Page 64 of Ace My Heart

On top of that, after my long final at Indian Wells, I was feeling a twinge in my back again. I was too scared to tell Joel about it, because I knew he’d make a big deal out of it.

I nestled back against my seat and closed my eyes. California to Florida took about four hours, and I planned on trying to get a bit of nightmare-free sleep in there somewhere.

I woke with a jolt as the plane skidded to a halt on the runway. I turned to Joel, to find him looking at me with a strange expressionon his face. I raised an eyebrow sleepily at him, and his mouth quirked into a smile.

“Wakey wakey,” he chuckled. I grunted and clambered out of my seat.

Pain blossomed in my lower back. I bit my lip, but it didn’t stop me crying out.

Joel was at my arm in an instant, gripping me tightly and supporting most of my weight. “Mel, is it your back? Where does it hurt?” he asked urgently.

I nodded. “Same place,” I muttered.

The flight attendants were very good at their job – with the minimum of fuss I was off the plane and waiting under the watchful eye of a nurse in an infirmary inside the terminal. The door opened and Joel came in, carrying our suitcases.

I grimaced. “Can we leave now? I’m sure if I just go and rest for –”

“Yes, we can go – to the hospital! Mel you’re obviously in a lot of pain. Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrugged, even that small movement hurting. “It just didn’t seem like that big a deal.”

Joel slammed his fist against the side of the bed I was lying on. I flinched.

“Not a big deal! Christ, Mel – this is your career you’re toying with! Your health! There’s no such thing as ‘not a big deal’!”

I’d never seen Joel so angry.

“So, what are we going to do?” I asked in a shaky voice.

Joel scowled. “We’re going to get you to a hospital, have an MRI to make sure there’s no nerve damage, and then we’re going to get you on the first flight home so that we can get you fixed.”

“What about the Open?” I asked.

Joel looked down at me, and there was anger in his eyes, and something else. “Mel, be serious. You’re not playing, no matter how minor this turns out to be. Your health is too important.”

I didn’t argue, but I felt a tear slip from my eye. He’d never really yelled at me before. Joel noticed it too, and he reached out a thumb, swiping the moisture off my cheek, before turning away.

The trip to the hospital in the back of the ambulance was a constant loop of Joel leaning over to ask if I was okay. In the end I snapped at him that I would tell him if anything changed, but to please stop bugging me. He didn’t look happy, but he complied.

Thankfully the MRI showed no serious damage, although there was some not-minor inflammation around my sacroiliac joint, and they gave me the all-clear to travel with prescription pain relief. I didn’t even try to argue with Joel at that point. I was withdrawing from the Miami Open on medical grounds. We were going home.

With me dosed up to the eyeballs, we got on the next flight back to Sydney. They settled me on the plane first, and before we even took off, I was fast asleep.

They must have given me the good drugs, because I couldn’t remember the stopover at LAX, although Joel assured me that I seemed lucid, and I walked through the terminal from one flight to the next.

The first thing I remembered was waking up as the plane started to descend into Sydney. Joel was sitting at the end of my sleep pod, watching me. I wanted to ask him why he was freaking out, but I was too groggy. Yep, they gave me somereallystrong pain meds.

The plane landed, and Joel almost carried me out of the terminal, into a hire car and before it had even pulled away from the kerb he was on his mobile. I heard him mutter, “Yeah, we had one done in the states … no, but the SIJ is inflamed.”

He hung up. “Julie says I need to get you to a physio as soon as possible,” he said quietly. “And after that, you’re taking itveryeasy.”

I opened my mouth, but he held his hand up. “No, you’re staying at my house. Stink, don’t be stupid – you can hardly walk on your own, let alone look after yourself.” How had he known I was about to ask if I could go home?

“So, Julie, huh?” I asked. Joel gave me a withering look.

“Who else should I call to discuss your injury? She’s a physio who has worked on you multiple times in the past.”

“Are you and her … are you together?” I pressed.

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