Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (51 page)

And Bea
 . . .

Tears streamed down Darcie’s face, but she
knew she needed to shape up. Brief Murf. Take the pressure off
Wyatt so he could focus on the things that mattered. So she dried
her eyes on a fresh linen napkin and headed back up to the
suite.

• • •

By the time Wyatt reached the hospital, Tony
had been moved to a private room. And even though he was anxious to
lay eyes on his uncle, he spent a few moments with the Bournes
gathered in the waiting room, all of whom seemed shell-shocked.

He could relate. Despite knowing for a fact
this day was fast approaching, they had still believed Tony would
live forever. The alternative was too unbearable.

His Aunt Mary informed him tearfully that
Bea and Jenny were in the room. Arguing. Just like they had argued
since the time Jenny was a little girl. But particularly
heartrending now.

“They’re both so stubborn, Wyatt. Mom wants
to take him home. My stubborn sister wants him here, where the
doctors can give the best care. But they’ll listen to
you.”

“What do
you
want, Aunt Mary?” he
asked sadly.

“I don’t want him to die,” she said,
sobbing. “I can’t bear it.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He embraced her,
then disengaged and entered the room warily. He wanted to see Tony,
not arbitrate a dispute. But everyone was so raw.

Including Wyatt.

He saw Bea first and hugged her. “How is
he?”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said,
sobbing. “He’s been waiting for you.”

“Good.” Wyatt approached the bed and was
shocked by how emaciated Tony looked. Had it been just a week since
he saw him last? It was as though he were literally wasting away.
Worse, there was an odd sense of efficiency to it. Almost as though
Tony—the consummate Bourne—had a checklist of his own. A way to
shut things down, one by one, without leaving loose ends. Lungs,
heart, liver, kidneys . . .

Damn
.

He took the patriarch’s frail hand in his
own. “Hey, Uncle Tony. It’s me. Wyatt.”

“Matt?”

“It’s Wyatt. But Matt’s with us, too.
Always.”

“Wyatt . . .” Tony almost
seemed to smile, even though he hadn’t actually opened his eyes.
“My boy.”

Wyatt choked back a sob. “Guess what, Tony?
I just signed a contract with the LA Rustlers.
Your
team. So
I’ll be playing here now. In LA. Where you can watch me in
person.”

Tony’s shallow breathing quickened.

“I’ll be playing for Aaron Spurling. So
maybe I’ll finally learn a thing or two.”

Tony’s eyelids fluttered. Then he whispered,
“So proud.”

“Me too, Tony,” he told him through a veil
of tears. “I’m so proud to be your nephew. To be a Bourne. Like you
and Dad.”

A deep voice spoke from a corner of the
room. “He can’t hear you, Wyatt.”

“What?”

The doctor—a man named Noble whom Wyatt had
met many times—stepped forward. “It’s nature’s way of taking him
gracefully, son. We’ll do our best to keep him comfortable, I
promise.”

“Can we keep him comfortable at the
ranch?”

The doctor seemed startled. “Well, yes. But
his daughter said—”

Jenny’s voice interrupted them. “He needs to
be here, Wyatt. He could have a heart attack. A stroke. A massive
infection. They’re ready for anything here.”

“Hey, Jenny.” Wyatt pulled her into his
arms. “I’m so sorry, honey. But you know he wants to be home.”

“No, Wyatt.”

He forced her chin up from his chest and
looked into her bleary eyes. “You’re so much like me. Or I guess
I’m like
you
. Fight to the finish, right? Stubborn as hell.
But we both know the truth: he wants to go home. That’s all we can
give him now.”

She burst into tears, burying her face
again, and he patted her soothingly while telling Dr. Noble, “We’re
taking him to the ranch.”

“I understand. We’ll need some time—”

“For what?” Wyatt looked down at his aunt.
“Is your van outside?”

She gulped but nodded.

“Great. Grab your mom. I’ll get your
father.” Without waiting another second, he calmly disconnected the
IV from Tony’s rail-thin wrist, then scooped him into his arms,
blankets and all, and strode toward the exit.

