by Ruth Houston
She hung up with a kind of vicious finality and collapsed back in her seat, shoulders sagging. She ran a hand across her eyes. "Mothers," she muttered to herself.
"Zackary Crowne?" the lady in scrubs called just then.
I whirled around. "Yeah," I said.
"You're up," she said kindly.
I shot Winter a frenzied look. She nodded shortly as if to say, "Go." I shook my head frantically. She shook her head and got up.
"You big baby," she whispered, looking startled when I slipped my hand into hers.
"Yeah, that's definitely me," I said nervously, already breaking out into a cold sweat.
"They're just going to have a quick look at you," she said softly in my ear as we followed the lady down a hall, the doors swinging shut ominously behind us. "Nothing to worry about. You'll be fine." She gave my hand a squeeze, a rather unsure look in her eyes when she did it.
"Stay with me?" I pleaded.
"Doesn't look like I have a choice, does it?" she asked, indicating the death grip I had on her hand. "At this rate it will take surgery to separate us."
"Hey, that's not funny," I said, "Don't joke about surgery, we're in a hospital."
She laughed quietly but I didn't have the time to delight in having broken through the barrier she had set up because the woman in scrubs had brought us to a room and told us a doctor would be with us shortly.
"Relax, would you?" Winter said. "You're not going to die, I promise."
"Not until the doctor gets here," I said glumly.
"That would be me," a man said, entering the room. Oh, crap. I gripped her hand even tighter. "I'm Dr. Meunch. Nice to meet you…Zackary Crowne, right?" he asked, checking his clipboard. His eyes strayed to Winter. "And company."
Seeing I was too stricken to answer, she said quickly, "Is it okay if I stay in here with him?"
"Sure thing," the doctor said cheerfully. "Hop up onto the bench for me, please, Zackary."
Winter gave my hand a last squeeze before she separated herself from me. She took a seat in the chair next to the desk. Luckily the examination room was small and cramped so she wasn't too far away.
"So, what happened to you?" Dr. Meunch asked.
"Er…got into a fight, I guess," I muttered.
"You guess?" he chuckled. "Where does it hurt?"
"Uh…my jaw," I said, automatically bringing a hand to my face. "And…my body," I said, indicating the general area of my torso. I saw Winter stifling a laugh behind the doctor, probably at my lack of knowledge in anatomy. I scowled at her.
"In that case, could you please remove your shirt?" the doctor asked. He checked my ribs and abdomen – luckily only touching me as was needed and not any more – and asked me a lot of questions. After a few minutes he told me, "Right. Well, you've got a lot of bruises, but I think you'll be okay. No cracked, broken, or bruised ribs or anything that bad. Rest ought to do the trick. Plus an OTC painkiller. Do any sports?"
"Running," I answered.
"Well, you're going to have to take a break from it," he said, pulling a notepad of forms out of a drawer in the desk, scribbling something down, and signing it. He ripped off the top sheet and handed it to me. "A week of rest and you'll be good as new," he said.
"Thanks," I said, pulling my shirt back on.
"You're welcome." The doctor glanced at my face, and did a double-take and observed me through shrewd eyes. "How's your overall health, Mr. Crowne?" he asked.
"Good, I guess," I said, thrown off by the question.
"Have you been stressed lately?"
"Not more so than usual," I answered. That, at least, was the truth, if "lately" referred to any time within the past ten months or so.
"And you've been eating well recently?" he interrogated.
"Yes," I replied guardedly.
"Sleeping well?"
"Yes," I repeated.
"Are you sure?" His graying eyebrows were raised.
"Yes," I said, very firmly.
"Do you get headaches often?"
"Y––no," I denied. "No, I don't."
His gaze was calculating. "Alright then. Can I ask you something else?"
"You already have," I pointed out.
There was a hint of a smile on the doctor's face. "Do you know what insomnia is?"
"When you can't sleep," I answered slowly, feeling slightly uneasy.
