Page 58 of Lucky 22

“It’s going to be okay,” I say, but honestly, I don’t knowthat. I don’t know anything about what happens when you’re an athlete whodoesn’t get signed. He’s a free agent now, but I don’t know if that’s a greatsituation to be in either.

He’s tense, and all he does is nod as we grab our luggage atbaggage claim.

We pick up our rental car, and his phone rings. It’s theMagic’s general manager. Christian addresses him by name instead of a greeting,and I swear I’m holding my breath, afraid of where this conversation will go.

But I’m so proud when he takes the high road and doesn’traise his voice or get angry. I have no idea what the GM says, but afterseveral minutes, Christian ends the call with, “I wish you all the best.”

It’s said through clenched teeth, but still…

We make the drive to his parents’ house in total silence. Iknow it’s what he needs, but I hate it for him. And the worst part is, I can’tget a read on him. I almost always can. I know he’s angry and disappointed, butthe whole situation is foreign to me. What is he thinking? This is a side ofhim I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen the casual, laid-back man, I’ve seen theinjured athlete, and I’ve seen the professional baseball player through aseason. But this is new.

I want him to open up and confide in me, but I think he’spartially in shock and trying to wrap his head around everything before heshares it with me. Still, I want to help, and right now, that means stayingquiet.

Thankfully, it’s only a thirty-minute drive.

When we pull up to his childhood home, he finally looks atme. “I’m not ready to tell anyone about this news.”

I nod.

“I just need some time to process everything.” He lets out along breath. “Hopefully, we can still enjoy our holiday.”

“That sounds good.” I’m spending Christmas with him and hisfamily because his dad has been ill lately, and it is important for me to behere with him. We’ll fly to Memphis to see my family the day after Christmas,and then, like last year, we’ll be back in LA for New Year’s.

It’s like speed dating with the holidays.

We get out of the car, and I can see that he’s struggling.He’s close to his family, and he usually tells them everything. So, the factthat he’s not going to tell them what just happened must be weighingon him. Still, I think this visit is exactly what he needs right now.

Until we walk through the door.

One look at his mom, and I know something’s not right.

“It’s your father,” she says quietly. “He’s…it’s…he’s in theICU with stage four kidney failure.”

Kidney disease runs in the Lucas family. Three of hissiblings have had transplants. It’s heartbreaking. Now, unfortunately, it’s hisdad’s turn.

All of this happens in the span of an hour. I practicallyhave whiplash from it all, so I can’t even imagine how Christian is processingit.

Naturally, we head to the hospital immediately. I’m not sureI truly understood or appreciated the closeness of this family until now. I domy best to stay in the background, grabbing snacks and drinks, and I’m therefor support. Over the next several days, I see an entire community cometogether—people getting tested to see if they can donate to Mr. Lucas—I evenget tested. Sadly, none of us is a match.

And during it all, Christian is still talking with hisagent, trying to find a team. He’s so strong, balancing this nightmare with hiscareer while struggling with the possibility of losing his father. He doesn’tcrumble. There’s never a moment when he throws up his hands and says he can’thandle it.

But me? I’m having a hard time keeping it together. I’m notvery close to Mr. Lucas, but it’s devastating to see him like this. I’m anemotional person, but none of the Lucases are. So, Ikeep my fear and sadness to myself. I’ve snuck off more than once to allow sometears to fall. But when I rejoin everyone, my smile is firmly in place, and I’mthere to help wherever I’m needed.

Meanwhile, Christian starts receiving offers, but they’renot what he’s looking for. I can relate. Just because you’re offered a roledoesn’t mean you have to take it. Is the money right? The terms? Is itsomething you can live with? It’s no different with a baseball contract. I’mseriously impressed with Christian’s business side. He knows his worth, andhe’s unwilling to settle. Ultimately, he gets a career-changing deal that he isvery excited about. It’s for three years, and he’s getting the respect he deserves.

However…

It’s in St. Louis.

All of my hopes and dreams of us starting a life inCalifornia are suddenly gone.

My career is in LA. I know I’m filming Workin’for Laughs in Atlanta, but everything else is in Hollywood. I geared myentire life toward that goal. That dream. I made sacrifices. I left my familywhen I was nineteen. I battled loneliness time and time again. I handled thetrial of living through a season as a baseball girlfriend. And it was all aboutCalifornia. The West Coast. Movies. Acting. Sunshine. Beaches.

Selfishly, I want to run away and cry again about how unfairit all is. I know I’ve experienced disappointment before. And I know thingsdon’t always go my way. But I was so darn sure that it was heading in thatdirection this time that I can’t help but feel the heaviness of disenchantment.

When Christian and I met, it felt like the universe wantedus to meet. There were too many coincidences. Too many signs. My lucky number.My golden birthday. And from that first moment, I just knew we weremeant to be together. That’s why it is beyond devastating that the sameuniverse that put us together is trying to keep us apart.

It was all starting to fall into place, and now, it’s all upin the air again. This means long-distance dating again. It means flying backand forth all the time and living out of suitcases. It means Christian livingin one place, and me living in another.