Page 25 of The Comeback

Chapter Thirteen

Charlotte

It’s been fifteen minutes, and my heart is still beating wildly against my ribs. If Piper wasn’t here, would I have let him kiss me? That’s a stupid question. I would’ve kissed him. I clasp my hands together and watch his movements, ensuring he stays in proper alignment.

I’m not staring at his ass.

Yes, I’m a liar. It’s impossible not to look.

How can I fall for a football player? I have more willpower than that. I can decide when and who I fall in love with. Right?

That was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.

But what do I do about it? He represents all the things I’m trying to avoid. If he gets traded, what am I supposed to do, pack up and go? What happens when we have kids? Do I drag them from state to state? Making them give up their friends and everything familiar to them.

I can’t. It sucked. I hated moving. At least my mom understood that we needed to stick in one place by high school.

I run a hand through my hair. But Weston is a running back, not a coach. He probably only has five years left before retirement. If we had a baby, he’d be done playing by the time she started kindergarten. Then we could settle in one place.

Holy fuck. My face floods with heat. I did not just plan my firstborn with a guy who hasn’t even said he wanted to go out with me. A girl at that. I couldn’t have. I’m not twelve years old.

He gracefully, or as gracefully as a three-hundred-pound man with more muscles than a weightlifter, lands with his toes perfectly positioned to the floor. Stop daydreaming. “Good job.”

Piper whistles and claps. “You did great. I’m shocked.”

He folds his arms over his chest. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Mooning over Charlotte.”

“Piper….” His eyes narrow into slits. “That’s enough.”

I flip off the stereo and pull up a chair beside Piper as Weston grabs a paper cup from the water station and fills it.

“Did you get a second opinion?”

She tilts her head sideways. “About?”

“Your injury.” I shift my attention to Weston as he gulps down the water. “My first doctor said I’d never run again. Then, a year after rehab, I ran a marathon.” I return my attention to Piper. “I went to a different doctor who specialized in athletics to monitor my recovery. The initial one was a practitioner who typically worked with elderly patients recovering from knee replacements. Yes, most of them will never run again.” I arch my eyebrows to emphasize the point I’m trying to make. “Because they didn’t want to and weren’t running before their injury.”

“Good point.” Weston tosses the cup into the trashcan. “I had three doctors on my Achille’s injury. My primary physician established a return to sport’s date three months later than I did.”

“Do you think a doctor specializing in athletes might see things differently?” She rubs her hands on her thighs and looks expectantly from Weston to me.

“I don’t know.” I grab her hand and clutch it inside mine. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but it’s possible.”

“The doctor that did my surgery specializes in hip replacements. In all the times I went for a checkup, I never saw someone my age in the office.”

“Seeing another doctor is a great idea.” Weston walks over to us and places his hand on my shoulder. “Charlotte, thank you for thinking of it and bringing it up.” He rubs his thumb over my shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through me. The sensation is so powerful, I’m surprised a bolt of lightning isn’t conducted through me and passed into Piper. But she remains oblivious.

“You’re welcome. I would be happy to help you with some low impact exercises while you wait to get in for an appointment.”

She glances down at our joined hands as if she wants to hide her hope that something good could happen to her. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

What time is it? I glance at the clock above the wall-length mirror–7:00 a.m. “I’ve got to get ready for class. Thankfully, my sessions today are online.”

“You take online classes?”

“I only have one in-person class this semester. It makes it easier for work.”

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