Adrenaline Crush

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  We scratch Anders’s belly together for a moment before heading to the house. As we reach it the back door swings open and a thin woman steps out wiping her hands on her jeans. “How was therapy?” she calls before looking up. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hello. I’m Eva, Pierce’s mother.”

  Pierce steps between us. “Hey, Mom, this is Dyna. Her brother’s late to pick her up from Ulysses so I said she could wait here.”

  “Of course.” She gives me a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes until she turns them back to Pierce. “Do you want some lunch?”

  “We’re fine, Mom,” he says, as he leads me into the house.

  In the living room I spot a framed photo of Pierce wearing a dark blue uniform. His peaked service hat is pulled down to his eyebrows and there’s a spark in his eyes that makes me wonder if it was a cute girl taking his picture. And if maybe he was flirting with her. The Pierce I know looks haunted by comparison.

  He tells his mom we’re going to wait in his room and gives her a swift kiss on the temple before heading down a hallway.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, feeling graceless as she watches me lurch after the limping boy and dog.

  Once we’re in his room, Anders heads straight for a doggie bed in the corner and wraps himself into a circle. Shutting the door, Pierce tells me, “My mom’s cool, but she would interrogate you into the ground given the chance.” He smiles. “She’s a little protective since I got home.”

  “Oh, I know how that feels. My mom barely let me out of her sight for weeks after my accident.”

  Pierce’s room is sparsely decorated and I don’t see any sign of his Purple Heart medal. In fact, the only award certificate displayed has gold lettering over an iridescent blue butterfly. “Let me guess.” I point to it. “Ulysses?”

  He laughs. “I came back home seriously messed up and that place helped save me. I still keep in touch with most of the folks from my first group.”

  He points to his dresser where a group shot of mismatched people sits beside a bigger picture showing a platoon of men wearing Army fatigues. A cigarette points from the corner of Pierce’s smiling lips in the Army photo, and instead of remembering everything I know about lung cancer and emphysema and how disgusting smoking smells, all I can think is, Damn, he’s sexy.

  I ask, “No girlfriend photos?” It’s exactly the type of comment I would’ve made to a guy before my accident, but now it surprises me so much I nearly clap my hands over my mouth.

  “Ironic,” Pierce says. “My last relationship was basically with photos of a girl.” He settles himself on his bed and gestures for me to join him.

  I sit down near the pillows. “So, were these photos you were dating special photographs?”

  He laughs. “Oh, the girl was real.” He swings his leg up onto the bed and starts stretching as he casually tells me about the girlfriend he hooked up with a few weeks before he was deployed. He explains how being separated so dramatically just made everything more intense and romantic. Pausing to look out the window, he says, “Being in Afghanistan was nothing like I expected, and I found myself clinging to the hope of this girl. Reading her love letters and staring at her photos. Imagining our reunion.” He shakes his head. “In my mind she became more than one person could ever actually be.”

  He twists his torso back and forth before going on. “She was obviously upset when I came home all busted up and wrecked in the head, but we still really wanted to make things work between us. Except here’s the thing.” He looks at me. “I was completely knocked out by how unremarkable she was. And I don’t mean she wasn’t pretty either. If anything she looked even better than I’d remembered.”

  I squint at the bright light streaming in the window, and at his honesty.

  “She just seemed happy enough waiting on tables and partying every night. Sleepwalking her way through life. She never had much to say beyond how much she loved me. When I gave her back her letters and photos we were both devastated.” He rubs his hands together slowly. “But there was no way I could ever get past her being unremarkable.”

  The way he looks at me makes me wonder if he thinks I could be remarkable.

  I want to be remarkable.

  There’s a soft knock on the door and Pierce’s mom calls, “Care for some strawberry lemonade?” He glances at the ceiling as if he’s annoyed but springs from the bed right away to let her in.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I thought the two of you could use a little snack.” She sets a round tray filled with shortbread cookies and two pink drinks on Pierce’s nightstand.

