by A. J. Pine
“What are you two smiling about?”
Tracy doesn’t seem to care that Adam and I are friends, but we’ve only hung out at the hospital since our impromptu dinner. Adam has never said anything else, but I think a part of him really is concerned about putting me in a bad position. So the hangouts are regular but unofficial. It’s kind of become our thing—since he’s usually my last patient—hospital cafeteria excursions after therapy. When there’s a patient after him, he waits.
“Aw, come on, Trace. You always make me smile.”
She backhands him on the shoulder, something that after a few weeks I’ve noticed is her thing.
Aside from the few range of motion exercises I do with Adam at the beginning of each session, most of his therapy now is on the treadmill. Tracy’s given him the green light to attend preseason basketball practice but not for full participation yet. He’s getting close.
But that’s not why we’re smiling. It’s Friday. In five minutes, Adam’s session is over. In five minutes, I’m done with my intern hours for the day as well. In five minutes, we head downstairs for free refills on shitty coffee while we debrief about last night’s episode of The Vampire Diaries. Because Adam has Netflix too, and though he’d never admit it to his roommates, much of the time he claims to be studying quietly in his room, he sits in bed with his laptop and earbuds, catching up on his secret favorite show.
And we are caught up. It took Zoe and me a couple of marathon weekends to do it, but we have succeeded. I also succeeded in finding out why Zach from my boxing class looks so familiar. He’s Zoe’s twin brother. He comes by every now and then to play his PS3, but he hasn’t taken it back since Zoe swiped it for Netflix. This also means I’ve earned relentless teasing about my new extracurricular activity.
“You should have seen this one on her first day, Z. She was an animal!”
Now, thanks to Zach, Zoe’s new term of endearment for me is Animal.
The brother and sister duo are strangely alike personality-wise, though so physically and socially different.
Zach’s shaggy blond hair is a sharp contrast to Zoe’s, which she admits to dyeing. Zach’s in a fraternity, not Bryan’s, thank god. Zoe avoids Greek functions and pretty much any place boasting more alcoholic beverages than people. Having a recovering alcoholic for a mom can do that to you. In fact, Zoe doesn’t drink at all. And since learning about her relationship with alcohol, I’ve been abstaining myself. I’ve been abstaining from more than just the drinking.
For now, my Friday nights really consist of what I do in the early evening in the hospital cafeteria with Adam. I hope to god he doesn’t know my college girl party night ends when I grab Yu’s and eat it on the couch in front of the TV.
So yes, I smile as Adam finishes up on the treadmill, because the best part of my evening begins now.
“You ready for the crappiest black coffee on campus?” he asks, stepping off the treadmill and walking to a gym bag sitting on one of the exam tables.
“Absolutely,” I answer, filling in the patient log on his chart.
Lost in concentration on my paperwork, I’m taken aback when I look up and see Adam standing a few feet from me, shirt off.
This is the cruelest of cruel jokes because I always thought he was good-looking. It’s not an arguable opinion. Brown hair, chocolate brown eyes so dark they almost swallow his pupils, square jaw, and just the right amount of fullness to his lips. Not that I notice his lips.
But his shirt is off, and he’s long and lean, his flawless skin stretching over the definition of muscles I didn’t know existed under his clothing. I swear I wouldn’t think twice if this was any other patient, but he’s not Adam Carson, local celebrity, anymore. He’s Adam, who drinks terrible coffee and dishes on campy vampires. He’s my only other friend besides Zoe, and who, along with her, has never pressed me to say anything more about myself than what I’ve already shared, and he is the one person I should not be looking at in this way, code of ethics or not.
But he’s painfully beautiful, and kind, the whole freaking package. He’s everything I’ve kept myself from wanting since Bryan stopped wanting me.
Shit.
“You guys put me through the wringer today,” he says, pulling a clean T-shirt over his head. “I’m lucky I came prepared.”
I’m still staring when Tracy taps me on the shoulder from behind.
“His chart?”
I turn quickly to face her.
“What? Oh, yeah.” I try to relax as I hand it to her. “Here you go.”
“Don’t worry,” Tracy says, looking down at the chart with a hint of a smile. “It gets easier.”
Before I can ask her what she means, she’s heading to her desk, chart in hand.
“One more week!” she calls back to Adam over her shoulder. “I’ll sign off on full practices in one more week, but you keep coming to see me on your off days. Once you start playing, that knee’s not going to be as happy as it is right now.”
I look at Adam where he’s now sitting on the exam table, and he’s beaming. He’s been nagging Tracy since he gave up the crutches, though he clearly wasn’t ready.
“This calls for a celebration,” he says, hopping off his perch. “I may only have to be benched for the first two games, which is way better than Coach anticipated. We’re gonna add on a piece of cafeteria cake to our shitty coffee order. Hey, Trace, you want to join the party?”
She waves us off.
“You guys go ahead. I’m only through season two.” He always asks, and she always refuses. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, Jess.”
Adam narrows his eyes at me.
“What? I didn’t say anything! I’ve kept my end of the PT/patient confidentiality agreement.” With my index finger I cross my heart to show him I’m serious, but I can’t help cracking up.
