Page 80 of Lucky 22

“Do you think it’s from the game the other night? Have yougone to the doctor?”

He waves me off. “It’s fine. Nothing a good night’s sleepwith my beautiful wife next to me can’t cure. You know I sleep better whenyou’re here with me.”

He’s a sweet-talker, but I know a distraction when I hearone.

Probably because I’ve been doing the same thing for a while.

Still, this is serious. A head injury shouldn’t be takenlightly.

“Christian, I really think you need to see a doctor. Or atleast talk to the trainers.”

He gives me a patient smile. “Ella Rose, I know my body, andI’m fine. Trust me.” He kisses me softly before carrying my suitcase into thebedroom. Naturally, I follow, but I’m watching him like a hawk.

And not just because I find him incredibly attractive and wehaven’t seen each other in a few weeks.

It’s late, and we’re both ready to crawl into bed and watchsome TV. I want to do nothing but relax, I’m not sure I can. If this is aconcussion, he shouldn’t be sleeping, right? I think I need to wake him upevery few hours. But he hit his head two days ago, and he’s obviously sleptthrough the night since then. So, maybe he is okay.

Ugh…I really wish I knew more about sports injuries.

As if reading my mind, he gently murmurs, “Relax, beautifulgirl. I’m fine.” He holds me a little closer, kissing me all over as he talks.

I love it when he does that. Love how safe, secure, andloved I feel in his powerful arms. It’s the best place in the world to be.

“I missed you. Missed this,” he murmurs gruffly, and thatvoice…it makes everything better.

“Me, too.”

We settle in with the TV on, and after a few minutes, weshift a little to get more comfortable. His arm curves around me until my backfits perfectly against his chest, and I love how easily our bodies find eachother now, how my legs slip between his and stay there, warm and certain. Ibreathe him in and close my eyes, grateful for this moment, for the way heholds me without thinking, for the quiet intimacy of being here together afterso much time apart. No words—only the comfort of his body against mine and thesimple, overwhelming relief of having him close.

I find his hand and hold it close to my heart, and that’show we fall asleep.

The next morning, Christian leaves for the field, buthe’s back a lot sooner than usual.

“I have a concussion,” he says miserably, tossing his hatonto the sofa, his frustration palpable. “I’m off for the next three days.”

“You need to see a doctor,” I say firmly, almost hating thatI was right.

“I saw the team doctor. He’s the one who diagnosed me.” Hecollapses next to his hat, raking a hand through his hair, leaving it allaskew.

“Okay, but maybe you should see a specialist.” I sit besidehim, smoothing his hair back into place. I can’t help myself. I want to comforthim, soothe him.

“No, I’m okay.”

It’s his standard response, but I’m not buying it.Unfortunately, he is beyond stubborn, and as soon as those three days are over,he goes right back to the stadium and plays.

I am beyond frustrated because I can see that he still isn’tfeeling well, but the man will not listen to anyone. He is determined to play,and that is all there is to it.

And as if that weren’t enough, the night before we’re set toleave and fly out for the All-Star Game, Christian’s dad collapses. He isliterally only a month away from the transplant, but a complication with hiskidney dialysis caused his lungs to fill with fluid.

“Do we need to fly to Florida?” I ask. Because this seemslike something we should all be there for.

“No. My dad would hate it if I missed the All-Star Game.” Hekeeps in constant contact with his siblings until we get on the plane and isback on the phone with them as soon as we land. Fortunately, the doctors gothim stabilized, but it is still terrifying how close the poor man is to death.

My husband is like a rock, however. He is as cool and calmas can be, and I honestly don’t know how he does it. If it was my dad, I wouldbe an absolute mess and flying home, no matter what.

But I have to remind myself how this is just part of lifewhen you live with chronic kidney disease. The Lucaseshave learned to become very matter-of-fact about it. And it’s not a bad thing;it’s just different for me.

In Pittsburgh, we barely have time to check into our hotelbefore we need to head out for the red-carpet event to kick off the weekend.We’re all smiles and excitement—even more so when Christian’s brother, sister,and brother-in-law show up. It’s like a mini family reunion. No one would everguess we’d just dealt with a life-or-death family crisis.