Page 11 of Playing the Game
My chest fills with anxious butterflies. I’m not ignorant ofher feelings for him, so I can’t help worrying that this event will change her commitment to me.
She’s been putting on a brave face about his move to Miami, but I know it’s a façade. She’s devastated about him leaving. I know this because when I’ve mentioned him to her, the pain in her eyes is as clear as the day is long.
Along with that, our relationship is in a delicate place. We’ve only been back together for a few weeks. Just a week ago, Jamison and she shared a kiss, then two days later, she found out about Isabella.
I thought bringing in the New Year together would spur on some good luck, but Dorothy’s gone through more pain than anyone should have to go through. I can only hope she stays with me, but I’m not counting on it.
We touch down, and I deplane with knots of dread consuming me. I should get to the hospital in fifteen minutes, but the time it takes is like walking death row while carrying the world on my back. With every moment I get closer, I sense the end getting nearer.
CHAPTER 3
JAMISON
Frustrated with Dori’s stubbornness,I turn away. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“What was that?” Her voice, full of confusion.
I glance back. My instincts kick into high alert. The red lasers aimed at Dori’s heart cause me to react. I push against her to protect her as a shot rings out.
Something hot skims the side of my head. Seconds later, a force pushes me over, causing me to land on Dori. The burning sensation slicing through my back and chest tells me I’ve been hit.
I’ve got a short time to tell her exactly how I feel. If I die, she’ll remember that I love her. It’s my final gift to her. Using all my energy, I get the words out. Then my vision becomes unfocused.
My body warms as I stroll along a sun-streaked beach. The sun beams down on the ocean.
The water is like liquid gold swaying in white waves as it rolls in across the shore. The sky shines bright, although the tint is more yellow than blue. It’s quiet here.
I scan the sand before me as a boy, about six years old, runs up to me. He’s a mirror image of me when I was his age. I’mmesmerized by him.
He tugs on my hand, throws a ball on the ground, and smiles at me. “Let’s play some soccer.”
“What’s your name?”
“Don’t be silly.” He laughs through his words. “You know my name, Daddy.”
He kicks the ball and runs after it. I stay where I am, frozen.
He called me his dad. Overwhelming love flows through me as I stare at him in awe.
When he gets about twenty feet away from me, he stops the ball with his foot. He turns back and kicks it to me.
I stop it under my foot and peer down the beach at him.“Where did you learn to play?”
“You taught me. You’re being silly, Daddy.” He laughs again. “Kick it hard in the air so I can jump and catch it. I want to show you my goalie skills.”
I do as he asks, and he gracefully flies off his feet and catches the ball midair. Pride swells in my chest.
“Impressive,” I say.
As I go to step forward, Dori says something behind me to grab my attention. I turn on my heels to find her standing about thirty feet away. She’s got her hand over her mouth as tears roll down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” I advance her way.
She shakes her head and puts her hand out in the stop position. I freeze and glance over my shoulder. The little boy has the soccer ball in his hands. He studies me as I switch my gaze from him to her.
He kicks the ball my way again. I run forward and stop it with my foot. Someone claps off to the side of me and captures my attention. It’s a younger boy, about five years old, and he’s another replica of me at that age.
“Can I have a turn?” He bends over to pick up the ball.
