Two Weeks

by Andrea Wolfe

  She laughs and it's like a chorus of angels is singing inside my brain and I'm totally confused by the ethereal imagery coming from my psyche. "Only twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes a day, huh? And what about boxing?"

  It's clear that she still doesn't know what I'm talking about.

  "I do amateur MMA for a 'living.' I have a gym in the garage. If you really want to blow off some steam, you could train with me since I've got another fight coming up in a week."

  "Really?" she asks. "Isn't that... dangerous?" Concurrently, she notices my bruised forearms and lightly touches them, as if she's stroking a kitten. "Ouch. Is that what these bruises are from?"

  "Occupational hazard," I say with a chuckle. "It's a little a dangerous, I guess. But there are rules. It's not like underground fighting or something."

  She's quick to respond. "What do your parents think about that?"

  I gulp, because again, it's clear she doesn't know and although I really don't want to be a buzzkill, I need to be honest and clear. "My parents passed away."

  "Oh, shit," she says softly. "I'm sorry. When did that happen?"

  "A few years ago," I say. "It was an accident. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Happened at a bad time, too."

  She reaches over and strokes my arm again, and it makes me glad that I started talking about this subject. And my appreciation isn't totally superficial, since she actually makes me feel better. "I'm so sorry, Jackson. That's terrible. I can't even imagine what that must have felt like."

  I give her a half-smile. "They died painlessly, Ally. And they died together. That's not all bad."

  Her hand is still on my arm, lightly stroking it. She's controlling my mood through that tactile connection. "God, Jackson, that's like the most mature and incredible thing I've ever heard anyone say about a tragedy. Seriously." She smiles at me, and it's utterly beautiful. "I just can't believe I never heard about it. I feel like such a bitch. You probably thought I was rubbing my family reunion in your face."

  Her breathing is slowing. She's calming. "No way. And it's not like you're actively seeking out news related to Red Lake, are you? I mean, you left to get away from this small-town shit, so I understand your ignorance."

  Ally shrugs. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she starts, "but I'm sorry for being so stuck up the other night. For acting like I'm better than everyone. I'm not, but I've been pretending I am since I left." She lowers her hand to her side, and physically, appears to humble herself. I'm a little moved by the gesture.

  "I was definitely messing with you though," I say. I catch her licking her very dry lips. "And let's not forget about the fact that you needed water, not conversation."

  She laughs. "This is great, actually. I needed this."

  "C'mon," I say. I'm emboldened, so I take her by the hand and lead her up the steps. She follows willingly. I slide open the glass door and guide her into the kitchen and grab my extra water bottle out of the cabinet.

  "Is this okay?" I ask.

  "A glass is fine," she says. "I don't need a whole bottle."

  "But I thought we were going to run together," I say wryly.

  "Oh, shit," she says, "you wanna come along?"

  "I was going to invite you to come with me." I grin at her and she does the same back. "What do you think I'm doing in a pair of shorts and running shoes standing next to a running trail?"

  She nods and starts laughing. "Good point. And I guess I'll give up my pride and run with you."

  "Excellent." I put the bottle under the tap and fill it to the top. It's not that big, so she shouldn't have a problem carrying it while we run. When she starts looking around the kitchen, my eyes admire her perfectly lean figure. It's clear that she likes to take care of herself and that's a huge turn-on for me.

  And what's weirder is the fact that this incredibly hot, incredibly beautiful girl is standing in my kitchen with me wearing only a bra and shorts so tight it almost makes me sweat—and I'm not just thinking about fucking her.

  "So... was this the house?" she asks. It pulls me out of my mild stupor. She takes a huge swig of the water bottle and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Since it's clear plastic, I can see just how huge the swig was.

  "Yeah. It is. I mostly left it the way they had it. No real reason for me to change anything. I grew up here, but that doesn't mean it's my home. My dad built this place himself. Well, with some help too."

  She turns and makes eye contact with me again. "Is that why you came back?" I can see it in her eyes, the realization that she judged me too soon the other night. I decide to be gentle.

