by Marie Sexton
There was a brief hesitation and then, “Part of it.” But I knew from his voice that topic wasn’t going any further either. “It must have been nice living in the same place your whole life.”
“In some ways. But coming back here after college felt a little bit like failure. Like everybody else was moving away, and I was just coming back to my parents. It seemed like only the losers were still stuck here. Like Dan and Cherie.” I stopped short, realizing maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but he didn’t seem to notice, so I went on. “I guess I got used to it. I love it. I love Colorado. I don’t think I could ever live away from the mountains. Whenever I get far enough east that I can’t see them, it just feels wrong. I can’t explain it. It’s like losing sight of home base. Like I have a compass inside, but it points west instead of north.” I stopped short, wishing I hadn’t said all that. “There. Is that better?”
He leaned back with a sigh, his head on my thigh, and looked up at me. “Yes. That did help. You were right.”
“Told you.”
“Thanks.”
But he didn’t move. His eyes had closed, and he seemed to be half asleep.
His head was practically in my lap. It didn’t seem to faze him, but it felt incredibly intimate to me. Suddenly, my heart raced and my mouth was dry. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Nothing else existed at that moment. I’d never seen anything as ruggedly beautiful as him. His jaw was strong and square, and at least a day’s worth of dark stubble covered his cheeks. His lips were soft and full. He never wore sunglasses, and there were small squint lines around his eyes, slightly pale against his tan face. His lashes weren’t long, but they were thick and jet-black.
I could have looked at him all night. Some strange feeling seemed to suffuse my entire being. It was overwhelming—almost painful yet not unpleasant. I felt like I must certainly be glowing with it. This current that flowed through me felt like a fever under my skin. Surely he could feel it where his head rested on my thigh. How could he be so close to me, touching me, and not sense what I was feeling? I’d always been attracted to him. I’d always enjoyed spending time with him. But I realized at that moment that at some point over the past few weeks, it had become something more.
I loved him.
It was a painful realization—so painful it took my breath away—discovering I was totally in love with this man who would never love me back.
I wanted nothing more than to kiss him and was both annoyed and relieved that I couldn’t possibly do it from where I sat. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself otherwise. My hand moved of its own volition and came to rest along his cheek, my fingertips just touching his jaw. His eyes drifted open. He stared up at me, his green-in-gray eyes looking into mine, and I knew he could see it in my eyes. There was no way he could look at me at that moment and not know what I was feeling.
He slowly put his hand up, grabbed my fingers, and pulled them away from his cheek. He didn’t let go of my hand. His voice was quiet but gentle. “Are you sure you’re not making a pass at me?”
I couldn’t even answer at first. It certainly hadn’t been my intention at the beginning, but at that moment, I didn’t think I could bear to not have him.
“Would it work?” My voice was barely more than a whisper.
He hesitated for a second, but whether it was because he was unsure of the answer or because he knew I wasn’t going to like it, I didn’t know. But then, just slightly, he shook his head. “No.”
It was the answer I expected, and yet I couldn’t believe how much it hurt. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I had to close my eyes, had to remind myself to take a single, shaking breath. I could barely speak around the sudden lump in my throat. “I guess it doesn’t matter, then, does it?”
I started to pull away, but his hand, still holding my fingers, suddenly gripped tight. “Jared?” When I looked back down at him, he said, “Do you want me to leave?”
The question surprised me, and I answered honestly. “No. Not at all.” I pulled my hand away from his and stood up, not facing him, one hand over my eyes. “Matt, I….” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but what came out was “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He said it with such gentle honesty, and it made me feel a little better. It was a relief to know that at least my desire for him wouldn’t cost me his friendship. But I still couldn’t look at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him get up and put his shirt back on. He came over and put his hand on my shoulder, waiting until I finally met his gaze. He gave me an almost-smile and said, “Come on. Let’s go make those nachos.”
WE SPENT the last Sunday of August on my couch watching football. We were as excited as kids on Christmas to have the season underway. For the morning game, we cheered for the same team, but for the afternoon game, we rooted against each other. I’d never experienced such a perfect feeling of camaraderie. We laughed at each other and insulted each other and occasionally threw things at each other and drank too much beer. And near the end, he sighed happily, leaned back next to me on the couch, and said, “I’m definitely coming here every Sunday.”
“Don’t forget there’s football on Mondays too.”
Chapter 14
I RIDE my bike to and from work year-round, resorting to my car only when there’s snow on the ground. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve always suspected it’s the main reason I’ve managed to stay thin. Most of the time I enjoy it but not today. We were having one of our late-afternoon thunderstorms, very common for Colorado in early September. The rain was chilly, and visibility was limited as I left the shop. I’d originally planned to stop at the grocery store on the way home since there was nothing edible in my house, but now, all I really wanted to do was get home and get dry.
Maybe Matt would come by tonight, and we could order a pizza.
I had my head down and was pedaling down the sidewalk as fast as I could when a car hit me. It came out of a driveway, moving slow, which is probably what saved me. The driver was talking on his cell phone, not paying attention—just like Lizzy always predicted. I hoped she’d be happy.
