Rooster: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (19 page)

“Coach's orders”, Kowalski confirms.

“Thank you”, I say. Rory seems genuinely surprised that they’ve come here to help him, and I’m touched too. He’s the kind of person that never asks for any help, even when he clearly needs it, so something like this is a really beautiful gesture.

It’s so good to see him too. He wasn’t the only one freaking out. I’ve needed him as much as he’s needed me.

“You like kids, Kowalski?” Rory says, holding Oscar up in the air.

“No”, he says with a little shake of his head, not a single note of irony in his voice.

“Pass him over”, Staal says. “I’ve got one on the way, I ought to get some practice.”

“You can make Kowalski the Godfather”, Rory says. “I think he’d like that.”

“He’s a cute kid”, Staal says, “are you sure he’s Rory’s? He looks way too handsome.”

“I know right, my brains, Izzy’s looks”, Rory says, and Kowalski nearly chokes on his coffee.

When the baby has been passed around, the coffee has been drunk, the biscuit tin has been emptied and Rory’s needs have been checked, the boys decide it’s time for us to be left alone. At the door, I thank them again.

“Listen”, I say to Kowalski, because I know he’ll know how important it is. “He’s going to need you guys if he’s got any chance of getting fit again. The doctors say the cast can’t come off until the fifteenth at the earliest.”

“It’s tight, Izzy”, Kowalski says.

“It’s not just that, though”, I say and point to my head. “This is where it’s going to make the difference. He’s fit enough to be able to beat this physically, but he can’t do the mental part on his own, not again.”

I glance behind me towards the living room, where Rory’s casually throwing Oscar several feet into the air and catching him again when he drops back down.

“Don’t worry”, Kowalski says. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get sent home.”

“We need him”, Staal adds. “It’s fucking crazy, but without him, we’re not good enough.”

“We won’t let him fall”, Glass says. “Not when Kowalski’s starting to warm to him.”

“Who else am I going to argue with?” Kowalski says and for the first time in as long as I’ve known him, the edge of his lip turns up into what can only be described as a smile. It’s a Kowalski smile, which on anybody else would look like a grimace, but on Kowalski, it’s definitely a smile.

I kiss him on the cheek without thinking. “Thank you”, I say and both of us go a little red.

“Don’t even think about it, Kowalski”, Rory calls from behind us, and with a little wave from each of them, his teammates depart.

I shut the door and give Rory a long deep look.

“This is far from over”, I say.

“Glass half full or glass half empty?” he asks.

“I’m a realist, you already know that about me, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Rory says, holding up our baby.

“The doctors said the fifteenth at the earliest. The bone will still be weak but it’ll mean you can start physio.”

“I have to be playing to have the visa renewed”, Rory says. “That’s what Francis told me.”

“You have to be considered an integral part of the team. They’ll decide whether to reissue the visa based on that. If you can prove that the success of the Rangers relies on you, you’ll have a case.”

“Easy.”

I sit down on the couch. “It’s not going to be easy, Rory, we have to be prepared for that”, I say.

He gives me his smoldering,
I’ll look after you until the end of time
eyes and I can’t help but lose myself in them.

“Listen, Izzy. You and I might not have ever been. This thing is nothing more than a blip we need to get past, a fucking spot of mud on a clean uniform”, he says.

“A leg broken in three pieces, a kneecap practically shattered, a visa ending on new year’s eve?”

“It could be worse, Kowalski could be the Godfather.”

That makes me smile. I take Oscar away from Rory and try to climb on his lap, but I can’t do it without hurting his leg.

“How the fuck are we going to manage?” I whine.

“We’ll just have to get creative”, he says. “To be honest, It’s been so long I’ll probably explode as soon as you touch it.”

“You know, you are so romantic.”

He pulls me towards him to kiss me deeply. “Izzy?” he asks.

“What?”

“I’m going to come back bigger and stronger you’ll see.”

“Okay”, I say, not entirely convinced even someone as special as Rory can.

“I mean it. Brad thinks he’s fucked up my career, but the only thing he’s fucked up is his own. I’m going to get out of this thing as soon as I can, and then I’m going to train hard and get back out on the ice. Francis believes in me. My teammates believe in me, I need you to do the same.”

He’s right. If there is one thing I can be sure of in a completely uncertain world, it’s how I feel about him.

“Where the fuck did I find you?” I say.

“Exactly where I should have been.”

“I believe in you”, I say.

“Do you?”

“Yes, seriously I do. I believe in us too. I like you, Rory O’Connor. I liked you from the first moment you indecently proposed to me.”

“I like you too, Isabel Byron”, he says. “I like you more than I thought it was possible to like someone.”

My hand smoothes the fabric on his chest, working its way down toward his crotch.

“This sounds way too serious for a couple who casually fuck in alleyways”, I say, teasing my hand across his already swollen bulge.

“And nowhere near serious enough for a couple who share a four-month-old baby”, he says.

“For someone in a wheelchair you move awfully fast”, I say.

“When I see something I know I have to have, there isn’t anything that I let get in my way.”

“You know those kinds of words are liable to make a woman feel special.”

“That’s a consequence I’m happy to live with”, he says.

I’m horny now, aching to slide his huge cock inside me.

“You feeling up to showing me how much?” I say.

“Oh, honey, I thought you’d never ask.”

Rory is so eager to show me just how much he wants me, what follows before we actually get ourselves to the bedroom is a comical series of mini-catastrophes, that result in bruises to his good leg, his bad leg banging twice against the frame of the bedroom door, and me tripping over my panties as I rush to get them off my body. When I finally get him into the bed, which involves part tip, part roll, and part climb, and I’m ready to spread myself out on top of him, Oscar begins to cry.

