Rooster: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 14

  “You’ve never driven one before have you?” the nurse says to me.

  It’s a fucking wheelchair, of course I’ve never driven one before. My leg doesn’t bend either, which makes it kind of difficult to get out of the way of things.

  “You’re going to have to learn if you want to go home”, she adds.

  Fuck this. I’m going home with this or without it. I’ve done a week out of respect for Francis, but as of right now, I’m discharging myself.

  I’m going to get a taxi to Izzy’s and surprise her. With any luck, April will be at work as well which means we can do the other thing I’ve been missing out on. That girl has been here as much as she can manage all week looking after me, and if it hadn’t been for her I’d have gone completely fucking mad.

  There is no way I’m staying any longer. I’ve had enough of this nurses big fat owl eyes, the non-stop tedium here, the lack of Guinness, the stale fucking conversation and acrid smell of chemicals and death. I need Izzy, I need my son, I need Irish stew, good alcohol, fresh air and I need to get laid. I’ve been waking up every morning with a boner that wouldn’t even go down if Brad chopped at it with his fucking stick.

  I’m sour about that too. I’ve seen the papers, I’ve spoken to Izzy and Francis about the contract and visa situation, I’ve heard the rumors and I’m keen to get out of here and get working on doing something about it.

  If I can’t skate and I can’t hurl, which is obviouly a possibility, however fucking low, I’ll find something else to keep me here. If Izzy and I have to get married, so be it. Right now all I’m thinking about is where the elevator is and what I have to do to get out of here as quickly as possible. The rest of the shit we can sort out afterward.

  The nurse watches me struggle out of the room, her fat arms crossed over her even fatter chest, her wobbly head shaking from side to side.

  In the corridor, one of the senior doctors blocks my way.

  “Not advisable Rory”, he says.

  “I’m not staying”, I say to him. “I told the nurse earlier.”

  “You’re far from ready to go. That leg isn’t going to heal itself.”

  Of course it’s going to heal itself, and it’ll do it much more quickly in a more welcoming environment, like a pub or Izzy’s bedroom.

  “I’m not staying”, I say again. “You can either help me get in the elevator, or you can watch me struggle down the stairs.”

  The nurse lines up alongside the doctor, while another of the consultants stands the other side of him, effectively blocking my route through the corridor.

  “Where are you going, Rory?” the consultant says. “I was just coming to check on you.”

  “For fuck sake”, I begin. This is beginning to feel like a fucking mental home, or prison again, and I can’t work out which is worse. “I’m discharging myself or whatever the fuck you call it, I’ve had enough, I’m going home.”

  “You’re not fixed”, the nurse says.

  “Does Francis know?” the doctor asks.

  I hang my head.

  “You’ll need that changed at some point”, the consultant says. “It was a hell of a break.”

  “Please”, I say, almost at the point of giving up.

  The doctor looks at the consultant and the consultant looks at me. The nurse shakes her fat head.

  “Write him up”, the consultant says. “One week, I want him back here and don’t send him away without meds.” he turns to me. “Don’t do anything stupid like walking or driving will you?”

  “Driving? I can barely take a piss without sitting down to do it.”

  “See you in a week then”, he says.

  “That it?”

  “That’s it. I can’t keep you here if you don’t want to stay. I can advise you not to leave, but it looks like you’ve already made up your mind. The brakes are still on by the way, that’s probably why you’re struggling.”

  I watch him disappear down the corridor, give the nurse my best set of dagger eyes for not telling me and then nearly pop my shoulder out reaching behind the chair to flip the brakes off.

  The doctor and nurse stand aside as I wheel my way through them, and then stand aside again as I retrace my steps down to the other end of the corridor where the elevator is.

  Outside, in the freezing fucking cold of an oncoming bitter New York winter, I finally feel free. I may have a broken leg, I may be in a spot of bother when the time comes to renew the visa, but right now I feel like I’m on top of the world. That sensation lasts for about fifteen seconds until the camped out journalists descend on me like flies.

  Fans I can handle, journalists, on the other hand, are about as welcome as an infestation of cockroaches. It goes with the job, much more over here than back home, but it’s still never welcome and much less so outside a hospital, when all I want to do is get to a cab and fuck off home.

  I’d spend all the time in the world with someone who wants my autograph, someone who wants to sell me up the river is a different thing entirely.

  The papers have made me out to be this violent, ex-con with a blood lust for fighting, which is about as far from the truth as you can get, but, you know, whatever, I can see how they might have come to that conclusion, what I can’t tolerate is them bringing Oscar and Izzy into it. They can say what they like about me, it isn’t fair for them to drag my family into the dirt as well.

  The kind of shit they make up about us as well. Apparently, according to a particularly low-brow gossip rag, which has had to issue a groveling retraction since, there was a wild accusation that when Oscar was conceived that incredible first night Izzy and I met, it wasn’t exactly entirely consensual.

