Chapter Fifteen
Chapter
Fifteen
I don’t get the major motion picture role, but I land
a part in a movie that is filming right in St. Louis.
Talk about fortuitous.
I’ll admit that it will be nice to be working so close to
home. No living out of a suitcase, and I get to sleep in my own bed every night
next to Christian.
When he’s not on the road with the Archers, that is.
He’s playing, and the team is on the road to the World
Series, but since his last series of unfortunate injuries, he’s added a pulled
hamstring and a strained shoulder to the list.
As much as I want to wrap him in bubble wrap and keep him
from further hurting himself, the team is steadily climbing the ranks, and
there’s no way he’d agree to miss out on being part of the story.
So, I bite my tongue and do my best to be supportive.
Even though his body is literally being held together by
tape. He’s usually wrapped up from his shoulder to his knee to keep things
stable while he’s playing. When he gingerly climbs into bed beside me, I can’t
help but sigh.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Can I ask you something?”
He chuckles softly as he tries to get comfortable. “Are we
answering questions with questions now?”
“Christian…”
“Okay, okay. Sure. What’s up?”
“Is it worth it?”
His brows furrow a bit. “What do you mean? Is what worth
it?”
I twist slightly so I can face him fully. “All of…this.” I
motion to where he’s usually all taped up. He doesn’t keep it on
twenty-four-seven, but I don’t know how he stands it. “The injuries, the
physical rehab, the constant wear and tear on your body, the pain, the tape…is
it worth it?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I know he’s truly giving
the question some thought.
“For most of my life, I was told I wasn’t good enough to be
a Major League Baseball player,” he says, his voice a little somber and gruff.
“I wasn’t big enough, I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t strong enough. If I had
listened to the critics, I would have missed out on an amazing career.”
He picks up my hand and places it on his chest, right over
his heart.
“I’ve never been a quitter. All I need to be is just enough.
You may look at all the injuries this season and wonder why I keep going, but I
look at them as stumbling blocks. None of them is career-ending.”
“The concussion could have been,” I whisper, but I’m unable
to meet his gaze. I almost feel guilty for saying it out loud.
“But it wasn’t. Looking back, yes, I should have taken it
more seriously, but I eventually got the rest I needed.”
“I know, but…”
“Athletes have a short shelf life, Ella Rose. There will
come a time when I can’t play the game anymore. But until then, I’m going to
give it my all. Every injury, hardship, and bit of life I’ve missed out on is
worth it to me. I’m doing what I love.”
I swallow hard and nod because I get it.
Although my career doesn’t have me doing things that can
cause permanent damage to my body. When I sigh again, Christian squeezes my
hand and gazes at me until I look at him.
“I hate that you’re this upset again. And I hate knowing I’m
the reason for it.”
My heart races, because this is the point where I usually
back down. The time in the discussion where I accept things for what they are
because I don’t want to upset him. So, no one’s more surprised than me when I
blurt out, “And I hate that you’re constantly taking unnecessary risks. I hate
that you’re being reckless for the sake of a game. You say that you hate
upsetting me, but you’re not willing to do anything about it. For the last
several months, I’ve been a ball of anxiety, tiptoeing around you. And you know
what? That’s not how I want to live. I have always taken your thoughts into
account with every role I take, and I don’t feel like you consider me or my
feelings at all where your career is concerned.”
His expression turns fierce for just a second, but I see it.
“We talked about this years ago,” he says after a moment,
his voice completely calm. “It’s why I said you needed to experience a full
baseball season before I proposed. You knew what this life would be like.”
“No,” I say adamantly, pulling my hand from his. “No, I
didn’t. It wasn’t like this. I never even imagined it would be like this. I
understood and came to accept the loneliness. But seeing you in constant pain
and not being able to do anything about it wasn’t part of anything we
discussed.”
Now he’s annoyed, but so am I.
“There’s a difference between being passionate about your
career and being stubborn. I have watched you lie to me, your trainers, and
yourself. And for what, huh? You’re walking around like an eighty-year-old man
when you’re only thirty-one. You’re being held together by athletic tape and
lies, Christian. I feel like the only voice of logic.”
He doesn’t say a word.
