by Clara Stone
“Coach?” I bite back confusion.
He smiles and walks until he’s standing in front of me, clipboard in hand. “Believe it or not . . .” He rubs his beer belly. “I was the hot shot in high school, too. Girls were all over me, and I let it get in my head. It ended up costing my team the championship my senior year.”
I nod. He pats my shoulder and walks past me toward the locker room. I follow behind him, but then head toward the cheer practice. He’s wrong. Ace isn’t like other girls. She isn’t just any fucking girl.
As the cheer squad comes into view, Ace is launched into the air again and everything inside me freezes. My muscles bunch into coils, ready to spring out at any second.
I’m never going to get used to that.
She descends, her face bright with a fake smile. She’s caught by four of her teammates, who hoist her up to stand on one of the girl’s hands. Then, my breath caught in my throat, my entire world spins as I watch her knees buckle. Her teammates try to grab her, but it’s too late. She plummets to the ground, the back of her head making contact with the grass.
My vision fogs as I sprint toward the group, the Health 101 lessons Hudson forced me to endure while he was studying for med school cycling through my head. People swarm around her, screaming hysterically. I hear someone yell that she isn’t moving.
“Get back!” I shout, skidding to a stop next to her and dropping to my knees. I rake my gaze over her limp, unresponsive body, trying to remember what to do first. People’s cries surround me, making it harder to concentrate. I don’t have time for this shit! Somewhere, I hear the stupid cheerleaders sobbing.
“Shut the fuck up!” I order, willing my panic to take a hike. Breathe. Breathe. First things first. I lay my ear over her mouth to feel for breath against my skin. It’s faint, but there. I push back to see if her chest is rising and falling, and let out a sigh when I notice shallow movement. I instruct one of the girls to bring me some water and the rest to give me some space.
I check her body to make sure there aren’t any visible bruises or blood, especially around her head. A little drip by her nose is the only thing I notice. I wipe it off with a cloth someone hands me.
“Come on, Smalls,” I plead through my teeth, running my hand over her hair. “Comeoncomeoncomeon.”
Although she’s breathing and clearly has a pulse, a sudden surge of fear spikes as my mom’s death flashes before my eyes. Doubts and what ifs assault my mind.
Please. Please don’t let anything happen to her.
I place two fingers under her nose and feel the fan of her breath against them.
Suddenly, her eyes pop open, huge and round. She sucks in a giant gulp of air, like she’s been startled awake. I sag in relief and fall back onto my ass. Her teammates surround her while I let the fact that she’s still here sink in.
Sirens sound in the parking lot behind me, and soon, the paramedics are pushing through the crowd of worried cheerleaders, checking Ace for injuries. Once they’ve done their initial checks, they lift her onto the gurney and start to take her to the back of the ambulance. I walk next to her, my hand on her shoulder, giving her an occasional squeeze. She protests, telling them that she feels a little out of breath, and her sight is a little blurry, but that’s all.
“Lie down, miss,” the paramedic says, holding onto the straps as Ace struggles to sit up.
She shakes her head and attempts to jump off the gurney. I stand before her, blocking her way. “I feel fine,” she pleads. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“You could have internal bleeding and likely have a bad concussion. It’s imperative that you see a doctor,” the paramedic says.
“You heard him, Ace. You’re not getting out of this.”
“But—”
“I swear to God, Smalls. If you so much as try to jump off this gurney, I’m gonna tie you up and shove you into the ambulance myself,” I tell her. There’s no way I’m letting her get off this thing. She opens her mouth. “Don’t even.” I shake my head, scowling at her.
She stares back, challenging me. I don’t budge. It’s either this, or risking her life. And no way in hell am I going to gamble with her life. After a few seconds, her shoulders sink and she crosses her arms over her chest with a pout. “I was going to say okay, Iceman!”
The paramedics help her lie back down and strap her in as they transport her into the ambulance. I follow behind.
One of them puts his hand out, blocking me. “Are you related?”
“Yes,” I respond without missing a beat.
He drops his hand before going back to the coach to fill out a quick incident report.
