Rooster: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 13

  It is absolutely debilitating, and in the panic and chaos that follows, I have fuzzy memories of the game stopping, medics and stretchers coming on, a mask of oxygen snapped against my face and Kowalski and Francis by my side as they carry me off, leg broken into what feels like a million pieces.

  Right before I black out, all I can think of is Izzy and Oscar.

  Nine.

  Izzy

  I get to the hospital as quick as I can. I wasn’t at the game, because I didn’t want to bump into Brad, that asshole has been texting me lately for some reason to try and hook up - guess the stripper from Atlantic City fell through - and the last thing I wanted was some kind of awkward confrontation in the stands with him, before or after the game. Besides which, I hate the Islanders’ supporters with a passion. You couldn’t pay me to sit at their ground and put up with all their insufferable shit, even if the Rangers went on and won.

  Francis is the one who calls me, and I drop everything but the baby to get there. I can’t believe what’s happened. Not only the fact that Rory’s had his leg smashed in, but the way that it went down. Brad was hauled off the ice and will face a disciplinary board for his actions, which could mean a one-game suspension or a much longer period of absence depending on how severe they view the incident. Rory, on the other hand, is likely to be out of the game for at least until after Christmas.

  He looks like shit when I get there. Dazed and confused with pain meds, his leg cast and pinned already, a framework around it that looks like the scaffolding they put around old trees to stop them from falling over.

  I lean casually for a moment against the framework of the door, just to get a measure of him before I approach.

  “I see you met Brad”, I say.

  Even here, his leg strapped up and his future uncertain, even with what happened, Rory is still smiling.

  “Nice guy”, he says. “I think he’s got some anger issues, though.”

  I go over and kiss him. His face is clammy and drained of color, and even before I get him to squeeze my hand, I know he’s super low on energy.

  “Francis told me what happened”, I say. “He’s going to make sure they go to town on him. Everyone saw what happened.”

  “Everyone except me”, he says.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Fucking great. They’ve got me on these amazing painkillers, and all I have to do is press a button.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Go easy on that, won’t you?”

  “Don’t worry, the nurse says it’ll stop if I’ve reached my limit. You didn’t need to come, you know.”

  “I couldn’t leave you with Kowalski, could I?” I say.

  “His conversation is limited at the best of times”, Rory agrees.

  “Anyway, I wasn’t doing anything else, just, you know, looking for a job, and a million and one other, largely non-important life-related things. Nothing as interesting as coming here and seeing what a mess they made of you.”

  “Thank you, it’s kind of impressive, huh?” Rory says. “They didn’t do this shit in Ireland when I broke my wrist. I barely got a band-aid for that.”

  “The Rangers won, by the way, I thought you’d like to know that”, I say.

  “Yeah, I heard. I guess the Islanders weren’t the same team after losing two of their key players.”

  “I should have told you about Brad. I didn’t realize he was still interested in me. He didn’t seem like the jealous type when we were together for all of like no time at all.”

  “Sounds just like our own relationship”, Rory jokes.

  I frown, but he has a point. “I’m not interested in Brad”, I say.

  Rory makes an effort to change the subject. “You know it’s broken in two places?” he says, his eyes going wide.

  “That’s not good, Rory.”

  “No, I know, it’s fucking awful”, he agrees. “They said there’s a chance it might not be the same afterward either. I’m going to have a big fucking scar on the back where they had to set the bone with a metal plate.”

  I’m so angry at Brad for what’s happened. A hospital bed does not look like the right place at all for Rory, and a leg he can’t use must be the worst thing in the world for such an active athlete. This is a week in a wheelchair at the minimum, crutches after that, physio to regenerate the atrophied muscle, counselling and therapy if it’s needed and then weeks if not months getting back up to speed, right about the same time contract renegotiations will be taking place, on a player that will have played only a quarter of the season at most. It’s fucked up. Whether this is Brad stamping his mark, being a fucking bully or paying me back for having the temerity to turn my back on him, god only knows.

  “You’re going to be popular at airports”, I say, my hand on his thigh above the mess of metal rods and plaster cast.

  Rory raises his eyebrows. “I hope it sets alright.”

  “You’ll be fine”, I assure him, not entirely convinced myself.

  “I’m fucking nothing if I can’t play, Izzy. You don’t know how painful it was to have hurling taken away, I can’t go through that again.”

  “You won’t need to”, I say. “You’re in the best hospital in New York. You’ll be back out on the ice in no time, believe me. I’ve been a fan of ice hockey since I was a kid and I’ve seen way worse than this. This? This is like a scratch to an ice hockey player. I’ve seen people break their necks and play on. I thought you were strong enough not to let this get to you.”

  “You really think so, because I feel like my career might be fucked”, Rory says. “When I felt it go down on me, I thought they were going to pick me up off the ice only for me to see the rest of my leg still laying there.”

  “Come on, you’re being dramatic, it must be the pain meds they’ve got you on”, I offer.

  “Sorry”, he says. “I just hate being cooped up in here.”

  “You’ve been here less than three hours.”

  “Exactly, and this is a record for us as well.”