“And what’s worse is you expecting me to sit here day after
day, night after night, while you destroy your body just so no one can say
you’re a quitter. I’d rather have you retire and know we can live our lives the
way we always dreamed instead of the possibility of you being permanently
injured because you refused to listen to reason.”
“I would never ask you to quit acting,” he says quietly.
“Even when I haven’t agreed with some roles you played, I never asked you not
to act. You’ve worked your whole life with one goal, and you know that,
sometimes, the things you have to do aren’t ideal. And they’re not forever. I
thought we were on the same page with that. I will always support you. No
matter what.”
For a moment, all the wind goes out of my sails. Like…how do
I fight back? I’m not asking him to quit playing out of selfishness; I’m simply
asking him to think about all the repercussions.
“The difference is, Christian, those roles aren’t destroying
my body. They’re not physically destroying my health and well-being.”
That’s it. I’ve put it all out there. There’s nothing left
for me to say.
My conscience is clear. I spoke my truth out of love.
He may not realize it, but I’m fighting not only for him but
also for our marriage. I’ve lived by the rules he set for us, all centered on
baseball. I’ve been a good teammate. But that’s not all there is to our lives.
His wants and needs aren’t the only ones. I can’t be the only one learning how
to balance it all.
I know he’s not doing it maliciously. Christian is one of
the sweetest and kindest human beings on the planet. But when it comes to his
career, he’s got tunnel vision.
Without a word, he rolls away from me and turns off his
bedside light. With nothing left to do, I end up doing the same. It’s the first
time in our married life that we don’t snuggle together while watching TV until
we fall asleep. My side of the bed feels vast, empty, and cold.
Maybe I’m wrong, but I can’t cave. And I’m not going to
apologize for loving him and being concerned about his well-being.
I most certainly won’t apologize for speaking from my heart.
I’ve made sacrifices.
I’ve missed out on some amazing acting opportunities.
I’ve moved away from where I wanted our lives to be.
I’ve sat in uncomfortable social situations for the sake of
supporting my husband.
And now I sound selfish, even though I did all those things
selflessly.
How’s that for irony?
I love my husband. That’s never been the issue. But I want
him to be around for our future.
I try my best to get comfortable, willing myself not to cry.
I’m tired of crying. But more than anything, I’m tired of crying for things
that will never change. Am I fighting a losing battle? Or am I being stubborn
and holding on to a version of our lives that I created in my head?
I honestly don’t know anymore.
As I’m about to drift off to sleep, I feel the mattress dip,
and Christian moving in close. One muscular arm comes around me as he places a
soft kiss on my cheek.
“I’m sorry, Ella Rose. I’m so sorry,” he whispers before
settling in behind me.
I don’t reply, but I do gently pull his arm more snugly
around me.
The apology means a lot, but I know it doesn’t mean what I
want it to.
He’s going to keep playing.
And I’m going to keep worrying.
What happened to our fairy tale?
The Archers are in the World Series. I’m not
surprised. They had one heck of a season, and Christian is on the field with
them.
Since the night of our confrontation, for lack of a better
word, there haven’t been any more injuries. At least none that I know about.
But I feel like it’s only a matter of time before something happens.
Right now, however, we’re here in Game 5, and I’m literally
on the edge of my seat. If they win this game, the Archers are World Series
champions.
Then my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I don’t have a choice but to look at it, and I’m surprised
when I see Tracy’s name on the screen. Feeling completely conflicted, I answer.
“Hey.”
“Ella! You’re never going to believe this. They want you.”
“Who?” I ask distractedly, even as the play on the field
gives the Archers a significant lead.
I’m only half-listening to her because there is so much
going on around me. All the WAGs and families are on their feet and on the
move.
“This is the role of a lifetime, Ella. They need an answer
tonight so they can get their shooting schedule rearranged. You’re their first
choice, but if they don’t get an answer tonight, they’re making their second
choice an offer.”
“Wait. What?”
Tracy sighs loudly. “… the actress had to back out of the
role…they want you …in production, and I told them you’re finishing up in St.
Louis, and…”
I can hardly hear what she’s saying. A restless flutter
stirs in my chest. I’m staying in my seat and doing my best to focus on the
game.
On Christian.
The stadium roars to 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, every blade of grass, every nervous twitch in the
players. In my head, I’m cheering just as loudly 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