“And what am I missing tomorrow?” he asks.
“You didn’t know?” Tracy asks. “Jess has become a star pupil in my Saturday class. I’ve even caught her hitting the bag on her own on off days.”
Adam’s eyebrows raise when he looks at me while I try to not to blush. If it wasn’t for Zach, I wouldn’t have told Zoe. It would have been just for me. Adam says nothing more than what his eyes do, reading what I’m thinking. How, in such a short time, can he do this with me?
With mock effort to collect himself and maintain his dignity, Adam says, “Well, Tracy, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but when you catch up to the current season, please know you have an open invitation to join me and Jess for whatever it is you think we are discussing.”
This, more than the no-shirt incident, is what makes Adam beautiful. Nothing fazes him. I can’t imagine him angry or embarrassed or anything like that because I’ve never seen it. If I’d only met him once or twice, I would think it was an act. But this is Adam, the real Adam Carson, the one I never would have imagined from watching him on television. I shake away the thought of why I started watching basketball in the first place, of what my Friday nights used to be and then ceased being at the mere mention of this guy’s name.
I’ve traded the image of a man for the real deal, if only for a few afternoons a week.
But even that has to end. I don’t know what Adam and I have been doing these past few weeks, what it means, if anything at all. It’s Tracy, though, who brings us both back to reality.
“Jess gets her walking papers next week as well. Her peds rotation starts mid-semester.”
Tracy does a great job of spilling the one thing I haven’t told Adam that maybe I should have. I don’t know why I’ve been waiting on this one. The look on his face is my answer, which is also a blessing in disguise.
There’s disappointment in his eyes, and my gut twists. Whatever this is between us shouldn’t go any further. Because it can’t. Thanks to my internship, this strange friendship we have can fizzle out organically.
I expect him to say something, but instead he heads toward the door, waiting for me to exit first. Once inside the elevator heading
to the cafeteria, he breaks the silence.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
If I had an answer that wouldn’t betray my feelings, I’d give it to him.
“I was going to, today. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”
Correction. This whole thing feels like it is a big deal. That’s why I haven’t said anything. Not seeing Adam on the regular shouldn’t matter to either of us, but it does. Only I have to convince him he’s alone in this.
There’s no trace of Adam’s easy smile as his jaw tightens. He believes me.
When the elevator stops at the ground floor, it’s Adam who has the last word before stepping out ahead of me. And I hate myself for bringing out a side of him I haven’t seen before. He’s not angry. He’s hurt.
“You’re right, Jess,” he says, his voice even and calm. “It’s not a big deal.”
8
The doors close behind him with me still in the elevator.
Maybe this should be it, a clean break rather than a slow fizzle. All I have to do is press B, head to the underground parking garage, and leave. It couldn’t be any easier.
So why does it feel so hard?
After several more seconds, the elevator doors open again to an empty corridor. I step out but not in the direction of the cafeteria.
The door to the boxing studio stands open, though class doesn’t start for another half hour. Perfect. Alone time is good.
The cabinet is unlocked, so I grab a pair of gloves.
Fuck the warm-up, I tell myself. And I let loose.
Jab. Adjust.
Stop reaching past the attainable.
Jab. Adjust.
He could never want you.
Jab. Adjust.
You don’t have the right to hope.
Jab. Adjust.
He doesn’t know you. Not the real you.
Jab. Adjust.
You could never give him what he wants.
Jab. Adjust. Jab. Adjust. Jab. Adjust.
“JESS!”
Sweat pours down my face as I turn to see Adam standing in the doorway. My breathing comes in fitful pants. We stand, eyes locked on one another.
“Jesus, Jess. Tell me you were just ignoring me.”
So it happened again. Probably can’t get away with saying I was in the zone this time.
I shake my head. How many times did he say my name?
Adam speeds to where I stand and grabs my left hand, tearing at the Velcro and ripping the glove off. Two of my knuckles bleed.
“What the fuck, Jess?”
I listen to his shock, his confusion, his concern. I want to scream at him, to tell him to stop running toward me and instead put as much distance between us as possible. Not this, not my injured hand in his rough palm, heat passing through me like a current.
I pull away, breaking the connection. I’m numb to any physical pain.
He tries to smile, but his brow furrows, and he winces when he looks at my hand. “I thought we were celebrating. You know, cake?”
He waited for me. Then he came to find me.
“People were staring at me sitting by myself with two cups of coffee. I couldn’t bear their looks if I added cake too.”
He changes the subject, again not pushing me, and I find my words.
“They were staring at you because you are Adam Carson.”
This gets him to smile.
“I don’t think so.” He scans the empty room, shaking his head. When his eyes meet mine again, something in them is too much, like he sees too much. “I think they were looking for the beautiful girl in scrubs who usually sits there with me.”
I suck in a breath, but there’s not enough air.
“Adam, don’t.” I can’t look at him. If I look at him I won’t be able to get through what I have to say.
“Jess.”
He’s said my name before, but it sounds different now, as if the name itself is a question to which only I have the answer.
I pull off the other glove, giving my eyes a focus other than his. All knuckles intact on the hand that never made contact.
