Page 43 of Holding On

"Yes. Do you want me to just tell you?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"I work at The Chicken Shack. It's on the east side of town."

"Yeah, I know where it is. I love that place."

"You do?"

"I haven't been there forever but I love their chicken. But I don't remember what the waitresses wear."

"We have to wear these red and white checkered dresses that look like tablecloths and these goofy chicken hats. But we only wear the chicken hats when we know the district manager is coming to visit. The local manager doesn't make us wear them, thank God. The hats look ridiculous and they never stay on."

I'm trying to imagine her in a chicken hat. I bet she looks freaking adorable. She could make anything look good.

"How often do you work there?"

"Every night, but only during the week. I get weekends off unless I need to fill in for someone."

"You work all day cleaning, then waitress at night? You must be exhausted."

"Sometimes I am, but for the most part, I'm used to it. After a while you don't notice how tired you are. It just becomes your routine and you don't think about it."

"Kind of like me and football. I train hard for hours a day, which most people would think is crazy, but to me it's normal. It's what it takes to get ahead."

Closing the fridge, she turns to me, seeming hesitant.

"What is it?" I ask. "You look like you want to ask me something."

"I was just wondering when you have to start training again. I mean, are you..." She trails off, but I know what she was about to say.

"Going to play football again?"

"Never mind." She turns away and gets some glasses from the cupboard.

"It's okay to ask. Doesn't mean I'll answer. The truth is, I don't have an answer. Until my leg heals, it's hard to say."

"Do the doctors know how long it'll take to heal?"

"Not really. It depends on how the bone heals."

"So you can't play this season."

"Probably not, but we can always hope for a miracle." I strain to smile because I doubt that miracle is coming. There's no way I could play this season. Practice starts in a few weeks and I'm still in a damn wheelchair.

"But you're obviously still working out." Her eyes go to my arms, which have benefited from all the weight lifting I've been doing. I've got all freaking day to work out, so my chest, abs, and arms are more ripped than they ever were before.

"Is that a compliment?" I smile, easily this time.

A hint of pink tints her cheeks. "It was just an observation."

Lifting up my shirt, I point to my chest. "Since the accident, I've spent a lot of time working my upper body."

Her eyes are fixated on my abs, a chiseled eight pack that even I'm impressed with. It shows what repeated and focused workouts can do.

I lower my shirt. "I showed you mine, you show me yours."

She laughs. "Nice try."

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