The Good Luck Charm

by Helena Hunting

  “Your file indicated this happened during a soccer game. Do you play for the college team?” I make small talk as I take her blood pressure and monitor her vitals, giving her something to focus on other than my poking and prodding.

  She nods. “Yeah. I’m on a soccer scholarship at the University of Minnesota.”

  “That’s great. I went there for my undergrad. It’s a good school. Where’s home?”

  “I grew up in Texas.”

  “Minnesota is a bit of a change, then, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yeah! There’s so much snow in the winter. I’m used to playing outside all year, and here we’re stuck inside for half of it. And now that we’re getting close to the end of all the crappy weather, this happens.” She gestures to her casted leg. “I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to play again after this.”

  “You’re young and Dr. Lovely is a fantastic surgeon. The best, really.”

  “Oh my God! He’s gorgeous. I can’t even function around him. How do you deal?”

  I chuckle. Dr. Lovely certainly isn’t difficult to look at, but he’s a drill sergeant in the operating room and highly professional. “Often he’s wearing a surgical mask when we’re around each other, so I don’t get the full force of those dimples.”

  “I think my heart rate went through the roof when he was in here. It was so freaking embarrassing. How old is he?”

  “Um, midthirties, I think?”

  She gives me a saucy grin. “Hmm. I don’t suppose he’d be interested in a freshman college girl, huh?”

  “I can always ask him for you.” I wink. I have no idea what kind of women Dr. Lovely is interested in, but I don’t think barely legal college students fit the bill. Regardless, I like this girl. She’s got sass, especially for someone who came out of surgery less than two hours ago.

  She waves me off. “Nah, he’s too old for me. I think twenty-five should be my cap for now. But I’m definitely not into college boys. All they want to do is get drunk and hook up.”

  “I’m sure they’re not all like that.”

  She lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “I had a boyfriend for, like, three years, but I got accepted to college out here and he got a scholarship in Texas. We thought we would try to make it work long distance, but my schedule is so busy and it was hard being so far away. So we broke up.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s so tough.”

  “Thanks, and yeah, it is. Or was. Maybe it still is. He said maybe we could try in the summer when we’re both back home. Like, this was just going to be a temporary break, but, like, less than a week later he started posting all these drunk party pictures where he’s hanging off other girls.”

  I feel for her and how difficult that would be to see. “That must’ve hurt.”

  She blinks a few times, eyes dropping. “My mom said it was for the best, but yeah, that really sucked, ya know? Like, we were together for all that time, and he couldn’t even wait a week before he was hooking up all over the place and posting it where he had to have known I’d see it.” She presses her fingertips together, studying them. “I wasn’t planning to move back home this summer. I had a lifeguard job lined up here, but now”—she motions to her leg—“I don’t even know how long this is going to be on and whether I’ll be able to keep that job or not.”

  “It’s only the beginning of March, so pool weather is still a long ways off. You have lots of time, and there are lots of other jobs if that one doesn’t work out.”

  “Yeah. I just don’t want to go home and see him and have to deal with all of it. Relationships suck. I spent this whole year focused on sports and keeping my grades up so I don’t lose my scholarship, and I’ve done well, but, like, sometimes it’d be nice to have, like, a person.” She looks up at me and cringes. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. You don’t even know me and I’m, like, barfing out my life story on you.”

  My smile is genuine. “I don’t mind.” We call it “morphine motor mouth,” and it can be quite entertaining, but I don’t tell her that.

  “Do you have a boyfriend? Wait. Can I even ask you that? It’s kinda personal, isn’t it?”

  “That’s okay. Yes, I have a boyfriend.”

  “I figured. You’re too pretty not to have one.”

  I laugh at that. “Thank you. And my current boyfriend was actually my high school boyfriend.”

  “You’ve been with him since high school? That’s, like, forever!”

  “We broke up when he got drafted.”

  “To, like, the army?”

  “No; the NHL.”

  “Oh my God! No way! So wait—you broke up for, like, how long?”

  “Eight years.”

  “Holy shit. That’s a long time.”

  I laugh again. “You’re right—it is. But last year he moved back to Minnesota, so…”

  “You got back together.” Her smile is wide, hopeful.

  I keep the part to myself where I don’t know if he’s going to stay here with me this time, or whether he’ll have to take another contract somewhere else. She’s young; she has lots of time to learn about the highs and lows of relationships. “I’m going to test the sensation in your toes, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I check for discomfort, sensation, and mobility. I’m grateful all of her responses are in the normal range.

  “Will I make the metal detectors go off in airports now that I’m bionic?” Emery asks.

  “Everything is titanium, but there’s still a chance.”

  “I was hoping for the extra-thorough search the next time I go home. When I flew back at Christmas, there was a supercute TSA agent I wouldn’t have minded getting a pat down from.” She wags her eyebrows. “I think I have a thing for men in uniforms.”

  “And scrubs count as a uniform?”

  She grins. “Maybe not the hottest uniform, but still a uniform.”

  When I finish reviewing Emery’s chart, I let her know the doctor will be back to check on her in a while and that there’s a good possibility they’ll keep her at least overnight. “Are your parents on their way here?”

