Hello Quarterback (Hello #8)

45. Mia

45

MIA

I woke up knowing I loved Ford.

But somehow, seeing the way he looked at me, feeling how much he loved me, making love to him in the stream as the water rushed by... I loved him even more than I did before.

After making love, we splashed and played around for a little while, and when my hands started to prune, I said, “I’m going to lie out on the blanket and dry off.”

“I’m going to swim around a bit,” he replied.

I watched for a moment as he lay back in the stream, floating with just his face and chest breaking the surface. He looked so much younger here, at peace. When we made this agreement, I didn’t quite understand why it was so important to him to stay in Dallas when he had enough money to fly back any time he wanted and could play football anywhere. But I was starting to understand. It wasn’t just about living close to home and being near people he loved; it was about being anchored to this place where he could be fully himself.

With a small smile, I walked out of the stream. The sandy soil crunched under my feet as I walked to the picnic blanket and lay back on the gingham. Grass and twigs broke up the texture under my skin as I looked up at the canopy of cottonwood trees with small patches of bright blue sky peeking through.

Between the water covering me and the breeze, goosebumps formed on my skin, tiny peaks and valleys. Shivering slightly, I went to get my clothes, sliding them over slightly damp skin.

It was great being out here in the middle of nowhere, unconcerned with the world around us. Soon, I’d have to get back to reality, checking my phone, responding to emails and such. But for now... I was at peace.

I finished buttoning my pants, moisture from my hair dripping down my back. I wrung it out and took in Ford swimming down the stream and back, arm muscles powerfully slicing through the water, feet casting splashes behind him.

When he got closer to parallel with me, he stood, shaking water from his short hair and wiping moisture from his face. He cast me a sultry smile before walking from the water, droplets cascading down his hard stomach, falling to his semi-hard cock.

I licked my lips, ideas racing through my mind of the next thing that could occupy our time.

His foot must have landed unsteadily, because he stumbled slightly. I thought it was no big deal, until he let out a cry, water splashing around him as he fell to his hands and knees.

My heart lurched, and I yelled, “Ford! Are you okay?”

I fully expected him to jump up and say he’d lost his footing on some mud. But he stayed on his knees, crawling out of the water. I raced to him and saw blood dripping down the side of his foot, mixing with mud caked there.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to tell how bad it was.

He moved to sitting, studying the gash on the side of his foot—it had to be at least three inches long, and it was gaping open. My stomach sank as I knelt beside him. “Ford, you need stitches.”

His expression was stony, not revealing a thing. “I need you to get my clothes.” His voice was so emotionless it scared me.

I got up, running to the picnic basket to get a bottle of water and his clothes. Then I hurried back. “Let me rinse it out before you put your clothes on.”

He nodded stiffly, not offering any more words before I emptied the water over his wound. He hissed sharply as more blood rushed out of the gash. The mud had hidden some of the damage—it was worse than I had feared. Ignoring the guilt and worry threatening to take over, I got to work, helping him dress in his pants before wrapping his shirt tightly around the wound and tying it together.

“My phone,” he said.

I felt faint as I walked to get his phone from the blanket where he left it. Forcing myself to take deep breaths, I carried it back to him. With a few shaky taps on the screen, he held it to his ear.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Dad, I need you to come pick up Mia and me... We’re still at the creek... I think I stepped on some barbwire or glass or something.” His voice broke. “It’s pretty bad.”

At the emotion finally showing in his words, my heart ached for him. I sniffed back my tears, hurriedly packing things away into the picnic basket. And at the roar of a truck engine, Ford stood up. He had on one of his cowboy boots, the other in his hand.

“Let me help you,” I said. “Put your arm around me.”

He didn’t say a word, choosing to hop toward his dad, who was already out of the pickup and rushing toward us. Instead of asking, Gray just grabbed Ford’s hand, drawing it up and around his shoulder. Gray’s arm was tight around his son’s waist as he led him toward the pickup.

My heart clenched, and I felt so awkward and alone as I gathered up the picnic blanket and basket and rushed after them, picking my way through the grass and branches until I reached the truck. It was only a single cab, and Ford sat on the passenger side. “You can sit in the middle,” Gray said to me. “Go in on my side. I’m getting the horses.”

Gray ran off, and with Ford’s gaze hard on the dash, I asked him, “Do I need to ride a horse back?”

I could see the color draining from his face as he sat back, his eyes pressed shut. “No.”

I wasn’t sure how that was possible, because there were only two people capable of riding a horse and one of us had to drive. Not to mention that I didn’t trust myself to drive where there wasn’t a road.