“What are you doing?” Ace lifts her head and eyes me accusingly.
I take her hand into mine. “I’m not letting you have all the fun.”
She scowls and mumbles, “Fun, my ass.”
I bite back a chuckle.
I call Hudson while we wait to be driven to a hospital. It’s mostly likely not going to be one of our own, so I want to make sure he’s there to ensure the doctors take good care of Ace. Unfortunately, I can’t reach him. With a sigh, I end the call, shoving the phone into my lacrosse bag.
Once we make it to Saint Mary’s Hospital, they take us to one of the ER holding sections, transferring Ace from the gurney to a bed. Mr. Casper comes running into the lobby, worry written all over his face. When he sees me, his steps quicken.
“Hi—” I try to greet him, but he cuts me off.
“How is she?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for my response, brushing past me to get to Ace. “Baby girl,” he says, standing next to her. He takes her hand in his, cradling it like he’s holding a baby for the first time.
“I’m fine, Dad. Really.” She places her hand over his, consoling him. “You shouldn’t have left work for me.”
His eyes widen in shock, and he seems unable to respond. Pain crosses his features. “Of course, I should have. There’s nowhere else I should be. You’re all that matters.” He runs his hand over her head, pushing pieces of hair behind her ear so he can kiss her forehead. I pull a chair up beside him, gesturing for him to sit, and then leave to give them a moment to talk.
I grab a cup of coffee from the vending machine and text Emily to let her know what happened.
Emily: That bitch!
Me: ???
Emily: Your ex! She probably planned all this.
I laugh. Lisa could be scary at times, but she’s not one to physically harm people. Emotional torment, though . . . that, I wouldn’t put past her.
Emily: Are you guys at Saint Mary’s?
Me: Yes, but don’t worry. I’ve got it covered. Her dad’s here too . . .
Emily: O_O Maybe I should come.
Me: Stay put. If anything changes, I’ll keep you posted.
Emily: Ok. :-/ Give her my XOXO.
Me: Actually, I do have one request. Can you arrange to have my Jeep delivered here?
Emily: You got it.
Me: Spare’s under the driver’s seat.
Sighing, I shove the phone back into my pocket. When I return to Ace’s room, a doctor is seated before them, while a nurse takes her vitals.
The doctor looks just as bad as Ace, with dark bags under his eyes and hair a complete mess. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already put in a thirty hour shift.
Ace nods, her eyes widening into big, round globes as the doctor goes over each test she needs to have done—a CBC test, a head CT, and X-rays.
Three hours pass and my emotions feel raw and beaten, like I’ve been put through a grinder and poked with toothpicks. We’ve been waiting to hear her test results. Rock and Emily stopped by to drop off my keys while Ace was getting her CT Scan. They ended up staying until an hour ago, when Ace insisted they go home, saying that it made her feel like she was dying to have so many visitors.
Mr. Casper, against his wishes, left thirty minutes ago, when his boss—the world’s biggest asshole—called him in over some missing inventory from the wa
rehouse he works at. So now, it’s back to just her and I, and I can’t deny that part of me likes it that way.
Ace lays her head on my shoulder as her eyes start to droop. I gently tap her cheek to keep her awake.
“All right, Carrigan. I have your results,” the doctor says, stepping into our small, curtained-off space. “You’re okay to go back to school tomorrow. But I’d like to go over the results with you before I discharge you.”
Ace holds her breath, and I squeeze her hand.
“Alone,” the douchebag doctor says, looking at me.
I stare him down, raising my eyebrows. “I’m staying.”
“I’m sorry, but doctor-patient privilege prohibits . . .”
He starts to spew some HIPAA junk that I’m all too familiar with.
“Like hell—”
“It’s fine.” Ace cuts me off.
“Ace,” I say, my voice taking on a pleading tone. “Let me come with you.” Her grip loosens from my arm.
She places her hand over my cheek and smiles weakly at me. Everything inside me crumbles. “It’s okay,” she says.