• • •

Darcie spoke briefly with Wyatt at midnight,
just long enough to hear that Tony was resting comfortably at home
and that the end was near. There was so much she wanted to say, but
Wyatt seemed focused, and she knew that was for the best. The twin
roller coasters of romance and Rustlers had depleted him, but
this—the real test—seemed to give him a new kind of strength.

So she did the only thing she could
do—promised him that everything on her end was under control. All
loose ends with the Jets and Eagles had been resolved. No media
leaks so far.

Wyatt was free to concentrate on his
family.

“I’ll call again in the morning,” he
promised. “Or sooner if anything happens. Get some sleep,
Darce.”

“I will. I love you, Wyatt.”

“I like how that sounds,” he said, sounding
suddenly exhausted. “Try to have fun at the press conference. You
earned it. I’ll watch if I can.”

She wanted to assure him she wouldn’t have
fun, but he had already ended the call, so she settled down for a
few hours of rest just in case he did manage to catch the presser
on TV. She would find a way to do him proud. To do the whole family
proud.

Beyond that, she didn’t know. And she had a
feeling Wyatt didn’t either.

Chapter Fourteen

Watching Murf’s press conference with the
Jets gave her a crash course in crisis management. Not only did he
explain solemnly that Wyatt Bourne had been called away on a family
emergency, he made it clear that only a media a-hole would ask a
follow-up question. Then he read Wyatt’s moving statement about his
team—his teammates—and there was literally not a dry eye in the
house.

Darcie needed to do that too. In one
hour.

Luckily, she had help. Aaron Spurling for
one. Not only did he adore Wyatt already, he had had his share of
tragedy, and said all the right things, not just in private, but
vociferously on air. And because Spurling was the ultimate class
act,
he
was the one who read Wyatt’s tribute to his former
teammates, apparently sensing that Darcie might break down.

After he took that burden from her
shoulders, she was able to smile for the cameras when she spoke
about the future. How thrilled and proud Wyatt was. She even
managed to share an abbreviated version of Wyatt’s ties to the LA
area. How his dad had played for UCLA. How they had traveled back
for Super Bowl parties during Wyatt’s childhood. And now, things
had come full circle.

Her favorite part? The way most of the
reporters reflected dual moods—they wished Wyatt their best during
this emergency, but
damn,
they were excited to see him
jumping teams. Playing for Johnny Spurling’s dad. Shaking things
up. Giving them the hottest story of the year.

And because they were sports fans as well as
reporters, they salivated at the prospect of an expansion team
making a quantum leap toward the Super Bowl. Of great games by the
dozens. Maybe even the biggest upset of the year.

Or at least they could dream. And Darcie had
learned it firsthand by now—these guys really
were
dreamers.
And hilarious too, so much so that they had her laughing in spite
of herself with some of their imaginative questions.

As soon as she could get away, she checked
her phone and saw the inevitable text.

He passed away a few minutes ago. Very
peaceful. We’re all wiped, but there’s stuff to do, so I’ll be
awake. Call anytime. I love you, babe
.

Her emotions swarmed. Love, sympathy,
heartache. Feeling terrible for him, yet knowing it could have been
worse. What if he had been in New York when it happened? Had never
spent that final week at the ranch? Hadn’t played checkers with
Tony, allowed Bea to feed him, given everyone rides in the Jaguar?
What if, what if, what if?

The answer was always the same:
Thank God
he was here. For Tony. For Bea. And most of all, for
himself.

• • •

When they talked later that afternoon he
sounded good. Almost upbeat in fact, mostly because he was keeping
busy. Bea had insisted on having Tony cremated, prompting another
round of arguments with her stubborn daughter. So Wyatt had played
peacemaker again, even though he told Darcie sheepishly that it was
the toughest position he had ever played.

He had seen the press conferences and
approved of how she and Murf—and his new coach—had handled things.
She in turn shared how great Aaron Spurling had been behind the
scenes.

“I don’t want to exaggerate, but really,
Wyatt,” she told him fondly. “The poor man thinks you’re the Second
Coming.”

“That’s good to hear. So? How about Luke
Stoddard? I might give him a call when things are quiet, just to
smooth things over.”

“Oh, Lord, don’t do that,” she told him
sheepishly.

“Why? According to his press release, he’s
okay with it.”

