CHAPTER 21

Aspen hadn’t lied when she told people that her ankle was fine. It had been fine. But today, in one of the most important matches of her career, it was swollen and sore. While they couldn’t directly qualify for the Games with a win in this final, this tournament counted toward one of those seventeen spots, and if they came in second, they’d still look good. The only problem was that they needed to be the best US team of the tournament to all but guarantee one of those seventeen spots, and they had been placed on the opposite side of the bracket as one of the other US teams here. That team had made it through a tough international bracket and had managed, unexpectedly, to make it to the final, which meant that if Aspen and DJ lost against them, they’d end up with the most points toward qualification.

The team they were playing now was currently fourth in qualifying, with Aspen and DJ still sitting at number one and the number two and three teams out in the quarterfinals and semifinals, respectively, so while a loss would mean this team would climb into the number two spot, they wouldn’t be able to climb all the way up and overtake Aspen and DJ. Losing wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but as she took the pass and tried to run up for the kill, she watched DJ hit it over in two and wondered if a loss was the safe bet for them.

Aspen wished she’d played indoor more than once in her life, and every time she thought about it, it was because she was injured. If she’d played indoor, a sub could come in off the bench to replace her, and she could get treatment and not risk the next match or tournament on a sore ankle. In beach, she had no backup, no sub, and they only had so many timeouts. Sure, they were allowed an injury timeout, which would give them a little more time to receive treatment, but there was nothing any trainer could do that would get her ankle back to being unswollen for the rest of the set.

“Damn it,” she muttered when they lost the point.

“Hey, we’re okay. Can you hang in there?” DJ asked.

“I’m trying, but it’s getting more swollen every play. I don’t know what’s going on. There’s nothing wrong with it. The doc cleared me. I iced it. I took the anti-inflammatories.”

“What do you want to do?” DJ asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Aspen, should we call it?”

“Forfeit?”

“Yes, should we forfeit so that we can get you taken care of and get home to have it looked at by your doctor?”

“I’ve never forfeited in my life, DJ.”

“I know. But we’re trying to make the Olympic team, Aspen. We can take the L today and still do that, but we can’t if you’re hurt and it gets worse out here.”

“We’ve got to play,” Aspen replied instead and nodded to the ref, who was glaring at them to get into position.

“Next point, I’m asking again,” DJ warned.

But Aspen was determined to at least get through the match. Even if they lost, she couldn’t forfeit. The other US team they were playing was good, but not better than them, so there was a slim chance that they could pull this off. Of course, the other team knew about Aspen’s injury, so they served and hit at her every time, trying to make her run all over the court in the same way Kendra had recommended they do against the Swedish team they’d beaten by using her strategy.

“Got it,” Aspen said and passed up to DJ, who hit it over on two again, and while the other team was ready, they still couldn’t get to where she’d placed the ball.

It was Aspen’s turn to serve, so she walked back to the line, and DJ turned to her.

“Stay up there,” Aspen ordered.

DJ shook her head but did as she was told. Aspen served the ball and moved into her position, taking her time because she could. When the other team went for their swing, DJ was there. She blocked it, but it tipped up and back. Aspen got to it and passed it over. DJ had to set her because of the weird angle, so Aspen hit a free ball over the net. That would save her a jump, and they could get ready to play defense again.

When the ball came back over, DJ pulled back instead of blocking it, moving into Aspen’s space a bit, and hit the pass with her two hands in front of her face, which was allowed. It looked funny, but Aspen knew her partner had done it to prevent Aspen from having to take the jump and swing. Aspen set her up and watched DJ kill the ball over the net and into the sand. They were down by two in the first set, but they could get those two back if they kept at this.

“I’m going to play back,” DJ told her. “Every play.”

“You can’t do that,” Aspen replied. “You’ve got to keep them guessing, at least. Stay up this play. I’ll get it.”

“Aspen–”

“I’ll get it, DJ.”

She didn’t. The ball hit the sand, and they were down by three. They lost the first set and managed to stay with them in the second set until the end when DJ’s block went out of bounds on set, match point, and they lost in two sets, which was something neither of them was accustomed to.

“Sit,” DJ said, pointing to the bench. “She needs the trainer,” she ordered to someone whom Aspen didn’t see, who must have been standing behind the bench.

“DJ, can I talk–”

“No,” DJ interrupted.

Aspen looked up and saw a reporter they’d been interviewed by before the match. She wasn’t Kendra, and she was from a different network that was covering only the final of the event, which still hadn’t been televised in the US but had been streaming. That had her thinking of Kendra and wishing that the woman was here because she’d know to go talk to the other team and leave Aspen and DJ alone when Aspen was clearly injured.