It’s typical. I haven’t seen Rory in a week and here he is completely unable to fight off my advances, defenseless to my wicked urges, and our baby chooses exactly the same moment to wail like a banshee.

“We can’t leave him can we?” Rory says, only half joking, his hand around the base of his swollen dick.

“No”, I say, “As inviting the prospect, and as sexy as you are, I’m going to have to leave you for a moment and attend to our crying son.”

“You are such a good mother.”

“Don’t move a muscle and I’ll show you just how good a girlfriend I am too.”

Rory smiles at me. “That’s progression”, he says.

“What is?”

“Boyfriend-girlfriend. You’ll be wanting to marry me next.”

“Don’t joke”, I say. “If you don’t get working on getting yourself back together you might end up with more than you bargained for from your stay in the states.”

Rory lets the idea hang while I attend to our son.

“A marriage of convenience”, he calls out. “That would certainly sort out the visa problems.”

“Don’t push your luck”, I call back. “You’ve only just become my boyfriend.”

I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind before, and if Rory can’t get his work visa renewed, it might be something we should seriously consider. You know, for the benefit of Oscar, not because I can’t get enough of this incredible Irish stallion.

“Done?” Rory asks when I appear back in the bedroom.

“Done”, I say, pulling my dress over my head.

“Next time, my turn”, Rory says, gathering me into him.

“You just concentrate on what you do best. Lie there and make me come.”

“That I will do gladly”, Rory says, “even with a broken leg.”

Twelve.

Rory

I’ve seen Rocky, I know how this goes. If I put on some inspirational music, pound seven bells of shit out of a pig carcass and run up the steps of the town hall I’ll be back to full fitness in no time.

First I’ve got to make sure I can walk. If this thing has gone wrong in any way, I’m fucked. If the bone needs resetting or my knee doesn’t bend or the muscle has wasted away too much from underuse I’m going to spend the rest of my life in Ireland, hobbling to the pub with a fucking stick.

Today the cast comes off. It’s been less than six weeks, but it’s felt like a lifetime. A year in prison seems like a walk in the park compared to what I’ve just had to go through.

Imagine waking up every day and not being able to get out of bed without any help. Stairs have been all but impossible, and then elevators have been pretty much off limits too, because of the way the cast was set to keep my leg straight.

I’ve seen less sunshine than the average mole, and getting out at all from Izzy’s apartment has been an act of planning and organization on a professional level, way above the capabilities of common man.

Getting to the hospital today was hard enough, but if I had to drag myself along the ground inch by inch, nothing could have stopped me from making it.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Today, when they cut these white, plaster-cast manacles off me I can finally begin to think about training, working, playing, and staying here in the states with Izzy and my son.

It’s not been easy for her having me like this, but we’ve come through it, stronger than ever. Izzy and I know what we want, and if my leg is fucked and I can’t play and the work visa runs out as a consequence, we’ll find a way to make sure we stay together.

“Ready?” the doctor asks.

Izzy squeezes my hand. “Fuck, yes, I was ready the day after you put this on”, I confirm.

The nurse frowns and folds her arms over her chest. It’s the same one that didn’t want me to leave when I was staying here, and she looks like she’s hoping for an outcome that brings me back to her.

I thought it’d be a pair of shears, and it probably still would be in Ireland, but here, medicine seems to have got modern. The doctor lines up the buzz saw, flips his goggles and places the blade at my ankle, ready to cut through the cast.

“Careful with the leg”, I warn him.

He smiles, steadies his hand and sets the blade whirring at a million miles an hour. It looks fierce enough to cut through bone and as soon as I think it, I can’t watch. I’ve no idea how he knows he’s not going to cut through my flesh, because that blade must be millimeters away from my skin.

Half a minute later when I feel cold air around my kneecap and the cast like an open shell around it, I know it’s already over.

Half of me doesn’t want to look, the other half knows I have to.

“Done”, the doctor says, “now let’s see if you can bend it.”

I sit up, just to see what I’ve got to work with. I look at the doctor, I look at Izzy and then I look down at my pathetic leg. There are holes, and dried blood, and scars from the operation, and the muscle has atrophied so much it looks like it belongs to someone else.

“Fuck”, I say.

The doctor flips his goggles again. “Bend”, he says, taking hold of my ankle.

“It looks fucked”, I say.

“One step at a time, Rory”, the donut faced wench of a nurse says. “When you bend it we can see if you can take some weight on it.”

“Alright, fuck this”, I say, lift my knee and bend my leg. It hurts like hell, and I’m not even sure why. The bone has been fixed so it can’t be that.

“Your muscles are weak”, the doctor says. “But the movement looks good. Straight again.”

I straighten my leg again.

“Six inches off the ground.”

I can barely do it. I manage to lift my heel about an inch off the ground before I have to let it drop again, what feels like the weight of a family car on top of my shin.

The doctor nods and writes something in his notes.

“Ready to see if you can walk?” he asks me with a smile.

My leg looks half the size of the other one. The difference, even after such a short time of inactivity, is incredible.

I swing both legs off the bed, the bad one so unfamiliar it feels like someone else’s entirely.

“I’ll catch you if you fall”, Izzy says.

“Little by little”, the nurse says.

I imagine myself jumping down from here and landing on the ground like a superhero, but that’s not going to happen, at least not today. What I imagine I’m capable of doing, and what I can actually, comfortably do, is wildly different. I hate admitting it, but right now, I feel the weakest I have ever felt, the most incapable, and it’s frankly embarrassing.