He hit me on my left side. The front of the hood hit my head, and I flew out into the street. Later, I’d realize how lucky I was that no cars were coming. I slid a few feet across the asphalt on my right side before coming to a stop in the middle of the street.
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you. Are you hurt?” The driver was already out of his car and leaning over me. I recognized him from around town. His name was Jason. Other than that I didn’t know anything about him.
“I think I’m okay.” In truth, I had no idea. I was stunned, trying to survey the damage. Nothing hurt yet, but that didn’t mean anything. I’d heard people could get shot and not even know it.
He looked more scared than I felt. “I think I better take you to the hospital.”
“I think I’m okay.” I was more worried about the state of my bike.
“You’re bleeding.” Jason pointed toward my left ear.
I put my hand against my head, and it came away covered in blood, which was quickly washed away again by the rain. “Oh shit.” Now that I was looking for it, I found blood on my shirt and in the rainy water on the street.
Jason was starting to panic now. “Let me take you to the hospital.”
The pain hit suddenly, as if seeing the blood was all my brain needed to catch up. It was either let him take me or wait here for cops and an ambulance. I got in his car.
“THE WOUND on your head looks worse than it actually is,” the doctor told me. “Of course, if you’d been wearing a helmet, you’d be home by now with only a few bumps and bruises instead of bleeding in my emergency room.” I knew he was right. Worse than that, I knew that Lizzy, Brian, and my mom were all going to give me the same lecture at least a hundred times over the next few days. “There’s no sign of concussion, so once we’ve got your wounds clean and bandaged, you’ll be able to go home. Do you have somebody you can call to pick you up?�
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“Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to get you some oxycodone—”
“I hate that stuff. It makes me itchy.”
“That’s a fairly common side effect. Would you prefer Vicodin?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m going to give you a little bit now. You’ll probably be pretty sore in the morning, so I’ll send you home with one extra dose. But after that you’ll need to make do with over-the-counter pain relievers.”
“You bet.” Every part of my body ached, and I knew it was only going to get worse.
They gave the drugs a while to kick in, then closed the wound on my left temple with something that smelled suspiciously like superglue. Besides being covered with blood, my shirt had been shredded by my skid on the asphalt. They threw it away, painfully cleaned the giant patch of road rash on my right side, spread some kind of goo all over it and bandaged it, and then gave me a blue scrub shirt to wear home.
Cops were in and out, asking me questions. Matt didn’t appear to be on duty. Jason gave me his insurance information and promised to bring my bike by my house the next day. It seemed to go on forever. It was almost nine o’clock when the doctor finally brought me the second dose of Vicodin. “Assuming there are no problems tonight, you can take these tomorrow morning, with breakfast,” he said as he handed them to me. I nodded even though I knew I wouldn’t wait that long. He handed me a cordless phone. “Call your ride now. I’ll want to talk to them before you leave.”
I took the pills as soon as he left the room, and thought about who to call. Lizzy would be a wreck, crying and trying to baby me. Brian would yell about me being an idiot. Mom would cry and give me a lecture on the same topic.
I called Matt.
“Hey, Jared,” he said when he picked up. “Where the hell are you? I went by your house.”
“I’m at the hospital. Can you come get me?”
“What happened?”
“I got hit by a car, but—”
Of course he didn’t let me finish. “What? Jesus, Jared, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But they won’t let me go unless I have a ride home.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
When Matt got there, the doctor took him into the hallway, and they talked for a while. By the time we got in the car, I was already feeling better.
I let my head fall back against the headrest. I could have fallen asleep there. “Please don’t lecture me. Just let it wait until morning.”
“Okay.” He said it like it hadn’t even occurred to him. I could have kissed him.
By the time we got to my house, I was dead on my feet. Between the Vicodin and the adrenaline crash, I felt like I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I fell onto the couch, leaned back, and closed my eyes. The cushion shifted as he sat down next to me. Nothing happened for a minute. Or maybe it was an hour.
The whole world was soft around the edges, not quite tangible. My body hurt, but I drifted somewhere above the pain, buoyed by the drugs, comfortable back in my own home. I might have slept for a bit. I couldn’t be sure. At some point, I became aware of him again at my side, and then a feather-light touch near my temple, where the cut was. I cracked my eyes open a tiny bit. He was leaning close, one leg tucked under him on the couch, examining the cut on my head. He brushed my hair back out of the way. My eyes closed again, and I drifted for a while, feeling his fingers moving in my hair. My head still hurt, but his light touch felt nice.
“Jesus, Jared.” It wasn’t his usual bantering tone. It was almost a whisper, tight and strained. I opened my eyes a tiny bit. He was so close, and the expression on his face was one I’d never seen before. His eyebrows were down, and his eyes, not very far away from my own, were dark and troubled. His fingers seemed to still be moving in my hair, against my scalp, almost like a caress, but my addled brain wasn’t sure. “You could have died.”
Even in my drugged state, I was surprised by how much raw emotion I heard in those four words. I had no idea what to say, but what came out of my mouth was “I’m okay.”
