Finding Infinity (26 page)

“Colin,” I call, as I burst into his room. “You should see outside of the hospital. It’s packed with your fans. Wearing your jersey. It’s awesome, baby. They’re sending you encouragement to feel better.”

He flashes me his half smile. “I told you I was the Brad Pitt of football.”

Dear lord. Colin-fucking-McKinney is back!

* * * *

Finally, at around midnight, everyone leaves Colin and me alone. Brad had gone to our home and packed us each an overnight bag. I’m grateful that I can brush my teeth, and change into sweats. It’s been a long, exhausting day.

I help Colin get situated in bed, and I ask the night nurse to give him something to help him sleep. Since he’s refusing painkillers other than acetaminophen and another drug the surgeon quietly told me he’s had good results with, but that isn’t addictive, he’s going to need something to help him sleep.

I make the couch in Colin’s room as comfortable as I can. Brad brought me my pillow, and our warm quilt. It’s not home, but I’m not leaving Colin’s side.

I walk over to the bed and give him a good night kiss. “I love you. Sweet dreams,” I say, as I kiss the tip of his nose.

He scooches over. “Crawl in, baby,” he says patting the stark white bed sheets.

“Colin, you need to sleep. I’m not sleeping with you.” I begin to explain how important sleep is in the healing process.

He cuts me off. “I only sleep when you’re next to me. Crawl in bed and snuggle me.”

“Fine,” I agree. “But as soon as you’re asleep, I’m moving to the couch.”

Under his breath, he mumbles, “Everything has to be a damn negotiation.”

I ignore him and snuggle into his left side, resting my head on his chest. He uses the remote control attached to the bed to turn off the lights, and then wraps his large arm around me. With the room darkened, it feels more like home. I didn’t realize how clinical the fluorescent lights made it feel until they were turned off.

“See, isn’t this better than the couch?” He sighs.

“Yeah, baby. I’d always rather be next to you,” I agree. His heart is beating under my ear. It’s a beautiful sound—a lullaby— especially after seeing him lying on the field in such agony.

Just when I think that he’s asleep, he whispers, “No championship season this year.”

I’m not sure how to respond. He’s right, but I don’t know if we should discuss football right now. “This wasn’t your year.” That’s all I say. I know that I need to support him through this huge disappointment, so I let him lead the conversation.

“No New Orleans and confetti falling down around us. I’m not getting any younger. I just can’t believe this happened.” He pauses, and I have to lean my head closer toward him to hear him continue. “I knew when the elevator doors opened and I saw you that this was going to be the best year of my life. Fate had brought us back together. We were going to win the Super Bowl together. What the fuck happened? It’s like I can’t have it all.” There’s an edge of controlled anger in his voice that I wasn’t prepared for.

“Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat this. It sucks. It’s unfair. But, It could be so much worse though, honey. It could have been your knee. You’re going to come back from this injury. You’ve got next year, sweetheart.” I don’t know what else to say.

“So fuckin’ close, baby. So fuckin’ close.” His voice is breaking.

Is he crying? I reach up, and use my thumb to wipe the wetness off of his cheeks. He doesn’t need my reassurance for his football future right now. Colin needs to mourn the loss of the season.

I hold him tightly around his waist, silently giving him permission to sob. His chest is heaving underneath my cheek and with each intake of breath my heart breaks a little more. At some point our tears begin to mingle into a river of sorrow, disappointment and angst. I pray that he’ll just close his eyes and give in to the sleep medication. Everything is always worse at night. Maybe, if he can sleep, he’ll see the glass half full side of the injury in the morning.

When we’ve both cried out all of our tears, he says, “Maybe this happened so I can be home more, to help you through the first weeks of being pregnant.”

For the second time today, I feel my heart shatter. We didn’t get pregnant this month, but I’m not telling him that right now. I want mourn for that loss with a fresh set of tears into his chest. I want this wonderful man to have the family and championship title that he dreams about. Fate can be so cruel sometimes.

