“And then we have a few more awards,” Coach Tom announced.
“The first one goes to Jenica Terry.”
Unsure what was happening, I raised my hands above my head to cheer.
“Jenica Terry has been offered a spot on the Under-17 Women’s National Team,” Coach Tom announced.
My jaw dropped as she let out an excited scream.
“Congratulations,” Coach Tom said, handing her a folder.
She retook her seat before bursting into tears. I gave her a tight squeeze.
“Next we have Nancy Torino. Nancy has also been offered a spot on the Under-17 Women’s National Team.”
I cheered for her as she accepted her folder. She cried up in front of everyone, thanking Coach Tom profusely.
“There are three more,” Coach Tom announced. “Next we have Sky Pollard.”
More clapping.
“Sky’s been offered a spot on the Under-17 Women’s National Team.”
She accepted her folder with a genuine smile before retaking her seat.
“And our last two are Marci Adams and Katelyn Jackson, if you’ll come up here, please?”
Marci and I went up together. I had a feeling I already knew the announcement, hearing it three times before.
“Marci and Katelyn have been invited to the U.S. Women’s National Team training camp,” Coach Tom announced.
I felt frozen as Marci let out a squeal. He handed us both folders, and Marci took mine for me to carry back to our table.
“Congratulations, ladies.”
I numbly made my way back to my seat, shock pumping through my body. Jenica wrapped me up in her arms, immediately talking my ear off. And my mom congratulated me, kissing me on the cheek.
I didn’t really comprehend their reactions as I opened the folder, reading the information. I had until October to make myself U.S. Women’s National Team–ready.
CHICAGO, IL
CHAPTER 29
I’d missed the entire Midwest part of the tour. All that was left now were a couple of northern states, and then the Connor Jackson Live Tour would be coming to a close back in L.A.
All of the traveling I’d done just in the past week and a half was really wearing on me, especially with my new knee pain.
“Be careful,” Mom said, as she stuck her arm out in front of me.
“Let’s wait for this area to clear out, so it’s safer for you.”
Even worse was trying to navigate the airport with crutches. The terminal felt never ending, my armpits aching and knee throbbing.
My eyes continuously scanned for my boyfriend’s familiar face, my heart racing as time passed. And then I locked eyes with Zach, a smile blossoming across his face. He was wearing his signature white T-shirt and black sweats, and he quickly crossed the space between us, taking me in his arms. I threw my arms around him, letting all of my worries and insecurities wash away as my crutches clattered to the floor.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, pulling away to look into my eyes.
“I’m fine,” I promised, before planting my lips on his.
I could hear the cameras around us, but I didn’t care. I’d missed him way too much.
“Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?” Zach whispered into my ear.
As much as I knew he was right, I didn’t want the moment to end. But he ended it for us, reaching down to grab my crutches.
“I don’t want those.”
He handed them to me. “You either use them or I pick you up bridal style and carry you through the airport.”
I groaned, situating the crutches under my arms and starting across the airport.
“Why are so many people snapping our picture?” I asked, looking around for the first time as we made our way through the airport.
People were all around us, using their phones and cameras to snap pictures of Zach and me.
“Because you’re a soccer superstar. I’m lucky to even be in your presence.”
We reached baggage claim and I leaned against it, my underarms sore. “Maybe I’ll have to take you up on that offer to carry me.”
“Done,” Zach said.
“It was a joke!”
“Too late, I’ve already agreed.”
The baggage claim started, and a little girl came up to Zach with a Disneyland autograph book. It was clear she’d also come from L.A. and had dug up the book to add Zach’s signature at the end.
I love fans, especially little kids. But once one kid asks for an autograph, it opens up a floodgate.
“Hi, Zach,” the little girl said, with a smile.
“Hi,” Zach crouched down to her level.
She extended out her autograph book and Sharpie. “Will you please sign your name after Daisy Duck?”
“Of course,” he said, scribbling his name on the blank page.
“Thanks!”
“No problem.”
She left, and more people approached us with objects for Zach to sign.
Once my bag came around, Zach pulled my bag off for me, his current fan a little disgruntled.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Zach said to his small crowd of fans, “but we have to go.”
The fans all groaned, and the girl in the front stomped her foot.
“Sorry,” Zach apologized again, grabbing my carry-on for me.
My mom held out her hands. “Give me Katelyn’s bags, I’ll take them.”
Zach obliged before reaching over and scooping me up in his arms. I buried my face in his neck, trying not to dwell on how embarrassing this was. We went out to the taxi, my mom loading the luggage as Zach placed me down in the backseat.
“Even though that was humiliating, that was much better than having to use crutches,” I said to Zach, once he was situated in the car.
“I bet,” Zach said. “I remember when Ross had to use them for, like, three days when we were little and he never stopped complaining.”
“That’s because it’s a medieval torture device.”
I propped my feet up in Zach’s lap, feeling his phone buzz beneath them as I tried to get comfortable.
