The Trick to Landing

by Jenny Kaczorowski

  “You have school and your own homework.”

  “I haven’t missed a day all year. I tell one teacher I’m not feeling good and they send me home, no questions asked.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Come on. You’d totally get caught for that.”

  “Me? I never get caught for anything. The magical benefits of a chronic disorder. No one knows when I’m faking and when it’s legit, and they’re all too scared to ask.”

  “I can text her.”

  “Better idea.” He held out his hand for her phone. “I’ll call your mom.”

  “What did you say to her anyway? Because she is in love with you all of a sudden.”

  He smiled. “I did save her only daughter’s life.”

  Summer’s heart felt like it might burst and she leaned in. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

  “No need.” He shifted away slightly. “Just don’t ever do that again.”

  A sinking feeling settled into her stomach. “Skating without a helmet or whatever it is you won’t tell me?”

  He held her eyes. “Either one. Your mom is picking up.”

  Chapter 25

  “Which window is yours?” Summer asked, staring up at the ultramodern façade of Bastian’s house. She still wasn’t entirely sure how he had talked her mom into letting her spend the rest of the day—alone—with him, but it was better than sitting in the dark for another afternoon.

  “Top corner,” he said, pointing to the giant windows.

  “No way.”

  “My parents wanted the bigger room at the back of the house. It does have the better bathroom. Mine just has a shower.”

  “I still think you won,” she said.

  “I do too.” He unlocked the door. “But don’t tell them that.”

  She followed him inside, but instead of a tour, he motioned for her to follow him up the stairs in silence. He didn’t speak again until they reached the third floor—most of which was an open loft—and shut the bedroom door behind them.

  A giggle escaped her lips. “What? You can’t have girls in your room?”

  “My parents would never believe I could convince a girl to come up to my room, much less do anything they’d disapprove of. No, but if my mom gets ahold of you, she’ll grill you until she knows you better than you know yourself.”

  “That sounds terrifying, and I’m already scared of your mom. I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

  “She doesn’t, I swear, but she’s a little overprotective. One of the less beneficial side effects of that chronic disorder thing. Anyway, she’s leaving in like fifteen minutes. We’ll sneak down after she leaves. That way we don’t have to explain anything.”

  “Sounds good.” She wrapped her hands around her arms and turned to take in her surroundings. “Whoa. This is so not a boy’s room.”

  Neat, white roman shades covered the floor to ceiling windows taking up most of two walls. Glossy bamboo floor glistened against pale gray-blue walls. The bed was made up with darker gray sheets, and the drawers of the dresser were all pushed in and straight. His desk was neat, his books were neat.

  “I could dump out the hamper if it would make you more comfortable,” he said.

  Light and bright and welcoming. Like Bastian. “No. It’s perfect.”

  “Our housekeeper works very hard to keep it that way.” He sat on the chair at his desk and leaned back, resting his feet on the edge of the empty wastebasket. “Make yourself at home.”

  A childish drawing on his bedside table caught her attention. She ran a finger over the bright crayon family it depicted. “You have a brother, right?”

  “Two. Technically half brothers, but my mom married our dad when they were super young. Timmy graduated last year and Xavier is 25. His daughter drew that for me.”

  “You have a niece?”

  “Mariposa.” He said her name like it was sunshine. “She’s three. My sister-in-law is pregnant again and they’re hoping for a boy.”

  Summer set the frame back down. “I always wanted a brother.”

  “One might be nice, but being the youngest of three boys kinda sucks, especially since I’m the only one with crappy blood. They’re about the only people on earth who don’t treat me like I’m fragile.”

  “You’re not making that sound like a bad thing,” she said.

  “It’s not. It’s good to be normal.”

  She settled on the edge of the bed, fatigue winning out over whatever awkwardness she might have felt about sitting on Bastian’s bed. “I’m kind of jealous.”

  The garage door opened below them, a slight whirring audible through his open window. Bastian swung his legs down. “You hungry? I can do bagel pizzas or mac and cheese.”

  “Mac and cheese is always a winner.”

  “Good. You’re not one of those girls who obsesses over carbs?”

  “Not a chance.” She grinned at him. “The way skating burns through calories? I’ve never been full in my life. Besides, neither one of my parents is particularly domestic. Anything I didn’t make myself came from a box.”

  “Then you’ll be right at home here.” He took both her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I’m starving.”

  He led her to an immaculate, stainless steel and white kitchen, and proceeded to dig around in the cupboards.

  “I don’t cook very often,” he confessed just before he popped up with a pan clutched in his hand. “Aha! I knew it was in there somewhere.”

  “Mac and cheese is pretty easy.”

  “If you can find a colander.”

  She giggled. “You haven’t mastered the pot and lid trick?”

  “That’s a thing? I would burn my hand off.” He started the water boiling, and then disappeared into the pantry.

  “I guess there are some benefits to practically raising myself,” she said, taking the box from his hand. “I know you have to turn the heat up all the way to boil water.”

  “Can I claim you distracted me?”

