Page 94 of A Follow-Through in Faking
“Your boyfriend isn’t as young as he used to be, that’s what happened,” Carlos says, placing a hand on my shoulder as he appears beside me.
“Shut up,” Santi mumbles, but I welcome Carlos’ lightheartedness. It eases some of my worry.
“He rolled his ankle,” Carlos explains right as Santi’s eyes close when I trace his left eyebrow.
“How bad is it?”
“Not great. We’re going to have to take him to the hospital to do some tests. It might either be a partial tear or a full one, but let’s hope it’s only partial because otherwise Santiago won’t be able to play in tournaments for the rest of the season.” Carlos might have made his voice sound as emotionless as possible, but I see the tension around his mouth and eyes.
And there comes the concern again.
“Stop talking, Papá. You’re worrying my Catalina,” Santi says, his eyes on me.
“My worry should be the least of your concerns,” I argue, but Santi shakes his head.
“Your feelings are more important than a stupid injury.” He repositions himself, grunting in pain, just so he can face me better. “Speaking of which, tell me you won,” he says, taking my hand in both of his and bringing it to his chest.
I can feel his racing heart instantly.
“I won,” I reply, making Santi squeeze my hand and Carlos my shoulder.
“Good job, Lina,” Carlos says with pride. “I’ll give you two a second,” Carlos adds before leaving the room.
“Cata, can you flip the ice pack around, please?” Santi asks, so I move to do so.
A gasp almost escapes me at how swollen his ankle is. Tears fill my eyes because I can’t imagine how much pain he is in or what this might mean for the rest of his season.
“Come here,” he says, holding out his hand for me right as the tears fall.
“I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t help to see me cry, but I love you so much, and I’m so sorry this is happening to you halfway through the season,” I rant, covering my mouth to keep more words in.
“Don’t be sorry. Knowing you care so much for me is heaven on Earth,” he replies, wiggling his fingers to get me to come closer. He places his hand on my cheek to wipe my tears as soon as I’m beside him again. “You’re in the semi-finals,” he says with excitement in his voice, but I shake my head at him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper, doing my best to stop crying, to be strong for him.
“Yes, it does.Mi mariquita, this season was never about me. It was always about you and your goals.” I’m about to protest when he keeps talking. “Don’t argue with a man in pain.”
“I’m not arguing with any man. I’m arguing with you,” I defend, but Santi merely smiles.
“Why don’t you kiss me instead?”
It’s hard to fight with him when his season might be over and he’s prioritizing me over everything else, proving once more how much he loves me.
I press my mouth to his, but we’re interrupted by Carlos coming back into the room with Alana and Manuela.
Everything happens in a blur after that. We take Santi to the hospital and, after his adrenaline washes off and the exhaustionof the day sets in, he sleeps for most of the drive with his head on my shoulder.
He doesn’t go anywhere without me in the hospital if he can take me with him, and we sit in the waiting room for hours after the tests, waiting to hear about his results. His head is in my lap, letting me massage it as he continues sleeping. I sift my fingers through his hair, praying to whoever might listen that his ligaments aren’t fully torn.
No athlete wants to miss an entire season because of an injury. He says this season was about me, but his dreams and goals are important to me, too. I used to hate him for being the number one player in the world, but that was pure jealousy and envy. Now that we’re not fighting every step of the way, that we’ve fallen in love, knowing he could lose his number one seed makes me sick to my stomach. He could lose all his progress. His goal to win more Grand Slams and set new records will be put on hold indefinitely.
“Everything will be fine.”
“Stop reading my mind,” I reply through gritted teeth, but Santi simply chuckles.
“Then stop thinking so loudly.”
In some of my fantasy books, the main characters can actually talk to each other in their minds, which I always found fascinating because I think if Santi was constantly in my head, I’d knock him unconscious so he’d stop every once in a while.