Zach’s lips twisted into a frown and he swiped the notification away on his watch.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Jesse being the overprotective big brother, per usual.”
Sounded like trouble in paradise. “Oh boy.”
“What are we thinking for dinner?” Zach asked. “I want a lazy date night with you all to myself, dinner included.”
“We should have Chinese takeout.”
“Sounds good,” Zach agreed.
We pulled up to the arena, just outside where the tour buses were located.
Zach carried me once again, and we went to his tour bus, as my mom was insistent that she needed an evening nap and wanted to be left alone in our bus.
“Jess?” Zach called, opening the door.
There was no answer.
He placed me down on his couch. I propped my knee up with an involuntary wince as it accidentally bent.
“Are you okay?” Zach asked, his hands immediately reaching out toward me.
I nodded.
“Want to watch some TV?” Zach asked, reaching around me to grab the remote and turning it on without waiting for an answer.
He lay down next to me, careful not to aggravate my injury. As I snuggled up close to him, he began playing with my hair, and an episode of Little Mrs. Perfect came on . . . with guest star Connor Jackson.
“Why is my brother crashing our date right now?” I mumbled.
“Because your brother is currently blowing up America,” Zach answered, with a laugh.
The tour bus door opened and Jesse came in.
“Little Mrs. Perfect?” he asked, taking a swig of his energy drink.
“Don’t judge,” Zach said.
“Too bad you’re going to miss the episode.”
Zach raised his eyebrows at Jesse. “What?”
Jesse held out his phone toward Zach.
“You promised me that once you got back here today you’d call your doctor.”
“He can wait,” Zach grumbled.
“Call him,” Jesse ordered. “Now.”
I sat up, leaving room for Zach to get up.
“I’ll pick up dinner while you do it,” Jesse offered.
“I don’t care about dinner,” Zach grumbled, standing up and taking Jesse’s phone as he headed toward the back of the tour bus.
“How’s the knee?” Jesse asked, as the door in the back of the bus slammed shut.
“It’s there,” I said, with a half smile.
Jesse sat down next to me. “Zach took my phone but I already ordered the Chinese takeout. Aaron, Ross, and I are going to eat in the back, so you guys should be able to get some alone time up front here.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“You guys went over a week and a half without seeing each other,”
Jesse said, with a teasing smile. “You must be dying.”
“Stop annoying my girlfriend,” Zach said, as he came back into the room. He tossed Jesse his phone.
“How’d the phone call go?” Jesse asked.
“Fine,” Zach said, handing Jesse back his phone.
“What’s fine mean?” Jesse asked, tucking his phone away into his pocket.
Zach’s jaw shifted, and I realized that I’d never seen him truly angry. “What do you think it means? He wanted to up the dosage of the medicine again.”
“And you said?” Jesse prompted.
“I said no.”
Jesse nodded. “I’m just asking; don’t get all pissy with me.”
I moved over, Zach settling in next to me again.
“I’m going to go and pick up the takeout,” Jesse said, standing up.
“Take a chill pill while I’m gone?”
Zach flipped him off as he left.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“About once a year, my neurologist reevaluates my medication.
I guess this year I had a slight increase in the number of seizures, which isn’t hard to do since I was hardly having one a year before and now I’m having one every couple of months. So he wants to change around my medicine, which I always hate doing.”
He seemed genuinely upset, something I wasn’t used to seeing with Zach. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Maybe later?”
“Of course.”
I repositioned myself so that I was leaning into him, Zach’s hands playing with my hair as I half watched the show. Jesse was quick to come back with the takeout, and he handed me a fortune cookie. I cracked it open, unraveling the paper inside.
Good timber does not grow with ease; the stronger the wind, the stronger the trees.
“What do you think it means?” Zach asked, reading the fortune over my shoulder.
“I think it means that when times get tough, remember that there’s something better to come out of it.”
Zach hummed in agreement. “Deep.”
“What does yours say?”
He showed me his fortune.
Do your work with your whole heart and you will succeed.
“And what do you think that means?” I asked, with a teasing smile.
Zach tossed his fortune over his shoulder. “I think it means that I should spend the night cuddling with you.”
“I don’t think that’s what it meant.”
“It’s up for interpretation.”
I tucked my fortune away, saving it for my memento box.
I spent the next morning backstage at the arena, my phone glued to my side as I waited to hear from the team doctor.
The dressing room door opened, and a furious-looking Connor came storming in, followed closely by my dad.
“Lana’s manager isn’t answering,” Dad said. “I don’t know what she’s doing, Connor.”
I raised an eyebrow in question. More Lana drama?
“She’s doing a tell-all interview!” Connor shouted, as he turned around to face my dad. “It doesn’t take a rocket-fucking-scientist to know that she’s breaking the NDA.”
“We have no reason to believe that she’s breaking the NDA,”
Dad said, his voice much softer and calmer. “She’s using your name for attention, which is something she’s done before. That doesn’t mean anything else is happening.”
