Come on, Elly, you’re a professional, I thought.None of this pickiness.
Looking back, I wonder if I should’ve been pickier. More vocal. More insistent on following my intuition.
Because almost as soon as the second set began, it happened. The ball was coming and I decided the best move to save it would be an overhead smash. I closed in and jumped, but the next step didn’t come. I never hit the ball.
The jump didn’t take me straight in the air.
I could pretend to outline exactly where, how, and in what position my leg was in from the moment it left the damp blades of grass to the moment my bare knee met the surface but that would be mostly based on my imagination. Stories from the doctor on what he thought happened, stories from the chair umpire and line umpire, and insights from a couple of people in the crowd who went on to get a bit of airtime by sharing what they saw or what they thought they saw and then…how it felt. How deep the pain felt, like being tossed against a rocky mountain, the kind of mountains mom and I used to climb…
The pain made me cry out, a sound so piercing I never would have thought I was capable of it. But as I spun and twisted in the air, the realization of what was happening hit me before the ground did and I had only one thought:Mom.
I had let her down.
CHAPTER10
SEBASTIAN
It had taken two phone calls. The cousin of one of my old school buddies was the official of the match Elly was playing. Eager to escape the moans and groans of Elonzo and the furious tapping of Father with his cigars—not to mention to the not-to-be in-laws, who were obviously bewildered that their plans of buying a new car, home, and holiday to Ibiza were ruined—I made a call to Alvaro, and that was that.
Although, in all honesty, I had made up my mind to be at the match the moment Elly’s (I presumed) agent had pulled her out of the bar. Something about her just wouldn’t let me rest until I knew more.
Watching her play was like being welcomed into an intimate part of her. I’d already met two sides of her—the reserved, mysterious woman and the cold, no-nonsense character who succeeded in taking me down a peg or two. And pulled out a genuine smile from me. I hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.
But when Elly was playing, she looked alive. Determined. On fire. Her skin glowed and even from my seat, I could see the chocolate of her eyes—not just glittering, but alight. She moved with such ease and elegance; it was like watching a dancer falling in love with music. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. I was enthralled.
So, when it happened, the accident that saw her land straight on her knee, I was prepared for my heart to feel a little disappointed. A little empathetic.
But watching Elly curled around her knee, her whole body twisting in pain, it took all of my willpower to stop from running over and taking her in my arms, whispering that everything would be okay, that she had nothing to be afraid of…
Even though I was afraid. I was terrified, petrified…of myself…of what I was feeling for her…
I turned my head away violently, nearly colliding with a couple obviously out on a date. They gave me a curious look before shifting away from me. I couldn’t look at what was going down on court anymore because I couldn’t control myself. But what could I offer her? She had already rejected me at the bar.
Elly made it clear she didn’t need nor want anything from me. My feelings were all in vain. Just a silly crush. Just…
And that’s when the idea came. There was something that Elly wanted. Something I could offer her. And something she could offer me in return. And I wouldn’t even need to reveal my true feelings for her with my little offering. It was perfect. A perfect idea.
Now all I needed was to get her to agree.
CHAPTER11
ELLY
The doctor adjusted his glasses before placing two copies of an MRI scan in front of me. One had my name typed beneath it. “Now, if you look at this diagram. The anterior cruciate ligament, or ACL, is one of the four primary ligaments in our knee joints. It supports the knee’s rotational stability and blocks the shinbone from sliding in front of the thighbone.
“As you can see from the two MRIs, here we have a healthy and intact ACL. Whereas yours is completely torn. It is very noticeable here and here.” The doctor pointed out the gray areas where the tears were most evident on my MRI scan. “A torn ACL is a common injury in athletes, and the best treatment we can offer you is reconstructive surgery.”
“Surgery?” I whispered. I felt exhausted and numb from all the painkillers the nurse had given me. I blinked up at the doctor; suddenly the beams from the ceiling were too bright for my eyes.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Reconstructing the ACL is one of the most common types of knee arthroscopy. It’s a minimally invasive method, and will offer the best chance of a full recovery.”
Dazed, I lifted myself slightly off the bed, but the doctor placed a hand on my shoulder. “No, Ms. Hall. You must rest.” His voice was gentle but firm.
I looked up at him, about to protest. He looked to be in his fifties, with the calm composure of someone who had been in his profession for decades. He wore spectacles that rode his nose. His short curly hair was gelled back away from his face and the lines across his forehead were deep, almost as deep as the look he was giving me just then.
“Doctor, I…”
“You must rest,” he said. “Once the swelling around your knee goes down, we can proceed with the arthroscopy.”