Once mom’s car was out front, I moaned in pain as Chris laid me across the back seat and then leaned in to buckle me.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I said.
“But you called me. And then you told me you loved me, Allie.”
“What? No, I didn’t. When?” I asked in shock. The pain and drugs must be clouding my memory.
“Like three hours ago. Don’t you remember? Please try to remember,” he begged.
“I don’t remember, Chris. I’m sure I wouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry if I did; it was the drugs.” I said apologetically.
“Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe it was the truth, baby,” he pleaded.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry,” he said, with a look of defeat on his face. “I guess I’ll go.” Then he shut the door and walked away.
On the way home, we stopped at Westbury pharmacy to pick up whatever strong painkillers the doctor called in. I couldn’t get them into my system fast enough to stop the horrific throbbing. When I finally got to my room, I struggled to get up onto my bed, but once I did, I collapsed back onto the mountain of pillows. The sun was starting to go down, so the light coming through my bedroom windows was fading as the drugs began to kick in, and I drifted off into a drug-induced sleep.
The next morning, I was awoken by my school alarm that I had forgotten to turn off over Christmas break. I reached over and slapped it to turn it off, but the twisting motion unleashed unimaginable pain in my hip and back. I screamed for my mom.
“Help!” I yelled, and both Amy and my mom came running.
“What is it, dear?” she asked in a panic.
“I literally moved and everything hurts!” I moaned. My sister rolled her eyes and walked back down the hall, leaving my mom to deal with me.
“I’ll get the meds, she said, then she went to the bathroom to get the medicine bottle and a cup of water. Once she passed them to me, she told me she had something for me, then she disappeared. When she returned, she had a vase full of red roses.
“These arrived for you,” she said, with an intrigued look on her face.
“Who are they from?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but here’s the card,” she said, passing it to me, as she set the roses down on my dresser.
“Thanks,” I said. I smiled as I took the card, but inside was just a heart and nothing else. Were these from Chris?
As I lay there in agony, I thought about what the doctor said. My field hockey days were on hold. Those were words that I wasn’t willing to accept. What did that mean about my scholarship to Wake Forest? I didn’t want to think about it. When my mom returned to the room, she sat down on my bed.
“Mom? Do you think I’m going to lose my scholarship?” I asked quietly.
“You heard what the doctor said. Let’s recheck you in 2-3 weeks and see how you are doing, but I think you need to be realistic. You’ve just sustained three major injuries. I don’t know how you expect to play again after this. You’ve got a broken back and a hip full of blood, and we don’t know how any of this is going to heal,” she said, trying to be practical but with a sound of sadness to her voice. She knew that field hockey meant everything to me.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do if I lose this scholarship,” I said, with tears welling up in my eyes. She put her hand on my belly and gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving the room.
That evening, still lying in bed, I heard a familiar rumble out front, but I was in too much pain to move. Amy walked past my room, glanced in quickly, and then carried on down the stairs and out the front door. I thought I might have caught her smile, but surely, I was mistaken. Either way, something wasn’t adding up. Why was Chris here?
I did my best to pull myself to a sitting position and then slowly worked my legs over the edge of the bed. The hospital sent me home with a cane to help me get around, so I used that to help me stand up. All I had to do was make it across the hall to the guest room so that I could see out the front window. As I looked out, there were Amy and Chris, talking on the front steps, and Chris looked upset. I needed to know what was going on. I sat down on the guest bed and watched out the window for what felt like ages before Chris finally got in his truck and shut the door. I could see him sitting there, rubbing his hands over his face and then back through his dark mop of hair that I missed so much. He looked frustrated, and I wished I knew why. What was Amy up to now? I was sure I would feel the wrath of it eventually. I watched until Chris finally started his truck and drove away.
When Amy came back inside, she went right to her room and shut the door. I was glad she didn’t see me watching; otherwise, she would have let me have it for spying on her. I made my way slowly back to my room, wincing with every step, then got back into bed, and that’s where I stayed for the rest of the night.
I tried calling James a few times, but he didn’t pick up. I wanted to talk to him about what had happened, and he made me promise that I would call him if I needed help. I did. I needed someone to talk to, and I wished he would come over and just sit with me. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong. I asked my Mom if he had stopped by or called, and she mentioned that he had come to see me while I was in the hospital, but that he seemed to be upset when he left. She wondered if maybe Chris had something to do with it. Oh no. Chris had been there at the hospital, and James must have seen us together. I don’t know what happened or what I said, but I’m sure he was mad. I really needed to speak with him, so I tried to call him again, but no luck.
The next morning, there was another knock at the door. As soon as my mom opened it, I could hear Chris’s voice at the bottom of the stairs, and my stomach rolled over in nerves. What could he want now?
“Can I see her, Mrs. Wyatt?” he asked pleadingly.
“She’s in her room,” she said, and I could hear him take the steps two at a time. When he came around the doorframe of my room, he was slightly out of breath, but he said nothing when our eyes met. His eyes went to the flowers on my dresser, and he smiled before looking back at me. I guess they were from him.