Connor took a seat on the couch across from me, his chest rap-idly rising and falling. “I can’t keep doing this.”
I readjusted myself so I was looking at him, while still keeping my knee propped up. “What’s going on?”
“Lana announced a tell-all special this week, where she dishes the secrets on her relationship with Connor Jackson,” Connor said.
“And every fucking time she does this, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t function until I know that she’s not blowing it for me.”
“I’m sorry, Connor.”
I wanted to be able to offer something more, but I knew that Connor wasn’t ready to address his relationship with Lana publicly yet. And he had to keep hoping that Lana wasn’t either.
“You signed an NDA too,” Dad reminded him. “So if she breaks hers . . .”
It was fair game.
Connor shook his head. “I may hate her, but I couldn’t expose her. Even if she doesn’t feel the same. I heard too much that night.”
They both did.
Dad eased down onto the couch next to Connor. “Let’s wait to hear from Lana’s manager. And if she plans on actually doing a tell-all, then we’ll address that as it comes.”
“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing?” I offered up.
Connor shook his head, a look of defeat on his face. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
Dad nodded. “I understand, son.”
Connor stood up, swiftly leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.
An unsettled silence filled the room as both Dad and I stared after him.
“That wasn’t how I planned the morning to go,” Dad said. His gaze focused on me. “How’re you feeling?”
“I took a pain pill about an hour ago, so my knee doesn’t hurt too badly. I’m just trying to keep my mind off things.”
“I’m sorry that you had such a rough ending to your tournament.
I was able to watch some of the London one.”
“Really?”
“Your mom, brother, and I watched it during lunch. From what I was able to see, you did really well.”
I wasn’t used to such an open conversation with my dad, let alone a compliment. “Wow, Dad. Thanks.”
“I’d love to hear more about the tournament. Maybe later tonight?”
“Yeah! I’d love that too.”
He stood up, his phone in hand. “In the meantime, I need to go and try to calm your brother down.”
“Good luck with that.”
As he left, my phone buzzed next to me. I quickly grabbed it: it was a Los Angeles area code.
“Hello?” I asked, my voice coming out a bit shaky.
“May I speak with Katelyn Jackson?” a female voice asked.
“Speaking.”
She cleared her throat. “Hello, my name is Dr. Carmen Sanchez.
I reviewed your MRI results, and I’d like a chance to go over them with you if you’re available.”
My heart was erratically pounding in my chest, and I took a moment to steady my voice. “I’m available.”
“The good news is, from what I’m seeing now, I don’t believe that surgery will be necessary.”
It felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. “Really?”
“You have torn your MCL, which we rarely do surgical intervention for. The ligament has enough blood supply to heal itself, if given the proper amount of rest and rehabilitation.”
MCL tear, no surgery. I could handle that.
“From what else I can tell, it also looks like you’ve suffered from a partial LCL tea
r. A partial tear isn’t something we’d normally do surgical intervention for—much like the MCL, it’s able to heal itself with the proper care.”
A bowling ball settled in my stomach. “What does that mean as far as soccer goes?”
“If all goes according to plan, I’d say that we can start integrating you back onto the field in the next six to eight weeks.”
“Weeks?” I asked, my voice rising in pitch. “Are you sure it has to be that long?”
“Yes, Katelyn, I’m afraid so. We want to make sure that we give your knee ample time to heal so as not to cause further damage or problems down the road.”
It was already late July. Eight weeks put me late into September, and the U.S. Women’s National Team camp was in October.
I didn’t know how to respond. “Okay then.”
“I know this news isn’t exactly ideal, but it’s a much better situation than if we were talking surgery,” Dr. Sanchez said. “Hopefully we can have you back on the field before September ends.”
Getting into shape for camp was going to be nearly impossible if I couldn’t hit the field before then.
“As for next steps, we need to get you into physical therapy,” she continued. “I’ve written up a script for it. I know you’re traveling right now, but as soon as you get back to L.A., I’d like to set you up with some appointments at the clinic.”
Tears stung at the back of my eyes. “I understand.”
“I’m going to call your mom now to go over the details and to see what we can work out,” Dr. Sanchez said. “Do you have any questions for me?”
When do I wake up from this nightmare?
“No,” I said, my voice thick. “Not right now. Thank you, Dr. Sanchez.”
“Of course, Katelyn. We’ll talk soon.”
My body felt numb as I hung up the phone. All of my hard work.
All of my training. It was all for nothing. I was going to lose everything.
DENVER, CO
CHAPTER 30
Footsteps came up behind me as I sat on the couch of the tour bus for yet another excruciatingly long journey. The whole reason I’d joined the tour the day before such a long drive was so I could spend it with Zach. Now I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone.
I pulled a pillow over my face, ignoring the figure that came to a stop next to me.
Along for the Ride Page 23