Chapter Fifteen #2
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 can run onto the field when the big moment
arrives.
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. I already know I need to be on set in
the morning. The producers were kind enough to work around the playoff
schedule, but I need to be aware of any schedule changes.
Hence, the phone being on.
My heart races, and my hand feels 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. Remember that major motion
picture? Their lead actress had to back out, and guess who they want? 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 simply 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 all 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 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, and
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?”
I don’t even hesitate.
“Yes.” I hang up and slide the phone into my purse as I get
to my feet.
Now, I can go down to the field and celebrate with my
husband.
Reality hits. THEY WON! I don’t just run, I sprint through
the concourse, weaving through the chaos of thousands of fans, crying tears of
joy. Then I head down the stairs and past security.
It feels like it takes forever, but I’m finally on the
field, jumping up and down and trying to spot my man. Luckily, he’s doing the
same as he looks for me.
Then it’s like the heart-stopping moment in every romantic
movie. We’re running toward each other (cue the slow-motion effect), and before
I know it, I’m in his arms, wrapping myself around him. I’m laughing, crying,
and holding on as he spins us both around.
“You’re late,” he says with a laugh, but I’m too excited to
even think of a comeback.
“You did it! You did it! I love you!”
Then he’s kissing me, and I swear this may be one of the swooniest moments of my life. When he sets me down on my
feet, he looks positively ethereal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so
happy.
“We did it,” he states.
“Thanks for winning a World Series for me.”
“I wouldn’t be here without you, Ella Rose. You asked me to
win another World Series, and here we are.”
“Oh, Christian…” He gives another thorough kiss.
“I was late because security came and got the family and
friends early before the final out. I refused to leave.”
I didn’t stay in my seat because of the phone call. I stayed
because my husband is very superstitious.
Even though he hates that word.
Christian can’t step on a crack before a game. I’ve made him
the same two meals every single day for the past two seasons. He sleeps in the
same shorts and T-shirt every night and has the same routine every day, down to
the minute.
I needed to stay in my seat until the end of the game. It’s
important to him. So, it didn’t matter that the game was almost over. Anything
could happen until the last out. I knew I needed to stay where I was until the
Archers were the World Series champs.
No matter what, I wasn’t moving.
I’m not a diva.
And I’m certainly not selfish, self-involved, or rude.
No matter what anyone else thinks.
I was being a good partner. A good teammate.
A good wife.
We have our moment, but it is utter chaos all around us.
Photographers, reporters, Christian’s teammates. Everyone’s celebrating, and
it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I’ve walked red carpets, but
that isn’t even remotely similar to this level of pandemonium.
Everyone’s either hugging him or taking our picture. I try
to step away and let him have his moment, but his arm is wound tightly around
my waist, holding me close. I’m nearly blind from all the camera flashes, and
my cheeks hurt from smiling. Still, it’s an incredible celebration.
One minute, we’re in the middle of the field. The next,
we’re being led away to a stage. I tug on Christian’s hand as I lean in close
to his ear to be heard over all the noise. “What’s going on? Where are we
going?”
“They named me the World Series MVP!” he says loudly,
carefully leading me through the crowd.
When we get to the stage, he lets go of me and steps up. The
team owners and management are all up there, and I swear I’ve never been
prouder in my entire life. In this moment, I can honestly say that it was worth
it—all the injuries, the physical rehab, the constant wear and tear on his
body, the pain, the tape…it was worth it. Seeing the sheer joy on his face and
knowing everything he went through to be standing up there?
Worth it.
Tears stream down my cheeks as the MLB Commissioner—with a
trophy in his hands—turns to Christian and says, “I would like to congratulate
the World Series MVP, Christian Lucas!”
The entire stadium erupts in cheers as Christian hoists the
trophy over his head. He poses for more pictures before giving his speech. I
can barely hear what he’s saying over the roar of the crowd, and I know how
uncomfortable he is with this kind of focus on him. Still, he gives a very
inspirational acknowledgment to all the people who helped him get here: the
coaches, the fans, his family.
“And through it all,” he says, “I’ve been blessed to have my
amazing wife standing beside me. I know this season was a little rough, but you
never gave up on me. Even when things weren’t looking great. I love you, Ella
Rose. Thank you for your faith in me.”
More cheers from the crowd.
More tears from me as I cheer along with them.
The next thing I know, I’m being ushered closer to the
stage, where Christian immediately joins me. They hand him the keys to a
brand-new, canary-yellow Corvette. Neither of us has ever owned a new car in
our lives, so it’s wild that it’s happening. We pose for more pictures, and
then it’s back to celebrating with the team.
I have no sense of time as we go from the field to the
clubhouse. There’s no time to talk to Christian right now, but I know we will
later. Seeing him like this makes my heart so happy. There hasn’t been a whole
lot to celebrate lately, and that makes this all the better.
When things finally wind down, and it’s time to leave, it
almost feels odd when we step outside, and the volume level goes down so
drastically.
“Do you think we’re supposed to drive the Corvette home?” he
asks with amusement.
“Um…”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t think I ever imagined
a bright-yellow Corvette being my first new car.”
“It certainly is bright,” I add, laughing, too.
When we reach the car and have time to study it, we laugh
even harder.
“Ella Rose? Any chance you know how to drive a stick shift?”
“Nope.”
“Neither do I.” he says around a fit of laughter.
Now what are we supposed to do? How are we supposed to
figure out how to drive this car home?
Thankfully, the dealership’s owner walks over.
“Congratulations on the big win, Mr. Lucas,” he says, shaking Christian’s hand.
“That was one heck of a game.”
“Thank you.” He pauses. “Um…are we supposed to take this
home or…?”
Relief washes over me as the man responds, “Oh, no. This was
just for show. You can come down to the dealership anytime, pick out the actual
one you want, and we’ll ship it to you. I believe I heard you’ll be living in
Florida for the offseason?”
“That’s right. But we’ll be in touch before we go.”
Now, we’re finally ready to leave.
We drive home in our old, clunky Toyota. Christian calls his
dad, and in a rare moment, I hear Mr. Lucas give praise.
“Congratulations, son. I love you, Christian,” I hear him
say.
“I love you, too, Dad.”
Now I’m ready to cry again.
Back at our apartment, Christian carries his trophy in,
holding it close.