“Go to sleep, Colin.” I stroke his soft, damp chest hair. “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

* * * *

Three days later, Colin holds a news conference at the hospital. His doctors speak about his injury, which is now being called The Break Seen Around The World. Colin thanks his fans for their support. When he’s asked questions about me, he gives his standard answer: “I do not wish to comment on my relationship with Doctor Collins.” He says it in his “Aw, shucks” good ol’ boy way, so it softens the blow of denying the media the answers they want.

Then some reporter asks about a photo that was illegally taken of Colin and me, sleeping in his hospital bed snuggled together. It was the night of the accident. We had just cried together, mourning the loss of his season. We were perfectly covered, but it’s still a very intimate picture. I was mortified when Brad showed it to me. I was asleep on Colin’s chest, and his arm was wrapped around me, holding me as if I’m a coveted child’s lovey. It’s really a beautiful picture, if we could get past the fact that someone snuck into his hospital room and took it. Then, they sold it to some website. Now, millions upon millions of people have seen us at one of the most vulnerable points of our life together.

“The hospital has launched an investigation to see who violated our privacy. I will sue.” Colin speaks in his not-so-nice voice, the one that makes me shiver. His jaw clenches in a most painful manner, and I see him opening and closing his fists. He refuses to answer any more questions and shoots pleading eyes my direction.

I drive Colin home in the Escalade. He complains incessantly about my driving, and swears that I’m hitting bumps on purpose. I inform Mr. McKinney that he’s now got a whole lot more time to spend with me in the car, so he’d better get used to my chauffeuring skills.

He flashes me his half smile, and says, “Baby makin’ time.”

Chapter Eleven

Colin

The Dallas Cowboys have said how pleased they are with the progress that Colin McKinney has made. The bone is healing, and Colin is doing everything that the team asks of him. He’s still at most practices, and works out regularly with the team’s trainers. Since Colin’s injury, the team has lost two games, but they’re still in in the hunt for a play-off spot. Tucker Wilson, backup quarterback, has looked good in his starts, and the team seems to have rallied around him. However, they obviously miss the veteran leadership of McKinney.

“Come on over here, Mrs. McKinney, and show me how we properly say good morning in this house.” I smirk at Charlie. She’s flushed from her morning run, and looking edible.

“For the love of God, man. Give me a minute to catch my breath and drink some water.” She pants.

I love her. Fucking head-over-heels, googley-eyes, and all in love with that woman. I’ve crutched my way to the living room couch so I can get a better view of her stretching. “Open your legs a little wider, babe. I might be able to see my favorite part.”

She picks up a pillow and tosses it at me. “You’re in a good mood this morning…” She raises an eyebrow, “… considering.”

“It’s not every day that I get to beat off to porn in a doctor’s office.” I flash her my half smile that makes her panties wet. I know it does, but she won’t admit it for the world.

“I guess that’s true. Maybe they’ll let me help.” She smiles back at me.

“If only. A man can dream…”

We’ve been trying to get pregnant for six months now with no luck. I figured my super sperm would make her poor little egg scream for mercy. Instead, we make love like crazy, and every month her period still comes. We’re both trying to stay positive, but each month when she says that she’s not pregnant it gets a little harder.

Last month sucked. In the span of twenty-four hours, I broke my leg, ending my season, and found out that I wasn’t going to be a dad this time around. God bless my wife. She tried to hide the tampons in her purse. I saw her take one out of the side pocket, and try to discreetly palm it in her hand as she walked to the restroom. Fucking blow on top of motherfucking blow. It made me crazy mad when she started apologizing to me for not being pregnant, like it was her fault.

Our appointment is in two hours with her new doctor in Dallas, Doctor Starr. I pray to God that it goes well. Charlie and I need some good news right now, because I’ve got to get out of this funk that I’m in.

Christmas is in four days, and Charlie has turned my house into a Griswold-style Christmas. I suspect that she did this to try to cheer me up. Every Sunday, when I stand on the sideline and watch my backup do my job, it shoves the knife a little deeper into my heart. I can’t seem to shake the weight off of my chest. Sometimes it gets so bad that I don’t think I can take a breath. My nightmares are getting noticeably worse. I keep lying to Charlie, and telling her that my leg is bothering me, but I really just have to get up and try to shake my dreams off of me. We
need
good news today.