  “Thanks, Mom.” He gives her an almost imperceptible shrug. She looks at me.

  “Hope your therapy is going well,” she says. “Isn’t the Ulysses Center great?”

  “Yeah, my mom loves it, too,” I answer, and she rewards me with a light chuckle.

  “Watching our children suffer is the hardest thing a parent can go through.” She ruffles her hand through Pierce’s hair and he doesn’t stop her. “I hope your mom is doing okay.”

  I think of Dad dragging her on their road trip and answer honestly. “She’s getting better.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Pierce says. “Thanks for the drinks.”

  “Sorry, I’ll go.” She turns by the door and pinches lightly at the outer seam of her jeans. “Please let your mom know I’ll be happy to listen if she needs to talk.”

  I look at her standard-issue tank top and imagine her reaction to my tattooed mother. The funny thing is, there’s something about her that makes me think they might get along. She closes the door behind her, leaving Pierce and me to silently devour the cookies and lemonade.

  I sit back, allowing shortbread to dissolve on my tongue as I think of him sleeping in the desert with photos of an undeserving girl underneath his pillow.

  Swallowing, I launch into the story of the time I was hanging on a cliff early one morning when a prop plane buzzed by close enough for the pilot to wave hello. Pierce listens intently as I share my most impressive hiking, biking, and climbing adventures. I even tell him about my crazy tattooed biker parents and my brother who’s the smartest stoner anyone could ever meet. When the subject turns to bouldering I discover Pierce is familiar with some of the best spots.

  “Sounds like you’ve got some serious work to do to get your butt back out there,” he says.

  My insides lie down on the floor. “I can’t do any of that stuff anymore.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” He laughs. “Dyna, you can’t quit on a part of who you are. I’m planning to do most of the stuff you’re talking about. You can’t let anything keep you from what you love.”

  I mumble, “What I love.”

  “It’s obvious, the way you light up when you talk about the Gunks. You’re meant to be on those mountains. Your love for adventure is contagious.”

  Our eyes lock, and we both lean forward. He brushes the cookie crumbs off his mouth and chin with one slow swipe of his palm, and I just stare at those beautiful lips. I want him to kiss me so much I realize I’m wiggling my fingers behind my back, but I know this isn’t right.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I say, expecting him to fall back at this news.

  Instead he moves even closer. He’s near enough for me to feel his warm breath when he says, “You mean that pretty boy who drives you sometimes?”

  “Jay is supersmart and he’s really, really good to me.” I turn my gaze out the window. “He saved my life.”

  Pierce reaches up, drawing my hair back as he whispers in my ear, “But is he remarkable, Dyna?” He slides his warm palms onto either side of my face and I look at him.

  I imagined his soldierly sense of honor keeping things controlled, but his lips dip to that heady, unmistakable angle. This is too dangerous. I panic. “You don’t seem the type to kiss someone else’s girlfriend.”

  “I’m really not all that nice a guy.” His words send my pulse into my throat.

  Pierce caresses the sides of my face with his thumbs as he moves closer. Oh,
shit. I close my eyes.

  My nerve endings pound and my heart flails.

  But my lips stay bare.

  Opening my eyes I see him holding back, watching my mouth as his jaw flexes. He is that nice a guy after all. His gaze stays clicked in, but he shifts away from me and lets his hand drop to my thigh, where it burns.

  I try to envision Jay’s face, imagine a boyfriend-powered energy shield,

  but the momentum is too much and Pierce

  pulls at me

  like the gravity that dragged me off the rails.

  I can’t hold on anymore.

  In one smooth motion I lunge forward, grab both sides of his neck, and seal my lips to his. The force of my lunge pushes him backward, but when he eases down on the bed it’s slow and deliberate and he carries me with him. I’m vaguely impressed by his abdominal strength as I

  Feel him.

  Kiss him.

  Taste him.

