Page 31 of Playing for Love

Gabe

Shrugging into my suit jacket, I pushed through the door. The postgame interview was the shortest one I’d ever given after a win. I immediately looked for Denise among the crowd waiting in the tunnel. When I spotted her, I shot toward her, giving only cursory smiles to the people milling around trying to catch my attention or grab a piece of me.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. Where’s Mia?”

“She went to the hospital. She knew the EMT and he let her ride in in the ambulance with Tate.”

I’d already texted my mom to let her know I’d be missing the after-game family dinner. She understood and said she’d leave some food at my house for me to eat later. I took Denise’s arm and maneuvered through the crowded tunnel toward the exit for the team personnel parking lot.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to get to the hospital. Check on Tate.”

“Tate? Doesn’t your coach know—?”

“I need to be there in person, Denise.” Holding her elbow firmly, I led her to the spot where I’d had her park my car. The roof was on today. I opened her door and didn’t push her in, but my impatience rushed her.

“How serious is his injury?” she asked after I got in.

“Broken clavicle. They’re doing surgery. Six to eight weeks recovery minimum. He’s going to be fucking depressed.”

“It’s not like you’re best friends with Tate,” she said. “What are you so upset about?”

Good question. I started the engine and wasted no time pulling out of the lot, heading for the private exit to a back alley and then through the streets of East Boston. I’d need to take back roads the whole way to Mass General, as much as I could, to avoid the postgame traffic.

“What did you say?” As if I hadn’t been paying attention to her question.

“You’re acting like you’re best friends with Tate, like you have to be there to hold his hand.”

“Someone needs to be. Was Mia going to stay with him?”

She nodded. “Yes, I think so. But I’m not sure if it’s professional concern or personal concern. They’ve only had a few dates so it’s hard to tell.” She paused a beat and my jaw tightened. My hands tightened around the wheel. Every damn muscle in me tightened. Mia was a nurse. Of course she would bond with Tate over this injury. It would be the exact thing that would accelerate their relationship. But that’s what I wanted, wasn’t it?

Denise turned to me as we sat at a light. I forced a relaxed smile and met her eyes.

She said, “But I have a feeling it’s going to stick. I think Mia and Tate will be good for each other. Good job, hon.” She patted my thigh like I was her puppy. Maybe I was.

“Thanks.” We shot out from the stoplight faster than we should have, the expensive tires of the Porsche leaving rubber.

“Geez, Gabe. Chill. Is this about you being the team leader? Rushing to a fallen teammate’s bedside?”

“No. Not exactly. But he needs someone. His family wasn’t at the game. All he has is Mia. And she’s with us.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She gave me a suspicious look that said the opposite of her words, like she suspected me of having ulterior motives. Maybe she was right. Maybe I did. Or maybe she didn’t suspect anything and I was being paranoid. Or feeling guilty.

I should have felt guilty for fixing Tate up with Mia when my heart wasn’t in it. I should have felt guilty for wanting to go to the hospital to see Mia just as much as to be there for Tate. Depending on how serious the break was, the poor bastard could have a season-ending injury and he’d barely started on a new team in a city filled with strangers.

I took a deep determined breath as I maneuvered the car into the parking garage at the Mass General and got out. This would be for Tate, to make sure he didn’t get discouraged, to give him the support he’d need to rehab and get back to the team.

We went in through the emergency room entrance to find out where they’d taken him. A star-struck receptionist broke with protocol and told us where we could find Tate and what his status was even though we had to admit we weren’t family. He was in emergency surgery down the hall and she directed us to the operating room waiting area.

It was a short walk and I was relieved to see Mia. She wasn’t sitting around waiting, like a handful of other visitors. She stood, head bent over some charts, conferring with a man and woman dressed in scrubs who looked like they were either on their way in or out of surgery.

I waited with Denise at a discreet distance to let her finish her business, watching her flip pages, ask clipped questions, listen with laser focus, and nod. Finally, she finished and her two colleagues went through the double doors labeled Operating Room Personnel only. Mia glanced over at each of us in turn before landing her eyes on mine and holding. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning or overly worried-looking either. It was a one hundred percent professional expression, formidable and sure.

As she walked toward us, I moved forward to meet her.

“What’s the verdict?”