Not wanting to tire her more, I nod reluctantly, stand, and leave the room. I don’t know what else to do, so I prowl around the waiting room like a wild animal in a cage. Five minutes becomes fifteen, but I see neither the doc nor her step through the curtain. Screw this. I can’t wait here anymore, wondering what’s happening. I need to know. Turning, I stalk toward the room, heading to where I’d left her.
Just as I pull the curtain apart, Ace appears. Her tired eyes lock with mine, but I can’t tell what’s going on in that head of hers.
I gather her into my arms. “Everything okay?”
She nods against my chest. “Seems I need more iron in my diet, and to win the lottery to cover the huge-ass bill my dad’s going to get soon.” She tries to joke.
“Money isn’t a problem—”
“I’m tired, Heath. Can you take me home?”
With discharge papers in hand, I help her into the Jeep and drive her home. Once inside, I help her to the bathroom. She tries to get me to go, but I tell her I’m not leaving her alone until her dad gets back. After another staring contest, she shoves the door shut in my face, and I wait outside while she showers.
When she’s ready for bed, I tuck her in, against her protests, with a kiss on her forehead. The events of the day finally catch up to us, and we don’t say much after that.
I set the alarm on my phone to wake me up every three hours and slip in next to her, wrapping my arm around her waist, spooning her. She relaxes into me, wiggling closer, and a small sigh escapes her. Her breathing evens out moments later and I doze off soon after, my sixth sense gnawing the inside of my gut.
I’M DREAMING. A FAMILIAR aroma of fresh cinnamon and lemongrass fills my lungs. Warm air gently stirs the hair on my neck. The soft cushion under me rises and falls in a rhythmic movement. I tighten my grip in response and sigh.
“Ace.” The voice, so deep, so gruff, calls to the sleeping flutters in the pit of my stomach. “You awake?” Soft lips press against my forehead.
“Mhmm . . .” Bunching cotton fabric in my fist, I reach toward those lips.
“Good.” A rumble vibrates against my hands. “We’re going to be late for school.”
My eyes shoot open, and I stare into the sexiest hazel pair, a smirk quirking their corners.
Time passes, or it doesn’t. Whatever.
“Good morning.” Heath’s fresh, minty breath fans over my cheek.
A rush of heat runs through my blood, and I’m lost for words. His lips descend close to mine. Instinctively, I turn my head from him, narrowing my lips into a tight, impenetrable wall. I scoot away.
Heath leans away from me, rolling onto his side, his hand propping his head up. “What are you doing?”
I place my hand over my mouth and mumble.
“What?” he says, teasing. He reaches out to caress my cheek with his thumb; I lean into his hand and close my eyes, lost in the comfort his touch provides. “What did you say?” His voice is gruff and heavy.
I turn my head to the side. “I’m protecting you from getting hit with the worst case of morning fish-breath. Not everyone can wake up with fresh mintiness.”
I hear him chuckle and look up sharply, my eyebrows rising. “I don’t mind. Besides, I’ve been awake and ready for thirty minutes.”
“You’ve been up for thirty minutes? Why didn’t you wake me?” My question comes out as an accusation.
He shakes his head, a heavenly smile falling over his lips as his eyes bore into mine, into the depths of me. A shiver runs up my spine. “I couldn’t leave you alone.”
Yesterday’s incident rushes forward—how the world around me had spun out of control as I was launched into the air. How, just as my teammates caught me and hoisted me back up, my legs had given out and everything had turned black. I remember waking up to Heath holding me, looking at me like I’d been brought back from death.
“So, after your dad came home, I left, then snuck back in after his bedroom lights went out.” Heath’s voice brings me back to the present. His cheeks burn bright red, and he clears his throat. “When he came in to check on you this morning before work, I—ah, hid in your closet, which by the way, needs cleaning, like with disinfectant. I found a sucker from two years ago.” He wiggles his nose in an attempt to deflate the otherwise embarrassing situation.
“Whatever.” I roll off the bed and jump out of his reach when he leans forward to grab my hand, conscious of my breath smelling like skunk fart. “Thank you for staying with me last night.” I shuffle my way to the bathroom before he says anything.