  I mean, how fucked up is that? Just to make me seem like the kind of asshole that deserves to get his leg broken in two places and put his career in any sport, let alone an adopted one, completely up in the air.

  I do my best to appear relaxed and helpful, even though I’m none of those things. This wheelchair is difficult enough to maneuver as it is, impossible with a crowd of people blocking my way, so there is no way I can escape without answering their bullshit questions first. Eventually, I’m saved by another patient - someone who looks like she’s on a fag break from her chemotherapy session - who takes charge of the situation pushes everyone out of my way and guides me to a waiting cab driver.

  I can’t thank her enough.

  I just about fit into the front seat, and it takes me a frustratingly long time to get in there, but when I do, and the door finally shuts on the crazy world around me I feel like I’ve won the fucking hurling championships.

  The taxi driver looks over at me suspiciously.

  “You’re that Irish guy right?” he says.

  “Rory O’Connor”, I tell him.

  “That’s it. You know I’m an Islanders’ fan”, he says, and for a moment I think I’m going to have to get back out of the cab. “Or I was, at least”, he continues. “That shit was fucked up.”

  “That’s not the way every Islander fan sees it”, I say.

  “Any fan of ice hockey will not condone that shit. I’m the first one to get on my feet to cheer a fight, but that was something else. You ain't gonna remember it because they hauled your ass off pretty quick but there was a silence in that arena afterward like a fucking church. No-one could believe it. I know they’re saying some shit like you provoked it and all that, and there’s this girl involved and a baby and stuff, but whatever man, you don’t do that. Now, where do you want to go, free ride, from a life long Islanders’ fan to the best debut Rangers player I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  He drops me off at the bottom of Izzy’s block and after he’s spent ten minutes pulling me out of the cab and getting me into the chair, I try to give him fifty dollars. He says he won’t accept it and apologizes for what his team did to me.

  Inside the entrance hallway, my dick already hard, thinking about what waits for me upstairs, I stare with horror at the broken elevator shaft and then I turn and stare with
even more horror at the fucking stairwell.

  I hadn’t remembered. In my eagerness to get here, I hadn’t remembered the fucking elevator doesn’t work and Izzy lives on the sixth floor.

  “Good luck, buddy”, someone says as they breeze past me and skips up the stairs, two steps at a time.

  Fuck. “Fuck”, I scream out. I wanted to surprise her in the hey look at me I’m out of hospital and I’ve made it all the way here way, not the hey, guess what? Feeling strong enough to carry me six flights and over the threshold way.

  I feel completely fucking impotent. I guess that was Brad’s intention in the first place. Make me less of a man. Well, guess what? That asshole has succeeded, because right now, I feel like a complete and utter fucking prick.

  I hear the door go behind me again and wait for whoever it is to breeze past, carry on up the stairs and leave me here like I’m a new piece of furniture. When they don’t, I wonder if I’ve imaged it all, until I hear that unmistakable voice.

  “Not going to happen, Irish.”

  I turn so quickly I nearly pop my neck. Kowalski, that piece of shit.

  “Kowalski, what the fuck are you doing here?” I say.

  Not only Kowalski, but Staal, Howell, Nash and Glass too. I can’t believe it.

  “Francisco said you’d checked out, figured you’d come here.” Kowalski puts his hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t seem fair to let you crawl.”

  I’m touched. I’m seriously fucking choked up. Of all the people that could have come through that door, the last person in the world I’d have guessed at would have been Kowalski.

  “Fuck, Kowalski, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You just better hope she’s home, because if she’s not, you’re crawling down on your own.”

  They carry me like a coffin, Kowaski in charge of the broken leg, Glass coming up behind with the chair, and I feel like a King being delivered to the chamber of his beautiful princess, trapped up here like the maiden of the castle.

  Every so often they pretend they’re about to drop me, only to catch me again at the last minute and, despite everything that’s gone on up until now, it makes me feel like they truly consider me part of the team.

  They’ve really come through for me, none more so than Kowalski, who was the one who got everyone together and decided to come here in the first place. I’m so happy I could fucking cry. If I could stand, I’d give Kowalski the biggest man hug he’s ever seen.

  We group together outside her apartment, me back in my chair and the rest of them crowded around me.

  I can’t reach the bell from where I am so Staal does it for me, and after an agonizing wait, during which time we all think nobody’s home, Izzy finally answers the door.

  “Surprise”, I say, a big fat smile on my face.

  “Oh, my, fucking, God”, Izzy says and nearly drops the baby.

  Izzy

  Well, this is unexpected. Five professional ice hockey players in my apartment drinking coffee. Four squashed onto the couch, and Rory placed alongside them in his wheelchair, leg stuck out into the center of the room, toes covered against the cold with a stupid hospital issue stripey sock, Oscar perfectly happy to sit peacefully in his lap.

  “I can’t believe you are here”, I say.

  “I couldn’t stay in that place any longer. I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t call, I wanted to surprise you, and then I got surprised by these sensitive twats”, Rory says by way of an explanation.

  “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.”