“It’s sprained, just need to keep weight off of it for a few days,” he mumbles.
He says nothing more as he starts slowly making his way to his truck. His expression doesn’t change as we walk and I slow my pace so he doesn’t feel like he needs to rush. I can tell that alone is driving him crazy. A few fans are hanging around and calling out his name. He raises his hand to give them a curt wave, but nothing else.
“Well, can I do anything for you? Um, drive you home? Cook something? Do you want any ice packs or anything? I have a bunch of stuff at my place.”
“No,” he says quietly, still making his way to the truck.
“Okay…” I sigh.
“Where did you park?” he asks bluntly.
“Oh, not important. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Get in and tell me where you parked so I can drive you to your car.” He tosses his bag in the backseat of his truck before pulling the passenger side door open.
Everything in me wants to argue and tell him to not worry about me at a moment like this. But debating him will only annoy him. And I can already tell he’s hanging by a thread before losing his cool. He’s pissed off. He’s upset. He feels like he let the team down. I know him so damn well… I can see those thoughts weaving their way through his mind.
He closes the door behind me and makes his way over to his side of the truck before pulling himself in.
“A sprain shouldn’t mean any surgery, so that’s good at least,” I whisper as he takes the final turn to the lot I’m parked in.
His shoulders rise and fall in a quick shrug and I can tell he doesn’t want to even talk about it right now. When he pulls up to my car, his hand reaches for mine, giving it a quick squeeze as he offers the smallest hint of a smile and then turns to face forward again.
I sigh, realizing he probably just needs some time to process all of this.
“I’m sorry about your knee, Chase.” I pull the lever on the door and let myself out.
I decided not to text Chase after I got home from the game the other day, but I had to check in yesterday. I sent him a text message about a new documentary I thought he might like. He responded, telling me he’d check it out. He also included a smiley face emoji, so I took that as a win. When I asked if he needed anything he responded with a simple no. I guess I shouldn’t have expected much else, but jumping into action is quite literally what I’ve been trained to do when someone gets hurt, and it doesn’t sit well with me that I’m not doing that for him.
I’m trying to find the balance in wanting to help and be there, but also not overstepping. It’s the last thing I want to do right now, but this morning the urge to see him in person is too strong to ignore. Simply a sign of life is really all that I’m looking for.
I leave tomorrow to spend the holiday with my parents. Any chance you’re taking visitors today?
My text sits on delivered for the duration of my shower, the entire time it takes me to get ready and then even while I start packing a small bag for my quick trip home. Once I finally sit down to eat something, my phone dings and I can’t get to the message fast enough.
Chase
Sure.
A sigh of relief leaves my chest. Chase and I haven’t been officially dating long, and yet it feels like I’ve lived a thousand lives with him already.
Before I get to his apartment, I stop at the store to grab a few snacks for him and CeCe and a couple things for Diane to do with CeCe to help keep her occupied. Abby said she’s been bringing her over to their house the last couple of days just to give Chase some peace and quiet.
I tap lightly on the door and hear shuffling on the other side. Shit. I should have asked Abby for a key or something so I’m not making him walk to the door. Off to a great start, Summer.
“Hey.” My voice is soft as he pulls the door open.
“Hi.” His face is lined with scruff and his eyes resemble that of a sad puppy. He swipes a piece of hair from his face and I glance down at his knee. Now in a brace since the swelling must’ve gone down.
“I feel obligated to ask even though I’m sure it’s not great, but how’s the, uh…” I gesture down to his knee and that earns me a chuckle as he closes the door behind me.
“It’s been better.” He grabs a water bottle from the counter and takes a seat on the couch.
“Did they say how long your recovery will be?”
“Could be up to six weeks.”
“Okay,up tosix weeks, so it could be less then?” I ask with a hint of enthusiasm in my voice.
