Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

21. Well, You’re Getting One

21 /

well, you’re getting one

Lila

I’m back to work and trying my damnedest to be normal. I’ve got every kind of copper bracelet, aromatherapy, and seasickness prevention remedy known to man on experimentation, trying to stave off the nausea that isn’t just reserved for mornings.

The last thing I need is for my bosses to find out I’m pregnant. Or for anyone to find out.

“So, I’m thinking about video,” Laura says, “but I don’t want it to be the standard, run-of-the-mill storyline, you know?”

We’re talking about Evan Kazmeirowicz’s retirement blow-out.

“Boy has some great coach who shows him the game. He has a hardship but overcomes it. He works hard and his dreams come true. Blah, blah, blah.” Laura does the rolling hand gesture asking for my input.

“That’s not quite Evan’s story, though. He went to British prep schools in Ukraine. He was a bit of a bad boy earlier in his career, a womanizer. Then he met Holly and things fell into place. He became team captain, got the best contract of his life. He’s grown into his legend, but he doesn’t have that rags-to-riches thing going on like some of our other guys.”

“You’re right. So is his angle all about family?” Laura taps her pursed lips as she’s thinking big picture.

“I think it could be. He’s a good Captain. I hear it all the time. He cares about the guys, checks in on them. And his finding Holly sort of set off a whole domino effect of these hard-partying guys figuring their stuff out, becoming better for it.”

“Oooh, that’s gooooood,” Laura says, nodding as she writes down the notes.

“I think Scarlett and the team will like that angle,” I remind her. “But we also need to focus on just how good he is. And I think there’s a bromance angle to tackle with him and Georg.”

“Ugh. There’s too much good stuff.”

I shrug. “Better too much than not enough. And there are plenty of outlets. Games, public party, private party.”

“And we’re doing a rebrand of the Foundation now that he’s coming on to run things.” Laura claps her hands together like it’s decided. “Okay, well, now we just need to map out each venue and figure out which theme we go with, what we’ll need from outside the organization…”

“Just a tiny bit of work to do,” I tease.

“Thank goodness we have a bang-up smarty of an intern to help us.” She points at me. “Draft it up.”

I nod and head out to my desk as my phone rings, an unknown Canadian number. I nearly ignore it, assuming spam or sales call or some such garbage, but something niggles at the back of my brain and I pick up.

“Lila Marchmont-Terry,” I say.

“That was really professional,” my dad’s voice says on the other end.

“Hey, Dad, where are you calling from? Not your cell?—”

“I’m actually at work. Hey, listen, I just got a call from Las Vegas Mercy Hospital. Your grandfather was rushed to the ER. I guess he fell and his smartwatch called 911. They believe he had a heart attack.”

My heart feels like it might beat right out of my chest. “Oh my God.”

“You’re closest, so I need you to get to the hospital and keep an eye on things until your mom and I can get out there, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’m on it,” I say, standing on oddly weak legs, heading to Laura’s door.

She looks up, and seeing my expression, asks what’s going on. I can hear myself telling her that Max has had a heart attack, that I need to go, but it’s like I’m not in my body anymore. The sound of our voices is tinny and muted. I feel like I might be sick. Not now, please, not now.

I run through the halls and out to the parking lot, throwing myself into the car I’ve been borrowing from my grandfather. I’m on autopilot toward the hospital, no specific or rational thought in my head—only the buzzing sound of panic. Max Terry is my hero. We have always been close. I’ve always wanted to be like him. He’s my grandfather, yes, but also my mentor.

When I arrive, I’m told that Max is in surgery. The nurses are kind, helping me to the waiting room, offering to get me water. I sit, feeling odd and worried and alone. After a long time of just sitting there uselessly, I text Tripp and ask him to come sit with me. I don’t know if he’s on the road or here or what, but I need him. I realize I need him, and that scares me as much as this waiting does.

Tripp arrives maybe twenty minutes after my text. “How is he?” he asks as he takes the seat next to me.

The seats are uncomfortable, straight-backed and plastic-covered. Tripp is so big; the poor thing looks like it might buckle under his weight. He reaches over to hold my hand and I’m instantly comforted. For as different as we are—and in spite of the situation we are in—I still feel at home with him. I still like him. Perhaps we can truly be friends after all of this is in the rearview.

When the doctor comes out with an update, he tells me that Max has made it through surgery and the prognosis is good, provided he recovers well over the next forty-eight hours. I let out a long sigh of relief, eyes awash in tears.

“Can I see him?”

“He’s in recovery. We’ll move him to a room in ICU and then you can visit for a bit. He may be groggy for a while. We’ll come get you when he’s settled.”

As the doctor walks away, Tripp pulls me into a tight hug. With my arms around his waist and my head on his chest, I cry and cry, unable to get my emotions under control. Eventually, though, Tripp’s steady comfort and the slow rubbing of his hand up and down my back brings me to an emotional rescue and back to the present. I step out of his embrace and say, “I need to go to the restroom and clean myself up. I can’t let my grandfather see me like this.”

He just nods his head confidently, giving me my space, as always. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Thank you, Tripp,” I whisper, forcing the fresh threat of tears back down as I go off to find the restroom. And I really don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here helping me right now.

It’s at least an hour before they finally come to get us, and we’re led through a labyrinth of hallways until we come to his room. Max looks small and old in the bed, his white hair a mess, machines attached to him. He doesn’t look at all like the man I know—always dressed to impress, larger than life in so many ways.

He’s awake but groggy as he waves us over. I take his hand, hovering over his bed, crying again despite my best efforts to keep it together.

“I’m not dead,” he says, his voice thick and hoarse. “Stop that crying.”

