Chapter 12 Joanie
Joanie
Snatches of a murmured conversation in Spanish drifted to my ears.
Patients occupied every seat in the medical center waiting room.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to release the tension that had built up this morning.
Tomorrow we’d be filming this ridiculous commercial, and I should have been preparing for that, not sitting in here.
Kieran sat calmly in the adjacent seat as he scrolled his phone.
Nothing ruffled this man’s cool. A pair of teenage boys sitting in the row of plastic chairs opposite whispered furtively and shot Kieran excited glances.
People had started to notice they were in the presence of an international football star, but nobody had dared approach us yet.
An older lady angled her phone in Kieran’s direction over the top of a dog-eared magazine. Not exactly discreet.
A young boy was the first brave soul to approach Kieran. He looked around nine years old. Recognition flashed in his eyes before he advanced cautiously. Sparse patches of hair lined the boy’s head. A thin, clear feeding tube led from inside the boy’s nose and disappeared behind his ear.
The boy flashed a tremulous smile. “Kieran Earnshaw?”
Kieran lifted his head. “That’s right, mate.”
The boy twisted around and proudly displayed his Real Madrid jersey.
Kieran nodded his approval. “Number ten. Looks better on this kid than it ever did on me.”
Kieran spoke to the boy in Spanish, and whatever he said had the little boy nodding and laughing.
Kieran glanced at me. “Mateo wants me to do a special move for him next time I score a goal.”
Kieran inclined his head to me. “Esta es mi amiga, Joanie.”
I said the only word in Spanish I’d gathered so far. “Hola, Mateo.”
Mateo fired off a rapid stream of excited words at Kieran. The boy shuffled his feet from left to right and pointed to the ceiling with an elaborate flourish.
Kieran nodded and copied the move exactly. “?Sí?”
The boy raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
Kieran repeated the move. “Better? I’ve got to get this right. ?Mejor? Tengo que hacerlo bien.”
Mateo nodded. His smile was shy as he replied in English. “Better.”
Kieran gave a satisfied nod. The two conversed a little more in Spanish before Kieran dropped down to pose for a selfie and give the boy a hug.
“Good lad,” he said, patting his back.
A couple more people drifted over, and it wasn’t long before a crowd of eager patients gathered around him, each vying for a moment of his consideration.
Kieran met the attention with a self-effacing charm and grace I hadn’t imagined him capable of.
He’d been the same way with the wedding party yesterday.
He was warm and down-to-earth, and while this man didn’t smile, somehow he still conveyed focus and sincerity with his expressive dark eyes.
If he was ruffled or impatient with the attention, it was never evident.
This was the kind of effortless social confidence I’d always envied.
My dad was the same way. It was a gift. He spoke to everyone as though they were the most important person he’d ever met.
Kieran dropped to his knees to talk to a little girl in a wheelchair.
Her face filled with delight as he engaged her in conversation and posed for selfies.
Her giggles echoed across the waiting room.
Even if I could have spoken the language, I’d have felt awkward.
It was a relief that I couldn’t. At least here I had an excuse to hang back.
This kind of thing always made me tongue-tied, and the feeling had only got worse since the injury.
The tang of disinfectant in the air brought all the painful memories back.
Hours spent staring at tower blocks from the window on the ward, wondering when I’d ever play again.
I’d never been so helpless. Every twinge in my knee felt like doom.
So much fear. After two surgeries, I’d have been glad never to set foot in a hospital again.
At the other side of the waiting room, Kieran engaged in a game of peekaboo with a toddler in her mother’s arms. Peekaboo!
The man who couldn’t even crack a smile for me.
The mother passed the laughing toddler into Kieran’s arms, and Kieran spun the child effortlessly in the air.
He was rewarded with squeals of delight.
Did the sight of Kieran Earnshaw melting a pudgy toddler into giggles make my ovaries twitch?
Yes. Did I hate that for me? Also, yes. But I couldn’t help but swoon.
In this one unguarded moment, stone-cold Kieran Earnshaw looked hot enough to trigger a heatwave.
It was . . . unexpected. Shame rushed through me.
Had I been too quick to judge him? Was there a good guy under those scowls and tattoos?
“The futbol player is your boyfriend? He is very handsome.”
The accented voice came from an elderly gray-haired woman who sat in a wheelchair next to me. She wore a curious expression, but her tone was bright and friendly.
“Kieran?” A strange, awkward laugh escaped me. “Gosh. No. He’s not. We work together. I’m a footballer, too.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose. “?Sí? Maravillosa. Wonderful. You play in Spain?”
“No. In England. I haven’t played for a while. Knee injury.”
She nodded and gestured to her leg, which was encased in a stiff blue cast. “I had a fall a couple of weeks ago. They put me in this chair.” She frowned. “Sorry, my English is not good.”
Her English was amazing, and a million times better than my Spanish. “I’m sorry to hear about the fall. Your English is perfect.”
“The worst part is the time I am missing with my grandchildren.” She leaned in and her eyes sparkled.
“My eldest lives in Australia. As soon as I am out of this chair, I’m going to visit.
I like to swim, and snorkel. My youngest is in New York.