  I nod. "Yeah. Things weren't really going my way, so I just came back here. My dad left me some money, so between his life insurance policy and his retirement, if I'm modest, I'm pretty much set for life. Something positive, I guess."

  "I can't even imagine," she says.

  "Ally, I swear, I'm over it." The words sound too harsh, so I adjust. "I mean, in a healthy way. I've come to terms with it. I miss them, but I know I can't change anything now."

  "You must be so strong," she says. "I don't know I if could do that."

  I want to accept her words, but I don't feel strong. My whole foray into MMA has been based on feelings of self-destruction and apathy. No one has cared about me in a long time, and I'm not really sure how to deal with Ally's sudden supportiveness.

  "If you had to do it, you definitely could," I say firmly, deflecting her compliment. "I didn't have a choice, Ally."

  "I'm sorry for asking so many questions," she says like she's caught herself in the middle of a bad habit. "I guess it's just surprising to hear all of this. Makes my problems feel so insignificant."

  "Your problems are in the present," I say reassuringly. "So they're still real. Mine are in the past. And you're about to have even more problems if we don't start running soon, because I get very upset if I don't get my exercise."

  "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks, smiling warmly. "Are you sure you can keep up with me?"

  "I was going to ask you the same thing," I say sharply.

  She takes another drink of the water bottle and then refills it at the sink. "You're on then, Jackson. Let's go."

  I close up the house for the second time and then we head to the trail. The sun is higher in the sky than before and strangely, I'm feeling happier than I have in ages.

  ***

  Ally

  I'm a little intimidated, but I don't want him to know it since I'm thoroughly enjoying my playful rivalry with Superman here. We take off and run along the lake. The warm sun is such a beautiful complement to the day that I can barely contain my joy, even as I think about Jackson's sadness.

  Jackson's probably noticed my boobs bouncing by now, but it doesn't bother me that much. We're running and honestly, there's nothing I can do about it since all I wore was a sports bra. I don't catch him staring, however, so that's nice.

  And I'm kind of a hypocrite since I really enjoy watching him run. He's in peak physical condition, and it's quite remarkable to see him in action.

  He's perfectly sculpted everywhere, from his six-pack abs to his broad shoulders, from his bulging biceps to his great pecs. It's classical beauty, the sort of figure you'd see in a sculpture garden. Something he's worked hard to shape and mold and now I can't stop myself from throwing surreptitious glances his way.

  I'm distracted from my troubles in the best possible way.

  Our pace is reasonable, yet brisk. No one else is out here but us, and the trail feels like it's ours. Exclusive.

  "Doing okay, Ally?" he asks cockily.

  "Absolutely," I say, my words spilling out between rapid breaths. It's clear that he's got his breathing better under control than I do, but then again, he also apparently trains eight days a week. All advantages aside, I think I'm doing pretty damn good.

  We pass along the shimmering surface of the water and then head deeper into the woods. Our conversation is consistent, but not frequent. The natural ambience of the woods
keeps us both company.

  "Shit," he says suddenly. "I forgot to grab my own water bottle."

  I toss him mine. "You have to carry it until I want another drink."

  "Fine, your majesty," he says and proceeds to spray the same amount of water onto his hair as he sends down his throat.

  "I hope we don't get stranded," I say playfully. "I didn't know you were going to waste all of our water taking a shower."

  "Very funny," he says. Sweat is pouring down his brow and I can see why he doused himself. It reminds me of the fact that I'm getting pretty sweaty myself. The day is warming up fast, and it's already fairly humid.

  We run across several small streets since the trail is carved through the middle of forests and patches of residential area. The houses are sparse, but some backyards are only a few feet from the trail. Occasionally we sprint together, and I'm all the more impressed that I'm keeping up with him.

  "Do you run a lot?" he asks.

  "I was training for a marathon a few months back, but I got too busy with work. I usually do three to five miles on the treadmill. I still prefer running outside though. But it's more work to plan out the routes."

