All of You, page 23
And as expected, the meal was amazing. No burgers and dogs for us; Sam went all out with lamb lollipops, sirloin steaks, thinly sliced over salad with chunks of creamy blue cheese…and with that thought, my stomach rumbles, saliva pooling in my mouth.
What the heck, I can’t believe I’m hungry again just thinking about it. Though it’s possible since we’ve been playing for a while, and we’re moments away from what might be our last play for the day.
The game is close. My team’s losing by one point, but I have a secret weapon. Claire. Unlike all the other times in her life when she was the last to be picked for a team, she’s always my first pick. Always will be.
Earlier today, like all the other times when we’re picking teams, her name was the first one out of my mouth. No surprise, I was then faced with a wall of crestfallen expressions—or more like frowns—from the men in her family.
And while her dad asked jokingly if I knew what I was doing, he knows otherwise. Claire’s a great player.
Our team huddles, and I quickly take us through the play one more time. Heads nod followed by a few grunts from some of the men before we’re ready to get back at it.
“All right. Let’s do this! And remember,”—all eyes are on me and I automatically seek Claire’s ardent baby blues—“sometimes, the wrong train takes you to the right station.”
Her smile is blinding and contagious. I grin so wide it might split my face in two and I can’t say that I care. She makes me happy beyond my wildest dreams.
A few puzzled faces stare at me as the group breaks, and I’m guessing it’s about my closing words though I’ve been saying it at the end of all our huddles today. It’s a quote from Crash Landing on You, one of Claire’s favorite K-drama shows—I got her hooked on them too.
In my opinion, the words are fitting for our relationship, as well as for any team sport. All those months ago, we hadn’t planned to both be at the cottage at the same time, yet that chance meeting led us to now.
Some might not get how it applies to football, and while I’m not philosophical or zen-like, I believe that no matter what—even if a play gets messed up or the ball’s intercepted—things work out the way they are intended.
Much like Claire and me. We’re meant to be.
It doesn’t mean our lives are mapped out for us or games are predetermined. You still give it your all, especially when something or someone is important to you. I believe sometimes we’re thrown a curve ball—yeah, I’m mixing my sports—but in the end, it all works out and we’re better for it.
In my case, I got my shot with Claire sooner rather than later and at a time when we both needed the other person more than anyone else in our lives. Though I like to believe I’d have found my way to Claire no matter what.
Someone calls my name, pulling me back to the game, and the pretty blonde—the one I can’t stop thinking about—slaps my ass as she rushes past me. I chuckle, hand itching to grab Claire by the waist and hoist her into the air.
Her father’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Hey, Carruthers!” Colin stands, face serious and hands on his hips, at his defensive line position. “Let’s play.”
The affirmations and rumbles from the guys and girls along the line force me to save the mauling of my girlfriend until after we’ve won this game. Besides, I doubt her father would appreciate it.
Tom’s at center and glances over his shoulder at me before bending into position on the line of scrimmage. The football’s on the grass in front of him, and I step in behind Tom as the other players on my team make last-minute adjustments.
The snap is on a count of three. I pause for a beat or two. “Hut, hut, hike!”
Tom grabs the ball and slides it backward between his legs. My fingers curl around the smooth pigskin, gripping it firmly, and I step back, head up. I raise my arm with the ball in hand, eyes scanning the field for my girl, for where she’s supposed to be.
The O line faces off with the defense, and I’ve got a second, maybe two to make the throw before an opposing player or two breaks through and makes a beeline for me.
Claire’s in position and I throw the ball, watching the easy spiral cut through the air. Keenly focused on the ball hurtling toward her, Claire effortlessly jumps into the air to catch it.
At the same time, two players on the other team realize she has the ball, and her feet hit the grass. She sprints toward the end zone, and one of the guys, whose played with us before but I can’t remember his name, darts after her only to be blocked by Bas. The broad, muscled kid, well-built despite his age, grips him around the waist and whips him to the ground.
Look at her go.
Her blonde hair blazes a trail behind her like gold shimmering in the sunlight. There’s another woman on her, not within touching distance but quickly closing the spread.
“Go, go, go!” I yell.
Claire’s so close to the goal line.
A few more teammates, plus some of the spectators, join me in spurring her on.
Tom’s hands cup his mouth as he sprints after his sister, determination marking his brow. “Claire-bear. Yes!”
Effortlessly, she delivers the ball into the end zone, throwing it down onto the grass.
“Touchdown!” Paige screams, both arms straight above her head.
Then it’s a free-for-all. People surround her.
Tom, only seconds behind her, lifts her into the air, hooting and hollering, and I charge down the field, increasing my speed.
Claire’s laughing and smiling and our eyes lock. I take her from her brother, sliding her butt onto my shoulder, hands wrapping around her legs.
“Yes, that’s my girl!” I gently squeeze her toned thighs.
Our team gathers around me, whooping and laughing. We won thanks to Claire’s touchdown, which put us over the top.
Tom stares incredulously up at his sister. “Fuck, you’ve been holding out.”
He hasn’t been around much lately, and today’s game is the first he’s joined in a few weeks. Claire’s been wowing her family for a while now.
