Broken Beautiful Hearts(15)
“She’s talking to security so they won’t let Reed back in the ER,” Lucia says. She makes eye contact with Gwen, who immediately glances in my direction. She catches herself and looks over her shoulder, in an obvious move.
“Real subtle. Who wants to tell me what else is going on?” My voice cracks.
Lucia curses in Spanish under her breath. “We don’t want to make you feel worse, but I have to ask … What really happened between you and Reed?”
I lie back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling. “You don’t believe me, either.”
“I didn’t say that.” Lucia looks me in the eye. “But you were in a lot of pain after you fell and you were so upset. I—”
Gwen cuts in. “You mean we.”
Lucia glares at her. “We just want to hear it from you.”
“Reed pushed me down the stairs. Is there anything else you want to know?”
“Like, pushed you pushed you? On purpose?” Gwen asks.
“Yes.” I search their faces, trying to figure out if they think I’m telling the truth. I never thought my friends would doubt me about something this serious.
Gwen shakes her head. “It doesn’t make sense. Before your mom came out to the waiting area, Reed wouldn’t shut up about how worried he was and how much he loves you. It didn’t seem like an act.”
“Maybe he believes what he’s saying, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s lying,” I say.
Lucia nods.
Does that mean she believes me?
Behind Gwen, I catch a glimpse of Mom through the slit in the curtain. She’s coming toward us, and I don’t have a chance to ask.
“We should go and let you talk to your mother,” Lucia says. “You’re going to be okay.”
Gwen doesn’t say anything. She just waves as they walk away.
Mom pulls the curtain around my bed closed.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I got rid of that bastard, and I told him to stay away from you.”
“But Tess was there.”
Mom sits on the edge of the bed and rubs my arm. “I wish that hadn’t been the case, but I couldn’t let Reed sit in the waiting area after what he did to you.”
“Tess doesn’t believe he pushed me. I’m not sure if any of my friends do. Everyone thinks I’m confused—that it was some kind of misunderstanding. But you believe me? Right?”
She leans over and takes my cheeks in her hands. “You’re my daughter. I will always believe you. I also know that if you weren’t sure about what happened tonight you would admit it. You’re rational and clearheaded like your father. And you have great instincts.”
“If my instincts are so great, how did I end up here?”
CHAPTER 6
Robo-Girl
MY LIFE IS divided into two time periods—before Reed pushed me down the stairs and after. In less than twenty-four hours, I went from being a star player on the girls’ varsity soccer team with a boyfriend who loved me and an offer letter from UNC to being an injured athlete with a blown-out knee—courtesy of my steroid-abusing ex-boyfriend.
After my visit to the emergency room, two MRIs, and three appointments with Dr. Kao, a highly respected orthopedic surgeon, the doctor gave me an official diagnosis. I had a ruptured PCL—the ligament that runs behind the knee to stabilize it—and damage to some of the surrounding cartilage.
I needed surgery.
Now it’s three weeks later and I’m in Dr. Kao’s office again, sitting in the same chair, waiting for the post-surgery verdict. I hook my thumb in the middle of the chain around my neck and slide Dad’s dog tags from one side of the chain to the other. Dr. Kao opens the folder on her desk and skims a page, her expression unreadable.
My future is written on that page.
What if she says I can’t play soccer anymore? Or if she says I can, but when I get back on the field again I suck? I’m not sure which is worse.
Playing soccer is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. I don’t have a backup plan. Obviously, I’ll get a degree in something when I graduate from college. But I have no idea what.
Dr. Kao flips through her notes. “I have good news. Peyton’s post-surgery MRI looks better than I expected. I was able to repair the PCL with the allograft Achilles tendon without causing the knee any additional trauma.”
Mom exhales like she had been holding her breath. “Thank god.”
Hope swells in my chest. I’m desperate for good news.
Mom turns her wedding ring back and forth on her finger, a giveaway that she’s worried. “What happens next?”
Dr. Kao swivels her stool toward me. “You’ll meet with a physical therapist three to four times a week to strengthen your quadriceps and regain your range of motion. If everything goes well, you should be out of the leg brace soon.”
She’s referring to the black brace strapped to my leg that looks like black body armor from a sci-fi movie Dad loved called RoboCop. Two bars run up the inside and outside of my leg, secured by three adjustable straps that wrap around my leg—at the top of my thigh, and above and below the knee. Circular hinges allow me to bend my knee, but it feels awkward.
“When can I start playing soccer again?” It’s the only information that matters to me.