Emily’s first NFL game. Sources are telling us that you asked the coach to play as a result.”

The smile didn’t leave Brandon’s lips, but his eyes hardened. Emily wondered if anyone but her would notice the change in his expression. Brandon spoke before she’d even put the microphone back up to his mouth. “Not true,” he snapped, and the reporter looked surprised.

“Back to you, guys,” she said quickly.

The picture switched to several sportscasters sitting in a studio. “Thanks, Courtney,” one of them said. “Let’s face it, this wouldn’t be the first time a player has asked to play a few downs because a loved one was in the stadium watching, but this could be disastrous for the Sharks’ defense.”

“McKenna’s played thirteen years without significant injury,” a second man said, “which is almost unheard of in the NFL. Our sources state he’s worked hard in the weight room and with the trainers as the years have passed, and it shows on the field. He’s had the usual twisted ankles, bumps and bruises, but for the most part, he’s the workhorse in a punishing defense. It’s early. It’s hard to say what effect this will have on the team. One thing’s for sure, it’s had a fairly immediate effect on McKenna.”

“Yeah,” the third announcer sighed. “Thigh bruises are a bitch.”

The Sharks ended up winning the game. Emily wanted to call Brandon’s cell phone, but she didn’t want to bother him. It turned out she didn’t have long to wait. Her phone rang as they walked through the stadium on their way to Amy’s minivan.

“Hey, sugar.” Brandon’s voice was a bit slurred.

“Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”

“Youreallywannaknow.” He was either drunk, or partaking of significant pharmaceuticals. “Can’t drive. Need a ride home.”

“Tell me where to meet you.”

“Lockerroom. AskAmy.”

“I’ll be right there. Just—just sit tight.” She hung up the phone. “I hope you know where the locker room is,” Emily said to Amy.

A
FTER A QUICK
conference Amy and Emily decided it would be easier to get Brandon into the minivan. To say that he was high on painkillers was an understatement. “Sugar,” he shouted triumphantly when he saw them. “We won.”

“Yes. I saw that. You sacked the quarterback, too.”

“I did. Where’s my kiss? I deserve one.” He gave her a loopy grin.

Damian poked his head out of the locker room door. “Have fun with him, darlin’.” He rolled his eyes.

“What if he wipes out on the way into his house? What will I do?”

Emily tried to hang onto her calm, but it wasn’t working. Brandon’s leg was wrapped in Ace bandages and ice packs from hip to knee. She couldn’t imagine how she’d be able to maneuver him around.

“He’s a bit looped, but he’s not incapacitated,” Damian said. “You’ll need to keep the ice packs on him. When you get him home, put him to bed. Don’t let him get up and roam around the house.”

She couldn’t imagine how she could stop a man who was a foot taller and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds from doing anything at all.

The trainer and the team’s doctor came to the rescue, pouring Brandon into the passenger seat of Amy’s van. “McKenna, you’ll need to stay low and ice this for a couple of days,” the doctor said. “I’ll give your medication to Emily. Don’t be a martyr. If you keep up on the pain meds, it’ll actually help you heal faster.”

“Hokay. Sugarwill take care of it.”

Emily took the prescription bottle the doctor handed her, and slipped it into her handbag. Brandon launched into a disjointed story about a game he’d played in college in which a live alligator somehow got onto the playing field. Then he forgot what he was talking about and started complaining about the cleating he’d received. If she didn’t feel like she wanted to cry, it would’ve been funny.

“Jesus, Doc, that hurt like a mother— Sorry, sugar. I shouldn’t talk this way in front of a lady.”

“I’m sure she understands,” the doctor assured him. “He should be out like a light before you even get him home,” he said to Emily. “See if you can get him to lie down on his bed, or into an easy chair. Keep up on the ice. If you can’t get ice into a gallon Ziploc, bags of frozen peas work well.”

The team trainer stuck his card in her hand. “My cell phone’s on there. If you need anything, call me.”

Amy handed Emily her car keys, and reached out for Brandon’s shorts pocket. “I’ll drive your rig home for you, big guy.”

He roused for a moment, looked down at the hand fiddling in his pocket, and fixed Amy with a pointed look. His hand shot out to grab her wrist. “Don’t touch my junk.”

Amy laughed. “You wish.”

“Just rest.” Emily soothed him as she pulled onto the freeway, heading toward Brandon’s house. “We’ll be home in a few minutes, and you can lie down in your bed.”

“You, too,” he muttered. A few minutes later, his even breathing told Emily he was fast asleep.

On the ride home, Emily listened to the post-game commentary. There was still speculation as to why Brandon decided to play one down in a game he’d been told he wasn’t playing in. The commentators weren’t the ones she was worried about. The fans calling in were acting like she was Yoko Ono.

“You know she told him to play,” one caller complained. “Why would he give in to her? Now we’re screwed for at least the next three preseason games, and if his injury lingers into the regular season, we’re fu-”

The audio cut out and the announcer said, “Well, someone’s mommy needs to hot sauce his tongue. We’re sure that everything will be fine in Sharks Land. In the meantime, let’s hope that Brandon McKenna’s fiancée doesn’t decide to talk him into taking up hang gliding or something.”

“Women can talk us into almost anything,” the caller said.

“Shut up,” Emily said to the radio in response.

Brandon stirred. “Whazzamattersugar?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emily said.

