Intercepting Daisy by Julie Brannagh Page A

now though. There was only one person in the Seattle area who wasn’t going to flip out at a six sixteen AM phone call, and Grant touched the phone receiver icon by his name.
    â€œTalk to me,” Tom Reed said as he answered his cell phone.
    â€œIt’s Parker.”
    â€œI know that. Your face popped up on my screen. What’s up? You don’t sound good.”
    â€œI’ve been throwing up since two o’clock or so this morning.”
    â€œAnd you’re alone in your condo,” Tom said. “Let me get the team doc on the phone. He’ll want to come over and take a look at you. I’d bring you some juice and stuff myself, but I don’t want my kids to get this. Want me to grab some stuff at the store and leave it with your building’s concierge?”
    â€œI can handle it,” Grant said, which was a lie. If he could handle it, he wouldn’t have been calling another person before seven AM . “Actually . . . I feel like shit.”
    â€œI’ll bet,” Tom said. “Get your ass back into bed, and I’ll have someone over there as soon as possible. And if you need me to go get you some juice or Gatorade or some damn thing, call me back.”
    â€œHey, Reed,” Grant said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAre you busy this afternoon?”
    â€œHell no. What’s up?”
    â€œWill you go to Children’s and visit with a few of the kids? They’ll be disappointed.”
    Most of Grant’s teammates visited the local children’s hospital on Tuesdays, their day off. He’d called the nurses and made a special arrangement to stop by after practice and before he was supposed to see Daisy. Grant hadn’t been able to make it last Tuesday, having spent the day at the practice facility with his coach and the Sharks’ general manager.
    Tom Reed was going to be out for two weeks with broken ribs. As a result, Grant was now the Sharks’ starting quarterback. He’d been studying for and working toward this day for several years, but he was rattled. Grant wasn’t Tom. He wondered what was going to happen when the Sharks fans figured that one out too. He’d do his best every time he stepped onto a football field, but he wasn’t going to be the lightning-bolt-for-an-arm thriller the fan base had been watching for over a decade now.
    Getting the starting job was a vote of confidence from the Sharks’ front office, but they had already talked about wanting him to spend more time with Reed this season. It wasn’t that Grant didn’t know the playbook, and he could drop back and throw a perfect spiral. But he knew the coaches were hoping that Tom’s All-Pro personality might rub off a little on the introverted and more cautious Grant.
    Grant hoped so too.
    â€œJust when I thought you were a selfish bastard, you go and say something like this,” Tom joked. “I’ll be there. And take it easy. Call if you need anything else.”
    â€œI’ll do that. Thanks for visiting the kids.”
    â€œIt’s my pleasure.”
    Tom hung up his phone. Grant knew he was probably dehydrated. He also knew he had some Gatorade in the refrigerator, but he wasn’t sure he could stand up long enough to go and get it.
    His phone rang again. He hit Answer.
    â€œHey, Parker. Reed called me. I’m on my way over. Can you walk to your front door to let me in?” the team doctor said.
    â€œI’ll crawl if I have to. I feel like I got hit by a truck. I don’t get it. I had a flu shot.”
    â€œSometimes the shot doesn’t cover every strain of flu,” the doctor said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t worry; you’re going to live.”
    â€œThanks, Dr. Mike.”
    Two hours later, Dr. Mike drove Grant to the emergency room of Evergreen Hospital. Grant wasn’t overly fond of hospital stays as a rule, but he was willing to try almost anything by now.