  “If you’d like.” She opened his refrigerator and gathered the remaining supplies. “Or you could just admit you need help.”

  “I really did want to cook for you.”

  She touched his arm. “You don’t need to take care of me. I’ve done a pretty good job of that most of my life.”

  “So you’ve earned a break.”

  A smile slipped out and she let him take over again. “I suppose.”

  “Are movies still off-limits?” he asked.

  “At least until the headaches stop.”

  “Then I have a better idea.” He poured the pasta into the boiling water. “Go Fish.”

  She stared at him. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is this all some elaborate plot to make me relive my childhood?” she asked. “Candy Land, mac and cheese, Go Fish.”

  “You still remember Candy Land! That’s great!”

  She tapped a finger against her forehead. “New memories seem to be sticking just fine. It’s the day before and after that I lost.”

  “What can I get you to drink?” He pulled out a soda from the fridge. “I’ve got this and water.”

  “Soda is good. The caffeine is supposed to make my head hurt less. It sort of works.”

  “Sure.” He hurried around the kitchen, finishing the mac and cheese and stealing occasional glances in her direction.

  She opted to let it go unnoticed and sipped at her soda.

  Bastian set a bowl in front of her. “Bon appetite.”

  She giggled and took a bite. “Fabulous.”

  He leaned back against the counter to eat. “You really are okay with quiet, aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “There weren’t a lot of people to talk to growing up.”

  “That sounds lonely.”

  “Not really.” She paused, absently stirring her noodles. “Or maybe I’m just okay with loneliness? I don’t know. I’ve never minded being alone.”

  “You don’t have t
o be alone to be lonely.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been there too.”

  He set his bowl in the sink. “Still hungry?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Then I’ll clean up and find the cards,” he said.

  “You cook and clean? No wonder your mom is so possessive.”

  “I do forget to take out the trash a lot.”

  “Ah,” she said. “No one is perfect I suppose.”

  “Come on.” He motioned toward the living room but didn’t offer his hand.

  The Vegas’ living room was a weird combination of the same modern luxury as the rest of the house and obvious comfort items. A battered recliner stood tucked behind a white leather sofa and the bookshelves housed dog-eared books interspersed with ultraexpensive-looking vases and knickknacks.

  “My mom keeps rearranging stuff,” he said, digging through a fancy box on one of the glass shelves beside the marble fireplace. “She’s dying to have an empty nest.”

  “Won’t she miss you?”

  “More than anything.” He pulled out a pack of playing cards and tossed them on the coffee table. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Summer sat down and he settled beside her, dealing out cards and setting up the game. The post-concussion muddle made it harder to catch on than it should have been, but before long she got the hang of it again.

  “Go fish.” She rested her head against Bastian’s shoulder and tilted her eyes to watch his. The smile that extended beyond his lips curved his cheek, rearranging the landscape of his face.

  He picked up a card and slid it into his hand without meeting her gaze. “Your turn.”

  “Do you have any hearts?” she asked.

  Now his eyes swept to hers and held her still. “You already took my heart.” There was no levity. No room for the words to sound as cornball as they should. “Two turns ago.”

  “Oh. Right.” She lifted her head and shifted away from him. “I guess I’ll take a card.”

  “That is how the game works. Go short-term memory!”

  Her cheeks heated up more than her worst sunburn. “Right. I just…” She made the mistake of looking up. “I thought for a second you didn’t mean the cards.” Her voice barely squeaked out.

  “I didn’t. Entirely.”

  “Bastian.” His name came out laced with pleading, but she wasn’t sure what for.

  “I’m here, with you, as a friend,” he said. “And I will say good-bye to you as a friend, but you should know you have me in your hands.”

  “Something did happen after the beach.”

  “We fought.” He rearranged his cards instead of looking at her. “But for about a day, we were more than friends.”

  “What does that . . .?” A wave of panic hit her. “I should remember that. Why did we fight?”

  “We both said things we shouldn’t have said. That we didn’t mean. This is a chance to go back and start over. We can start back at friends and go from there.”

  “But you know what happened and I don’t and that will always be weird.”

  “I’ll get over it.”

  A sinking feeling settled into her gut. “I broke up with you. We were together and I wrecked it.”

  “It really doesn’t matter. This, right here, right now, is what matters. Not a past we can’t change.”

  “Bastian, I’m not who you want me to be.”

  “Because of your past? Your reputation? I thought we’d gotten beyond that.”

  “Because I am not a good person. You have to know that by now. ” Even if she hadn’t told him everything. He had to know. He had to have guessed. Filled in the blanks.

  He set down his cards and shifted. “There are no good people, only broken people trying to do the right thing.”

  “What about you? You’re the best person I know.”

  He leaned further into her, his body pressed to hers. “You have no idea what kind of terrible thoughts I’m thinking right now.” The hungry sparkle in his eyes more than his words kicked her heart rate up.

  “That day,” she said. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  “Spectacular.”

  “I wish I could remember.”

  He leaned closer. “I could remind you. If you want.”

