“Of course, we will,” Xander stated as if he spoke for us all. Which as the “about to be voted on team captain,” he did. On the ice. Not off. But I had no qualms about signing up to see if the tyke could use my bone marrow on some off chance. I’d spent a goodly portion of my life in Florida and had met, and loved, some wonderful people. Hell, who knows, I could have even met the baby’s mother somewhere along the line. I had not met the daddy/uncle. He’d have stood out in my mind, a face that was perfectly made and eyes that sad. Yeah, him, I’d have remembered for sure. “Count me in.”
The talk turned to sick babies and twenty-sided dice. Life here in Boston was certainly going to be vastly different than it had been down south, but it felt like a good different. I prayed it would be.
Chapter Three
Isaac
“We have a match,” Dr. Carmichael said before I’d even sat down. When her office had called this morning and asked me to attend a meeting, I imagined it was more of the same. The work I’d done to spread awareness in Tampa hadn’t come to anything yet, and I had nothing but black thoughts. I had to sell the house, but that was a small price to keep searching for a match. If I lost Sophie nothing mattered anyway, so why would I even need a home anymore? The money raised would help toward searching for the miracle. I’d left Sophie with June again, promised I wouldn’t be long, and headed for the clinic with the weight of everything sitting heavy on my chest.
“A what?” I gripped the back of the chair. I couldn’t have heard right.
“A match. Isaac, you need to sit down.”
I couldn’t move, let alone sit. In the end, she came over and unpeeled my fingers, and helped me to sit before encouraging me to bend my head. Why was she… shit… my head buzzed, and my vision blurred. I gasped for air as my chest tightened like a vise around my heart. A match. A donor. My breathing stopped, and I clawed at my shirt to get some air, then a few words filtered through.
“… hockey player, not a fan, although…”
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“… Boston, so if that’s okay…”
I listened to her words, holding tight to Dr. Carmichael, when finally, my breathing evened out, but the adrenaline rush was impossible. I was so shaky I couldn’t even talk, so she did all the talking for me. It seemed that since my standing outside the hockey arena went viral so quick, it led to a massive bone marrow testing push and several matches were found for other cases as well. She also said I should feel proud for what I’d accomplished.
What about Sophie?
“We have enough of a match to perform a transplant.” She sat back down on her chair behind the desk.
“Enough? What do you mean enough? Is this a match or not?” I sounded pissed, but I didn’t mean to. Words were impossible to form, and my head was tight with pain.
She held up a hand. “Typically, a donor transplant relationship remains anonymous, but the match threw up something you need to consider.”
“What? Is it not a proper match? Should we wait? Do we have time to wait?”
“No, it’s something else.” She paused a moment. “The match is with Sophie’s genetic father.”
“We found her dad?” Hope flared inside me. That was the best match surely. There was a chance. Dr. Carmichael talked on and on about confidentiality, contracts, and the team jet, and how it would be beneficial to go elsewhere for treatment, but it was a blur.
“Do I still get to make decisions for her?” I interrupted the spiel, having the vague idea that her father would have more say in her care than I did, and abruptly I was terrified. “Will he do it? Will he save her?” I wasn’t listening to a thing she said. “Did he say no?”
She came out from behind her desk, then pulled a chair over next to me and held my hand as I stared into her kind gaze.
“You need to listen to me now,” she said, but she was smiling.
“Okay. Tell me he’ll do it. Tell me he wants to help.”
“Let’s start from the beginning.”
A car parked outside my tiny house, a town car, with tinted windows and a driver.
“This is it, Soph,” I murmured, and she pressed her cheek to mine. The last twenty-four hours had been a frenzy of activity, and with bags packed and June promising to look after my place, I was heading to Boston and the hockey player who was Sophie’s dad. They hadn’t given me his name, and I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone anything. I couldn’t even tell June, and she was the closest thing I had to a friend since taking Sophie into my life. I’d packed everything in three suitcases. Sophie’s favorite toys, my laptop so I could try to keep working because God knows who was paying for all of this, and enough clothes for a month. Dr. Carmichael explained the process, but most of it was a blur.
The knock on the door was loud, and I should’ve opened it already, but that flimsy barrier between me and whoever had sent the car was all that was keeping my panic at bay. I needed a moment to think, to breathe, and I buried my face in Sophie’s soft curls, inhaling the scent of her and counting back from ten. Finally, I opened the door. A man in a chauffeur uniform was right there, and he smiled.
“Mr. Bailey?”
I held out a hand. “Isaac.” Was it right to shake hands with a chauffeur? Were there rules? Calm down.
“Alec.” The guy smiled. “Let’s get your bags in the car.”
I couldn’t move, didn’t have control over my legs, but Alec picked up two of the bags, put them in the trunk, and returned for the last one before I realized I should be moving. I followed Alec to the car, booster seat in one hand, along with a changing bag containing all her meds and anything else that was vitally important, and Sophie in my other arm. Alec took the seat and expertly fitted it, but I double-checked because I was Sophie’s protector, and I wasn’t going to let anything hurt her.
“There’s water and snacks in here.” Alec pressed a button and a door slid open to reveal a compartment that was half refrigerated and half not, complete with chips, fruit, packed sandwiches, and bottles of water. Sophie wriggled in the seat, her eyes alighting on her favorite thing, chips. I pulled out the small bag and gave her some, worrying about all the stupid things, such as whether Alec would be happy with crumbs on the leather seats and how long it would be before Sophie got bored. I had my iPad and phone, saw the charging points, and knew I had everything I needed to keep a wearied toddler entertained, however long this drive was.
Only it wasn’t a long journey at all. We headed west to the coast and Naples’ private airport, driving past security gates and parking alongside a flashy jet, the kind I’ve seen in movies where insanely rich people spent stupid money on unrealistic things. The scents of the ocean and a warm breeze flowed over me, and for a few moments, I felt centered. I may have a small place, but living on the Florida coast was my happy place.
There were no official markings on the jet, but as soon as I stepped inside, it was apparent this was a plane shared between the Boston hockey and football teams, as the logos were front and center, and the seats had fancy colored stitching.
Since I knew Sophie’s biological father was a hockey player, I’d be wrong to dismiss what having a rich, famous parent could do for her. Money, houses, a different life from the one a struggling graphic artist could give her. And life.