  Boy mixed with cookies. My new favorite flavor.

  He kisses me back.

  Gently at first, then with

  greater intensity.

  His arms wrap around me and

  my whole body responds and I know I’m a goner. I’ve just dropped off a cliff and am falling and …

  “Pierce?” There’s a knock at the door and we roll apart but keep our foreheads pressed together.

  Pierce is breathing heavily, but his voice sounds normal as he answers, “What is it, Mom?”

  “Dyna’s brother is here.”

  Pierce sits up and runs his hand through his hair, making a tuft of it stick up. I want to keep kissing him so much I could weep. He calls to his mother, “We’ll be right out.” Standing, he asks if I’m okay.

  “You mean besides being a terrible girlfriend?” I look at him with my lips pursed and resist the urge to reach for him again.

  “That was my fault,” he says.

  “Right. Your fault I gave you an attack kiss.”

  His laugh is pained. “I think I made you do it. I wanted it so bad.” He runs his fingers through his hair again, making it lie smooth this time. “I don’t know what this is.” He points from me to himself. “But don’t count on me being strong enough to resist you.”

  He leans down and whispers into my ear, “Dyna. You. Are. Remarkable.”

  Somehow I manage to get both of my legs working, find my cane, and give Anders a pat goodbye. Forcing one step after the other, I head down the hallway to meet Harley.

  Except that Pierce’s mom was wrong.

  My brother didn’t come to pick me up.

  My boyfriend did.

  15

  Sitting beside Jay on the drive home, I watch him from the corner of my eye as my mind shorts out on what the hell I should do.

  I don’t deserve this great guy. I picture the way he reacted when Pierce and I emerged from his bedroom, both of us blushing and rumpled.

  Jay introduced himself as a writer and said to Pierce, “I noticed that the article in the New Paltz Times didn’t have any direct quotes about your experience in Afghanistan. In fact, I couldn’t find any interviews with you at all and I’d like to help you get your story out there.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t really need my story out there,” Pierce responded, gesturing vaguely toward the windows.

  “Your heroism deserves national attention. Who knows where the right article could take you?” Jay looked to me for confirmation, but I kept dropping eye contact with everyone.

  Pierce repeated he’d rather not be interviewed, but Jay insisted, “Do you realize how rare it is to find an honest-to-god hero? People need to hear about it.”

  Pierce’s eyes flashed hotly and he said through his teeth, “I don’t need people getting ideas about me being some kind of hero. I’m not.”

  His mother put a hand on one of his shoulders and he let them both droop as she told Jay, “I’m sorry, but this interview isn’t going to happen.” Looking at her son with a mixture of pride and sadness, she said, “I agree he’s a hero, but Pierce just wants to move on. I’m sure your sister’s ready to get home by now.”

  “My sis…?” Jay gave a confused look.

  “Thank you for the cookies,” I mumbled, and bolted for the door. Jay apologized for being pushy and then insisted on giving Pierce his phone number and e-mail before we left.

  I tune back in to him talking about how great an interview would be as we drive through the woods toward my house. “This one inspirational story could put me right on the map,” he says.

  It’s the same tunnel focus that must’ve made him miss the combination of anger and want in Pierce’s blue eyes as we left. I cringe all over again at the image of Anders standing alone on the front porch wagging his tail as he watched us pull away, not understanding that I’d just betrayed everyone.

  I mentally shove all my feelings into the glove box in front of me and lock them away.

  Jay grins. “Now you just have to convince Pierce he can trust me.” The word “trust” is a grenade in my chest.

  “I don’t think trust is the issue,” I say. “He just doesn’t want the attention.”

  “That’s silly. Who wouldn’t want to be labeled a hero?”

  My mind goes back to Pierce’s bedroom, and once again I’m with him making out, losing control …

  the glove box pops open and a tangle of feelings dumps into my lap.

  I need to get myself reined in.

  That kiss was too wild.