“Sorry, but she needs to get to the med tent. Talk to the winners,” DJ added and nodded toward the other team, who was still celebrating on the court.

It was their first major win, so Aspen understood. Besides, it wasn’t their fault that Aspen had gotten injured and her ankle still hadn’t recovered.

“It felt fine the previous two matches. I just don’t understand,” she said when the trainer got there.

“Let’s get you to the tent. I don’t want you walking on it. And I want it elevated.” He helped Aspen stand up.

DJ helped support her other side. Aspen wasn’t sure who grabbed their bags, but they went to the medical tent that wasn’t, thankfully, all that far away, and she was placed on a table where she lay down. The trainer used a dry towel to clear the sand off of her calf and foot while DJ stood off to the side, drinking something to replenish her fluids. She passed Aspen a bottle, and Aspen took a long gulp while the trainer looked her over.

“Where are you feeling the most pain?”

“It’s a solid ache, and it’s just all over.”

The trainer moved his hands up the back of her foot, focusing on her Achilles tendon, and Aspen prayed silently, which she never did, that it wasn’t that. If there was a tear, she’d likely be done for the rest of the year, even if it was a small one.

“Anything here?” he asked.

She focused on where the pain was coming from and replied, “No, nothing there. Just all over. Well, mostly on the outside, I guess, if I had to pin it down.” She turned to DJ. “Can you find my phone and text my parents? They were going to watch, so I want them to know that I’m okay.”

“Are you?” DJ asked.

“Well, I’m not dead, DJ. So, maybe just tell them that,” she only half-joked.

“I’ll text them that you’re being examined right now but that you’re still a bitch, so you’re probably okay.”

“Sure. That works,” she said, not feeling like laughing at DJ’s joke.

“We should get you to the hospital for scans and X-rays. You said you didn’t feel anything tear or snap?”

“No,” Aspen replied. “I rolled it in the first match, but I followed the instructions. Ice. Anti-inflammatories. Stay off it. I felt okay in my last two matches. A little soreness, but not swelling, and I was fine.”

“Let’s get her to the hospital to check it out,” he said to another trainer. “We’re going to take you in an ambulance because that’ll be faster, but don’t freak out, okay?”

“Don’t freak out?” Aspen asked. “I can walk. Why do we need to go in an ambulance? It’s not like I got hit hard in the head or something. Just drive me there in a normal car.”

“I texted your parents that you’re okay, being checked out right now, and that you’ll call them later,” DJ shared. “Also, Kendra.”

“What?” Aspen asked. “You texted Kendra?”

“No, she texted you. And she called, too. It must have gone to voicemail.”

“Shit,” Aspen muttered. “They want to take me in an ambulance, DJ.”

“Yeah, because it’s faster.”

“She can’t see that,” Aspen insisted. “Phone.” She held out her hand.

Aspen was trying to keep it together herself because if they did find something, she risked both her career and DJ’s, which made it worse, but there was a US TV network here, so if Kendra still had the stream going on her computer and they decided to show Aspen in an ambulance heading toward a hospital because it would make for better ratings or some other stupid reason, she needed Kendra to know that she was fine.

“Aspen?” Kendra said, sounding worried.

“Hey, I’m okay. It’s just my ankle. Nothing snapped or anything.”

“You barely finished the match,” Kendra said.

“I know. It’s swollen, and I don’t know why, so they’re going to take me to the hospital for some scans. I wanted you to know in case they show it.”

“Show what?”

“Aspen, wheelchair,” the trainers said, pointing to the wheelchair he’d brought over from the other side of the tent.

“You know Rome traffic, right? It’s really bad here, and they want me to get there before my ankle gets any bigger, so I’m going by ambulance.”

“Oh,” Kendra uttered.

“But I’m okay,” Aspen repeated. “It’s nothing serious. I’m just getting some pictures of my ankle taken.”

“You knew I’d be worried,” Kendra said in realization.

“I can’t say much because people are around, but I didn’t want you to see that, if they happen to show it on screen or something, and think…”

“I know. Thank you,” Kendra replied. “You said you were okay the other day.”

“I was. I promise you; I didn’t lie. I was fine. There was no swelling, and everything was okay until today.”

“Maybe you reaggravated it.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “They’ve got a wheelchair for me here, so I have to go, but I’ll call you later to check in, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Are you still watching the stream?”

“Yes. They’re doing the podium ceremony without you two.”

“I’ll have DJ go out there for us. But, Kendra, don’t watch, okay? You know they’ll pan over to me trying to get out of here and make a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

“Okay. I won’t. I’ll turn it off now.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Aspen?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for calling. Hearing your voice helps.”

