Pippa's Fantasy (11 page)

“It’s Caitlin James. Why would she be calling me?” Confused, still looking at the screen, Pippa had a thought. “She probably wants an update on you, Rook. She’d be one of those terrible ‘goddamn people’ who care about you,” Pippa said harshly as she connected the call. “What do you want me to tell her, Rook? Should I tell her you hate the fact that she cares? Perhaps I should just tell her to give up on you. You seem to have already given up on yourself.”

Chapter Seventeen

Pippa gasped into the phone as she listened to Mandy, desperately trying to comprehend what she was being told. Caitlin had gone into early labour!

What…?
Caitlin had been in labour most of the day but had decided not to mention that piece of information to her husband, not wanting to disturb his coaching preparations.
Great idea…
Caitlin was crazy—what on earth had the woman been thinking, keeping such a whopping big secret? She was in labour…about to give birth… And to top it all off—
hooray
—it seemed Pippa had been voted to be the one to go and break the news to an unsuspecting Brodie—but not until after the game, and with instructions to not let him panic.
Yeah, right!
The man was going to go through the roof, Pippa thought.

“Oh, shit, Mandy, how am I going to stop him from panicking? He’ll have the shits Caitlin didn’t tell him before he left for the game as it is,” Pippa squeaked back into the mouthpiece of her phone. “Yeah… Okay, I’ll try. You just tell Caitlin to hang on till Brodie gets there or it will be a slow, painful death for us all if he misses out on the birth.”

Pippa closed her phone and stared off into space, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to just go and break the news to Brodie now. She felt the warmth of Rook’s hand the minute it touched her skin. Why was it that Rook’s touch could make her body flame? Even when she was so distracted?

“Pip, honey, what’s wrong, baby? You’ve gone so pale—are you okay?” Rook asked. He reached out and took her arm. “Caitlin and the baby will be fine.”

Pippa was confused at the turnaround in Rook’s manner. One minute he’d been full of anger and animosity towards her, and now it felt as though he was sincerely worried about her. Her head was spinning.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I just have to wait until after the game to tell Brodie that Caitlin is at the hospital, giving birth to their child. He should take
that
information calmly. What do you think, Rookie? Will I survive his fury at my waiting until after the game, or should I go tell him now, and risk Caitlin and Mandy’s wrath later? Choices! Lucky me!” Pippa explained, beginning to sound a little on the hysterical side.

“Shit, that is quite a dilemma.” Rook seemed to think about what Pippa had said for a few moments, his own injury temporarily forgotten.

“If it was my kid, I would want to know, even if I was on the field still playing. I think you should go tell him, Pip. Brodie deserves to make up his own mind where he wants to be.”

“Why are you so worried, Rook? You should be pleased. After Brodie kills me you won’t have to put up with me at all,” Pippa snapped back at Rook, but was unable to hide the hitch in her voice as a sob broke free.

“He won’t have time to kill you, baby. He’ll be too focused on getting to the hospital, becoming a dad again.”

Rook talking about being a father had nearly made Pippa pass out—she could visualise him holding a little bundle with a head covered in thatch of blonde curls in his arms and making cute cooing sounds. It took her a few moments to clear the disturbing and heartbreaking thoughts from her head so she could concentrate on his recommendations.

“Yeah, I think I will go and tell Brodie the news. Will you be okay being alone for a while, or should I go get Flash to stay with you?”

“Go, Pip, I’m good—not like I can go anywhere just yet. I’m sorry for my outburst before, just feelin’ a bit sorry for myself. I’ll wait right here for you to come back, but if you would prefer someone else to help me shower, I’m good with that too,” Rook replied. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Pip. Just do what you need to do.”

Rook had appeared almost reluctant to pull his hand from Pippa’s arm so she could leave him, and Pippa felt the loss of the warmth from his touch the moment he did. She didn’t want to leave either. His hand on her arm had been enough to warm her insides and curl her toes—but she did have to go.

As Pippa raced up the stairs towards the coach’s box high in the top of the stand, she wondered why Rook had said he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. He was the one acting so uptight and tense around her—why should he care how she felt?