  “How exactly?” I ask, not entirely following him.

  “The most time we’ve spent with each other before fucking.”

  Rory’s smile tells me he’s alright again. “I don’t know if you’re capable”, I say.

  “They didn’t break my dick.”

  “I’m sure he would have liked to.”

  “It’d take a lot more than two of them.”

  “Are you always horny?” I ask.

  “I am with you”, Rory confirms, “yeah.”

  “You’ve probably got enough meds to bring down a horse-”, my hand goes underneath the sheet to find it, “-and you’re as hard as a fucking rock.”

  I give his cock a squeeze and Rory rolls into it. When I pull my hand away he complains.

  “If I starve you, you’ll be more inclined to come and find it”, I say.

  “I’ll recover more quickly if I’m relaxed”, he counters.

  “That’s what the drugs are for. The sex, you get again when you’ve proved to me you’re strong enough to earn it.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  I fold down the sheets and tuck them under him. “I’m always serious”, I say.

  “What am I going to do, Izzy? I’m fucking bored in this place. I can’t drink, I can’t fuck, I can’t play hurling and I can’t skate. What else is there?”

  “Cable TV?”

  Rory rolls his eyes.

  “Magazines?”

  Rory shakes his head.

  “Sleep?”

  “You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “How are you going to manage if you can’t even walk? Plus, you have to do what the doctors say. And the doctors do what Francis thinks is best. It’s his money paying for all this after all.”

  “It’s a private room, you know?” Rory says, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

  I know what he wants but he’s not going to get it. Oscar’s asleep in his buggy and there isn’t a lock. Doctors and nurses could come in at any t
ime. Kowalski might even come back. The last thing I want is someone else to catch us at it, or, even worse, Rory going so hard he fucks up his leg even more.

  I go to the window to look out over the courtyard below. Francis has an obligation to keep paying Rory, even if he can’t play, that’s in the contract and will be covered by the team’s medical insurance. Beyond that, and when the one year contract runs out, Rory will be on his own.

  I know there’s a hell of a lot of time between then and now, but I can’t say it’s not on my mind.

  I feel bad for Rory. He’s only been in this country a month and a half and he’s already found out he’s a dad and had his leg broken by my, apparently psychopathic, apparently still in love with me, awful in bed, ex-lover.

  He doesn’t have anyone here in this country apart from me and his teammates, half of whom think that he’s some kind of joke. Francis is a decent man to his players, but he’s not exactly someone Rory can call a friend. When I’m having a hard time I have April or my family close by, other friends from back home or from here in the city to call. Rory has a button that delivers pain meds by the truckload, me, Kowalski and Oscar, who even at four-months old has better conversation.

  When I turn back to the bed, Rory is sound asleep. He looks likes slumbering giant fallen from the beanstalk, one leg strapped up, the other hanging idly off the side of a bed a good foot too small for him each way.

  I kiss him on the forehead, sit for a while by his side and then gather Oscar and leave him to rest. I want to find the doctors to find out exactly what’s going to happen to him, and then I want to find Francis, and see where this fucked up situation leaves us.

  Ten.

  Izzy

  The last time I was in this office, it was the day I was being told my contract was not being renewed. I sincerely hope that I’m not going to hear the same thing about Rory.

  The doctors showed me the X-rays - a mess of shattered bone and torn cartilage, which I initially thought was something else entirely - and gave me the somewhat pessimistic prognosis of an entire season without any kind of professional sporting activity at all. A normal person maybe, someone like Rory definitely not.

  He doesn’t know yet, but Francis does. Francis is all over the news like a tramp over a bag of hot chips.

  “It’s a serious injury”, he begins. “That animal practically snapped his leg in half.”

  “He’ll bounce back”, I say, not entirely convinced of it myself.

  I haven’t exactly come here to find out for certain what’s going to happen if and when he does come back, more to get the lay of the land to see what Francis feels about his now injured Irish transfer. He may think that Rory’s bad news anyway. The kind of person they definitely don’t want on their team second time around.

  “That’s not what the medical team say”, Francis counters.

  “Maybe the medical team hasn’t seen anyone like Rory before”, I suggest.

  Francis is clearly worked up by what’s happened. It’s been a serious event in the world of ice hockey and the press have been all over Francis, the way he handles his team and the amount of trouble Rory has already been in this year.

  The disciplinary board are investigating footage of the game, which apparently shows Rory and Brad squaring up to each other before the game has even started, Rory holding Kowalski up against the boards, and Rory smashing Brad to the ice within the first few seconds of the game, showing no interest in the puck at all.

  The Islanders have put in a counter claim for provocation and the whole thing seems like it’s spilling out of control. Some people, in the Islanders’ camp are claiming that Rory shouldn’t even be in America in the first place because of his conviction and that what happened to lead to the prison sentence in the first place was enough justification not to let him out on the ice in the first place, because in doing so, Francis was putting other players at risk. Like Rory has some kind of anger management issues and is prone to moments of complete and utter rage that result in broken legs and the possibility off entire careers being ruined.

