Page 24 of Iowa Intellect
He’s rescued from having to come up with a response by the blaring of his cell phone. The way Brock’s face lights up when he glances at the name on the screen has me curious if it’s another woman, but I have faith in my man and know deep down in my heart that he would never do anything to hurt me.
I force myself to focus on taping Orr’s ankle, despite the way my heart is racing in anticipation of tonight’s debut underwater performance. Ankle taping is a job the team’s physical therapist could easily handle, but I’m happy to have my hands busy.
Brock is out in the hallway on his phone call for several minutes. When he returns, he walks straight over to me and bends down to kiss my cheek. We both ignore the childish ooh’s that emerge from a couple of the guys. Although we haven’t tried to keep our relationship a secret, we also haven’t shouted about it from the rooftops. Evidently some of the players are a little slow on the uptake.
I finish with Orr’s ankle and send him on his way.
Without any prompting, Brock reveals, “That was a high school buddy of mine, Beckett Hayes. He was finally returning my call about the scam artists that were pretending to be me a while back and asking all of my contacts for money.”
“It took him long enough to call you back,” I mutter, perturbed on Brock’s behalf.
“Beckett said that he knew it was a hoax as soon as the scammer sent a message asking him to send cash. Besides, he’s been through the ringer lately, and I haven’t been as good of a friend to him as I should be.”
Since Brock isn’t upset about his friend’s delay in returning his call, I decide to let it go. Besides, it’s obvious that Brock has more to say about this mysterious friendship, and I want to fully focus on his story.
Brock’s voice is quiet when he reveals, “Beckett’s wife died of cancer a while back.”
I cover my mouth with my hand before saying from behind it, “She must have been so young.”
“Yeah,” Brock agrees in a sad tone before adding, “I’ve wanted to reach out to him so many times, but I just didn’t know what to say.”
Brock’s downcast expression makes it clear that he truly feels guilty for not being a better friend, so I assure him, “No one knows what to say after extreme tragedies like that. It’s so difficult.”
“I should have tried harder to be there for him.”
Hearing Brock berate himself has me desperate to help him in any way I can. Uncertain what else to do, I reach out to caress his shoulder.
He gives me an appreciative smile for the supportive, warm gesture before continuing. “He’s been struggling with being a newly single dad to their little girl.”
Nodding my head, I murmur, “I bet. I can’t even begin to imagine the drastic changes they’ve been dealing with.”
“That’s not even the worst of it,” Brock reveals.
My eyes widen at this news, but I remain quiet to let him continue without interruption.
He leans in to say, “While we were on the phone, a woman arrived on Beckett’s doorstep claiming to be his daughter’s birth mother. The adoption records were sealed, so I can’t imagine how she would know that, but a crazy lady staking a claim on his child is the last thing he needs to be dealing with right now.”
“Oh, that poor man,” I say, truly feeling terrible for Brock’s friend, even though I’ve never met him.
“Yep, it’s an impossible situation. I’m going to do better about being there for him going forward.”
I have no doubt about the sincerity in Brock’s quiet vow. Once the stubborn man decides to do something, he is locked in and unshakable.
“Beckett may be going through the worst phase of his life right now, but he is lucky to have you in his corner,” I say.
“I’m the lucky one to have you by my side,” he whispers sweetly near my ear.
It’s all I can do to keep from tipping up onto my toes to give him a kiss, but passion tends to take over when our lips meet. We can’t have a full make-out session in the team’s medical treatment room.
As if proving that point, Stoner walks past as we’re gazing lovingly at each other and grunts, “Get a room.”
We both chuckle at his gruff words before grudgingly admitting that he’s right and forcing ourselves to back away from each other.
“Just for now,” Brock promises before lightly tweaking my nose.
Brock stays with me as we watch the game on the big screen television and wait for the first intermission between the first two periods of the game. I’m all glittered up and ready for him to help me into my glass, paneled water tank.
I whisper my mantra quietly to myself.I am enough. My brain is brilliant. I am worthy.