“Hey, watch the language.” Colin playfully bats the back of his son’s head. “And your sister always had it in her.” He winks at his youngest daughter, still in my arms.
Her fingers grip my neck, and she shakes her head but Tom isn’t going to let it go. “Sh—shoot, from now on I want you on my team.”
He slaps her thigh and Paige snorts, now at his side. “Nice, Tom, nice. Always thinking of yourself.”
He ignores the jab, fully in the moment. “Pip’s going to be jealous. Claire-bear, looks like you’re now the family football star. Move over, Matt.” Her brother lightly bumps me.
I laugh, sliding Claire to her feet, and she gasps, mouth agape but eyes still sparkling. She’d mentioned how Pippa was always sought after when her family played football. Both her father and Tom would argue over whose team her older sister would be on. Now it looks like they may be jockeying for both of the Raine sisters.
“Hey, maybe Paige, Pip, and I will be on the same team.” Claire hooks an arm around her older sister’s best friend. “You know, girls against guys.”
“Hell yeah, we’ll show ’em.” Paige nods, dragging Claire off the field.
As I watch them walk away, I get lost in my thoughts. These past few months have been some of the best in my life. In March, my Manhattan apartment sold and I had all my things shipped to Toronto.
Claire and I are living in her apartment but looking for something a little bigger, maybe even with a backyard. I haven’t made any definitive career plans as of yet. I’ve got a several guest commentator spots lined up throughout this season, still exploring if that’s something I would enjoy doing long-term.
It’ll mean traveling across the US, and Claire and I will make each one a vacation, spending a few days in whichever city we find ourselves.
Do I miss football? Not really. I’ll always love the game, enjoy playing like we did today, and definitely want to watch the season, but I don’t regret my decision.
Last month I took Claire home for a long weekend to meet my family. I wanted them to get to know the woman I love and plan to spend the rest of my life with. That’s when I had a lengthy chat with my father.
He has come around and respects the choice I made even if it isn’t what he would have wanted for me. In turn, I’ve come to accept he’s always going to meddle because he thinks he knows what’s best for me. He can meddle all he wants. Ultimately, this is my life.
All in all, things are great on the family front. As for Britney, she’s in her final trimester, due in less than a month. She’s back in Georgia, living in Macon. I’m aware of all this because Claire asks Savvy for updates. Not because she’s worried Britney is a problem or threat, but because Claire genuinely cares.
Britney and I don’t talk. Our friendship is over and that’s how I want it. I don’t wish her any ill will, but I’m glad she’s out of my life.
“Hey, Matt, you coming?” Bas, the youngest of the bunch, tosses the ball into the air, hanging back to wait for me.
“Yeah.” I jog to catch up. “How’s your summer treating you?”
“Good. I can hardly believe it’s half over already.”
Bas and I easily bonded over our love of sports. While mine is football, he’s an NHL hopeful, and I often joke that soon I’ll be bragging about our friendship when in the company of hockey fans.
The kid has a lot of questions about playing for a national league, going pro, and I’m more than happy to oblige him by sharing the ups and downs.
“So we’re going to Montreal next week, and I was wondering if you and Claire wanted to come. Figured this way you could hang out with my dad, see his restaurants and stuff.” He plays off the invitation as casual, no big deal if I turn him down, but truth is he’s doing me a huge solid.
“No shit, really? We’d love to go.” I spin the ball in the air from one hand to the other as we walk behind the group of family and friends. “Let me check my schedule and with Claire. How long are you going for?”
“The month. If you can’t come for the whole time that’s cool. Come when you can.”
“And Sam would be cool with it?” I inwardly cringe at how much I sound like a fanboy.
Though I can’t deny, it is true. I want the chance to get to know Sam better, and until now, we’ve talked at family gatherings but not about his business, running a restaurant, and being a chef. This is what I want to further explore.
“Hey, what are you two doing all the way back here?” Claire cozies up beside me, and I cradle the ball in one hand, wrapping my other arm around my girl.
“Bas invited us to come hang with him, Sam, and Olivia in Montreal. They leave next week and will be there for the month.”
She lightheartedly pinches my side, and I dip my head to stare into her gaze, shimmering with a knowing look. “That’s cool. I love Montreal, and Sam’s restaurants are the best.”
“So does that mean you’ll come?” Bas doesn’t hide his enthusiasm.
I nod, ruffling the top of his head. “For sure.”
And then I stop and turn, cradling the back of Claire’s head in my hand as I lower my lips to hers in a kiss of thanks and love.
Epilogue
Claire
Seven months later
* * *
I step into the house, shivering from the bracing wind, and with the tip of my boot, I shut the door behind me. My reflection, in the entryway mirror, startles me. Snowflakes dot my head, kiss my eyelashes, and rest on my shoulders and torso.
My hands swipes at the tiny bursts of winter, brushing them off my body and the long coat that’s slung over my forearm. The coat should be on my body, and the temptation to wear the thing nearly killed me.
But I couldn’t. I willingly risked frostbite so as not to get today’s disaster on the soft, cream cashmere.
Cream? Really, what was I thinking?