His eyes closed. His fingers were still in my hair but not moving anymore. “Thank God.” I couldn’t get my brain to work. Something about this was strange and wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. He finally opened his eyes, and I must have looked confused, because he grinned. “Just how much Vicodin did they give you?”
“Enough.” I could easily have slept there the rest of the night. I was especially reluctant to move away from where his fingers were tangled in my hair, just barely touching my head.
He shook his head at me, still smiling a little, and said, “Come on. Time for bed.”
He stood up, pulled me off the couch, and pushed me toward my bedroom. Once we got there, he said, “Do you have any sweats that might fit me?”
That confused me, but I pointed to a drawer.
“Okay.” He started digging through it. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Jared, I’m not going to undress you,” he said lightly. “You’ll have to do that yourself.”
I hadn’t actually realized that’s what I was supposed to be doing. I obediently took off my shoes and socks and pants, and I sat down on the bed. I wasn’t sure what to do next.
Matt came over and looked down at me with the pseudo-smile. “Close enough.” He pulled the hospital shirt off of me. His expression darkened again, that strange look I didn’t recognize, when he saw the bruises and giant bandage on my side. Then he pushed me gently backward on the bed. I turned onto my uninjured side and snuggled down into my bed with relief. He pulled the blankets up over me. When was the last time somebody had tucked me in? My eyes closed, and I drifted again. Sometime later the mattress creaked. I opened my eyes a little. Darkness filled the room, but I could still see him, wearing a pair of my sweats, getting into the other side of the bed.
“You’re sleeping here?” I managed to ask, although I seemed to be slurring my words a little.
“I’m not leaving you alone tonight. The doctor said to call right away if you started vomiting.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?” I didn’t know why that mattered, but some part of my brain apparently wanted to know.
His hand wrapped tight around my wrist. “I promise.”
I WOKE to the smell of bacon cooking. My stomach grumbled. My whole body hurt, my mouth tasted terrible, and my head pounded. I really wished I’d saved that second dose of Vicodin for morning like the doctor had told me.
I made it into the bathroom, emptied my bladder, brushed my teeth, and started cleaning up. Between the road rash and the superglue, a shower wasn’t even an option. The left side of my face was black-and-blue from my temple to my jaw. Yep, my mom was definitely going to freak. I would’ve preferred being hit by another car to facing her.
My memory of the evening after leaving the hospital was a blur of hazy images: pain, but also a light touch on my temple, a hand wrapped around my wrist in the dark. Did he really sleep in my bed with me? Talk about opportunity wasted, I thought as I took two each of Tylenol and ibuprofen.
“How do you feel?” he asked as I came into the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast bar.
“Like I was hit by a Mack truck.”
“Nope.” He put a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of me. “Just a Toyota Land Cruiser.” A glass of milk and a cup of coffee came next. It occurred to me that, with the exception of the coffee, none of this food had been in my house. He must have gone out early to get it.
My stomach grumbled again, louder than before. “Holy shit, I’m hungry.”
“You had Vicodin for dinner.”
“That explains it.” I dug in.
“I called Lizzy and told her you’d be late.”
I groaned as I thought about what Lizzy was going to say about the whole thing. “Did you tell her what happened?”
“No.” He sounded amused.
“You want me to get the full brunt of her freaking out when I tell her, do
n’t you?”
“Exactly.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Plus, I could tell she was dying to know why I was calling from your house at seven thirty in the morning. I thought it’d be fun to let her imagination run wild.” That certainly would get Lizzy’s bees buzzing, and I had to laugh. “Mind if I use the shower?” he asked.
“Help yourself.” I was already most of the way through the plate of food. He didn’t head for the shower, though. He stood staring at me like he had something to say but didn’t know how. It made me self-conscious enough that I stopped eating and looked up at him. “What?”
He came around the counter to stand next to me. For a second or two, he didn’t move. I waited, figuring the lecture was about to start. But then he leaned toward me. He put one hand under my hair on the back of my neck, pulling me toward him, and buried his face in my hair. He was shaking. He took one ragged breath. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
I was stunned. I knew I was his only real friend in town, but it still surprised me how shaken up he seemed to be. I remembered his look from the night before, that strange expression I’d never seen before. I remembered the raw emotion in his voice when he said I could have died. I was overwhelmingly touched by how much he cared about me. It was hard to make my throat work, but I managed to say, “I’ll do my best.”
“Good.” He let go, grabbed my helmet off the counter, and shoved it into my stomach, hard enough to make me wince.
“From now on,” he said. It did not sound like a request.
My first instinct was to protest, but then he gave me that look again. The one from last night. Could I really deny him anything? The answer was simple: no. I loved him too much.
“I promise.”
Chapter 15
TRUE TO form, my family freaked out about the accident, but once they learned that Matt had made me promise to wear my helmet, they let it go. Mom called it a “blessing in disguise.” I tried not to roll my eyes when she said it. I was also relieved to find out that my bike wasn’t badly damaged. And so within a matter of days, the incident was, for the most part, forgotten. And if I wondered a little about Matt’s strange display of affection, I said nothing.