She’s going to take me to a Broadway show.
Life is too short to sulk and feel bad for yourself.
Better to focus on the positive. Don’t you think? ”
I smothered my sigh. Stay positive. That’s all Dad ever banged on about.
Sometimes Ollie, too. I tried, but it wasn’t easy.
There was so much uncertainty. Maybe I’d never get my fitness back to where it needed to be.
Maybe the tear had weakened my knee forever, and it would injure again.
Running onto the pitch had been the most exciting thing in the world, but now it felt like stepping onto quicksand, waiting to be sucked into an abyss.
I could stay positive in the day, but at night it was just me and the doubts that plagued me. The future filled me with anxiety where once I’d had enthusiasm.
I kept my voice low. “It’s been hard to stay positive. I’ve missed so much because of the injury. I feel like I’ve lost . . .”
This was a stranger in a waiting room. I shouldn’t have been telling her any of this.
I hadn’t even been this open with the expensive therapist that Dad had arranged for me.
But somehow it was easier to be honest with a kind stranger.
The noise and bustle of the waiting room rushed into the silence between us, and I felt suddenly guilty.
I was still walking around. This woman was in a wheelchair. My whining probably annoyed her.
She watched me; her voice was soft. “What have you lost?”
My faith in my body. My confidence. Everything that made me Joanie Fox.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “A lot.”
Her wizened smile wrapped me in warmth. “You are a survivor. A tough woman. I can tell. We women have to be.”
She gripped the arms of her wheelchair, and her frame radiated determination. “I am not staying in this chair. I want to see my grandkids again. Focus on what you will do when you are better.”
“I can’t get back on the pitch. I’m scared I’ll get hurt again.”
“Maybe. Maybe you will get on the pitch and play better than ever. No one knows.”
The past nine months had been hellish, but things were changing.
I was almost there with the recovery. She was right.
Maybe it could be OK. How could I possibly know?
I was bored with the worry. Bored with myself.
Maybe Skylar was right. It wasn’t such a bad thing to get out of my comfort zone.
Things had to change one way or another.
“Can I get your autograph?”
I twisted in surprise. “Mine?”
She nodded. “My grandsons love futbol. I’m sure they will be thrilled to hear I met a professional.”
A sudden shyness came over me. With the injury, I hadn’t had much interaction with supporters this year. Ages since anyone had asked for an autograph.
“Sure.” I fumbled around in the pocket of my jacket. “I might have a pen in here.”
My fingers brushed a piece of paper, and I pulled out a neatly folded note. Lana’s scrawling handwriting filled the white sheet. Joanie’s fuck-it list. Heat erupted in my cheeks. Oh my gosh. Not appropriate. I shoved the paper back in my pocket.
“Here.” The older lady handed me her appointment card. “You can sign this.”
My fingers trembled a little as I signed the back of the card. Even though nobody had seen that list, just having it here in public where it could be discovered made me self-conscious.
The woman took the card and eyed me with a curious gaze. “Is everything OK?”
It had been until I’d found that stupid list. Now I had to think about the embarrassing conversation.
I’d flat-out dismissed it at the time, but maybe it hadn’t been such a terrible idea until Lana got hold of it.
Skylar thought it could be a way to get back to myself, and perhaps she wasn’t far off the mark.
Not bungee jumping or skydiving, but there had to be some normal things that I’d enjoy.
“My friend thinks I should write a list.”
I clamped my mouth shut, surprised by my own admission.
I’d already opened up more than I would normally with anyone.
There was comfort in a kind stranger. A person who didn’t know my dad.
She wouldn’t have any of the usual expectations that people had about Mortimer Fox’s daughter: that I was too spoiled, too entitled, too demanding, too much.
There was no pressure to shrink myself or hide the way I felt. Anonymity was . . . liberating.
The woman raised a questioning eyebrow. “A list?”
“Like a bucket list, but not crazy things. Nothing too wild. I don’t want to go bungee jumping. Just nice things I’ve always wanted to do.”
The woman nodded her approval. “It sounds like a good idea.”
My gaze drifted to Kieran at the other side of the crowded waiting area.
He sprawled casually on the floor, signing a cast on a little girl’s foot.
He stood and pulled off his Calverdale T-shirt, revealing his glorious muscular back.
Heat pooled in my stomach. He exchanged it for another man’s plain T-shirt.
There was no denying the obvious. Kieran was gorgeous. Seeing him in his element like this, moving around with casual grace and lighting the place up, only made it clearer. He was full-on swoon material.
“He is very handsome, no?” The woman raised a suggestive eyebrow. Her voice filled with humor. “Maybe he should be on your list.”
He was already number one on the list Lana had written.
What was she thinking? I couldn’t help my embarrassed chuckle.
We were so different. Even if he wasn’t the trouble-making bad boy I’d imagined, a man like Kieran Earnshaw wouldn’t be interested in me.
He was a sporting legend and I was . . . percussion.
“Joanie Fox?” A woman in a white coat stood with a clipboard, surveying the waiting room.
I stood. “That’s me.” I gave my new friend a smile. “Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful time on your adventures.”
She smiled warmly. “You too.”