  "One the definite advantages of living here," he says proudly. "I step onto my back porch and I'm already on the perfect trail."

  "Well, I'm definitely jealous," I say. "Never thought I'd say that about something in Red Lake."

  He grunts cheerfully.

  We reach the end of the trail and it wraps around and back into itself. I'm keeping up with him and loving every minute of this. I'm kind of on fire inside. I'm happy and giddy and without reservations. I feel daring.

  "Why did you lie about my dad?" I ask casually. I don't know how he'll respond.

  "To fuck with your head," he says matter-of-factly. "I was kind of out of it. Well, drunk, more like. Don't know what got into me."

  I laugh. "You're kind of an ass for that."

  "Well, you were being kind of a bitch." He raises an eyebrow and grins.

  "So classy," I groan.

  He dismisses it as fast as I do and we keep going. As we round a long corner, the trail veers off in two directions. I'm unfamiliar with the split, so I follow his lead.

  "Where does this go?" I ask.

  "It's a new addition to the trail. You haven't run here in a while, have you?"

  "No, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm not a novice."

  He ignores my declaration of confidence. "There's a section up here that's a bit steep and the ground isn't that level. People have been complaining about it, but they haven't had the budget to fix it. Be careful, okay?"

  "I'll be fine, Jackson," I say firmly.

  He winks at me. "Whatever you say, Superstar. But still be careful, please."

  My spirits are high, and so is my heart rate. I sprint ahead of him and he chases me down. We rapidly pass all of the shrubbery and Maple trees, foliage I'm most familiar with. I fight to get enough oxygen, yet I still go faster. The air that I actually do breathe is so clean and pure.

  This is exactly the sort of escape I need right now.

  "Pass me the water, will you?" I call.

  Jackson hurls it like a football and I make a running leap to grab it. I catch it and he gleefully cheers—but I come down on my ankle the wrong way.

  I'm going in the wrong direction now. We've rapidly entered the not-so-level territory he warned me about and I'm moving far too fast to stop.

  "Oh shit!" I hear him scream.

  I totally lose my balance and head straight down a steep hill. I try to keep my legs moving to support myself, but everything happens too fast. Jackson screams something to me, but I can't hear what it is. I lose track of the world, other than the instinctive responses of my muscles.

  I can't stop completely, because if I do, I'll fall. Everything happens in slow motion, including the approach of the wood pasture fence up ahead of me. It's all so slow, but it's still too fast for me to make any significant changes.

  My tummy hits the top bar of the fence with a huge thud. The wind is knocked totally out of me, my diaphragm flattened like a deflated balloon. There is no air left in my lungs.

  And now I'm falling in the opposite direction and my head thumps hard against the ground.

  Everything goes black.

  ***

  I experience fleeting glimpses of consciousness. I'm moving rapidly, but my legs aren't touching the ground. I come to, and then I fade out again. Jackson's voice is echoing in my skull like I'm in a cavern, but I can't make out any the words.

  When I see his garage again, consciousness rushes back to me. I turn my neck and there he is, holding me, carrying me back to his place. He's got me in his arms. He's shielding me from everything, carrying me to safety.

  I notice his biceps flexing as he holds me and it's utterly hypnotic. His skin feels comforting and warm against my own and I'm cognizant of every point where his body meets mine.

  "Jackson?" I ask. It sounds like I'm still in a dream; my voice is weird and fuzzy. I'm also in an echo chamber.

  "Just hold on," he shouts. He's moving so fast. He seems determined. But why?

  "I'm okay," I mumble. I hope that he can actually understand me. He doesn't respond.

  We arrive on the deck and he slides open the door and carries me inside. We move though the house so fast I can barely see anything. He sets me down on the couch and it's so soft and nice. I sink into the cushions and relax. I'm in a sea of comfort.

  "Dammit, Ally," he scolds. "I warned you! I told you to be careful. God, if something would have happened to you. Your dad would have—" His voice is filled with trepidation and unrest.

  He gazes at me, strokes my hair with one hand, cradles me with the other.