"Exactly. There's three types of insomnia, Mr. Crowne," Dr. Meunch said seriously, "Transient, short-term, and chronic. Obviously chronic is the most severe. Insomnia may be caused by both psychological and physical problems. Other than the physical beating you took today, you seem to have no problems with your body."
"That's good," I said stiffly.
There was a pause. "You're sure you not stressed about anything?" he asked again.
"Very sure," I said. "With all due respect, I don't believe I have insomnia, doctor, if that's what you're trying to imply."
He nodded slowly. "Alright," he said. "You're free to go."
"Thank you," I added.
"No problem. No more fights, alright?" Dr. Meunch said, standing up and holding out a hand, which I shook.
"I'm afraid I can't promise that, sir," I said.
He chuckled. "Have a nice evening, you two," he said as we left the examination room. "Exit's that way; take the second left," he added, pointing down the hall, and departed for a different room.
"See?" Winter said as we walked back to the waiting room. "Not so bad."
I grimaced.
"Why'd he ask you about insomnia?" she asked curiously.
"No idea," I said shortly.
She fell silent but I could tell she was scrutinizing me out of the corner of her eye the whole way home.
xxxxx
"Huh, I can't believe Victoria's not home yet," I said when we pulled into my driveway. Winter had been true to her word – it was 7:50. "You hungry?"
"Starving," Winter said honestly.
"You wanna have dinner or something before you leave?" I asked hesitantly.
Our eyes met in the semi-darkness of the car and I felt a funny leap in my chest, like my heart had just tripped over itself. Her eyes searched mine for a long moment and I looked back steadily. Those eyes of hers could be kind of unnerving sometimes. When they gazed into mine I was almost certain she could pull anything out of my soul, knew my deepest secrets and worst fears. As of right now I willed her to pull out the fact that I wanted her to stay for dinner. "Do you really want me to stay?" she asked with a half-smile that could have been wistful.
"Would I have asked if I didn't?" I responded, looking away.
Silence for a long moment.
"Okay then," she said.
"Good," I said, exhaling a deep breath. "What do you want to eat?" I asked.
"Anything's fine," she said. Suddenly, her distant mood had faded, and she was more or less back to normal, not as held back and uncomfortably polite.
"Hmm, okay," I said, as we got out of the car. We kicked off our shoes in the foyer and I led her to the kitchen. "I can make something if you want."
"Oooh, Zackary Crowne, Italian gourmet chef," she teased. "That would be great," she said, leaning against a counter top as I gave the food in the refrigerator a once over. I didn't understand why Victoria had wanted to go grocery shopping – our fridge was full.
I could feel the tension between us melting away. "Okay. Oh, hey, you didn't even get to change or shower anything, huh?" I said with a start.
"What? Oh," she laughed, looking down at her clothes. I didn't realize until now that she was still wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but now that I thought about it, it made sense. She must have found me right after tennis practice. "Yeah."
"You want to take a shower or something while I cook?" I asked.
"Oh," she said, looking surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah, you got a change of clothes or anything?" I asked.
"Uh, no," she said. "Why would I?"
I shrugged. "I dunno. I do, in my
car. Eh, you can borrow some clothes," I decided. I found a fresh towel for her and escorted her to the bathroom.
"Thanks," she called out before closing the door behind her. I waited until I heard the click of the lock before I left her to her own devices.
Twenty minutes later found me busy cleaning up in the kitchen. I had just put dinner in the oven when I heard Winter's voice behind me.
"Smells good in here," she said.
"Thanks," I said. I turned around and nearly had a heart-attack. As it was, I stumbled over thin air and fell ungracefully to the floor.
"Don't do that, ever again," I said forcefully, scrambling up and swallowing hard, rubbing a sore spot on my side. "It's not nice to walk around in just a towel in the house of an adolescent male," I complained. I tried not to look at her – blood was pounding fast and hot through my veins.
"Sorry," Winter said, "I don't have any clean clothes, remember? I shouted for you but I guess you didn't hear me."