“I should have said something, about this being my last week. I just . . . it shouldn’t matter. I know I’m only an intern, but I’m your PT, and you’re my patient, and it shouldn’t matter.”
“Jess.”
This time my name is a plea. Look at him, it tells me. Look at what you’re walking away from.
I look, and I’m right. I can feel myself dissolving before him. The only thing worse I can imagine is what it would feel like to see him walk away, to tell me there’s no future with someone like me. Because that? That would destroy me.
“Are we friends?” I ask him, doubting my ability to mask the crack in my voice.
“Yes, Jess. We’re friends.”
Again that even voice, like the Adam Carson smile—steady. Always there. He could make this a lot easier if he would just get pissed at me. This whole patient and understanding vibe he has going on fucks with my concentration.
There’s only one way this goes any further than our professional relationship.
“A week from now, when you’re no longer my patient, if all I can give you is friendship, would you still want it?”
It’s all I can take. My eyes go back to my hands. Because there is no right answer. If he says no, then he’s no different than the other few nameless assholes that were fine with one night and a cup to go. Because if he wants from me what they want, if that’s been his agenda, then how could any of what I’m feeling be real? But if he says yes, then the selfish part of me wins, the one that wants him in my life for however long he’ll stay. If he says yes, he’s more than I deserve. He’s already been more of a friend to me than anyone’s been in over a year. How could I possibly give back what I’ve already received?
But one simple thought gives me reason to hope. If we are just friends, then maybe he won’t have to leave.
I close my eyes and listen as the echo of my question hovers between us.
At first I hear nothing. Then, a long, slow exhale.
“Yes.” His voice is low and quiet. “I want your friendship, Jess. I can’t believe you would question that.”
I open my eyes, unaware until now how much I needed him to say those words.
“I hope someday I’ll get to see the real Jess, the one you keep hidden away so well.”
No, I think. You don’t. I wish that Jess was a girl he’d want to know, but even I like to pretend she doesn’t exist sometimes.
I shake my head. “Trust me. All the parts you want to know are already visible.”
He steps closer, crossing his arms. And then it’s there, the devil incarnate in his smiling eyes. Maybe I’m not the only one who wears masks.
“I don’t know,” he muses. “I think I’d like to see a Jess who can burp the alphabet. Or maybe one who has a secret addiction to . . .” He leans in close and whispers. “. . . lattes.”
I fake gasp, bringing my palm to my chest.
“You can rest assured if such a Jess exists, either the former or the latter, she will be kept hidden away until the end of time. You’re going to have to take me as is.”
He takes the gloves from my hand and heads toward the open cabinet. “Good, because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I let go, exhaling my relief. Because we’re Jess and Adam again, and this, whatever it is that isn’t any more than friendship, doesn’t have to end because of a change in my schedule. Maybe it doesn’t have to end at all.
He’s next to me once more, my left hand in his as he inspects it.
“Clean you up and grab some cake?” he asks.
That electric current flows through me again, and it takes effort to steady myself, to sink back into the persona he’s used to, the one that keeps me from going over the edge.
“Um, yeah,” I tell him. “That’s the only reason I agreed to your celebration in the first place.” I manufacture a smile, which feels more natural every second I�
�m with him.
“I love a girl with an agenda.” The corners of his mouth quirk up too, and we face each other, grinning.
“I love cake,” I say.
We walk toward the door.
“Well, if the cake is anything like the coffee, you, my friend, are in for a huge disappointment.”
I silence the voice in my head that tries to warn me I’m headed for much worse.
***
I bang on Zoe’s bedroom door. What the hell? It’s six o’clock on a Friday evening. She can’t be sleeping. I pull out my cell phone and dial her number to make sure she’s in there. First I hear the familiar sound of Chewbacca’s Wookiee growl, then a loud thud, and then Zoe hissing a violent “Shit!”
I contemplate slinking back toward my room rather than face the wrath of what probably is a Zoe who fell out of bed, but I need to talk to her. Now.
With a light knock and mild hesitation, I say her name again.
“Zoe?”
Her door flies open quicker than expected. With no compunction at all, Zoe stands in front of me wearing nothing more than a tight cotton camisole and her underwear. It’s hard not to notice she isn’t wearing a bra, and I’m pretty sure I just found two more of her piercings.
No greeting. Only a glare.
“Did I wake you?”
Still glaring.
“Okay, dumb question. I’m sorry. I obviously woke you. But why are you sleeping? It’s not dark out yet.”
She’s still not speaking.
“Zoe, if you’re a vampire, now would be a good time to tell me. If you’re not, can you please forgive me for waking you and let me ask you one quick question? I promise I’ll leave you alone after that.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, thank god, so I can finally look her in the eye. I take this as my permission to speak.
“Please go out with me on Thursday night.”
Zoe’s eyes narrow.
“I admit it sounds like a lame excuse to wake you from a nap, but I wanted to make sure I caught you before you had other plans because I can’t do this alone, and you are pretty much it for me when it comes to friends.”
I stop for a breath. I’m not making a very good case for myself. But for some strange reason, Zoe hasn’t slammed the door in my face yet.