One Night

by A. J. Pine

  Now I’m the one without words, without any sort of expression appropriate for what he says. He calms me one second and knocks the wind out of me the next. Maybe I should un-press the button, let the doors slide open so I can get some air.

  But then where would we be? His hand still cups my head behind my ear, and instinct takes over. I lean into it.

  “So you don’t . . . want me like Jake did?”

  He pulls away, but the movement is gentle, not forceful like it could have been.

  “Jess.”

  His hands rake through his own hair, my name his frustration.

  “That’s not what I meant. You’re missing the point.”

  What’s the point? I think, the close proximity intoxicating me with his scent. I back away, needing distance to think. My hand stretches out behind me, and I release the emergency button.

  We jolt to a start, which lasts only seconds before the elevator hits the bottom floor, and the door falls back into its pocket.

  I back out, doing what I do best, leaving him standing there.

  “You’re right,” I say. “I’m not ready for this.” I breathe through the ache in my chest, to the flood of emotion threatening to pull me under. Not feeling has been so easy compared to this—wanting something that could hurt us both. “But I’m also not ready to just say good-bye to you. God I wish I could give you more, Adam. But I can’t. I’m sorry for ever making you think otherwise.” It’s the most honest I’ve been with him yet. But my honesty doesn’t make me any more deserving of him.

  I disappear through the cafeteria doors, but I still wait, foolishly, hoping he’ll ignore my wishes, that he’ll come here and tell me no matter what, he wants to be with me.

  But no matter what only exists in fairy tales where a huntsman doesn’t cut out the princess’s heart but puts her life ahead of his. I’m putting him first. There’s no way for him to see that, but at least I understand that walking away is the option that hurts him the least.

  He doesn’t come. He shouldn’t come. But that doesn’t stop the irrational part of me from wishing he would.

  I count slowly to ten, watching the double doors of the cafeteria until I’m sure he must be gone. I grab a refillable to-go cup, but when I get to the line of coffee urns, I pass them up in favor of the fountain beverages, settling on getting my caffeine fix from soda instead. The thought of shitty coffee now seems, well, shitty.

  I take the stairs back to the sixth floor, just in case, though I regret it by the time I hit the third. At that point I continue out of spite.

  When I get to Regan’s room, her parents are gone, and so is Tracy. Regan’s no longer in the wheelchair but now lies propped up in her bed. I knock lightly on the open door.

  “Come in,” she says, peeking around the corner of wall obscuring her vision of the door.

  I step in and offer a small wave instead of a verbal hello for fear of sounding as winded as I feel.

  “What happened to you?” she asks, cheeky as ever.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “It’s complicated.”

  She rolls her eyes. She’s freaking thirteen and rolling her eyes at me.

  “Does it have anything to do with someone on your phone known as Sexy Vampire?”

  My phone. Regan’s had my phone this whole time.

  “Regan, did I get a text?”

  “Maybe.”

  She smiles watching me dive for my phone on the coffee table. And there it is, a text from Sexy Vampire.

  If/when you’re ready, can we try crappy coffee again? Just coffee. When you’re ready.

  I inhale a short breath, not so much at his message but because I have somehow responded to this message.

  Sure! How about tomorrow at 4:00 after I intern with a really great 13-year-old with no leg?

  I look at Regan, give her my best glare.

  “Do I look like someone who uses emojis?”

  She crosses her arms, eyebrows raised. “You look like someone who’s relieved to see that text.”

  Of course I’m relieved. But I’m not ready to see him tomorrow. After being so close to him in the elevator, I know better than to trust myself alone with him, even if it’s just coffee.

  “Well,” I say, “since you RSVP’d, I guess that means you’re coming with.”

  I expect her to protest, but instead her dimples deepen.

  “I get to meet someone you call Sexy Vampire instead of hanging here in the same room I’ve been in and out of for months? I’m in.”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re too grown up to be only thirteen?”

  “At least once a day.”

  I grab my phone and back toward the door.

  “I better head downstairs and find Tracy, see if she needs me to do anything before I begin my rotation tomorrow.”

  “I think you’ve done enough.” Tracy’s voice comes from the doorway. “Regan’s my only afternoon patient tomorrow. You two have met, and you know her situation, so get ready for some tough work, both of you.”

  I offer Tracy an exaggerated salute. Regan mimics the action.

  “Jess, can I talk to you out here a minute before you go?”

  I nod and look at Regan. “Remind me never to leave you alone with my phone again.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says, grinning.

  Tracy leads me out to the hall. I’m expecting her to follow up with me about Regan, but I couldn’t be more wrong.

  She paces back and forth a couple of times before looking me hard in the eye, her cheerfulness gone along with the absence of her husband who must be busy with patients again.

  When she doesn’t say anything, I fill the silence.

  “I’m sorry. I know. I shouldn’t have looked at her chart. She was telling me about tomorrow, and I wanted to know if it was me, if I’d get to work with her.”

  Tracy sighs and rubs her temples.

  “No. That’s not it.”

  Her voice is gentle, sympathetic, but I don’t get it.