But Gray returned, leading both the horses with their leather reins in one hand. I slid into the middle seat, and he got in, holding on to the reins through the open truck window. Blister and Acres ran alongside the truck as he drove the mile or so back to the house. It was painfully slow, especially sitting between two silent men. The countryside didn’t feel so pretty and peaceful anymore.

It felt stressful. Remote. Too far from help. “Is there a hospital in Cottonwood Falls?” I asked.

Before Ford could answer, Gray said, “Fletcher’s on his way.”

Of course. Ford’s brother was a doctor. He’d know what to do.

I held on to that little piece of hope, even though I could see blood soaking through the shirt wrapped around Ford’s foot.

I didn’t know much about football, but I knew you couldn’t play on an injury like that.

What if Ford’s dream of winning the Super Bowl was over, all because I suggested playing around in the creek?

And if I was thinking that, I knew he had to be as well.

Suddenly, “love” felt so flimsy, like vapor wisping through my fingertips, impossible to grasp, to hold on to.

Gray pressed on the brakes by the barn, saying, “Mia, drive Ford up to the house. Get him situated in the dining room for Fletcher. I’ll put up the horses.”

I nodded, scooting over as he got out and began leading the horses to the barn. At least now I had a purpose instead of sitting stiffly, silently, next to Ford.

He was on the right side, eyes closed, fists clenched in his lap. All the bouncing and jerking of the pickup over rough ground had to be painful for him, on top of all the emotional turmoil.

How had it been only hours ago that I was learning to ride? Living the high of newfound love?

It all seemed so distant now. I’d never felt lower as I put the truck into gear and started up the driveway. Ford still hadn’t said a word to me. Not that I blamed him. He looked like he was going to be as sick as I felt.

I drove the rest of the way to the house and got out of the truck. I wanted to help him get inside, but he got out of the pickup on his own. He made it just a few hops before he swayed.

“Come on,” I said, going to him and forcing him to accept my help, just like his dad had done. Another reminder that I didn’t know Ford all that well yet. Maybe I’d never get the chance.

Begrudgingly, he held on and hopped beside me until we got inside. I helped him to the table like Gray had asked, and he sat down in one of the worn wooden chairs. I tried to imagine what Fletcher might need, going to the kitchen and searching through cabinets and drawers until I found a pile of rags and a bowl to fill with cold water from the sink.

I dipped a rag in the water and handed it to Ford, who looked paler than ever, a little green too. “Put this on your forehead. It should help with the nausea.”

He didn’t move, eyes trained on the ground.

“Take it,” I said, my voice coming out harshly.

He looked at me, and I knew, deep down, I’d remember that look for the rest of my life. His eyes were dark blue, bottomless pools. No hope, no light. It was all... gone.

But at least he did as I asked, sitting back and resting the rag over his forehead. My phone began to vibrate in my belt bag, but I ignored it, worried about Ford.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” I asked. “Maybe I can find some ibuprofen or Tylenol.”

The front door opened, and we both shifted our gaze to see who’d arrived. I’d expected to see Gray, but instead, Fletcher was swooping purposefully inside, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, not scrubs or a lab coat like I’d expected of a doctor. He carried a black leather bag with him.

“What happened?” he asked as he reached us. Without waiting for an answer, he knelt before his brother, slowly unwinding the shirt covering his wound.

Ford’s voice was weak as he said, “I stepped on something at the creek. Barbwire, maybe some glass. I don’t know.”

“So you’ll need a tetanus shot just in case,” Fletcher said. His expression was grim as he studied the wound. “Stitches also. Do you have a contact for your team’s doctor?”

Ford nodded, adjusting his hip to get his phone out of his pocket. He searched through the contacts and said, “Sent it to you.”

While Fletcher scanned his phone for the message, my own device started ringing again, and Ford addressed me for the first time. “Go get it.”

I shook my head. “They can wait.”

But he stared me down, voice coming out clipped. “Answer your phone, Mia.”

Fletcher quietly excused himself to call the team doctor, but Ford didn’t act like he’d heard, focusing on me with those empty eyes.

“But, Ford, I—I want to be here for you.”

“Handle your business,” he gritted out. “I don’t need or want you here.”

Wow. I knew he was having a hard time, but that was uncalled for. “Ford...” I began, but he cut me off.

“This was supposed to be fake!” His voice rose, slicing through me. “It wasn’t supposed to be real. I wasn’t supposed to be hurt while playing around with you against my better judgement. I shouldn’t have put you over my work, just like you shouldn’t be putting me first now. So go, Mia. This was a mistake. Just go.”