Intercepting Daisy (13 page)

“You need to try that on,” Daisy said. “Where can we find it?”

Catherine reached out to grab her tablet. “Let's Google it.” She drew her finger across the screen to unlock it, clicked a few times, and read something.

“This isn't good,” Catherine said.

“What are you talking about? If you can figure out who made the dress, we can find it. It's not a big deal,” Daisy said.

“This has nothing to do with the dress. It's Grant.”

“What about him? Is he okay? What's wrong?”

Catherine extended a finger in the air. “Just a second.”

Daisy dropped the magazine she'd been holding onto the kitchen table and leaned back in her chair. Catherine's face had gone from radiant happiness to sadness in the few minutes she'd been staring at her tablet.

“How about a cup of tea?” Catherine said.

“No, thanks. What happened?”

Catherine let out a sigh.

“You've seen the new sportscaster at KIXI-TV, haven't you? She's made a blog post about Grant on their website.” She glanced up to meet Daisy's eyes. “This isn't good.”

“So, what's it about?” Daisy reached across the table to Catherine. “May I see it?”

Catherine handed her the tablet and got up from the table.

The article was entitled “Is
Overtime Parking
Grant Parker's Biography?” She glanced at the photos accompanying the article, and she was in one of them. It was a little weird to see cell phone pictures of herself with Grant at Purple and Skillet Diner on Twitter. She hadn't noticed people taking pictures. Then again, she'd been so lost in Grant she wouldn't have noticed a nuclear bomb dropping in the neighborhood.

Daisy skimmed the text. The blog post read like something from a tabloid. According to the writer, Grant had been involved with a number of women in the Seattle area. Four of them had been willing to speak out about their involvement with him, which hadn't lasted longer than a single night. They all mentioned that he'd told them he wasn't interested in a relationship, he wanted to spend the night with them, and he had no intention of seeing them again.

The Sharks wanted their fans to think that Grant's personal life was squeaky clean, and it was all a lie. The writer finished by asking the reader if he or she would want their children looking up to Grant Parker as a role model or as a man.

Daisy felt anger rising with every word she read. How was it any of the writer's concern who Grant had slept with, how often, or with how many? He was single. It was nobody else's business what another adult did in his or her personal life, squeaky-clean public image or not.

She reread the story. It sounded like a witch hunt, the kind of thing that a spurned lover would write. It had nothing to do with football or the Sharks or sports. It was a deliberate smear on someone Daisy knew wasn't perfect but who had shown he was a good person. It wasn't newsworthy. When the Sharks' front office saw it, she knew it was going to have an immediate and negative effect on Grant's career.

He'd told her how he felt about visiting the sick kids at the hospital. Would the hospital still let Grant visit the kids there, or would they think he was some kind of bad person for having casual sex with other consenting adults?

Catherine sat down in her chair again. “The kettle's on. Or should I get the vodka and a shot glass instead?”

Daisy pointed at the computer screen. “She's freaked out because he's slept with other women? It's not against the law unless he's secretly married or something. Why would she care?”

“She says that the Sharks have spent a lot of time and resources building him up as some purer-than-the-driven-snow role model. If he's exposed as nothing like that, what does that mean for his career? Even more, how is that going to affect you? You don't want the same thing to happen when you sleep with him, do you?”

Daisy glanced up from the tablet screen.

“We slept together last night.”

“What? He wasn't here this morning,” Catherine said.

Daisy closed her eyes and wished she hadn't been so stupid for the ten thousandth time this morning. “I kicked him out.”

Catherine's mouth dropped open. “You kicked him out? Did he try to hurt you or something? What happened?”

“Of course not,” Daisy said. She fidgeted a bit. “I didn't want him to think I was clingy.”

Catherine stared at her. “I don't get it. Was the sex bad?”

