“Why not?”
He shrugs. “Well, I ended things quickly. I wasn’t sure if you were upset about it.”
Of course, I was, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “We didn’t end things badly, really.” Then I look out the window and add, “And I was worried about you.”
He stares back at the road and nods. “I know. But everything is fine.”
I nod but I don’t agree with him.
I tell myself to let it go and just enjoy being here with him, but I can’t stop myself from being honest. “Why haven’t you gone to physiotherapy?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “What are you talking about?”
“Jane said that you haven’t been back. Why not?”
His face tightens and his voice is low. “What’s the point? The doctors said I won’t ever play again.”
“Did they say those exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Why not get a second opinion? Another doctor could see things differently. One of my patients—"
“I don’t want to see any more doctors,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “I just want to forget about it and move on.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he says and I nod.
I should let this go, I know I should, but I’ve seen and read of many patients who received a second opinion and benefited from it. Casey’s first doctor may be right, but what if he’s not?
“Do you mind if I take a look at your records?”
He sighs. “The Jets have the best trainers in the league. No offense, but I don’t think there’s anything you’ll find in them that will be different.”
I’m not offended by his remark, but I’m also not put off. “Still, I’d like to take a look.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
Casey turns right at the lights and after a few minutes, pulls the car over. “We’re here.”
I turn my head left and then right. “We are?”
He snickers. “Yup. Not as glamorous as you thought, huh?”
I get out of the car and look around. There are people on the sidewalk, coming in and out of the storefronts. The shops are tourist dives, selling T-shirts, magnets, and other knickknacks. There’s a minivan parked next to us that’s part of a tour, and a man handing out flyers to a show at some bar up the road.
“Where is the Walk of Fame?” I ask.
Casey points down to the ground.
I’m standing on a pink and gold star, the name on it reads Betty White. “Oh,” I say and immediately hop off, as though standing on it is likely to hurt Betty somehow.
Other stars line the sidewalk, and I realize that no one is paying any attention to them. I’m a little disappointed that the area is not stationed off like I’ve seen on television when the star is unveiled. I don’t know why I thought it would look like that all the time.
Casey laughs and puts his arm over my shoulder. “Don’t look so sad.”
“Is the Hollywood sign any better?”
