Lucky 22

Prologue

The stadium roars with life around me—an electric,

relentless hum of cheers and chants. It’s almost deafening, but you can’t help

but get caught up in it. Bright lights bathe the diamond in a surreal glow,

catching every glint of sweat, blade of grass, and nervous twitch of the

players. In my head, I’m cheering just as loud as everyone else. It’s like I’m

trying to telepathically say, “You’ve got this.”

But sitting in the stands, in a pocket of solitude amid the

chaos, I am alone.

Literally.

My husband is mere seconds away from winning the World

Series, and minutes ago, security came to get all the players’ friends and

family to bring them down so they could run onto the field when the big moment

arrived.

But I stayed behind.

I never should have looked at my phone.

Heck, it should have been turned off. But I’m in the middle

of shooting a movie here in St. Louis, and I already know I need to be on set

in the morning. The producers were kind enough to work around the World Series

schedule, but I need to be aware of any schedule changes.

Hence, the phone being on.

My heart races, and my hands feel clammy as I clasp my cell

to my ear. I’m watching what’s happening on the field, even as I listen to my

agent presenting the biggest role of my career. This is what I’ve been working

toward since I was a kid. If ever there was a dream part, this is it.

Unfortunately, her timing couldn’t be worse. Everyone knows I’m here to support

Christian.

This is his moment.

I wish she had considered that and waited until tomorrow to

call.

A tiny voice in my head reminds me, “It’s Christian’s

moment,” but this is important, too.

Not that anyone understands that.

My husband does. Truly. But the looks I got as the rest of

the friends and family were ushered away—and the snarky comments from some of

the players’ wives—told a different story. Words like selfish,

self-involved, and rude were whispered.

I’m an actress, and things like that aren’t anything new.

But this time, the words stung quite a bit more than they usually do.

I look down at my free hand—at my wedding ring sparkling in

the stadium lighting. It represents the promise that Christian and I made to

each other.

So many promises.

So many sacrifices.

I hear the exuberant announcement. “And the Archers have won

the World Series!”

“Ella? Ella, are you listening to me? This is an incredible

opportunity. They want an answer from you tonight.”

Everyone’s running onto the field, laughing, cheering,

hugging their loved ones. I should be down there. But I’m not.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” I say. “I need to

run.”

I hear a loud sigh on the other end. “Seriously? This is the

chance of a lifetime. What is there to think about?”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Jeez, Ella.” Another sigh. “Are you sure he’s worth it?”