She followed him through the gate that led to the field. “I want to.”
He stopped with a heavy sigh. Why did she insist on constantly inserting herself deeper in his life? Why did she have to make it so difficult for him to keep her at arm’s length?
“Stella—”
“Please let me,” she said in a rush. “Look, I…” She licked her lips and eyed Matt being carried toward them. One of the coaches had given Matt a towel to ease the flow of blood. “I know this is kind of shitty timing, but I never really thanked you for last night. You’ve done a lot more for me than you realize.” Her voice trembled. “I need to do this for you.”
He gazed down at her, knowing he wouldn’t have told her no anyway. Even if she weren’t standing on the sidelines of a paused football game, pleading with those damn wounded eyes of hers. Because he wanted her there, knowing she was leaving and would eventually break his heart. He wanted her there.
With a quiet nod, he turned as Matt approached. Brandon’s stomach turned over again at the lines of stress and pain etched across his son’s face. Sweat beaded his forehead and ran down his temples. Someone had tied the towel around Matt’s leg, which was already soaked in blood.
Brandon wrapped his arm around Matt’s shoulder to help him limp off the field. Stella did the same, and Brandon wanted to order her to back off. She had a bad knee and had no business taking on Matt’s weight. But he knew she wouldn’t listen. She was stubborn like that. And, as she’d said, it was something she needed to do for him. So he let her.
Sixteen
If Brandon didn’t stop pacing, Stella was going to handcuff him to a chair. Of course, she’d need to find a pair of handcuffs first.
But still, he was driving her nuts.
After sitting in the waiting room for half an hour, while blood continued to ooze from Matt’s leg, they’d finally admitted him. They hadn’t allowed Brandon in the X-ray room and Stella had had to physically drag him into a chair, so he could bounce in and out of said chair every ten seconds. He’d consumed about three cups of coffee, offering her one with every sip. When she’d asked if they had a skinny white chocolate mocha, only to make the guy smile, he’d snarled at her.
Because of the situation, she’d forgive the snarl.
“Please sit down,” Stella said to the ceiling after Brandon had scared an eighty-year-old woman when he’d crumpled his third coffee cup a little too hard.
With a heavy sigh, Brandon plopped into the chair. “What’s taking so long?” he muttered.
“Maybe there’s a line,” she joked.
Brandon glared at her, then checked his watch again. They’d been there for almost an hour and it was just edging past eleven p.m. “How long does it take to do one X-ray?”
“I’m sure he’s fine. They’ll probably just stitch him up.”
Brandon grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “You didn’t have to come, you know. If you’re tired, I can drive you home.”
If they hadn’t been sitting in an emergency room, waiting for news on his son, she would have smacked the man. “You keep saying that, and I keep telling you I want to be here. Besides, if you leave to drive me home, you might not be here when they finish with him.”
Brandon scratched the scruff on his face. “Yeah, that’s true.”
She placed a hand to stop the bouncing of his leg. “He’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Matt’s a strong kid.”
He blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah.”
“I meant what I said earlier,” Stella said.
Brandon leaned his head back in the chair and closed his eyes. “You mean about not wanting any of my nachos? I told you you’d be hungry.”
She grinned, despite the situation. “No. And for your information, I’m not hungry.”
“Okay. Then you must be talking about the comment you made about me looking like an Adonis in this sweatshirt.”
Stella smacked him on the shoulder, barely resisting the urge to run her palm over the tense muscle. Kind of like the way Rhonda had. Stella snatched her hand away at the memory. “Your kid has a hole in his leg and you still manage to be a smart-ass. Impressive.”
“What can I say? It’s a special talent.”
No doubt. “I’m talking about my hastily thrown out gratitude on the football field, surrounded by huffing, sweaty high school kids.”
Brandon nodded as though she’d jogged his memory. “Oh, that.” He flicked her on the nose. “Yeah, it was a special moment, wasn’t it? The only thing lacking was some violins and conveniently placed mood lighting.”
“Still with the jokes,” she commented. “Do you keep them on index cards so you can memorize them for moments such as this?”
He gazed at her, then narrowed his eyes, which were heavy with exhaustion. “Obviously I won’t be anymore.”
Before she could respond with something along the lines of, Can I sit on your lap and maybe wiggle around a little? the double doors swung open and a frazzled-looking nurse strode through. “Mr. West?” she called.
Brandon immediately stood. “How’s Matt?”
She smiled, clearly sensing a distressed parent when she saw one. “He’s fine. The doctor gave him some pain pills and is just going to stitch him up real quick.”
Relief sagged his bulky shoulders. “So no damage was done to his leg?”
The nurse nodded. “Yes, his X-ray came out clean. It’s nothing more than a nasty gash.” She offered Stella a smile, probably thinking she was Matt’s mom. “As soon as he’s stitched, the doctor will have some paperwork for you to sign, and then he’ll be discharged.”
Brandon nodded. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she replied; then she disappeared back through the doors.
Brandon retook his seat with a long sigh.
Stella elbowed him in the ribs. “Told you he’d be fine. Kid’s probably as hardheaded as you are.”
“I resent that,” he countered without looking at her. Then he was silent for a moment. “I should call Trish,” he said quietly.
The name had Stella’s back going rigid as she remembered what Annabelle had said about Matt’s mother calling to rekindle a relationship. Brandon still hadn’t confided in her, which had sent silent alarms in her head. She’d wracked her brain for days trying to come up with a reason for his reluctance. A lack of trust was the only thing that made sense. Because she was leaving, Brandon still held a part of himself back.
“She’s been calling,” Brandon said, pulling Stella from her thoughts and confusing her. Brandon looked up from his phone and pinned her with a gaze full of conflict. “Matt doesn’t know.”
Stella shook her head, trying to make sense of his words. “Brandon, what’re you talking about? Matt doesn’t know what? That she wants to talk to him?”
“No, they’ve spoken.” he informed her. “He doesn’t know that she left the circus and bought a house in Oklahoma.” The muscle in his jaw ticked.
“How do you know she hasn’t told him that?”