Closing the door, I turn, leaning into it. I bang my head against it and flinch, massaging the tender spot on the back of my skull. I walk to the small half-mirror by the vanity and gawk in horror. The skin around my eyes looks chalky; my cheeks, much more hollow than they used to be. God, I’m a feast to look at.
Emily might be right. I’m losing more weight than is probably healthy. A knock at the door startles me.
“Ace?” Heath asks, hesitant. “You okay in there?”
No. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.” I wait until I hear him walk away from the door, probably heading toward the kitchen.
“All right, Carrigan. Time to get cleaned up,” I say to myself. I run the cold water and splash my face. “I just . . . need to take things easy.” I shiver, staring at my eyes; they look a little lifeless. Yesterday must’ve taken a lot out of me, more than I thought.
I hop in the shower, shave my legs, and let the hot water wash my fears down the drain. After drying off, I apply makeup, showing a bit more care to my cheeks. I realize I have no clean clothes to wear, so I pull my nightclothes back on and head into my room. Heath lies on my full-sized bed, his head against the headboard, his eyes closed. A deep, vertical line creases between his eyebrows, but he seems to have fallen asleep.
Quiet as a mouse, I pick out another yellow, floral summer shirt and washed-out jean capris. God, I need to diversify my closet with more colors. Digging through my underwear drawer, I pick out panties and a mismatched bra.
I turn around to find Heath standing behind me. I shriek, my clothes sliding from my fingers.
He leans down and, to my horror, picks up my lacy, boy-cut panties and ugly grandma-bra, his eyes careful not to wander to my chest.
“Huh.” His tongue pokes into his cheek. “I never would have guessed you for lace-wear. Good to know.”
Good to know? Oh, God. Kill me! I bite my lip and bring my hand up to cover my embarrassment. I will never understand why I’m okay with wearing bikinis, but that same outfit by a different name embarrasses the crap out of me.
Heath catches my hand before I can cover my face and tilts his head to the side. “You’re too beautiful to hide from me.” He runs the back of his hand against my cheek. “Especially when you blush like this.”
My heart trips over itself, and my stomach flutters. “Uh . . .”
Images of the last time I’d stood this naked before him assault me. Heat shoots the length of my body.
Heath’s hand reaches for my neck and mine wraps around his arm. He presses his forehead into mine, his eyes locking in an intense stare. “I can’t forget,” he whispers. “Your response to my touch, or your lips . . .” His eyes travel to my mouth.
There are no words to explain how wild and high my body is wired. I want to tell him I can’t forget either, that every kiss from here on out will be compared to him. When his hand loosens around my neck, I exhale a shaky breath. I step back, pulling myself out of his enchantment. “I-I should get ready for school.”
He nods, letting his hand fall to his side. He doesn’t move an inch after that, just watches me like he’s an artist, and I’m his muse. The faint heat from my cheeks travels to my chest, blooming a thousand-fold. Is this what happiness feels like? Like I could overcome anything?
His throat works, accentuating every muscle as his Adam’s apple bobs. The way he’s looking at me . . .
Swallowing the dosage of lust coursing through me, I avert my eyes, running back to the safety of the bathroom to finish getting ready.
I hesitantly leave the confines of my bathroom fifteen minutes later. My chest feels tight and raw as I go searching for Heath in the kitchen. I stop when I step into the living room, surprised to see Dad sitting on the couch, reading the paper. What’s Dad doing back home? He glances toward me, a weak smile tipping the corners of his mouth. He looks exhausted.
“Hi, baby girl.” He pushes to his feet and comes over to me. Before I know it, he’s pulled me into a bear hug, kissing my forehead.
My hands wrap around him, feeling some of the pain leaving me.
“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry,” he says, repeating it like a mantra.
“Dad,” I say, my voice cracking. I want to tell him that everything’s fine, that the doctor didn’t find anything too worrisome—nothing spinach or a good dose of iron can’t cure, anyway. “Dad, I’m okay.” I pull him into a tighter hug.