Five

      Gervais pushed through the crowds, eyes set on the chili dog vendor. As he weaved in and out, he saw recognition zip through their eyes.

      The media had done a nice job planting his image in the minds of the fans even though he would have preferred a quieter role, leaving the fame to the players. But the family name also sold tickets and brought fans to their television screens, so he played along because he, too, loved the game and would do whatever was needed for the Hurricanes.

      Many of the fans smiled at him, nudged a companion and pointed at Gervais. He felt a little as if he was in a dog-and-pony show. And while part of him wouldn’t mind pausing to speak to a few fans and act as an ambassador for the team, he really just wanted to get Erika that chili dog. Pronto.

      So he flashed a smile as he continued, stopping in front of the food vendor, the smell of nacho cheese and cayenne peppers sizzling under his nose. Of all the things Erika could have asked for, he was strangely intrigued by this request. It was the most un-princess-like food in the whole sports arena. He loved that.

      Gervais’s phone vibrated. He juggled the two chili dogs to one hand as he fished out his cell while taking the stadium steps two at a time. He glanced at the screen and saw his sister-in-law’s name. Frowning, he thumbed the on button.

      “Yes, Fiona?”

      “Gervais—” Fiona’s normally calm voice trembled “—Erika passed out. We can’t get her to wake up. I don’t know—”

      “I’m on my way.” Panic lanced his gut.

      His hand clenched around the hot dogs until a little chili oozed down his fingers as he raced up the steps faster, sprinted around a corner, then through a private entrance to the hall leading to the owners’ viewing box.

      A circle of people stood around a black leather sofa, blocking his view. A cold knot settled in his stomach. He set the food on the buffet table and shouldered through the crowd.

      “Erika? Erika,” he barked, forgetting all about formalities. He dropped to his knees beside the sofa where she lay unconscious. Too pale. Too still.

      He took her hand in his, glancing back over his shoulder. “Has anyone called a doctor? Get the team doctor. Now.”

      Fiona nodded. “I called him right after I called you.”

      He brushed his hand over Erika’s forehead, her steady pulse throbbing along her neck a reassuring sign. But still, she wasn’t coming around. There were so many complications that could come with pregnancy. His family had learned that tragic reality too well from his sister-in-law’s multiple miscarriages.

      Which made him wince all the more when he needed to lean in and privately tell Fiona, “Call the doctor back and tell him to hurry—because Erika’s pregnant.”

      * * *

      Erika pushed through layers of fog to find a group of faces staring down at her. Some closer than others.

      A man with a stethoscope pressing against her neckline while he took her pulse must be a doctor.

      And of course she should have known that Gervais would be near. He sat on the arm of the sofa at her feet, watching her intently, his body a barrier between her and the others in the room staring at her with undisguised interest.

      Curiosity.

      Whispering.

      Oh, God. Somehow, they knew about the baby and she hadn’t even told her parents yet.

      “Gervais, do you think we could have some privacy?”

      He looked around, started, as if he hadn’t even realized the others were still there. “Oh, right, I’ll—”

      Fiona stepped up. “I’ve got this. You focus on Erika.” She extended her arms, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s move to the other side of the box and give the princess some air...”

      Her voice faded as she ushered the other guests farther away, leaving behind a bubble of privacy.

      She elbowed up, then pressed a hand to her woozy head. “Doctor, what’s going on?”

      The physician wearing a polo shirt with the team’s logo on the pocket said, “Gervais here tells me you’re pregnant. Would you like him to give us some privacy while we talk?”

      She didn’t even hesitate with her answer. “He can stay. He has a right to know what is going on with the baby.”

      The doctor nodded, his eyes steady and guarded. “How far along are you?”

      “Two and a half months.”

      “And you’ve been to a doctor?”

      “I have, back in my homeland.”

      “Well, your pulse appears normal, as do your other vital signs, but you stayed unconscious for a solid fifteen minutes. I would suggest you see a local physician.”

      Gervais shot to his feet. “I’ll take her straightaway.”

      Erika sat up, the world steadier now. “But you will miss the rest of the game.”

      “Your health is more important. We’ll take the private elevator down and slip out the back.” He shifted his attention to the physician. “Doc, can you send up a wheelchair?”

      She swung her feet to the ground. “I can walk. I am not an invalid. I simply passed out. It happens to pregnant women.”

      “Pregnant women who don’t eat,” Gervais groused, sliding an arm around her waist for support. “You should take care of yourself.”

      Even as she heard the grouchiness in his voice, she saw the concern in his eyes, the fear. She wanted to soothe the furrowed lines on his forehead but knew he wouldn’t welcome the gesture, especially not right now.

      So she opted to lighten the mood instead. Heaven knew she could use some levity after the stress she had been under. And how strange to realize that in spite of being terrified, she felt safer now with Gervais present.

      She looked up at him and forced a shaky smile. “Don’t forget my chili dog.”

      * * *

      Gervais paced the emergency room. The hum of the lights above provided a rhythm to his pacing. He tried to focus on what he could control.

      Which was absolutely nothing at this point. Instead of being in the know, he was completely in the dark. He couldn’t start planning, something he liked to do.

      Sitting still had never been his strong suit. Gervais wanted to be in the midst of the action, not hanging on the sidelines. That was how he’d been as a football player, how he dealt with his family. Always engaged. Always on.

      But now? No one would tell him anything. He wasn’t a family member. Not technically, even though that was his unborn child.

      God, he hated feeling helpless. Most of all he hated feeling cut off from his family. His child.

      What the hell was taking the doctor so long?

      Sure, the place was packed with weekend traffic. To his left was a boy with what appeared to be a broken arm and a cracked tooth. His sister, a petite blonde thing, wrinkled her nose in disgust as he shoved his arm in her face.

      The man on his right elevated a very swollen ankle. He was in the ER alone, sitting in silence, hands rough with calluses.

      Gervais could hear snippets of the conversation going on in the far corner of the room. A young mom cooed over her baby, holding tight to her husband’s hand. They were probably first-time parents. Nervous as hell. But they