I laugh and look away, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “You’re clearly going to be just fine. Bossing people around like always.”

He grunts in response, his eyes closing. I think he might be drifting off.

“I need you to be okay,” I say in no uncertain terms. “You’re my hero. My idol. I want to be you when I grow up. I need you to stick around to teach me how.”

“You will be me,” he says, eyes opening again. “When I die, you’ll own the Crush.”

My mouth hangs open like a trap. I look at Tripp, shocked, and he’s just as wide-eyed as I am. “Uh…I think you’re not quite out of anesthesia. You’re not making sense.”

“I know just what I’m saying, Lila. I had a heart attack, not an attack of dementia.”

“But what about Dad?”

“Niles wants the hands-on. He likes being a GM—doesn’t want to be an owner. Leo has gone in a completely different direction from sports and has his own interests in New York. But you? You’re made for it. Learning it all. Looking at the big picture. You’re smart and level-headed. You were born for this and there’s no one else I’d trust more—when the time comes. This is a gift I can give you.”

I’m crying again. “Well, you’re not going anywhere for a long time. I’m not ready yet.”

He squeezes my hand. “You could handle it if you needed to. But like I said, I’m not dead yet.”

Openly sobbing now, I start to bare my soul as the guilt tumbles out of me. “I don’t deserve this. I’ve made so many mistakes. Big mistakes. I’m not worthy of a gift like this.”

“Lila,” Tripp says from the doorway, warning in his voice. “You’re just overwhelmed right now. Take a breath.”

My grandfather’s eyes narrow as he tries to focus on Tripp, his gaze moving back to me. “What am I missing here?” Even an hour after a major surgery, the man doesn’t miss a thing.

I shake my head, the urge to break into an ugly cry making my head hurt and my throat burn.

“Did you do something illegal?”

“No.”

“Hurt somebody?”

I shake my head, closing my eyes tight.

“Are you in debt? In trouble?”

I let out a long breath and then inhale again. “I’m pregnant.”

Tripp sucks in a loud breath behind me.

My grandfather stares at me, and I feel like he might not be comprehending. But, of course, he is. He’s so sharp. I wouldn’t be able to have this conversation, or even half of it, after coming out of a major surgery. But here he is, fully lucid—and here I am, unable to keep anything from him.

“Who’s the father?”

Tripp takes two steps forward, chin tilted up.

“And what is your plan, exactly?”

I don’t know if he’s talking to Tripp or to me. We look at each other before I say, “I don’t want a baby right now, Grandpa.”

He laughs but it turns into a cough and then a wince. “Well, you’re getting one.”

“We should talk about this later,” I say gently. “You’ve just had a traumatic health event. Now isn’t the time to talk about this.”

With any luck, he won’t remember a word of this conversation.

His heart monitor beats faster, less steady than before. We’re upsetting him. I can’t believe I told him I’m pregnant. I need to go. Regroup. Breathe. I lean in to kiss him goodbye and he says, “Lila, there are many things about which I am perfectly progressive. Having a baby out of wedlock is not one of them. Abortion isn’t, either. Perhaps you’ll consider adoption.”

“I don’t think I could have a baby and give it away. I can’t just go to work pregnant and then, poof, I’m not pregnant and I don’t have a baby anymore.”

The heart monitor blips again. “Well, then I guess you two better start planning a wedding—ahhhh.” He’s clearly in discomfort as he tries to shift his body on the bed.

I lean down and squeeze his hand. “You’re okay, Grandpa. You’re going to be okay. Just rest now, and we’ll talk later.” I’m babbling now, the sheer terror of making him worse freezing my heart with panic and making me feel even more guilty than before I told him my secret. I brave a glance at Tripp, who looks like he might need the trash can to puke in.

Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“I said, you’ll get married.” My grandfather is resolute as his eyes bounce between Tripp and me. “I believe in family, and you are a family now. If you’re going to own the Crush someday, you have to make this right.”

A nurse comes in and tells me to step away. She clicks her tongue at me and says I’ve gotten him all riled up, that it’s time to go. I do as asked and stumble toward the door, Tripp wrapping his arm around me and gently shoving me out of the room as I weep. We walk out to the parking lot together and when I get to my car, he’s asking if I want to leave it. He can drive me home. I can come back for the car in the morning.

I stare at him, dumbfounded that this is what he’s saying to me after what just happened.

“What’s wrong? Lila?”

“It just slipped out. I’m so sorry. I can’t lie to him.”

Tripp is so handsome as he looks down at me, a sympathetic smile on his face. He uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears that still stream down my face.

“You don’t have to marry me,” I blurt out, not waiting for him to speak. “I’ll get a termination. He’ll forgive me. I know he will.”

“No, he’ll take away the Crush. He just said this has to be made right in order for you to get the Crush when he…well, dies.” He sighs.

“I didn’t know about that plan. I never expected to own the Crush, like, ever. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be okay without it.”

He pushes his lips together in a flat line, then shoves his hands in his pockets, looking off at the sunset. “Don’t make this decision right now, Lila. Not while you’re emotional and tired. This is a big deal, what he’s offering you. I don’t want you to regret this decision. For any reason.”

I need to think. I need to not look at Tripp and still feel this…desire. This comfort he provides to me when I need him. This…whatever it is between us. I need to think and be rational. He makes me irrational, and that’s how we got in this predicament.

“I’ll sleep on it. I’m agreeing with you. I need to get home though. I need to think. I need to sleep.”

We stare at each other for a long time before he nods, opening my car door for me. As I slide into the driver’s seat, he leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth.”

“I am too.” I nod and start the engine.