  Pierce is too fucked up and I’m too damaged.

  We’d just go down in flames.

  And besides,

  Jay is everything to me.

  Looking at his handsome profile, I’m comforted by a wave of familiarity. Even riding along this twisting stretch of road, I feel safe. It’s pretty much the opposite of how I felt this morning riding with my brother. I remember the pavement flying by so close to my busted-up foot as we careened around the windy road to Ulysses.

  I clutch Jay’s hand. “What happened to Harley?”

  “What do you think happened?” He gestures to the clear sky.

  I groan. “Figures.”

  “He texted me when he got your message. I was at the pool with my sisters, but I got here as fast as I could.”

  “Thank you so much for this.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jay says. “I’ve got you.” He presses the palm of my hand to his lips and I notice that tiny scar on his right dimple. He is saving me all over again.

  I can keep pretending nothing happened.

  I can’t lose him.

  Pretend nothing happened.

  It would actually be pretty selfish of me to hurt

  him with the truth.

  Nothing

  happened.

  16

  By the time my parents are almost finished with their road trip I’ve skipped more than a week of therapy sessions, and the answering machine is filled with long-winded messages from Miss explaining why I need to get back to the Ulysses Center immediately. Or at least it would be filled if I wasn’t deleting all her messages.

  Right now she’s leaving one chastising me for missing Frank’s recovery assignment. It’s the Friday before Labor Day weekend, and apparently he successfully drove the whole group up and down the mountainside switchbacks in the Ulysses van late last night.

  Harley and Jay are sitting on the living room floor across from me, and Harley laughs hysterically as Miss’s imploring voice drones on. “You are not just letting yourself down, Dyna. You are letting the entire group down as well. You have a responsibility…”

  I stand up, walk over to the machine, and click off the speaker so Miss can leave the rest of her guilt-heaping message in silence. Harley coughs as he passes his joint to Jay.

  Moving back to my spot on the floor, I grumble, “As if I’m a terrible person because I didn’t feel like getting tossed around the back of some stupid van until I puked.” I try not to picture the smile that must’ve been on Frank’s round face after he ac
complished his assignment.

  “Dyna.” Jay pauses a moment for a quick draw before passing the joint to me. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell your mom?”

  I shake my head and hand Harley his joint without taking a drag. “I still have a few days before they get home. I’ll come up with something.” At first Jay tried to talk me into going back to Ulysses, but I wouldn’t budge. He holds up both palms in surrender now, clearly not wanting to debate this with me again.

  In fact, judging by his lopsided grin and glassy eyes, he doesn’t want to do much of anything. He should try taking the SATs now. I laugh at the image of him just coloring in random circles with his #2 pencil. Maybe connecting the dots to make a picture of Mickey Mouse. Jay joins me in laughter, which makes me laugh even harder.

  “Thanks a bunch for getting my boyfriend stoned.” I shove Harley and he falls over, laughing.

  “You can thank my buddy for getting me this primo shit.” Harley straightens and holds up the last bit of joint as if it were a sacred object. The front door slams shut behind us.

  “Shit!” Harley drops the burning roach and scrambles to get it off the carpet before it burns a hole. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Oh, please.” Dad’s booming voice nails us all to the floor. “Don’t stop what you’re doing on our account.”

  He and Mom are standing in the doorway. Mom looks from Harley to Jay to me with her mouth half opened. She seems to be deciding which of us she’s the most shocked at.

  Dad does not suffer from her indecision. “Harley! Dyna! Get to your rooms. Now! And Jay?” With a voice so calm it is utterly terrifying, he says, “Please leave.”

  He doesn’t need to repeat himself.

  Harley and I text back and forth from the shelter of our bedrooms. The force of Mom and Dad’s joined anger can be heard like a hurricane forming in our living room. Harley writes:

  How bout we blame jay for the doob?

  I write back:

  NO WAY! Dad would kill him!

  But would save us. Jay can be hero. Harley