  “He got lucky last night, Jess. But I’ve known him his entire college career. Basketball is everything to that guy, while he still has it, and anyone who knows the player he was before the surgery knows he overdid it last night.”

  Adam. She’s lecturing me on Adam. But I watched him. He was fantastic.

  “Did I miss something?” I ask. “I thought he had a great game.”

  “He did. He played like he’d never been injured. But did you notice how many minutes he sat on the bench?”

  I shake my head, a knot forming in my stomach. I was on my feet cheering most of the game, cheering for Adam. He barely sat out.

  “Thirty-six minutes. He played thirty-six minutes of a forty-minute game. I never would have signed off on him returning if I knew he wasn’t going to follow my recommendations for play time. I had to twist his arm to agree to thirty minutes as the max. That would have allowed him an average of five minutes’ rest per half. But he didn’t rest.”

  I don’t want her to say any more. I wonder if she knows he was already in pain when he left, if she knows the fight he got in two nights before the game, if she knows I’m probably to blame for all of it.

  “I didn’t say anything while you were interning with him, but I should have. That boy has been a mess since his personal life went to shit late last year. He threw himself into the game, which was good for him at the time, but the stress on his knee was too much. That’s what landed him in the hospital and put him on the bench for the early season.”

  It won’t help to tell her I know all of this, that he told me about his ex and about Jake. It’s why I kissed him. Because he cared enough about me to be honest. Because I cared enough about him to try to give him more. And then I shut him out again.

  I’ve seen the way Adam teases Tracy, the banter that always has the right amount of distance, but what are they like when I’m not there? Does he talk openly to her? Are they friends, or is she putting the pieces together? How much of Adam’s story do I re
ally know?

  Pain is funny like that. It makes us who we are, but we hide it away. Sharing it only unearths it, makes us go through it again. I don’t want to be the source of Adam’s renewed pain.

  “I get it,” I say.

  “No. I don’t know if you do.” She pauses. “He’s been happy the past couple of months, happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. Whatever happened to change that is why he drove overnight to come home for treatment instead of celebrating with his team. He’s not invincible, Jess. He’s a guy who knows he’s nearing the end of something, and when the time comes, he’s going to be lost without it.”

  I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to yell at me, blame me, tell me to stay away from him. Everything she’s saying is leading up to that.

  “You’re good for him, if you can keep from hurting him.”

  Whatever Adam’s told her, it’s obvious Tracy knows enough.

  My fingers fidget with the zipper on my hoodie, but I meet her gaze. I want her to know how much I mean what I’m saying.

  “The last thing I want to do is hurt him, but things are a little complicated.”

  She sighs.

  “Do you care about him?”

  “Yes.” More than I want to admit.

  “Then find a way to uncomplicate it.”

  The statement isn’t angry, nor is it gentle. It just is, and that’s all she says before turning toward the doors leading out of the pediatric wing. She holds her hand up in the air, her fingers illustrating the number three.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” she adds before she’s out of earshot.

  ***

  I waste a couple more hours studying at the union, though my focus is spotty. When I get home, Zoe is locked away in her room. Music blares through the paper-thin walls, and I take advantage of my unnoticed entrance and quietly make my way inside. Adam and I never did get around to watching sexy vampires on Friday, so I guess now is as good a time as any to catch up.

  After parking myself on the couch and cueing up the DVR, my phone buzzes with a text. Confused by the name that pops up on my screen, I peek around the corner to Zoe’s room. The door is still shut.

  Zoe: Want company or alone time?

  She is too good to me.

  Me: Both? Watch vampires and avoid real life?

  Instead of a response I hear the metal click of her door handle turning.

  “I can do that,” she says, jumping into the corner opposite me. “Got some real life I wouldn’t mind avoiding myself.”

  Grabbing a throw pillow, I hug it to my midsection.

  “Everything okay with you and Spock?”

  She shrugs, and I respect her need for not talking just like she does for me.

  Maybe Zoe and I aren’t so different. I think about what Tracy said, about Adam coming home early to take care of himself, about me somehow having something to do with that.

  I can do the friend thing with Adam if he’s willing to try again. It’s better than nothing, and it’s safe for both of us. I want him in my life, and for some messed-up reason, he still wants me in his.

  “Whatever is going on with you guys, he seems pretty great, pointy ears and all. And for what it’s worth, I bet it’s hard for him too. I wouldn’t want to say good-bye to you in a few months either, whether we were friends . . . or more than.”

  She laughs and throws a pillow at me. “Don’t tell me you want to be the Stormtrooper in our threesome, Elliott. I didn’t think that was your style.”

  I press the pillow over my face. “I need to erase the visual forming in my head right now!”

  Zoe presses Play, letting Stefan and Damon Salvatore come to my rescue.

  “Much better,” I say.

  For the next hour, I think only of the sexy vampires on the screen.

  16

  Tracy sends me to get Regan from her room. Her parents are running late, and Tracy has a meeting after Regan, so we have to get started. In my best attempt at casual conversation, which is an epic fail, I get her to tell me Adam only comes twice a week now, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, because his practice schedule and game schedule won’t allow for much more. She says the team trainer takes good care of him, but this makes me worry. I can tell it does the same to Tracy.

