Page 95 of A Follow-Through in Faking
Then again, apparently, this man knows me well enough to look inside my head without any magic in play.
“Why don’t you get your ereader out and read something from your book to me? It’ll calm both of us,” he says, and with a suggestion as good as his, it’s hard to argue.
Another hour passes while I read to him. Manu listens too, and Carlos and Alana are sitting together on the other side of theseating area. Carlos has his arm around his wife while she speaks to him, and he watches her with his heart in his eyes.
I realize Santi looks at me the same way.
Like I’m his present, future, and all the good things yet to come wrapped into one person.
“All this waiting is driving me up the wall,” Manu says, standing up and running her hands through her hair.
“You can go back to the hotel, Manu. You don’t have to be here,” Santi says softly, making sure she knows he doesn’t mean it rudely.
“Shut up, Santi,” she replies, looking at him with a stern expression. “I’m going to find a doctor and demand they tell us what is wrong with your gigantically swollen ankle.” She walks away, and I do my best not to burst into laughter because it’s so inappropriate, but I should have known Santi would find her comment hilarious.
“Gigantically swollen ankle,” he repeats and laughs, his whole body shaking on top of me.
It dies out as soon as the nurse we met earlier approaches us, Manu standing beside her.
“The doctor will see you now,” she says, gesturing toward the room we were in earlier. I help Santi up, handing him the crutches we were given so he doesn’t have to put weight on his ankle.
Carlos, Alana, and Manu move toward the room, too, making me hesitate.
“What’s wrong?” Santi asks, not moving either because I have stopped.
“You have your family with you. I’ll wait out here,” I say, but he furrows his brows at me like he doesn’t understand a single word I’m saying.
“But then a big piece of my family would be missing,” he replies, and my heart melts into a little puddle. “Please comewith me. I need you,” he adds, delivering the killing blow to my chest, except the thing that dies is the remaining doubts about his feelings for me.
Not that there were many.
Perhaps there weren’t even any, and I simply needed the reassurance that I’m not barging in where he doesn’t want me.
I should have known Santi wants me everywhere with him.
We settle down in our seats across from the doctor, who barely looks away from her computer to acknowledge our presence.
It takes several tense moments, filled with dread and hope, until she finally turns to us.
“Well, Mr. Castillo, I think you’ll be very happy to hear it’s only a partial tear. That means lots of resting, icing the sore area, compression, and elevation. Then, after a few weeks, you can start physiotherapy. I’m confident you’ll be back to playing matches in approximately two months,” the doctor says, and the sense of relief that floods my chest is mirrored by Santi’s shoulders dropping.
“Thank you for the good news, doctor. I’ll go rest, ice, compress, and elevate now so I can watch my girlfriend win her first Grand Slam in a few days.”
I think Santi is taking this all too well, but when I open my mouth to argue, he turns to me and kisses me instead.
“It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart right now. Let me focus on you entirely so I don’t think about what this means for my season,” he begs, and my argument dies on my tongue.
“Okay,” I say, and he gives me a relieved smile. “I’ll win,” I promise him, and he kisses my lips softly once more.
“I know you will.”
Chapter 40
Santiago
Myankleiskillingme.
As relieved as I am that it’s only a partial tear that’ll heal in a month or two, it’s still a fucking pain that my season is on hold for as long as it’ll take this stupid injury to heal.