The near white color isn’t practical for schlepping back and forth to the hospital after long shifts involving body fluids. Ugh, no. Tomorrow, I’ll wear my black puffer jacket.
“Claire, that you?” The deep male velvety drawl that I love so much filters from the back of the house and ignites a tantalizing warmth and desire low in my core.
Grinning, I release a soft snicker and wonder what he’d do if it wasn’t me and someone else were to answer him.
“Hey, Matt. Yes, it’s just me.” I deposit my precious winter coat onto the front bench and, still chilled, rub my hands up and down my arms while shucking off my boots.
“Shoot, I thought I had more time,” he hollers from the kitchen, sounding flustered and super cute. “Dinner’s on the stove and I can’t leave it.”
Holding my arms several inches away from my dirty scrubs, I pad down the hall into the kitchen. The rich, seductive aromas of spice, white wine, and Parmigiano Reggiano permeate the room, and my stomach rumbles in a desperate plea for food.
I near the stove, trying to see around Matt’s broad, muscled back. “Wow, it smells amazing, is that—”
“Risotto Milanese.” His smile stirs something delicious inside me much in the same way he’s stirring the golden goodness in the large pot on the stove.
His smile falls somewhat and he stills, eyebrows rising to his hairline. “Claire, what the hell happened? Are you okay?”
He stops stirring, and I’m quick to place my hand on his, clutching the wooden spoon, and nudge his limb back to the ever-so-important circular motion. Constant stirring is key to a perfect risotto.
“Relax. I’m fine.” Satisfied he’s got this and won’t stop blending the ingredients, I step back from the stove and wave my hand over the dark rusty splatter coloring my once blue scrub top.
“This isn’t me. I’m in one piece and can assure you, no patients were harmed, disfigured, or killed today.” I wrinkle my nose and screw up my mouth. “I just happened to be next to a young resident who dropped a bag of plasma, and the thing split open on impact. Total disaster.”
The only good thing about the mess was it happened within the last half hour of our shift. Luckily, I didn’t have to walk around looking like a murder victim for the entire day.
“Yikes. That doesn’t sound good. You look like you’ve come from a gory battle.” His warm, steady gaze roams my face, searching, and I’m not sure what exactly he’s looking for. “Today was okay?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you all about it once I get cleaned up.”
Matt bends his head to kiss me, features relaxing, and the crease in his brow melts away. “Good.”
Then he turns back to the stove and fiddles with a knob, somewhat distracted by, no doubt, perfecting his risotto.
“I’m going to have a quick shower and get rid of this mess. Would you believe I forgot to bring a change of clothes?” Pausing at the doorway from the kitchen, I veer to look at him over my shoulder.
A sly grin skates across his handsome face. “Well, yeah. If memory serves me right you were…what’s a good way to describe it? Blissed out when you left for the hospital.” He waggles his dark eyebrows suggestively.
My cheeks heat at the delectable memory of Matt nabbing me at the top of the stairs this morning. I’d been on my way down to gather my things for my first day at the hospital. I’m back in the residency program.
All sense fled my mind when he plastered me to the wall, yanked off the bottom of my scrubs, panties and all, and his head dove between my legs, warm mouth on me, magnificent tongue inside of me.
Even now, my girly bits tingle at how thoroughly he feasted on me. Matt gives good head—no, outstanding head—and I was a whimpering mess. My orgasm tore through me in record time.
“Yes, blissed out.” I can’t stop smiling as I rub my thighs together, trying to quench the mounting ache between my legs.
“Go before I say screw the dinner and join you in the shower.” He turns his back on me, if only to emphasize his point or my peril...hardly.
Laughing, I sprint from the room so as not to give in to the temptation either. Matt isn’t joking; he’d readily scrap dinner if I continue to tease him. We’ve wrecked a meal or a thousand in our time together because we’ve gotten carried away, lost in each other.
I shower quickly, washing away the dried blood on my stomach and thighs, and my mind ventures back to the poor first-year resident. He reminds me so much of myself from not too long ago. Fortunately, he didn’t have a panic attack but his nerves were shot.
Top of his class and desperate to make a good impression, he tried too hard and kept messing up. Sadly, the poor thing accomplished one thing today—he sure made an impression…though not good.
For his sake, I hope he settles into residency quickly and easily, finding his stride. But if not, I won’t watch him flounder; I’ll take him under my wing. I may not have all my shit together—who does?—but thanks to therapy, self-help, and trial and error, I’ve certainly learned a few things about wrestling with anxiety.
In the past year, some days were harder than others, and sometimes whatever I tried didn't always work, but for the most part, I’d learned how to conquer my fears and quiet the negative noise in my head.
So much so, that in all these months, without the pressures of school and my skewed perception of others’ expectations of me—and of course, with spending time with Matt—I figured out that I wanted to finish my medical degree.
Surgery isn’t for me, and I no longer aspire to be the best surgeon in the province, let alone a surgeon at all. But medicine means something to me. The magic is still there, and I’m good at it. I like helping people and school won’t consume me like it once did. Not this time.
While I haven’t made my mind up on which career path to take after I graduate, I’m exploring private practice or some more innovative options like being a crowd doctor, a concierge physician, or I might even consider teaching pre-med.
