Chapter Fourteen #3
and wish him a speedy recovery. Hopefully, we’ll talk soon. Bye.”
I hang up and let out a long breath. A part of me has
serious FOMO about the movie and audition. Could I call one of Christian’s
siblings and ask them to come and stay for a few days so I can go to LA? Sure.
But how selfish would that be?
No. My place is here. I’m a good teammate.
A good wife.
I try not to fixate on the fact that to be those things, I’m
being a lousy actress. I’m really beginning to believe that finding balance is
just a myth.
At least according to Hollywood’s standards.
But I’ll focus on that later.
For the next four weeks, everything is about getting
Christian better. He goes to rehab and has all kinds of therapy—ultrasound
treatments for his side, heating, stretching, acupuncture, and anything else
needed to stabilize his oblique.
But four weeks turn to five, and he’s still not cleared to
play. I don’t know how to feel about it.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Ella Rose,”
he says after another round of physical therapy. “It’s never taken this long
for me to get over an injury before. The team’s not playing well, and I know I
can help them. Something’s got to give.”
He’s pacing, and even though I can tell that he’s moving
better, he’s still not moving as he did before the injuries. His hat’s on
backward, he’s a little unkempt, and it’s absolutely not the time to be
thinking about how sexy he is, but I can’t help myself. His body needs to heal,
but I still enjoy checking him out.
“You need to be patient,” I say, pushing my wayward thoughts
aside. “You need to trust what the therapists are doing so that when they do
clear you to play, you know you’ll be going back at one hundred percent.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“What did they say today? I’m sure you asked about when they
think you’ll be ready.”
When he doesn’t look at me, I know something’s wrong.
“Christian?”
“They say what they always say. ‘These things take time.’”
Tossing his hat off, he lets out a huff of frustration. “I’m tired of hearing
that. I know my body, and I think I’m ready. I know I’m not one hundred
percent, but I still believe I can play and be an asset to my team.”
“Um…” I immediately snap my mouth shut. The last thing he
needs when he’s this worked up is me offering my two cents. Especially when I
already know I agree with the therapists.
His head snaps around to look at me, his gaze narrowing.
“What? Tell me what you’re thinking.”
My shoulders sag, and I can feel my face scrunching into a
frown. “Okay. You have a history of ignoring the fact that you’re injured and
then playing through the pain. That’s why you’re in this position. I get that
you’re frustrated and hate being on the injured list, but you have got to
listen to the professionals. You all dropped the ball with the concussion and
look where that got you. So, maybe trust that they’re being cautious with you.
You’re not going to be any good to the team if you go back too soon and end up
injured again.”
I may as well have slapped his face because the look he
gives me is one of utter disbelief.
Without a word, he walks away. His silence is palpable, and
maybe he just needs my support right now… Ugh, I feel terrible.
Or…do I?
Coddling him won’t help him in the long run. Right now, he
needs tough love. He needs someone to tell him no and that he can’t have his
way.
If only everyone in the Archers organization felt that way…
The next day, they clear Christian to play.
He is elated.
I’m miserable.
I call Tracy the following day when he leaves for the
stadium and tell her to put me back on her schedule. She is positively giddy
because, as luck would have it, that major motion picture role hasn’t been
cast.
There is still hope.
I didn’t make the call to be spiteful or because I need to
get away from my husband for a few days because I am so stinking frustrated
with the situation, but I can see how it might look that way to other people.
I just choose not to think about it.
It’s just time for life to get back to normal. To
try to find some balance. And my career needs my attention, too.
Christian is leaving to meet the team in Houston, and I’m
leaving for LA. We’re both smiling and giddy for our own personal reasons as we
kiss goodbye at the airport.
“Break a leg, Ella Rose,” he says, and I know he means it.
“You’ve got this. I believe in you.” He looks so handsome, and his blue eyes
are sparkling again. He’s back in his element.
Unable to help myself, I giggle and smooth my hand over his
chest. “Please don’t break anything while you’re gone,” I tease before kissing
him senseless. When I pull back, he’s grinning, so I know he didn’t take
offense. “Good luck in Houston. But seriously, be careful.”
“I will. I promise. I’m feeling good, and I’ve got this.” He
caresses my cheek. “Go and knock their socks off in Hollywood. This could be
your chance at an Oscar.”
I love his faith in me. As we go our separate ways in the
terminal, I turn and watch him get swallowed by the crowd.
Please be safe. I love you.