Wildcard: Volume One

“Will you call me?” she asks.

“You couldn’t stop me,” I reply. I reach for her hand, mindful of Jake’s presence and her not wanting to give him any reason to think something is going on between us. “I’m glad we got to meet.”

“Me too.” She glances down and smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “I’m really going to miss you.”

“We’ll speak every day.”

“And then what? Where is this supposed to be going?” She laughs and shakes her head. “God, don’t answer that. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us, Ryder. I can’t . . .” Her voice breaks.

I pull her into my arms and hug her. I can see that she’s struggling and I want to give her answers, but I don’t know how to when I don’t have them myself. “Go,” I say gently, squeezing her hand. “We’ll work it all out. Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I’ll Facebook you. I keep telling you that you’re wasting money with all your unnecessary calls and texts.” She rolls her eyes as if my ‘who cares’ attitude about money really frustrates her.

I laugh and crouch down gingerly next to Jake, careful not to aggravate my back. “Nice meeting you, Jake.”

“I liked meeting you too, Ryder. Thanks for this,” he smiles, holding up his game console.

I laugh and ruffle his hair.

“And you’re not a butthead anymore. You’re cool.”

I wave as they walk through customs. I keep waving until they are no longer in my line of sight. I can’t help but smile, thinking about what a week it has been. The best thing about it all was the kid no longer hates me.

I’m cool now. I like being cool to Jake.

**

Arriving back at my house, I collapse onto the bed and sigh. My house. Not a hotel, not Mum and Dad’s . . . my house. Mum had wanted me to stay with them for longer, but for the sake of our relationship, I knew I had to get out.

I glance around my room. It feels like forever since I’ve been home. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed my bed and my space, but the same time I already hate the silence. I know what that means and it scares me. I miss her. She’s been gone for a fucking hour and I miss her already. What the fuck is wrong with me? Again—I already know the answer to that.

Chapter Sixteen

“Ryder, have a seat.”

I sigh and ease myself into one of the two armchairs that face the doctor’s desk. No good ever came from a conversation starting with you needing to sit down. I wait as he walks around the desk and sits next to me. My mind is buzzing. This has to be bad news.

It’s Friday, one day shy of a month since the ‘incident’, and I’m at the checkup that is supposed to give me some insight as to how long I’ll be out.

“Your fracture is healing well, but the muscles in your lower back are still showing significant tears. You’re unlikely to be back on the court in time for the US Open.”

I snort. The Open is still three months away. How long can a fucking strained muscle take to heal?

“If you play before you are fully healed, you might tear the muscle even more. And if it tears anymore, you will need surgery. I’ve already sent my report to Matt. I’m sorry.”

“So, what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Can I train? Walk? Or do I just sit on my arse all day and watch shit TV?” I growl. I’m frustrated and pissed off, but I’m not even sure what I’m angry about anymore.

“You can do normal activities as much as you can handle, but no training for at least another month. If the muscles continue to show improvement, then we can look at some light training after that.”

Another month? Fuck.

I’ve already had one month of doing nothing. There is no way I can handle another. I lean over and cradle my head. I can hear the doctor talking but I’m not listening. All I can think about is how my life is going to shit. The funny thing is I’m not even sure I want to play tennis anymore.

So why is the thought of losing it so fucking depressing?

**

The highlight of my day, like every day lately, is talking to Scarlett. I relay to her what the doctor said. Stretching myself out on the couch, I balance the laptop on my stomach. Seeing her brightens my mood.