And what was with the endearments? One minute he was complaining about being near her and the next he was calling her ‘baby’ and stroking her arm in comfort. Being all caring and sharing, talking about babies and things.

“Aaargh,
men!
” she groaned as she climbed the stairs, deftly sidestepping the fans as she went hurtling by.

Now sure is not the time to worry about my problems with Rook
, she policed her thoughts.
Now is the time to try and break the news to Brodie about his impending fatherhood without him going ballistic.
What was that saying about not shooting the messenger? Pippa sure hoped Brodie James was aware of it as she stopped in front of the door marked with the sign that read ‘Home Team Coach’
.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Pippa knocked on the door between her and Brodie.

It was JT’s voice that shouted out for her to enter, and she crept inside.

“Pip, what the hell are you doing up here?” JT asked. He seemed annoyed at her intrusion as he turned his focus back to the game, almost dismissing her presence at once.

“Um, yeah. Ah, I’ve got some important news for Brodie,” she stammered nervously.

“Look, Phillipa, I’m a bit busy right now—can’t it wait? The boys are just managing to hang on to this lead and I need to concentrate on the game,” Brodie grumbled, never taking his eyes from the view through the glass window of the coaches’ box.

“I know that, Brodie! But I think you will want me to tell you about the phone call I just took from Mandy Thomson.”

At the sound of his wife’s name JT stood up and whirled around to face Pippa. His stance was frightening, and it took all Pippa’s efforts not to shrink back from his glare. “What the fuck is going on, Pip? What’s happened to Mandy?”

“No, n-n-not Mandy, JT… Caitlin…it’s Caitlin. Mandy has taken Caitlin to the hospital—the baby is coming early. They didn’t want me to tell you till after the game, but I thought you needed to know now, Brodie… I’m sorry for disturbing everyone.”

“Shit…shit…shit! Pip, I need to get to Caitlin.” Brodie dragged JT out of the way so he could speak directly to her.

“What exactly did Mandy tell you? And thanks for coming straight away. I really would have been pissed if you had waited. What’s with that woman of mine, anyway, wanting you to wait?” Brodie, agitated but still in control, stood patiently while Pippa repeated Mandy’s telephone conversation and the plan—already put into action—for Riley to look after all the youngsters. Pippa did not even try to answer Brodie’s last question, though she didn’t think he was at all interested in her view of Caitlin’s reasoning.

Brodie made hurried arrangements so he could join his wife at the hospital. He left JT to look after the team. There were only ten minutes of the game to go and the Jets were just in front on the scoreboard—it would go down to the wire.

Pippa was left with the instructions to make sure the guys warmed down correctly and to take stock of any injuries, so she could give Brodie an accurate account later. Brodie promised he would call as soon as he had any news on Caitlin and the baby. JT would have to go to the after-match functions on Brodie’s behalf and make his apologies. Then, with a grin that resembled the iconic smiling face of Luna Park, Brodie bolted out of the door.

“Well, that went well.” Pippa giggled as she left a slightly green-looking JT, obviously worried about his upcoming responsibilities—or was it the thought of childbirth? Pippa couldn’t be sure—and headed back to Rook and the busy after-game schedule ahead. She shivered at the thought of the shower she was still to help Rook have, in between all her other responsibilities.

“Yep, I’m in way over my head this time. Well, no use putting it off, Pip. Take a mouthful of cement and harden up, princess. This is what you get paid the big bucks for,” she mumbled to herself as she jogged back down the stairs to the treatment rooms, trying to bring out the professional physiotherapist in her, the one she had spent years training to become.

* * * *

He’d missed the connection immediately—his body, which had been sparking at even the slightest contact with hers, had felt cold and empty the minute she’d left. It had reminded him that he was still lying broken and useless on a table under a grandstand, not sure of what his future held. Unlike Brodie and Caitlin, who would soon be happily welcoming the newest addition to their perfect life.