Normally, Jenny pays some designer to decorate my house expertly and tastefully for Christmas. This year, Charlie, Brad, Jenny, and sometimes me, have decorated the fuck out of it. What I’ve learned about Charlie is that, when it comes to Christmas decorating, her good taste goes out the window. Nothing has been selected because it matches. Every bit of our Christmas decorating has some sort of meaning to her, or us, or our friends and family. I have to say that I love it. For the first time since I bought the McMansion it looks like a home that a family actually lives in.

Our Christmas tree has a homemade popcorn chain that the four of us made while we watched
Christmas Vacation.
There are multi-colored lights that Charlie chose, because they reminded her of our trip to New Orleans and Bourbon Street. We have crazy ornaments that the four of us picked out because we loved them, and not because they matched. She also got my mom to give us some of my ornaments that I made for her when I was a little boy.

Our tree doesn’t have a theme, unless you call a mishmash of color a styled look. But it’s a testament to the things that we think are important. I like it so much better than the Texas Christmas theme I had last year.

But, my favorite thing about our Christmas decorating is the Countdown to Christmas chain that Charlie made out of construction paper that’s draped around the tree’s branches. She wrote one thing that she loves about me on each piece of it. So, every morning after her run, she removes one piece of the chain and reads it aloud to me.

Sometimes they’re funny, like, “I love that you don’t give a fuck.” Other times, they’re silly, like, “I love the face that you make in the mirror when you shave your chin.” But then, there are the ones that bring me to my fucking knees. “I love that you love me, just as I am.”

I eagerly wait for today’s message, but I try to play it off as cool. “Hey, babe, we haven’t done the Christmas Countdown chain,” I say as I flip through the latest
Sports Illustrated
magazine.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” She smirks.

I’m so busted! She walks over to the tree and tears off today’s ring. I watch her read it first, and get a bit choked up. I feel my heart beat faster, anticipating what it says. I watch her gain her composure, clearing her throat, and finally begin to read. “No matter what the test results say, I love you enough. A baby is the cherry on top, but it doesn’t define who we are.”

She guts me. “Come here, beautiful.” I need to feel her against me.

She crawls on top of me and nuzzles my chest, which makes me crazy. I rub her back trying to soothe her trying to soothe myself. We’re a mess. “It doesn’t matter, Charlie. If we can’t get pregnant, we’ll adopt. We’re going to be okay.” We keep repeating lines like this to each other.

I mean it. I really do. I want to be a dad. I want to have a baby that the two of us made together, but there are plenty of kids who need a home. We certainly have big enough hearts to love any child.

She pulls away from me, and looks at me with such love in her eyes. “I know. It just doesn’t seem fair that we aren’t pregnant yet. This is the last step today. If your swimmers are swimming, then we need to just give it more time. We’ll know in a couple of days.” She sounds more like she’s reassuring herself than me.

Charlie scoots off of me and declares, “I need a shower. Can I get you anything, Bambi?” she says, placing way too much emphasis on my new nickname.

“Just you wait, smart ass. One more week on my crutches and then your ass is mine.”

“Ha!” she calls over her shoulder, as she disappears into our bedroom.

While she’s in the shower, I call Aiden. It’s seven o’clock LA time, but the douche shouldn’t be sleeping later than that, anyway.

“What do you want butt-plug?” His voice is scratchy like he’s still in bed and not pleased with me.

“Is that any way to treat your best client?” I sound more happy than I feel.

“I was up late, if you know what I mean. What can I do for you?” he grumbles.

“Late? As in Rachael-late?” I probe. Charlie will be pleased that I’m doing some snooping for her.

“Late as in none-of-your-fucking-business late,” he snarls. I don’t know why their relationship is such a secret. I know they slept together at my house. I found used rubbers in the garbage can after they left. If they want secrets, though, then fine. But they should make more of an effort.

“Looking for a status update on what we discussed the last time that you were home.”

“Still working on it,” he responds. “I’ve got a few leads, but are you sure that you want to do this?” He’s now awake because his voice is clear and about to lecture me. “I mean, seriously, dude. You’re my best friend, and shit. And not to sound all bro-love, but I don’t know if it is a good idea to do this without Caroline.”