Page 7 of Irresistibly Risky

As far as I was concerned, my father had completely written me off when he told me he was moving away and wouldn’t see me again for a very long time.

The best thing to come out of that birthday was the orthopedic surgeon who fixed my arm and made me fall in love with this profession. Then there’s the man who later became my stepfather, a professional hockey player who renewed my faith in mankind—literally. It’s his last name that I bear. It’s him I call Dad.

Certainly not Joe Cardone.

“I have to tell you,” Limbick continues, oblivious to my inner panic and turmoil, “not many get this sort of opportunity. One of their players is having a hush-hush shoulder issue, and Joe specifically requested that you be the doctor to take over not only for Asher Reyes’s care but for the team.”

I shake my head, still lost in this. “Asher Reyes?”

He chuckles. “You really know nothing about football, do you?”

“No,” I admit. “Nothing.” Not if I can help it. I have spent my life avoiding all things football, the one thing my father loved. Anything that had to do with him, I shunned. I couldn’t tell you one single football player on any team. I’ve never watched a game—collegiate or professional.

I’d rather watch fucking paint dry than football.

“Asher Reyes comes from a long line of football greats. He nearly blew his shot at making the pros because he was part of some rock band during his first two years of college. He was the backup in Alabama and then started his senior year. After that, he was drafted in the sixth round. Anyway, just last year the starting QB got hurt, and he stepped in and led the team to a Super Bowl victory. Now he’s our guy. A guy the team can’t afford to have hurt.”

“That would be tragic, I’m sure,” I deadpan, knowing he’s missing my sarcasm completely. “I’m assuming that’s where I come in.”

He points at me. “Exactly. The team wants you to go to the stadium and meet with him tomorrow.”

I shake my head in confusion. “Why isn’t he coming here?”

“Because, as I said, this is hush-hush. The team doesn’t want it getting out, and if he’s seen walking into an orthopedic surgeon’s office—”

“I get it,” I interrupt, licking my lips nervously. “Isn’t there anyone else who would be better suited for such a high-profile person? Someone who actually likes football, perhaps. Someone who’s at least been doing this longer than I have.”

I’ve only been an attending for a year.

“I offered my services, but Joe’s assistant was adamant it be you.”

That slimy motherfucker. What game is he trying to play with me? And why now? “I see.” It’s all I can force out.

“So, how do you know Joe?” He continues conspiratorially as if I’m about to impart him with some great state secret. “His office wouldn’t say anything other than he wanted you.”

I haven’t been here very long, and this is the practice all other sports medicine practices try to be. I should tell Dr. Limbick that Joe Cardone is my biological father.

But just as I never wanted anything to do with him or his sport after he left me, I don’t want anyone to know he’s technically related to me. I’ve worked so hard and come so far to get here. An uphill battle few would have been able to reach the summit of.

But I did.

On my own. As a newly single mom too.

I can’t let my asshole father be the one to take me down. Not now. Not ever.

“I knew him a long time ago.”

His eyebrows rise, impressed when he should be anything but. “He’s clearly kept track of you to know you now work here. In any event, I’m going to shuffle your cases to other providers. That shouldn’t be difficult since you’re so new here. You’re going to be solely with the Rebels for now.”

I grit my teeth. “For how long?”

He shrugs. “Likely through the season if that’s what Joe wants.”

I need to say no to this. I can’t… I can’t see Joe. I can’t. I won’t know how to be an adult or a professional around him. I work with surgical implements and power tools for a living. The man will be lucky if he’s still able to stand or walk when I’m done with him. But… it’s my first week here, and I can already tell that I don’t have a choice if I want to keep this job.

He’s too excited over the prospect of me knowing Joe and working with this player.

“Fine,” I clip out, no longer caring if I sound pissed off. “I’ll go meet with this Asher Reyes tomorrow.” But I won’t be happy about it.

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