  “Uh, no. They’re in Europe on some big monthlong trip.”

  “Do they know you’ve had surgery?”

  “Oh yeah. I called them as soon as the accident happened so I could get the insurance information and stuff. I told them it wasn’t that big of a deal. This is, like, the first time they’ve ever gone on a vacation for this long. I don’t want them to fly back because I broke a few bones.”

  That’s an unusually mature way to handle having a bunch of pins and metal rods put in your leg. “Do you need someone to arrange for a ride back to your dorm later?”

  “I have a place off campus with a roommate, and I have a car. I guess I’m lucky it’s my left leg and not my right, otherwise I’d have to take public transit for the next couple of months.”

  “You didn’t drive yourself here, did you?” I can’t imagine that would’ve been safe.

  “Oh no. The ambulance brought me straight from the soccer game. Someone will pick me up.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Well, I’ll be around in a couple of hours to check on you. You’ll receive a follow-up appointment for next week before you leave.”

  “Will you be around the next time I’m here?”

  I smile. “It’s very possible.”

  “Okay. Out of all the nurses, you’ve been the nicest, so it’d be cool if it was you doing all the poking business.”

  “I’ll be back to check on you before my shift is over. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Emery. I hope that ankle heals up fast.”

  What a sweet girl. I don’t like that she’s downplayed the injury to her parents, but she’s eighteen and legally an adult. By that age I was pretty much taking care of myself.

  She’s asleep when I check on her before I leave for the night. She’ll be staying until morning. Dr. Lovely is being cautious, possibly because I mentioned that she has no family in Minnesota and she’s r
elying on her college roommate to help her.

  * * *

  The following evening I’m sitting in class, only half paying attention because Ethan keeps sending me messages, asking when I’m going to be at his house. And the messages keep coming. Have I eaten? Should he get Merk? Can I call in sick tomorrow? Can I walk around his house naked for the next twenty-four hours?

  Eventually I stuff my phone in my bag, which is the exact moment we’re given a pop quiz on the information that’s just been shared by the professor. The information I haven’t been paying attention to because I’ve been fielding messages from Ethan. Whom I haven’t seen in a week.

  I fumble my way through the quiz, angry at myself for being so distracted, certain there’s no way I’ve passed. To top off an already crappy class, we get our midterms back, and I’ve failed. Not by much—I have 63 percent and I need a 65 to pass—but I’ve never failed anything, so this mark is a kick in the pants.

  The barely passing last semester and late assignments are bad enough, but failure is inexcusable, and I’m totally to blame for this. I allowed this to happen. I ignored the things that required my attention in lieu of time with Ethan, and that’s on me. By doing that I’ve put my own dream at risk, compromised my potential future.

  I’d been so certain I’d have a place in the master’s program next year, but it’s highly competitive and these marks are going to pull my average down. I’m terrified that I might have screwed my future because I’m putting video chats with Ethan in front of my own goals.

  I already put my dreams and goals aside for Avery, and now there’s a chance I’m going to lose out on the opportunity again because I’m compromising my own needs to meet someone else’s. I can’t lose myself like this. Not again. Not for someone who’s already made it clear once that I wasn’t as important as his dream.

  “Delilah.” My professor stops me as the class files out of the room, ready for tonight’s pub crawl. “I’d like a word with you, please.”

  “Of course.” Please don’t let this be a lecture.

  Students file quickly out of the room, and she taps her pen on the desk a few times. “You work at Fairview, is that correct?”

  “Yes.” We filled out a survey at the beginning of the semester with basic information. I’m astounded that she can recall this.

  She nods. “I went back and reviewed your transcript. You were at the top of your graduating class.”

  I nod. My humiliation grows with her scrutiny. “I was.”

  “I recognize that working full-time and the responsibilities you must have in addition to this course may impact your grades, but I don’t believe your midterm mark is reflective of your abilities.” Before I can speak, she holds up a hand. “In fact, I know that mark doesn’t reflect your abilities, because on the occasions you’ve contributed to class discussions you’ve been insightful and articulate.”

  It’s a significant compliment, but the unspoken part, asking what the hell happened to make me bomb the midterm, dampens it. “Thank you. I promise my next assignments will be reflective of that.”

  She regards me for seconds that feel like an eternity. “The next two assignments are essay based. I’m hopeful that will help bolster your mark. I’d also like to see you participate more in class discussions. Your in-field experience is valuable to the rest of the students.”

  “Of course, professor.”

  She smiles. “I’m sure you have things to do with the rest of your night that likely don’t include pints at the student pub.”

  I return her smile, thank her for her time, and head for the parking lot. The “you can do better” speech is somehow worse than a disappointment lecture. It only serves to exacerbate the self-flagellating. I toss the papers on the passenger seat and check my phone for new messages.

  There are several from Ethan, asking for an ETA. I message back that I should be there in less than an hour. It’s already eight thirty. I have to be up early for work and tomorrow night Ethan has a game, so the hours we have are limited.

  I shelve the failed midterm and the assignments that need my attention. I won’t be effective tonight anyway in my current mood. Which I need to put a pin in. I don’t want to bog down tonight with negativity, especially since I’m going to have to bail on the game tomorrow night. It’s exactly what has to happen so I can bring my mark up before the final exam, which is only weeks away. He has to understand my need for balance.