  "I'm sorry," I say. I slowly creep back into full consciousness. I notice the dull pain right beneath my chest, but it's not overwhelming.

  "Are you okay?" he asks. "Thankfully you didn't run into anything sharp, because at the speed you were going, it probably would have impaled you." He's still holding me, staying close, like his energy will somehow heal me. In a way, it does.

  "I'm okay, I think." I run my hands along my belly and it feels tender.

  "You knocked the wind out of yourself and hit your head on the hill behind you." He gently rubs the back of my head, running his fingers through the strands of hair. "Does it hurt at all?"

  "No," I say. "Just my stomach."

  "You don't have a headache or anything? How many fingers am I holding up?"

  Jackson lifts three and I give him the proper answer. My vision is clear. Things are returning to normal. He looks so gorgeous and sincere hovering above me. I feel like I'm in a state of bliss. I'm still a little woozy and my emotions are worn thin. He's become my protector, and the literal man of my semi-conscious dreams.

  "Thank you for doing this for me, Jackson," I say. I lean forward and kiss him. I have no idea what my intention is. If I'm just planning to gratefully kiss his cheek, I fail miserably, even though everything still happens in slow motion. Our lips come together more than once, delicately skirting the line between barely-platonic and well, steamy. My eyes are closed and I don't want to open them. I swear I feel a current of electricity as we kiss.

  And I swear that he meets me in the middle. He's not just shocked and staying still.

  My breath comes faster and I desperately cling to his hand. But then we stop before it goes any further. I slowly open my eyelids. "I'm sorry," I say. "I got carried away."

  I feel stupid and immature, but my emotions are volatile, especially after such an intense experience. There's a storm inside my brain.

  His expression is unflinching. "So does that mean you didn't actually want to do that?"

  I laugh. I feel more of my regular self returning. I'm relaxed again. "I'm a little crazy right now. I'm afraid I can't answer honestly."

  Jackson loosens his protective grip on me. We're still so close on the couch, and now that I'm more awake, I fear that I may have gone too far in my
gesture of thanks. I try to sit up and groan as the pain settles in.

  "You're going to be a little sore." He stares down at my belly, at the exact place where it hurts. "You might have bruised your ribs." He gently circles his hand there, kneading the point of impact.

  "Okay," I say. "I feel better though. It's not that bad. My head is less cloudy."

  Jackson stands up and presents me with his arm. "Why don't you try to stand then?"

  I grip his arm and he does all the work lifting me upright. He holds his arm extended while I test my balance. I shift my weight between my feet a few times and then try to take a step forward. "I'm okay, I think."

  He scoffs. "Well, try to walk a lap around the living room first before you start celebrating your miraculous recovery."

  I break free from his arm and do several brisk laps around the living room. He grins at me the whole time. "Is this good enough for you, Mr. Tough Guy?"

  Jackson laughs—well, it's more of a guffaw than a laugh, really. "That's an incredible feat, Ally. Congratulations on taking almost forty steps."

  "Is my phone okay?" I ask.

  "Shit," Jackson says suddenly. "I didn't think to check for it."

  "We need to look for it." I grab his arm and pull him outside to retrace our steps—well, his steps since I was being carried. I should have just left it at his house since I stopped listening to music after I ran into him. My ear buds are still dangling over my shoulder since I fed the cable under my bra strap.

  "You're gonna be really lucky if you actually find the damn thing out here," he says with a groan. "We're dealing with a lot of square miles here."

  "I'm optimistic," I retort. We walk together in a close formation, but we're not touching. Still, it kind of feels like we are. Maybe it's just a leftover phantom sensation from before.

  The point where I fell isn't really that far from Jackson's place. Still, carrying someone even that distance is a huge feat. I imagine carrying him that distance and realize how ludicrous the thought is.

  We both scan the ground for the phone, but come up empty handed. Finally, we arrive at the section of the fence where my collision occurred. I approach it and run my hands along the wood. There are a couple of rusty nails protruding a few feet away from where I hit.