"Oh…" My brain was telling me not to look at her but my eyes had something different in mind, and strayed to her figure, wrapped only in a white towel, her cheeks still flushed from the heat of her shower. "Oh," I repeated stupidly, swallowing again. My throat had mysteriously turned as dry as the Sahara Desert, and I choked. "Uh…yeah. Yeah," I said, ripping my eyes away from her with a great effort. I led her to my room and rummaged through my drawers, throwing a clean pair of boxers and an old t-shirt on the bed. I left the room as quickly as possible before I could do something unbelievably stupid, and nearly ran downstairs so I could find something to do with my hands, anything to distract me from the mental image of her standing in my kitchen with her hair wet, water droplets sliding down her bare shoulders, clutching a fistful of the towel at her chest…
I yelled at myself in my head for even suggesting she take a shower in the first place as I finished cleaning up the pots.
Winter popped back into the kitchen a minute later, and I didn't know if seeing her wearing my clothes was any better than seeing her with just a towel on, because she looked good in that t-shirt and those boxers, and the fact that her legs were bare and she was barefoot only added to her physical appeal. And there was that thing about her hair being wet…oh, damn she looked sexy. Okay, Zack, you can get through this. Just breathe, and remember the three big W's: willpower, willpower, and willpower.
Unfortunately for me, wherever Winter is concerned, willpower is definitely something that is absent in large amounts.
"What'd you make?" she asked curiously as I opened the oven and got out a pair of oven mitts.
"Lasagna," I announced, presenting it with a flourish.
She stared at it for a second, then started to smile as I set it down on the counter and cut out portions for the two of us. "Lasagna," she said softly.
"What?" I said, handing her a plate and gesturing for her to sit down at the counter as I got forks. "I can't remember the last time I made…." I stopped. "Oh…yeah." One look at her face told me she remembered too. When I had showed up that first day at Eva's house to help them out with her siblings, I had made lasagna for dinner.
Winter laughed reminiscently as we tucked into the meal. "God, I remember that day," she said.
"You hated me," I grinned.
She had taken a bite of food, and choked at my words. "No, I didn't," she coughed. "Shoot, this is good."
"Thanks," I grinned.
"I didn't hate you. I disliked you," she corrected.
"Close enough."
"But that was then, anyway." The surprised look in her eyes told me she hadn't meant to let that slip out. She ducked her head, self-conscious all of a sudden, and took another big bite of food to avoid having to immediately answer any question I had about that.
I smiled to myself. She was so freaking adorable.
We still had a lot of less pleasant issues to talk about. We hadn't yet breached the subject of last week's fight, though I knew it was on both of our minds. But for the duration of that meal we put them all aside, and conversed lightly. She made me laugh, too – something I hadn't done for days. After we finished eating we stayed there, sitting on the tall stools at the counter, and somehow got around to playing the "Would You Rather" game.
"Would you rather do a strip tease for Larissa Kretcher or do Seven Minutes In Heaven with Gavin?" Winter asked with a wicked grin.
I groaned. "Neither," I said, disgusted.
"That's not a proper answer," she sang. "Remember the rules? Choose one and be honest."
"Seven Minutes In Heaven with Pennington, then," I said defiantly. "I can knock him out in the closet, whereas if I do the strip tease I'll end up losing a greater part of my dignity. Your turn," I said quickly. "Would you rather…sing a Backstreet Boys song in front of the whole school or eat one of those big economy sized bags of Ranch flavored Doritos?"
She made a face. "Doritos, gross. But I'd rather eat them because I could hold my breath so I don't have to taste it. Would you rather…" She thought for a moment, looking around the kitchen. "Have your car totaled or have your license suspended for a year?"
"Easy," I grinned, "Have my car totaled. Then I could buy a new one."
She looked as if she didn't know whether to laugh or to be exasperated. "Not everyone can buy a new car and pay the increased insurance just like that," she smiled slightly as a compromise.
"True," I said, "But I can. Come to think of it, I could probably buy you a new car if you wanted one," I said thoughtfully.