“No.” Daisy could feel the heat rising in her face as she remembered how great the sex had been. She was torn between being bothered that she now knew for sure he'd had lots of practice and being intrigued by what else he knew that they hadn't tried yet. She'd had practice too, which made her a gigantic hypocrite. She folded her hands so she'd stop picking at one of her cuticles. “I don't want him to think he doesn't actually have to pursue me now.”

“But you slept with him, you silly goose. What do you think he's going to think?”

“I'm not a sure thing?”

“That's ridiculous.” Catherine leaned over the table. “Explain to me how you think you're going to accomplish this.”

“Mostly, I feel guilty,” Daisy said. “I should have told him about the book. I couldn't get the words out.”

“He's going to find out sometime. You need to tell him,” Catherine said. “Come on; you can do it. Put on your big girl panties. Maybe he'll think it's funny.”

Daisy dropped her face into her hands and let out a long groan.

G
RANT WENT FOR
another run on Tuesday morning, did a few errands, and pointed his car toward Children's Hospital for a visit. He wanted to call Daisy. Maybe a text was better. They'd been exchanging texts, but he didn't want her to think he was desperate or something. When he wasn't worrying about why she'd booted him out or that she wasn't really into him, he was sifting through the list of things he needed to accomplish before he was due at the training facility tomorrow.

He was pretty sure that the guys on the team would laugh at him for doing so, but he'd had the picture that Emma drew for him while he was in the hospital framed. He'd hang it up in his condo soon. He wasn't the most sentimental guy, but something about a little girl thinking of him when she probably didn't feel great made him want to cry or something.

Most players didn't bother with their own fan mail. They got gifts (and solicitations) from fans all the time. Once the novelty of having a complete stranger invite you to their wedding or another life event wore off (someone else named their baby after him, which he was still a little freaked out about), there wasn't a lot to monitor. Some of his teammates still read every letter. They liked the ego stroke from knowing that someone had actually sat down at a table with pen and paper and gushed over them.

He'd talked with Emma on a few occasions now. Obviously, building a friendship with a five-year-old (and her mom) was slow, but it meant a lot to him that she cared. Goofy but true. Hopefully, he could see her today.

He loved being around the kids because they didn't expect a thing from him outside of an autograph and a few minutes of his time. He relished the shy smiles and hugs he got from children who forgot how much pain they were in or how sick they were as he perched on the side of their hospital beds to talk a little. They offered their affection (and their friendship) so freely. He found himself thinking about them on days he wasn't scheduled to visit.

He'd actually called the nurses' station to check on Emma a couple of weeks ago.

“I'm so sorry, Grant,” one of the nurses had said. “We can't share that information with you. It's against hospital policy.”

“I don't get out of team meetings until seven or so tonight. Let's say I sneaked in there a few minutes before visiting hours are over,” he said. “Will her parents be okay with it if I wanted to say hi?”

“I'll let them know,” the nurse had said. “Ten minutes, Grant.”

“Got it.”

He had poked his head around the doorjamb of Emma's room just before eight
PM
that night. Emma was falling asleep in her mom's arms as her mother sang a lullaby. Grant gave her a reflexive nod. Her smile was tired, but she nodded in response.

The nurse had caught up with him as he walked away and pressed a piece of paper into his hand. “Emma's mom says to text her if you want to know how she's doing. Here's her number.”

Some of the kids he visited each week had been in the hospital for months. Most of the kids recovered and went home. A few never left. He wasn't sure what to say to the parents he knew sat at their kids' bedside day after day hoping for a miracle. It took him a few visits to figure out that a gentle squeeze on the shoulder or a hug meant more to those parents than anything he could say. They were grateful that he (and his teammates) didn't avoid their child.

He was grateful that they included him.

He pulled into a parking space outside of the hospital entrance. He grabbed the tote bag of stuff for Emma he'd brought out of the car and strode to the electronic doors that led into the hospital. Four younger kids stood outside in Sharks gear. It wasn't especially warm today, and he wondered where the hell their parents were. Someone should know they were out here.