  “Maybe.” She couldn’t take her eyes off his lips. Not with his gaze plumbing the depth of her soul and the faint mint scent of his breath on her face. “It might . . . help my brain . . . or . . . something.”

  There was a pause, a moment of indecision that froze everything in crystal clear perfection.

  And then he kissed her or she kissed him. Either way, one minute they were staring each other down and the next their lips were pressed together. It took a second, a quick repositioning, to take the hard, awkward smash of overeager lips and transform it into something soft and subtle and oh, sweet sunshine, what did he just do with his tongue?

  Summer lost her balance and clutched his shirt, bringing him with her onto the lush carpet.

  He was stronger than she expected, more agile. His hands moved along her arms, knotting his fingers in hers.

  In some other world, a boy pinning her down was something to fear, to fight, but the warmth and weight of him, pressed belly to belly, hip to hip, mouth to mouth, it was nothing more or less than release.

  He kissed her sweet and slow and deliberate, like he was systematically erasing every other boy from her lips and her mind and her heart.

  Oh, her heart. It beat against her chest, against his, in the veins in her neck, and in her fingertips.

  And her tongue tingled with peppermint. Everything about him was clean and fresh and just the right amount of rough. The slightest shadow of scruff brushed her cheek, the touch so light it set off fireworks in her brain and a soft cry of delight broke free, muffled by his mouth.

  “Are you that ticklish?” he whispered too close to her skin.

  “I’m not.” Her breathing hitched in an unreasonable rhythm.

  His cheek brushed hers again, a bazillion nerve endings firing at once.

  “Not.” She had to squeeze her eyes shut and tense her whole body to hold back the trembling.

  He popped up to look at her. “Liar.” He released her hands and caught her around her middle, fingers tickling up and down her bare skin.

  She laughed so hard it hurt, rocking and rolling and halfheartedly pushing him. Her elbow collided with his face and he jerked away.

  “Crap.” He held his hands to his face, glasses askew. A drop of blood slipped through his fingers and landed on her shirt.

  “Shit.” Her eyes went wide. “Shit. Sorry. What do I do? What do you do?”

  “It’s fine.” His hands muffled his voice. “It’ll stop in a few minutes.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a nosebleed. It’s not like I’m going to bleed out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He laughed. “I need to infuse today anyway. I could do that now if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “What?”

  He laughed, disentangling himself. “You should see your face.”

  “You swear you’re fine?”

  “Completely.” He pulled off his glasses and stumbled toward the kitchen to grab a damp washcloth to hold to his nose.

  “How long should it last?”

  “My norm is about ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes?” Her voice squeaked at the end.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He blew into the washcloth and pulled it away. “Okay. I need your help. It’s a little hard to see without my glasses.”

  “Shit.” Summer scrambled to turn on the water in the sink, obsessively washing her hands. “What’s next?”

  “There’s a box with sterile water and factor concentrate in the pantry, right side.”

  “Got it.” She set the package down with shaking hands.

  He laughed again, but the growing bloodstain on the washcloth still screamed louder. “I’ll be fine. This is to
tally normal. Relax and it’ll go a lot easier.”

  “Okay.” She fisted and unfisted her hands a few times. “Okay. What do I do?”

  “The water is premeasured. Just use the needle taped to the side of the water to mix it together. I’ll inject myself once the powder dissolves.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “Six 300 IU bottles,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

  “Six?”

  “You should see what we do for a serious bleed.”

  She added the water, focusing with a kind of intensity she didn’t know she had in her. “What else do you need?”

  “There’s a kit in the pantry.”

  “Got it.”

  He’d rolled up a sleeve by the time she got back to the counter. “Can you hold the towel? I kinda need two hands.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” She came as close as she dared, afraid of doing anything to mess up the delicate process.

  “Unless you’d rather have the needle.” He smirked at her and she tried to smile back. “No? Okay. I’ll do it myself.” With a practiced hand that broke her heart, he unpacked the kit and pulled the tourniquet tight.

  “I’ve never seen someone do that for legal purposes,” she said, trying to instill a moment of levity into the tension.

  “I am a pro.” He cleaned the site with an alcohol wipe and found a vein without pausing.

  That’s when she noticed his hand wrapped around hers. His fingers tightened for a moment when the needle pierced his skin, then relaxed.

  “This is going to take a while,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I have to push the factor in slowly, and I think your mom expects you back for dinner.”

  She brushed his hair away from his forehead and pressed her lips to his skin. “I broke you. I’ll make sure you’re put back together.”

  “I was broken long ago.” He relaxed against her side.

  “How often do you have to do this?”

  “Three times a week,” he said. “It keeps my factor levels around fifty percent.”

  She brushed her fingertips along his brow bone. “I forgot how beautiful your eyes are. Why do you hide them?”

  “They’re weird and contacts are uncomfortable.”

  “They’re amazing,” she said.

  “Stop looking at me like that or I’ll lose my focus.”

  Summer relinquished the towel and backed away. “Okay. But when you are done, I’m going to have to kiss you again.”