Page 110 of Play For Me

I hate this. Hate that we have to worry about this. Hate that she’s even considering telling me not to go when she basically begged me last night to promise I’d be there for her today.

“It’s no different than it’s been this whole time,” I tell her. “We’ll just act like we’re in a totally professional relationship.”

She looks dubious. “You think you can do that? Now?”

I know what she means. Since she got hurt yesterday, I haven’t been able to allow any distance between us. It’s like a physical need, this desire to be close to her, to try and take care of her, to make sure that she’s safe and okay. The idea of sending her off to get an MRI and not being able to hold her hand or kiss her makes my stomach hurt.

“I can handle it,” I tell her through gritted teeth, because what’s the alternative? As apathetic as I’m feeling about my clinicals since her injury, I know there’s no way she’ll allow me to say fuck it and blow up all my hard work.

“Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t sound too convinced.

The MRI sucks just as much as we both anticipate. We sit in a waiting room with her parents and Devon before a tech comes to get her. Devon is keeping up a fairly steady stream of conversation with her parents, trying to lighten the tension, but Cecelia is fidgeting and quiet. Nervous. It doesn’t help that it’s cold as hell in here. The urge to move to the chair next to her and put an arm around her eats at me.

When the technician, a middle-aged woman in light pink scrubs, comes out to get Cecelia, she mentions that she’ll need assistance getting her sweats off and into a hospital gown. I almost move to go help her but luckily, I catch myself in time when Sam gets up.

“We’ll see you after,” Cash says, standing to hug her. Devon stands too, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “You got this, Ransome,” he says. She looks at me, her smile small and tight. I nod back, hating every fucking second of this.

Once they’re gone, Cash manages to sit still for approximately thirty seconds. “Hate hospitals,” he mutters, shoving a hat onto his head. “I’m gonna take a walk.”

I want nothing more than to leave too, to pace around this building until she’s done, but Devon calls me over as soon as Cash goes. “Might as well go over some training notes,” he says. “Since we didn’t get a chance after the match.”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep it together. I don’t want to go over training notes. I don’t want to be professional or try to mask my feelings. The girl I’m crazy about is back there somewhere, scared out of her mind and hurting.

But what choice do I have?

She’s gone for nearly an hour, and I’m practically coming out of my skin by the time she hobbles back into the waiting room on her crutches, her mom at her side. The technician comes out behind them and goes straight over to confer with Devon. “The radiologist will take a look and send the images over to the team doctor and the orthopedic surgeon who did Miss Ransome’s surgery,” she tells him.

“How long does that usually take?” I ask Devon once the tech has left.

“Dr. Patel will probably want to meet with her tomorrow,” Devon says, looking grim. “If the orthopedic surgeon has a chance to review the scans, we should have a pretty good idea if there’s been an additional tear by then.”

Please, please don’t let it be torn.

Cecelia is quiet the entire ride back to the house, clinging to my hand in the backseat of her Dad’s SUV. Her face is paler than usual and I’m pretty sure she’s in pain but doesn’t want to say it in front of her parents.

They insist on coming inside. Her dad wants to make her food to last a few days and I think her mom just wants to fuss. The Littles are all home, too, but Cecelia ignores their request to sit in the living room and watch TV with them, saying she just wants to rest. I follow her into her bedroom but she puts her hand up once we’re inside. “I really just need a minute,” she says, her voice tight.

“Okay. We’ll lie down and?—”

“A minute to myself,” she clarifies, not meeting my eye.

“Cecelia.” Her jaw is tight, her eyes red-rimmed. “Let me help you lie down and get some ice on your knee. Then I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

She shakes her head a few times, and a tear leaks out. I hear her swear softly under her breath.

“You need to cry?” I ask. “Is that why you want to be alone?”

She nods, the motion jerky, and my heart breaks a little. “How about we lie down and you can cry all you want and I’ll pretend I can’t hear you?”

Her laugh turns into a sob and I can’t stand a second more of this. I pick her up and carry her to the bed, laying her down and adjusting a pillow under her knee. Then I climb in with her and pull her into my arms while she breaks down again.

“This is so embarrassing,” she gets out. “Inevercry.”

“It’s just us,” I remind her. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“I cried in front of my family yesterday,” she argues.

I smooth the hair back from her face. “You think they’re judging you for it?”