Aspen let out a small smile and said, “I’ll call you later.”

She hung up and looked at DJ.

“Get out there and accept our second-place medal and whatever else. If anyone asks, I’m just getting looked at as a precaution, but I’m okay.”

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” DJ replied.

Aspen nodded, and she was helped up and into the chair. The trainer then lifted the left leg-holding contraption thing that Aspen had no idea what it was called. She put her leg in it to keep the ankle elevated, and off she was pushed. Minutes later, she was in the ambulance, being driven to the hospital. She really hoped that Kendra had listened to her and that she’d closed her laptop because Aspen didn’t want her going back to the times she’d been raced to the hospital in an ambulance herself. Of course, she didn’t think Kendra remembered anything from the rides themselves because she’d been unconscious, but the woman still didn’t need a reminder.

Aspen sat in the waiting room for a while, which, in retrospect, made the whole ambulance ride seem even more ridiculous, but eventually, she was taken back and examined fully. She had every angle of her ankle on some kind of camera now, and after both an MRI and a series of X-rays, she was laid out in an exam room, waiting for a doctor to tell her what was wrong with her damn foot. She had ice on it again, and they’d given her some of the strong meds to help with the inflammation. The pain had started to die down now that she’d been able to rest it for a bit, and she continued to hope for good news.

“Aspen?” the trainer spoke, walking in with an Italian doctor and someone else. “This is Dr. Mortello and your nurse, Beatrice. She speaks English.”

“Hello, Aspen,” the kind-looking woman said.

“Hi,” Aspen replied.

The doctor put her scans up on a computer monitor, sat down, and examined them without a word. Aspen sat up, trying to look herself, as if she understood how to read them, which she didn’t. After a long minute, the doctor finally spoke in Italian and pointed at the image on the screen. Aspen’s heart pounded as she had to wait for the nurse to translate for her whatever he’d just said.

“You have a very minor sprain here.” Beatrice pointed to where the doctor was pointing. “A mild tear. See?”

Aspen leaned up more, but she couldn’t see anything. The only thing she did know for sure was that he wasn’t pointing at her Achilles, which was what she’d been worried about.

“Okay. What does that mean for my playing?”

“Your friend,” Beatrice began and motioned to the trainer, who Aspen hardly knew. “Said you hurt it before and again?”

“It was a bit swollen after a match a few days ago, but it was fine. It got bad again today.”

“Probably very, very mild tear then, and it got worse today,” the nurse replied with a smile.

“What do I do? Can I play?”

The doctor said something, and Aspen looked at the nurse.

“A week with all rest, no playing, and it should be wrapped. Go to your doctor at home for more X-rays and scans after that, but he said he can barely see the tear. Between you and me, I can’t even see that it’s there; it’s so small.” The nurse smiled and winked at her. “It’s probably just too much for the ankle this week with your playing.”

“A week?” Aspen asked.

“To start,” the nurse clarified. “Then, talk to your doctor at home. If you follow instructions, you might be able to play, but you will check with your doctor to see if more rest is needed. You must wrap it when you do play and take the pills to help with swelling. Ice it and receive treatment.”

“Okay.” She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Aspen, I don’t want to get your hopes up,” her trainer said once the doctor and nurse were gone and they were getting her paperwork together so that she could leave. “It could be a week if you play it right, but you know a sprain can be tricky. You could be out six to eight weeks if you overdo it.”

“I know. And I’ll listen. I’m not risking DJ’s chance to qualify for the Games. I thought I could handle it today. I should’ve just stopped, like she asked me to.”

“She’s outside. Want me to get her?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He nodded and left the room. A minute later, DJ walked in.

“Hey. How are you?”

“Very mild sprain. They said it’s barely there on the X-ray, so it’s okay.”

“That’s good. How long?”

“A week of doing nothing and staying off it, along with all the basic stuff. Then, I need to have it looked at to see if it’s repairing itself or if I need more time.”

“Okay. We can do a week,” DJ replied with a nod. “You’re going to listen, right?”

“Yes, I’m going to listen. I’ll hardly move if it means we can get me back out there in a week or two. DJ, I don’t want to spin it too much; it’s a very mild tear. But you know that there’s a chance–”

“I know,” DJ interrupted. “We’ll see, okay?” She patted Aspen’s leg. “Just listen to the docs, and we’ll see.”

Aspen nodded at her.

“Do you know where my phone is?”

“In your bag. Want to call your parents?”

“Oh, right.”

DJ laughed and said, “You were going to call Kendra, weren’t you?”

Aspen just shrugged her shoulder in response.