A perfect life that Rook could not ever imagine attaining for himself—especially without Pippa. It seemed highly unlikely they would be together, given that she could hardly stand being in his presence. He wished he hadn’t blurted out all that stuff about her being around, but he had been so hurt at her look of distaste at the thought of helping him shower that he had wanted some revenge.

“Wish Mum was here. I could do with some advice about now, not to mention some TLC. Fuck, I’m such a wuss.”

And now he was even talking to himself. Rook groaned as he lay back and threw his arm over his eyes once again in frustration. “How the hell am I going to survive the rest of today, let alone the rest of my life?” he whimpered.

Chapter Eighteen

Rook sat, leg propped up on a chair at Jetstream, feeling sorry for himself.
Again!
It seemed to be his regular mood these days. He had not yet figured out which was worse, the injury he was dealing with or being forced to spend so much time with, and in such close proximity to, Pippa. He was frustrated at having to use crutches to get around, frustrated at the slow progress his knee was making, frustrated that no matter how hard he tried, he could not keep his body from reacting whenever Pippa touched him, but mostly frustrated that she never acted anything but professional when she had her hands all over him.

She had helped him shower, holding him up like some invalid as he’d quickly cleaned the mud and grass from his body—not that there had been much, hell, he’d only been on the field for less than a quarter of the game. Never once had she seemed interested or even slightly moved by his near naked body. In fact, distracted was more the vibe she had given off. Meanwhile, it had taken all of his control—and the occasional jolt of pain from his knee when he’d purposely moved it—to stop himself from getting a hard-on. It had been a mortifying enough experience without him sporting a woody and Pippa thinking it was because of her…
But it was because of her, stupid
, a voice in his head corrected.

Pippa had then efficiently organised Gareth to drive him and his car back home. Gareth had hardly said two words to him during the whole drive home. Rook had been expecting some show of pity or sympathy about his injury, but the cowboy hadn’t said a thing. And that had pissed him off—yeah, he’d whinged about not wanting anyone to make a fuss, but shit, a consoling comment or two might have been nice from his teammate. But no—Gareth had sat stony-faced, eyes on the road the whole way home, only breaking his silence to ask Rook where he wanted the car parked.

Then, to add insult to injury—literally—he’d had to watch, peering out from his living-room window like some kind of stalker, as Pippa had picked Gareth up and headed, Rook guessed, back to the club for the after-match function. While he had been left alone with his misery and a noisy nightclub downstairs full of strangers who had, in conjunction with the pain from his knee, kept him awake all night.

The results from the scans taken the day after the game had been favourable. Rook had been relieved that as there was only a slight tear to the tendon, he was not going to need surgery, just time and rehabilitation. That was the part that was killing him—he hated all the time he was spending doing nothing but thinking. He was driving himself, and those around him, insane. Rook knew he had to do something about his attraction to Pippa, but what? That was the question.

Rook was thankful that he had such good friends. Brodie, JT and the boys had eventually all shown their support, offering assistance and advice for both his injury and running his nightclub. There had been more Jets players frequenting his bar than ever before, all ready to lend a hand.
Yeah, all but Gareth, that is.
Rook still hadn’t found out what was wrong with him, what was getting under Gareth’s usually happy-go-lucky persona.

Rook had also discovered that Mick didn’t really need his help. He was a hell of a bar manager and barman. Rook thought that most of the time he was just in Mick’s way, propped up like he was. And that was another cause of his dark moods. His bar ran without him, the team was still managing a few wins without him, and the new rookie was getting better and better.

His mum, Laura, had also been underfoot constantly, fussing and generally getting under his skin. Finally Trevor, Laura’s new husband, had come to Rook’s aid and taken her back home, giving Rook some breathing space. Trevor was one of the good guys. Forced to retire early from the game, he had turned to a career as a sports commentator, and had been a constant in Rook’s life for a while. But the reminder that Trevor had retired early due to a leg injury had only managed to darken Rook’s mood further.

Rook had been overjoyed when his mum and Trev had got together, even if it had seemed a little weird at first that his mum had been dating. Rook had just tried not to think about the details too deeply. Of course, when you had nothing to do but think, those deeper, darker thoughts came crashing to the fore.