“It's Parker!” one of them cried. Seconds later, he found himself in the midst of four laughing, chattering little kids who were pulling on his pants leg and talking all at once.

“I saw you make a touchdown on Sunday!” a little girl with a ponytail and no front teeth lisped out.

“Will you play catch with us?” a little boy asked. “I got a football in my room.”

“My mom said that you know Seth Taylor. He's my favorite,” another little girl informed him.

“Derrick Collins said you're late,” a child in a bathrobe, pajamas, and slipper socks informed Grant.

Grant crouched down next to the young man in the PJs and robe. “Do your parents know you're out here?”

“I don't think so,” he proudly informed Grant.

“Well, then, I'd better get you back inside. The nurses will be worried, bro.” He wasn't sure how old the kid was, but he scooped him up easily. He wasn't heavy. Most of these kids had permanent IV sites; he'd learned during his first visit to be careful so he wouldn't accidentally make more work for the nursing staff.

“I can walk,” the boy told him. He had spiky, dark red hair, a dusting of freckles across his nose, and regarded Grant through ice-blue eyes. “Derrick said some other stuff too, but my mom would take away my screen time if I said it.”

Derrick was a well-known prankster among the Sharks. His wife, Holly, was pregnant with their second child. He was also under some financial duress at the moment; Holly was fining Derrick fifty dollars for every obscenity or off-color comment that came out of his mouth at home. It seemed Holly and Derrick's two-year-old son, Michael, had started imitating his daddy, which really wasn't acceptable at the play group Holly had enrolled their son in. Grant also knew that Derrick had put five hundred dollars in the swear jar recently after someone dented his Escalade in the grocery store parking lot.

“I know you can walk, buddy, but you're about to freeze out here. Come on, you guys.” The kids followed him through the automatic doors and moved down the corridor toward the floor most of the young oncology patients' rooms were on. Grant noticed a couple of nurses up ahead darting from room to room. He could pretty much guess what they were doing.

“Ladies,” he called out. “They're right here.” He glanced down at the kids still clinging to his pants legs and chattering away. “You guys shouldn't have been outside.”

“We were waiting for you.”

“That's really nice, but you scared the nurses. Look at them. They're worried about you.”

“We didn't go far,” the little girl with the ponytail said. “It's boring being in here all the time.”

“I know that,” he said. “But you can't leave unless they say so.”

One of the nurses came running out of the room, stopped in the corridor, and exclaimed, “Oh, thank God! You found them!” She rushed forward, dropped to her knees in front of the little group, and reached out to clasp the kids in her arms. “We were so scared. Everyone's looking for you.”

“We didn't go that far,” the kid in his arms said.

“Hunter, you shouldn't be out of bed at all. What got into you?” the nurse said. She had tears in her eyes. “What did you do with your IV?”

“They took the needle out to change the bag—”

“We'll put it right back in. You kids.” She was in full-on mom scolding mode, but Grant could see the fear in her eyes. Other nurses were descending on the little group, and he saw a lab-coat-wearing doctor in their number as well. “I know you want to see the football players, but you can't go outside to wait for them. We didn't know where you were.”

One of the little girls put her hands on either side of the nurse's face. “We're sorry, Monica. Don't cry. We didn't mean to scare you.”

The other children were led away by various nurses, and Grant followed with Hunter. The kid felt so slight in his arms. Grant understood he was pretty sick, but no kid should feel like this. Hunter slung one arm around Grant's neck.

Maybe Grant should start bringing Dick's Drive-In milkshakes when he came to visit, like Drew McCoy had for months now. If Hunter could keep them down, it might help.

“So, Hunter, I want you to promise me something,” Grant said.

“What's that?” Hunter said.

“Will you tell the other kids that I will do something special for them if they will agree not to sneak out to meet the football players in the parking lot?”

“What do you mean by
special
?”

Damn, this kid drove a hard bargain.