"Are you offering?" she teased.
I looked at her in alarm. "Er…uh…I –"
She was laughing. "Luckily for you, I'm very happy with my ancient lemon," she grinned, sticking her tongue out at me.
"Okay, your turn," I said, trying very hard not to imagine what else she could be doing with that delicious tongue of hers. I unconsciously licked my lips. "Would you rather…" Maybe it was the thought about her tongue that made me ask, "Kiss Brock or Martin?"
"Ugh, what kind of a question is that?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Brock, then," she said promptly.
I shook my head admiringly. "You're a loyal one, aren't you." It wasn't a question.
"I guess," she said. "On that note, who would you rather? Eva or Belinda Caterina?"
"Oh, I suppose that's better than choosing between Brock and Martin?" I asked sarcastically. "Belinda," I answered.
"Why?"
"Because you'd kill me if I said Eva."
"Nah, Martin would probably get to you before I could."
I shuddered. "Not a pleasing thought. Alright. Back to you. Nathan or Anthony?"
"Oh, man," she winced. "Uh…there's something decidedly wrong about kissing Eva's little brother, so I'll say Nathan. He's pretty hot."
"Is he?" I asked mildly. "Hotter than –" I caught myself just in time. Gavin, I had wanted to ask.
"Who?"
"Anthony?" I filled in lamely.
"Yes, he's hotter than Anthony. I don't think I quite like this new pattern of questions. But I'll ask anyway. Okay…Rebecca or…or…Carolyn Manoske?" Carolyn Manoske was one of Larissa's little followers.
"Rebecca, I think," I answered absently, too caught up in gazing at her to process any thought completely. 'There's only one person I really want to kiss,' I thought to myself. I caught Winter's eye and suddenly turned serious. Should I ask her what I really wanted to ask? I got pulled into those amazing dark eyes and she seemed to sense the shift in mood, the half-smile disappearing now.
"Go ahead," she prompted softly, almost as if she knew what I wanted to ask and was giving permission.
'Remember the rules?' Her voice echoed in my head. 'Choose one and be honest.'
I took a deep breath. "Would you rather kiss Gavin…" I paused, teetering on the brink, and went for the plunge, "Or me?" I whispered. I realized my heart my pounding like crazy, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But I wanted to hear her answer. Desperately needed to know her answer.
Her eyes were still locked o
n mine, and I knew whichever answer she gave, it would be the honest one, because there were no lies in those eyes, ever, which was something I should have remembered before my jumping to conclusions escapade. If anything, she was truthful. Winter did not lie. And I didn't know if that more reassuring or more frightening than anything else I'd ever known.
"You," she said simply. And looking into those eyes, I knew it was the truth.
I slowly released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "So you wouldn't mind," I breathed, "If I kissed you right now?" I was already leaning towards her. There was a distant roaring in my ears.
She had moved closer as well, but I waited for her response, my eyes traveling down to her slightly parted lips.
"No," she said, very, very softly, "I wouldn't."
"Are you sure?" I whispered so quietly I barely even heard myself. The desire to kiss her was so strong I had to physically swallow, hard, to stop myself.
"Do you really even have to ask?" she replied. Our lips were a millimeter apart and I was breathing in her air.
"I…uh, I…" Didn't know what to say, because her closeness was so incredibly distracting.
"That's alright," she smiled, drawing away. "It was a rhetorical question."
No, no, no, what are you doing My mind asked her mournfully.
"Oh?" I asked, very disappointed, leaning towards her even farther forward to compensate for the space she was putting between us.
"Because you're not going to kiss me right now," she murmured, putting a gentle but firm restraining hand on my shoulder.
"I could," I said hopelessly, sitting back, because it didn't look at this rate that I would be. Damn. I gazed at her dolefully.
She smiled again and I felt my brain melting into a big puddle. "We should talk first, Zack," she said softly.
"Okay," I agreed with a sad sigh. "Let's talk."