Chapter 27 Joanie #2
The wind whipped my hair and roared its familiar melody in my ears, calling to me like a lover.
You’re still the fastest. My trainers sank into the mud.
With no studs to grip, I was skidding all over, kicking up clods of earth.
And I was free. Just for a moment. Me and the wind as one.
My body moved with a power and grace I’d hardly dared remember.
A fire ignited in my belly and with it a hot determination.
I closed in on the makeshift goal and lifted my foot to take the shot.
My trainer connected with the grass. Then something awful.
The fall unfolded in a weird tumbling slow motion. Even the wind reared back in surprise.
The earth rose to meet me. I threw out my arms to break the impact.
My hip and side absorbed the blow. The ground forced the air from my lungs and shunted me back in time.
Skylar looming over me, gray-faced and wide-eyed.
Medics rushing with a stretcher. So many eyes burning into me as my life unraveled.
Everything had been snatched from me in an instant. The wind stuffed my ears like cotton wool. It’s so easily done. So easy to do again.
Kieran dropped to his haunches. His handsome face was twisted with concern. “What hurts?”
Panic spiraled through me. I scanned my body.
Pain radiated from my hip and my knee. No.
Please no. It wasn’t bad. Not ACL tear bad.
But it still hurt. Children gathered around, peering down silently.
I didn’t dare move. A sudden rush of tears threatened to overwhelm me.
I’d spent nine months at home. I’d missed everything.
My team had carried on without me and I’d been alone. I couldn’t go through it again.
Kieran’s voice was a careful whisper. “Your knee . . . ?”
An overwhelming urge seized me to curl up in a ball like a cornered animal.
His warm hand rested on my face, and his eyes bored into mine. “Talk to me. What hurts?”
I couldn’t get a breath. Not a single one. “It’s nothing. Probably just bruised.”
Before I could protest, he swept me up and I was weightless. My anxiety was a tidal wave, but Kieran was an anchor. I surrendered to his strength and security, cradled against his hard chest, breathing him in. His calm, solid grip grounded me as he carried me the length of the pitch.
“I’ve got you.” His voice was as gentle as it was firm. “Everything will be OK.”
The doctor’s words washed over me, but I felt numb.
She was preparing me for the results. Ligament damage didn’t show up on an X-ray.
An MRI had been the only way. I took off my glasses and rubbed my burning eyes.
I’d been here for hours. Poor Kieran was sitting outside in the waiting room.
I’d told him to go back, but he wouldn’t leave. The man was stubborn like that.
Not again. Not again.
The words echoed in my brain, like a mantra. I’d felt invincible before the injury. I’d had the perfect record with training and games. Now my life was divided in two. Before the tear and after. I couldn’t come back another time. I just couldn’t. It had devastated me.
I peered out of the window at the bright-blue sky.
Strange to feel so absolutely wretched while beholding such a beautiful view.
News like this should be reserved for gray, rainy days in London.
What was I going to do? All that work I’d put in at the gym would be for nothing.
I’d lose my mind again if I couldn’t play.
Just when I was about to restart my life.
Hot tears pressed at my eyes, and I didn’t try to restrain them.
I felt my stomach drop as though I was in freefall, sliding down a cliff.
I tried desperately to grab on to one scrap of positivity.
If this was the end of my career, at least I’d got to play with a legend.
It had been a dream come true to share a pitch with Ramirez.
In the moments before the fall, I’d felt an incredible lightness that I hadn’t known in so long.
An unbridled joy. Ramirez was right. I wanted to play like the little girl who had loved football.
Football was all I’d ever wanted to do. Nothing matched the feeling of running like the wind with the ball at my feet.
The doctor pointed to the scan on the lighted box, and a grim determination gripped me.
Screw it. This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be.
That little girl inside wouldn’t let me quit.
Whatever this news was, I’d come back from it.
If it was another ACL tear, I’d get through it.
I’d do the work again, and I’d step back on that pitch.
Whatever it took. This wasn’t over. As long as there was breath in my body, I’d keep chasing my dream.
Otherwise, what was the point of any of it?
The doctor’s face gave nothing away, but I braced myself for the worst.
“It all looks good.”
A cry of relief left my mouth. “It does?”
She nodded. “Your knee is a little bruised. The graft is still intact. Ice it for a couple of days, and you’ll be fine.”
I brushed the tears from my cheeks. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
I eased down from the table with a beaming smile on my face. Another chance. Football had almost been snatched away from me in a heartbeat again, but I had another chance. I wouldn’t squander it.