  It’s all complete and utter bullshit designed to prolong the case and keep Brad away from the hearing for as long as possible. The good thing is, until it’s sorted, Brad has been suspended indefinitely and the Islanders have been fined and penalized heavily. Even if the newspapers are publishing shit about Rory, he still has a huge fan base, none of whom are showing any signs of wavering. There is support at the ground, support outside the hospital and plenty of people who were at the game willing to give their opinion on exactly what happened.

  Those fuckers who want to see Rory get kicked out of the league, and out of the country by consequence, have even gone so far as to travel to Ireland to interview his old teammates, ex-rivals and manager, just to get the dirt on him.

  It’s no secret that Rory is a tough competitor, what’s difficult for them to prove is whether he’s a violent and dangerous player, intent on hurting opponents more than he is playing the game. Considering ice hockey is a relatively new sport in his resume, and he’s still coming to terms with the rules, the footage they have of him over here, especially when it’s cut together purposely to prove a point, doesn’t exactly do him any favors. I’m confident, though, because when you see the awful footage of Brad dropping his full weight onto Rory’s leg, while Hartcliffe holds it up in the air so it’s still bent, is enough alone to end Brad’s career, even if Rory’s made out to have provoked it.

  I’ve seen that footage twice and I never want to watch it again. It’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen on an ice hockey rink, a football field or even a boxing ring. It was cynical and designed to do exactly what they’ve succeeded in. I can’t help but feel guilty either. This is way more than just Islanders-Rangers rivalry. This is because of me. I give Brad the cold shoulder and he takes it out on the man that replaced him. The better man. The father of my child. The best fuck I’ve ever had and the best fuck I ever want to.

  “We have a problem”, Francis says.

  It’s clear we have a problem. Both of us have a problem with Rory in the current state he’s in. Rangers go back to losing and Rory hobbles around for months while depression sets in.

  “He can’t stay in the country on a work visa if he’s not working”, Francis continues.

  My heart skips a beat. “He’s on a contract”, I say. “He’s contracted to work.”

  “It’s fucked up”, Francis says. “I’m still looking at ways around it, but if he’s not working he can’t stay, it’s as simple as that.”

  “How long?”

  “His current visa runs out just after Christmas. Because of his criminal record, he was only allowed in on exceptional circumstances. It’s a three-month long temporary visa extendable to a year and then extendable after that year has concluded based on performance, behavior and contract extensions.”

  Francis taps his pen on the desk.

  “If he’s not working-”, he continues.

  “It’s not enough time”, I say.

  “I know”, Francis agrees.

  “The contract was for a year. You can’t just get rid of him after three months.”

  “The contract with us is for a year, but that was always dependent on visa status. I had to jump through a lot of hoops to even get three months out of them. The contract with the US department of homeland and security is ninety days, after which we apply again. If he’s playing by then, it’ll be straightforward, if he’s not-.”

  Francis pauses to tap the pen again.

  “I’m sorry, Isabel. Even a tourist visa will be a push with a served conviction. If it was something other than aggravated bodily harm it might be easier, but if Rory’s not back on the roster by the time we need to apply, he’s going to be an illegal here.”

  I sit back in my seat to let it sink in. First the broken leg now the visa. What the fuck is wrong with this world all of a sudden?

  “Anything. My old job, give him that”, I say.

  “It
doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. Believe me, I’m as upset about this as you are. I brought Rory here, every single game he’s started for me bar one, we’ve gone on to win. He was capable of changing the fortunes of this side and now we’re looking at the bottom of the league again, financial difficulties, debts and more. We’re in trouble without him. We’re fucked without him”, he says.

  I don’t know what to say. Even if he does somehow magically recover by the time his visa runs out he’ll have only played a handful of games. That might not be enough.

  “And this shit with Brad doesn’t count?” I ask.

  “If we can prove Rory didn’t have a part in it then it’ll count in his favor massively. If not, it could go the other way. The footage doesn’t look good for either of them”, Francis says.

  “The footage can be manipulated”, I say.

  “Yeah, it’s a shame the visa can’t.”

  I’m blown away. Rory not even out of hospital yet, Brad sat at home on full pay, or probably more likely to be in one of the casinos down on the strip, and this. A fucking fucked up piece of legislation that’s supposed to keep this country clean.

  “And Oscar?”

  “That may make a difference”, Francis says. “It just depends on how you play it. He’s your son after all.”

  There’s nothing more to say. A one-year contract has been reduced to three months with absolutely no guarantee of renewal, even if Francis, Kowalski and the rest of the States want it.

  In the emptiness of the arena, where the cold coming off the ice condenses my breath, I walk out into the center circle. Here, with nothing but shadows and empty seats around me, I scream as loudly and for as long as possible, before the weight of what’s happening drops me to my knees.

  Eleven.

  Rory

  The nurse is looking at me like I’m doing something wrong. One fucking week and I’m ready to kill someone. I thought I’d be here for a day. After the second night, I was climbing the fucking walls. One week feels like being back in prison. The food is just as bad, the bed a little comfier but the TV programs even worse. Here, I’ve had even less time outside too. It’s either too cold, there aren’t enough nurses available, or I can’t fit myself in the fucking elevator.