  Regan’s still in her bed when I get there, and I point to the nonexistent watch on my wrist indicating we’re going to be late if she doesn’t get in her chair.

  “I’m thinking we maybe do this tomorrow instead,” she informs me.

  “Okay. See ya.” I call her bluff and turn to walk out.

  “Hey!” Regan calls after me. “Isn’t this where you give me some huge pep talk about how today is a new beginning, and I’m not going to fall flat on my face when I try to walk on a leg I can’t feel? How about you guarantee me it won’t hurt, that I’m far enough past the surgery and the infections to be past the pain?”

  I sit on the foot of her bed, wanting to guarantee her of all those things, but she knows I can’t.

  “The pain’s always going to be there. Whether it’s the physical pain of the fresh wound or the constant reminder of what you lost, it’ll always be with you. Today is a new beginning, though. It’ll probably hurt, and you might fall, but Tracy and I are there to do our best to make sure you don’t.”

  I stand up and push the wheelchair closer to the bed.

  “Pep talk done. How’d I do?”

  She slides off the bed with minimal resistance, balancing on her foot while she maneuvers herself into the chair.

  “You suck at pep talks,” she says, though I hear the hint of a smile.

  “Thanks. I’ve been working on that one all afternoon.”

  My breath catches, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t say anything. Because getting off the bed and into the chair—that’s Regan letting hope win out over the fear. She knows I can’t promise her today will be easy, but she trusts me enough to try—trusts herself enough to move forward instead of staying stuck in the past.

  That’s where she and I differ. Regan has direction where I’m stuck in limbo.

  She lets me push her all the way to the elevator, and we journey in silence. I know what it’s like to just need time to think, so I give her this.

  When we get downstairs, I take Regan to the portion of the lab with the gym equipment.

  “All we’re working on today is putting it on, taking it off, and balance, okay?”

  “Piece of cake,” she says.

  “Hmmm. You like cake?” I ask.

  Regan rolls her eyes.

  “Who doesn’t like cake? Anyone who says they don’t is lying or allergic. Then again, allergy doesn’t count because you can still like cake even if you are fated never to eat it.”

  I laugh.

  “Agreed. Since I’m guessing you’re neither, I promise to buy you a piece of cake when you join me on my crappy coffee date.”

  Regan cranes her head back to look at me.

  “So, this is a date? You’re bringing me with on a date?”

  I push her accusing gaze back to a forward-facing position.

  “It’s not a date, just a figure of speech. Do you want your cake or not?”

  Regan holds her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’m not chaperoning you on a date with some guy you refer to as Sexy Vampire. Got it.”

  “How do you know it’s a guy?” I ask, pushing her through the doorway.

  “Hey, whatever kind of date it is, I’m cool, as long as I get my cake.”

  “It’s not a date!”

  I might be protesting a bit too much.

  The gym has a few patients and therapists, but Tracy is still easy to spot standing by what looks like parallel gymnastic bars.

  “What’s not a date?”

  The question comes from behind me, and I don’t have to turn to identify the name that goes with the voice.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask before I turn to face Sexy Vampire himself.

  “Well, I
have it on good authority that Tracy’s new client, who I think may have sent me a text yesterday on a phone that wasn’t hers, is a basketball fan.”

  Regan shifts in her chair, almost climbing to her knees to face us. She gasps, and her eyes all but pop out of her head.

  “Holy shit, Jess! You didn’t tell me you knew Adam Carson!”

  I glare at her with my best imitation of a mom face.

  “She’s thirteen,” I say to Adam. “This is how the kids talk today.”

  I shake my head and laugh as we make our way over to Tracy, but Regan still hasn’t calmed down.

  “Uh, Tracy. She knows Adam Carson. Please tell me why she knows Adam Carson.”

  When we stop in front of Tracy, Adam and I both step around the chair so the three of us stand in a semicircle facing Regan.

  “Regan,” Tracy says, “this is Adam, a client of mine. Jess worked with him before switching to peds.”

  Regan’s stare tells me it’s my turn for the third degree.

  “After all our bonding in the past two days, how did your college basketball fandom not come up?” I ask her.

  Regan cocks her head, looking at me as if I asked her why she never told me the sky was blue. “Hello? I’m a townie. We’re required to be Easton sports fans before we learn the alphabet.”

  I guess that makes sense, but it still doesn’t explain why Adam is here, an hour before we’re supposed to meet. I cross my arms, and my elbow bumps his. There goes my stomach, knotting and unknotting just from the nearness of him, from an accidental touch. This is why I need a thirteen-year-old fangirling chaperone.

  “Adam said he was coming by this afternoon to meet someone.” Tracy gives me a sideways glance, and I can’t tell if she approves or is warning me to keep my distance. “I asked him if he’d stop by a little early to say hi since I knew you were a fan.”

  Nice gesture, especially after seeing Regan’s hesitation to show up for her therapy session, but it would have been nice to get a heads-up he was coming early. No prep time means no time to steel myself against stupid, accidental elbow touches.