She sighed. “It’s going to take time, Wyatt.
Coach Spurling tried to talk to him last night and it didn’t go
well. Lots of cussing, apparently. But in Luke’s defense, he’s
twenty-two years old. Right?”

“So Coach Spurling wrote the press release?
That seems dishonest.”

“Actually, Nick Gutierrez—the agent—wrote
it. For his client’s own good. I hear such good things about their
friendship. So don’t worry. He’ll come around.”

“Damn.”

“Do you want
me
to talk to Luke?” she
offered.

“Are you going to take your shirt off?”

“Only as a last resort. I’d rather take it
off for
you.”

“Man, that sounds good,” he admitted. “I
could drive out there tonight for a few hours once Bea’s asleep.
I’d have to be sure Danny’s here though. He has a nice touch with
her.”

“Sounds like you do too,” she told him
fondly. “So stay there. I’ll come to you midmorning. Things are
settling down,” she said wearily. “Plus, Murf will be back to help
with the press contacts.”

“That sounds good,” he said, sounding just
as weary. “Did I tell you the funeral’s on Sunday?”

“So soon?”

“That’s what we all said. But Bea’s adamant
about it. She wants every Bourne in the country to help sprinkle
the ashes, but she refuses to take the kids out of school for it.
Go figure.”

“I’m with Bea. Sunday is perfect.”

“Yeah, then I can ease back into the
Rustlers gig. We have team activities on Wednesday, you know.”

She laughed. “So I’ve been told by a zillion
rabid sports fans. They’ve been going nuts wondering if you’ll miss
them. Even though Coach Spurling made it clear they’re
voluntary.”

“I’ll be there if I can. I can’t wait,” he
admitted. “And I can’t wait to see you. Man, it feels like
forever.”

“For me too. I’ll be there around ten. I
have to be back for a press interview at four, but I’m yours for a
few hours at least.”

“Damn straight you’re mine. Don’t forget
it.”

She laughed at the Wyatt-like outburst. “I’m
ordering a T-shirt that says, ‘I sleep with a living god.’”

He roared in approval. “I’d
pay
to
see that. Anyway . . .” His solemn tone returned.
“I’ll see you at ten. And be ready, because you’ve got a fan club
here. So do I,” he added, sounding pleased but embarrassed.

“Okay, Uncle Wyatt,” she teased gently. “See
you at ten.”

• • •

Exhausted from the spotlight and the need to
put Wyatt’s best foot forward, cleats and all, she turned down an
invitation to party with Bud and “Spur,” stumbled home, and slept
for twelve hours straight. Then she dealt with several dozen phone
calls before she even got out of bed, checked in with Murf, who was
en route, and finally jumped into the shower.

After that she dressed like a Bourne and
made the ninety-minute drive to the ranch, all the while worried
about how she should act. What she should say. If only she had
asked him what he had already told his family.

He said you have a fan club. Is that because
they saw you on TV, or because they know you’re his girlfriend now?
Or more than a girlfriend?

She couldn’t know for sure. Plus, she had
bigger things to worry about. What if he wanted to re-hash the baby
issue? She honestly didn’t have the strength.

Her other concern was that the stress of
losing Tony, along with the new appreciation of his own mortality,
would inspire him to demand something drastic. Run off to Vegas to
get married, maybe. Which meant she’d have to give him another
glimpse into her many neuroses.

Because Darcie Kildare wasn’t just
baby-crazy. She was
wedding
crazy, too.

Vegas just wouldn’t cut it.

When she pulled her ten-year-old Camry into
the Bourne driveway and saw Wyatt ambling toward her, she smiled in
wistful relief. This guy wasn’t thinking about babies.
Or
marriage.

He just needed a hug, and as she slipped out
of her seat and into his arms, she imagined how it must have been
for him. Being so strong for everyone else.

Now it was
her
turn to be strong.

“I’m so sorry, Wyatt,” she told him
lovingly. “Thank God you saw him one last time. But still, it’s so
awful.”

“Yeah, I thought he’d last forever.”

“He will. He’s a rock.”

He drew back and smiled. “You dressed like a
Bourne. Good call.”

“How are they? Are you sure I’m not
intruding? We could go for a drive—”

“They can’t wait to get their hands on you.
Literally.
But just give in. Resistance makes it worse.”