When Nathan Reid's beloved daughter is diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, his world is turned upside down. Desperate to give her the best chance at a healthy life, Nathan searches for the finest medical care available. His quest leads him to the name K...
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Nathaniel grabbed onto the halo bar and pulled himself out. I watched as his manager spoke to him, almost as if he was telling him off. Nathaniel slid off his helmet and unzipped his jumpsuit as a woman handed him a towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "I know your daughter is sick—the game is in a couple of months."
"You really think a fucking game is more important than my daughter."
"Reid, you have a contract with us."
"I know that! Don't you see I'm trying?"
Nathaniel said something angrily before walking away in my direction.
He looked up, and his eyes locked with mine. "What do you want? To give me more false hope?" He walked past me, and I sighed, following after him.
"My stuff is packed. I need a car to take it to your house," I shot out, my voice steady despite his arrogance.
He stopped abruptly and turned to face me, his eyes narrowing. "What?"
"You heard me," I replied, meeting his gaze. "I'm giving it a week. I'll stay at your place and take care of Sophia."
For a moment, his tough exterior cracked, revealing a flicker of surprise and relief. But it was quickly replaced by his usual bravado. "You better not be playing games with me. My daughter's life isn't a joke."
"I'm not playing games," I said firmly. "I'm giving it a try. For Sophia."
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded curtly. "Fine. I'll have someone get your things."Nathaniel's arrogance was a shield, one that protected him from the vulnerability and fear he felt for his daughter. I understood that now.
"That is fine with me." I speak.
"Anything else? How much would I pay you? What would I need?" Nathaniel's tone was brusque, his eyes sharp as he glanced over at me.
"Why don't we go somewhere more private, and we can discuss how to approach this? Terms and conditions." He wore a tight shirt that refined every muscle on his body, with his jumpsuit hanging low around his waist. How does one even wear that on the track? Isn't it too much? Too hot? I get sweaty in a sundress, let alone a thick, layered jumpsuit.
We reached an office, and it automatically caught my eye. The walls were covered with front-page newspaper clippings, each one emblazoned with Nathaniel Reid's name in bold writing. I took small steps forward, reading each and every one.