  * * *

  My alarm wakes me at 5:43 in the morning. I’ve always been a fan of waking up at nonfive increments. Those extra two minutes sometimes mean the difference between hot coffee and no coffee.

  Ethan snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me back against him before I can roll out of bed. “Why is your alarm set so early?”

  “I have to take Merk for a walk.”

  “I’ll walk him later. Stay for a few more minutes. I missed you.”

  “You missed rubbing your morning wood on my ass.” I’m on point with the sassy quips for only having been alert for mere seconds.

  He nods into my neck, lips finding my shoulder. “I did. So much. I tried snuggling with a pillow, but it wasn’t the same. Cotton is a poor substitute for your ass.” He rolls his hips, his erection sliding between my cheeks. He cups a breast, pinching my nipple between his fingers, making me arch. His low groan vibrates along my throat.

  “I didn’t get enough of you last night.” He grazes the column of my throat with his teeth, and he smooths his hand down my stomach. When his fingers find my clit, I spread for him, hooking my foot over his calf to give him better access.

  Shifting my hips, I press against his erection, letting his fingers and his mouth dominate sensation. He throws off the sheets and adjusts his cock, sliding it along my slit until the head passes over my clit. I watch him ease back and forth a few times and then he’s pushing in, slow at first, and then faster, harder. Holding me to him, he slips an arm under me and turns my head toward him, his gaze fixed on mine as he pumps into me, telling me I should never leave his bed, that this is what he needs, that I’m what he needs.

  That I’m the reason for everything.

  So after, when he tells me he’ll see me later, I don’t mention not being able to go to the game.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pause

  Lilah

  I go to the game, even though I shouldn’t. I knew if I stayed home, I’d still have trouble focusing anyway, aware Ethan would be so disappointed. But I tell him I can’t stay afterward and that I must sleep in my own bed tonight. He doesn’t like the last part, but I placate him with promises of a sleepover tomorrow. It’s easier to stick to my plan since Jeannie and Martin came with me, and I drove.

  Ethan’s moved from second to first line thanks to his outstanding performance this season. Watching him race down the rink, the puck shifting under his blade as he navigates around the opposing team with single-minded focus, is enthralling. It makes me wish I didn’t have to work in the morning and that the sleepover Ethan wants tonight was possible.

  Minnesota wins the game three to one. Ethan scores a goal and manages an assist, adding points to his consistently increasing stats. I stop to congratulate a sweaty, happy Ethan on the win before I take his parents home. The sportscasters clamor around him, seeking commentary on his performance. We’re surrounded by people, players, reporters, and screaming fans, but the only person he seems to see is me. It’s heady, watching his confidence soar like this and feeling like I have some small part in it.

  “I can’t persuade you to come back to my place tonight?” he says in my ear, his damp, hot fingers trailing along my throat.

  I want to say yes, but I already need to catch up on my sleep after last night. I can’t afford to be more tired than I already am. “It’s almost eleven, and I have to work in the morning.”

  “I need you beside me, though. I promise I won’t bother you.”

  Based on the way he’s looking at me, that’s a total lie. “Tomorrow ni
ght I’m all yours.”

  “Only mine.” He tilts my head back, lips brushing over mine gently at first. His groan buzzes across my skin and his tongue slips inside, seeking out my own. It’s the high of the win making him like this. My body already regrets that I have to deny us both. But I need to draw some lines or I’m going to put more at risk than just course work.

  Cameras flash, and catcalls and shouts have me pushing on his chest, so Ethan finally disengages from my mouth. I’m sure I’m the color of a tomato as he tips my chin up and places a chaste, somewhat-but-not-really-apologetic kiss on my lips. “I love you, baby.” He follows it up by dragging a finger down the slope of my nose.

  Microphones are shoved in his face. I step back, and even as he reaches out to keep me with him, I’m swallowed by the crowd. He has no choice but to turn his attention back to the media after that little stunt.

  Avoiding the cameras as best as I can, I find Jeannie and Martin and escort them to the parking lot. It’s never been like this before. Ethan was always a local star, but this is a whole new level. This is the success he always wanted, though not necessarily the media frenzy that comes with it. But reaching this caliber of performance garners a lot of attention, and I’m on the fringe of it all, watching his rise, wondering how long I get to be a part of it.

  Martin is tired by the time I drop him and Jeannie at home. Fatigue makes him uncoordinated, so getting him upstairs isn’t realistic, even though he’s been managing for the most part lately. He protests at first but finally agrees that the main-floor bedroom is a better place to sleep.

  By the time I arrive home, it’s well past midnight, and although those essays need my attention, I’m barely awake enough to brush my teeth, let alone focus on a textbook. Tomorrow, when I’m fresh, I can tackle the assignment.

  I fall asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

  * * *

  I’m jostled around, and a heavy arm comes across my stomach, pulling me in tight against a huge, hard body. I startle awake and it takes me a moment to realize this isn’t a dream, and I recognize the smell and the feel of the body in bed with me. “Ethan?”