“Don’t listen to those jerks. They don’t know what they’re talking about.” He drifted off again.

It took both Emily and Amy to get Brandon into the house and onto his bed. Emily propped pillows up behind him, pulled his shoes off, and left him in his t-shirt and shorts while she rifled through her handbag for the pain meds. Two pills and a glass of water later, his eyelids fluttered closed, and she kissed him.

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

“Thanks, sugar.” He let out a huge sigh and snuggled into his blankets.

Emily turned away to wrap another ice pack in a kitchen towel when she heard an “I love you” so soft she wondered if she had imagined it. Brandon’s chest rose and fell. He was asleep, she told herself. He was talking in his sleep. He didn’t really mean it.

She leaned down to brush her lips across his brow. “Sleep.”

The corner of his mouth twitched a little, and his hand curled around hers.

Chapter Nineteen

A
COUPLE OF
days after Brandon’s injury, Emily opened her eyes to the soft golden-pink light of an early, summertime morning. Somebody was knocking insistently at Brandon’s front door. She reached out to shake his shoulder.

“Someone’s here.”

“They’ll go away,” he muttered. He pulled Emily closer. She let out a contented sigh, and snuggled against him.

More knocking ensued. The doorbell rang. Three times.

“If this is Damian’s idea of a practical joke, I’m going to kill him,” Brandon said as he shoved himself out of bed. “Stay here, sugar. This could get ugly.” He hobbled down the hallway in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

Emily scrambled out of bed, grabbing Brandon’s terrycloth robe off the chair in the corner. She stuck both arms into it as she heard him tell whoever was on the other side of the door, “This better be good.”

“Oh, it’s good, Mister. Open the door,” a feminine voice assured him.

“Mama?” Emily heard him pull the door open. “What are you doing here?”

Oh, no.
Emily padded into the hallway against her better judgment.

“How many times are you going to kiss Emily on live television before we even meet her? I’ve been asking for six months now.” Emily watched Suzanne McKenna dragged over the threshold by her half-naked son. “I also can’t believe you answered the door in your shorts! Brandon James McKenna, I bought you a robe last year. Why aren’t you wearing it?”

In that split second, it didn’t matter that Emily was an adult, with her own life, responsibilities, and moral decisions. Getting busted by one’s potential mother-in-law sporting bedhead and wearing her son’s bathrobe was enough to make any female cringe inside. Emily pulled the robe tightly around herself, and attempted to blend in with the furnishings.

The replica of Brandon’s dimple flashed in Suzanne’s left cheek as she noticed Emily standing just feet from her. “Oh. I see.” Suzanne let go of her son and held out her arms to Emily. “Come here, sweetie. It’s so good to finally meet you!”

Despite being almost a foot shorter than her son, Suzanne could crack a rib or two with her embrace. Her hair was perfect. Her clothes were perfect. She looked like she’d strolled over from across the street, instead of spending several hours sitting on a flight. The most secure woman in the world would wish for a full-length mirror, a mani-pedi, and a lipstick touch-up after spending only a few moments in Suzanne’s presence.

“I’m thrilled to meet you, too,” Emily managed to gasp.

“I realize we’re a little early. One of Jack’s buddies offered us a ride in his jet. He’s playing golf this weekend with Seattle’s pro basketball team’s owner, and those guys start before dawn. On the bright side, this gives us some extra time together.” Suzanne gave her one last squeeze. “We can do some wedding planning. Won’t that be fun?”

Emily nodded, and attempted to look delirious with excitement. She saw the same wicked twinkle in Suzanne’s eyes that her son employed to devastating effect on the female population. Suzanne, however, wasn’t angling for a date. She made it clear (in the nicest possible way, of course) that Emily was spending the day knee-deep in wedding details, and she was going to like it, too.

Suzanne turned her attentions toward her son.

“You’d better get in the shower, young man. Emily’s mama and I had such a nice chat on the phone yesterday, and she’ll be here shortly with Emily’s dad and Amy. We girls will be doing a little shopping. I’m sure you men will manage to find some kind of trouble to get yourselves into while we’re gone.” She gave him a gentle push toward his room.

Suzanne talked with Emily’s mom? Emily’s mom’s phone number wasn’t a state secret, but it would have been nice if she’d had some advance warning.

“Where’s Dad?” Brandon said. He looked dazed.

“He’ll be right in. He’s bringing the bags.” Brandon reached out for the doorknob. She put one hand out to stop him. “Oh, no, you don’t. You need to put some clothes on before you go out there.” Her lips curved into a smile as she glanced over at Emily.

“Excuse me.” Emily pivoted on one heel. “Nice to meet you,” she called out as she ran for the safety of Brandon’s room. She tossed the robe onto the end of Brandon’s bed and sealed herself in his bathroom. It might be good to make sure she was fully dressed before any additional encounters with Brandon’s parents. She flipped on the shower and waited for the water to warm.

“Hey, sugar, let me in there,” Brandon called out.

Seconds later, she heard him jimmying the bathroom door lock. Within seconds, the door swung open. Emily felt the rush of cool air on her skin as he shut it behind him. He stepped out of his boxer briefs.

“Let’s conserve water,” he coaxed.

Despite the fact she’d welcome his company in the shower any other time, she flung out an arm and pointed in the general direction of Brandon’s hallway. “Your mom is here. With
your dad
! I’ll be out in a minute.”