And though it wasn’t her fault, Lia couldn’t shake the guilt. Would Erin blame her? Would all the progress they’d made over the last few months go up in smoke?
How was Lia supposed to have fun laughing and drinking with her teammates when somewhere else in the hotel, Erin was likely in a dark place?
As they walked back to the locker room, Lia sought out Alex. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”
Alex gave her a long look. “Honestly? I doubt it. The last few months have been rough for her. She won’t take a setback well.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“She’ll want to be left alone.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy.”
“So, what?” Alex arched an eyebrow in an Erin-like manoeuvre. “You want to coax her to the hotel bar for a cocktail or two? You think that’ll cheer her up? Watching all the people who are fit enough to play dancing and singing?”
“I guess not.”
“Look.” Alex came to a stop outside the locker room door. “I know Erin, okay? She won’t want any fuss. And while she knew the risks of them using her hamstring to rebuild her ACL, she wouldn’t have expected this. But she’s tough. She’ll be okay.”
Lia remembered Erin on her couch with Maisie curled between them, spilling her worries about her body failing her, and wasn’t sure she agreed with Alex. Erin wanted everyone to think she was tough, but underneath?
Underneath, she was fragile.
And Lia wasn’t willing to watch her self-destruct, no matter what Alex thought was for the best.
* * *
It’s not a full tear, but it’s a partial one. It’s going to set you back by a few weeks.
The doctor’s words spun around and around in Erin’s head as she lay on her hotel room couch in the dark. Her eyes stung, the skin around them raw, but no more tears were forthcoming—she’d shed them all already.
Three days. Three days was all she’d managed before going back on the injury list. Was this her life now? A few training sessions here and there, only to be forced back into rehab?
In her whole career, she could count the number of muscle or tendon injuries she’d had on one hand. And now she’d had two in eight months? Erin wanted to tear out her own hair.
A knock sounded on her door.
“Go away, Alex!” Only they would dare bother Erin tonight. “I’m not in the mood.”
“It’s not Alex.” Lia’s uncertain voice called through the wood.
Well, Erin hadn’t expected that. Lia should be in the lobby, four cocktails in and dancing to Copocabana along with the rest of their teammates. “The sentiment still applies. If I don’t want to see Alex, I don’t want to see you.”
Her words were designed to sting, to send Lia skittering away. But the voice came again. “I just want to check that you’re okay.”
“Well, I’m not. Go away.”
“I also wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
What? Lia didn’t have anything to apologise for.
“Please, Erin. Let me in.”
With a sigh, Erin pushed herself off the couch and shuffled to the door, hampered by the flashes of pain in the back of her thigh whenever she lifted her right leg. At least she didn’t need crutches—she hated how slow and cumbersome they made her. Erin yanked open the door. “Why are you sorry?”
“It was a bad pass.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was a good pass. I was slow, and I overstretched. It was my fault, not yours—now, please leave me alone.”
