Page 87 of Lucky 22

I honestly don’t know anymore.

As I’m about to drift off to sleep, I feel the mattress dip,and Christian moving in close. One muscular arm comes around me as he places asoft kiss on my cheek.

“I’m sorry, Ella Rose. I’m so sorry,” he whispers beforesettling in behind me.

I don’t reply, but I do gently pull his arm more snuglyaround me.

The apology means a lot, but I know it doesn’t mean what Iwant it to.

He’s going to keep playing.

And I’m going to keep worrying.

What happened to our fairy tale?

The Archers are in the World Series. I’m notsurprised. They had one heck of a season, and Christian is on the field withthem.

Since the night of our confrontation, for lack of a betterword, there haven’t been any more injuries. At least none that I know about.But I feel like it’s only a matter of time before something happens.

Right now, however, we’re here in Game 5, and I’m literallyon the edge of my seat. If they win this game, the Archers are World Serieschampions.

Then my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I don’t have a choice but to look at it, and I’m surprisedwhen I see Tracy’s name on the screen. Feeling completely conflicted, I answer.

“Hey.”

“Ella! You’re never going to believe this. They want you.”

“Who?” I ask distractedly, even as the play on the fieldgives the Archers a significant lead.

I’m only half-listening to her because there is so muchgoing on around me. All the WAGs and families are on their feet and on themove.

“This is the role of a lifetime, Ella. They need an answertonight so they can get their shooting schedule rearranged. You’re their firstchoice, but if they don’t get an answer tonight, they’re making their secondchoice an offer.”

“Wait. What?”

Tracy sighs loudly. “… the actress had to back out of therole…they want you …in production, and I told them you’re finishing up in St.Louis, and…”

I can hardly hear what she’s saying. A restless flutterstirs in my chest. I’m staying in my seat and doing my best to focus on thegame.

On Christian.

The stadium roars to life around me—an electric, relentlesshum of cheers and chants. It’s almost deafening, but you can’t help but getcaught up in it. Bright lights bathe the diamond in a surreal glow, catchingevery glint of sweat, every blade of grass, every nervous twitch in theplayers. In my head, I’m cheering just as loudly as everyone else. It’s likeI’m trying to telepathically say, “You’ve got this.”

But sitting in the stands, in a pocket of solitude amid thechaos, I am alone.

Literally.

My husband is mere seconds away from winning the WorldSeries, and minutes ago, security came to get all the players’ friends andfamily to bring them down so they can run onto the field when the big momentarrives.

But I stayed behind.

I never should have looked at my phone.

Heck, it should have been turned off. But I’m in the middleof shooting a movie here in St. Louis. I already know I need to be on set inthe morning. The producers were kind enough to work around the playoffschedule, but I need to be aware of any schedule changes.

Hence, the phone being on.