Wanted Distraction(9)
He closed the gap between us and took my hand, urging me to sit with him once more.
“So you’re attracted to me,” I said, “and I’m attracted to you. Why is that cause for alarm? And if you say anything related to my size, I’m going to kick you in the shin.”
He grinned at me, and my stomach flipped. “I don’t think of you as Tinkerbell anymore. In fact, I’d completely forgotten the nickname.”
I could kick myself for having reminded him. “Then what’s the problem?”
Carter gave me a long, contemplative look. My curiosity soared off the charts, but I forced myself to patiently await his answer. His expression turned grave, and that was cause for alarm.
In a tight voice, he said, “You asked me earlier why I gave up my career with the 49ers for arena football. It wasn’t an easy decision to reconcile in my mind, but technically a no-brainer. The truth is, I can’t heave the ball down a hundred-yard field anymore. Arena ball is played on a fifty-yard field. A much more manageable distance for me.”
His inner turmoil swirled in his dark irises and the agonized look made my chest constrict.
“What’s the deal, Carter?”
“Off the record?” he asked, his jaw set.
“Absolutely. I swear I won’t write a word about any of this if you don’t want me to.”
Sorry, Taylor.
He was quiet a moment, then let out a long breath. Finally, he said, “The truth is, I need surgery. I’ve got a crushed rotator cuff and a partially detached biceps I’m only making worse by continuing to play. It’s my throwing arm. I have an MRI every few months to monitor the situation, but the fact is, I need to have the shoulder operated on sooner rather than later. I had intended to do it during the 49ers off-season, but management wanted to put me on the disabled list and look for a new starter. So I put it off. Then the Rattlers came calling, and I saw a different opportunity. They’ll give me the chance to get the operation and still be their star.”
“Oh, Carter.” I reached over and placed my hand atop his. “I’m so sorry.”
He looked miserable as he said, “I need this season. I need to kick ass on that field and take the team to the championship game to prove my worth. The contract I signed is for an unprecedented amount, and I have to show the team and management I’m worth it.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.”
“I don’t have a choice.” The conviction in his voice—mixed with a hint of resignation—was compelling, and it further stirred my emotions. “This stint with the Rattlers will likely be my last. They know about my arm, but offered me a three-year deal anyway. I assured them I could win games for the term of the contract. And they really wanted me. Now I’ve got to see this through, because no other team is going to pick me up if I continually have complications with my shoulder and am constantly on the DL.”
“But if your shoulder and your arm aren’t strong enough for you to throw the ball—”
“I’ve been muscling through the pain for some time. I can make it through the end of this season. I have no choice,” he repeated, a dire look on his face.
A disconcerting thought slithered through my mind. “Not to cast a dark cloud over your head, Carter, but what if you do make it through the season, have the surgery and it doesn’t work? What if you’re no better off than before the operation? I’ve heard of that happening. I have a friend who had rotator cuff surgery years ago for a tennis injury and she’s still in pain.”
He shook his head. “I refuse to even consider that, Cherish. Even a little help will be something, so if it’s not one-hundred percent successful, I’ll still be able to power through.”
“For two more seasons?” My stomach coiled at the thought of him playing in agony. “That’s a lot, Carter. I mean, seriously. You could even end up doing more damage.”
“I’ll have some of the best physical therapists at my disposal. Not to mention, I’ve already chosen a top-notch surgeon who specializes in this type of injury. I know what I’m doing.”
He finally slid his tie off, tossing the colorful material toward his discarded jacket. Then he undid two buttons on his shirt. His elbows rested on his thighs and his hands dangled between them, giving him an almost defeated look.
I placed a hand on his good shoulder and said, “I’m sure it’ll all work out.” I wanted to support him. To be his own personal cheerleader, despite my reservations.
He glanced over at me and smiled, though it was a bit tentative. “Thanks.” His gaze remained locked with mine for several breathless seconds, and then he leaned toward me and kissed me on the cheek. “The body might be different, but you’re still very sweet.”