One Night

by A. J. Pine

  When halftime comes, I try to avoid Zoe by doing the dishes, but she follows me into the kitchen.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she says, as I scrub harder at the plate in my hand. “And I get where your crazy, scared reasoning comes from.”

  I look up long enough to glare.

  “Come on, Jess. You know I love you, and I’m so proud of the amazing steps you’ve taken these past couple weeks, but you also know you are full of shit when it comes to Adam. Everything that boy has done since he met you has been to show you he cares about you. Tell me how he ended up here that first night, when you bumped into him at Yu’s.”

  I keep scrubbing, but the plate is clean. I barely remember Bryan or Ashley from that night, or how it felt to see them together. Instead I think of Adam stepping in, defusing the situation, and then, when he knew nothing about me, he knew enough to wrap me in his arms without asking any questions.

  I never told Zoe about bumping into Bryan and Ashley.

  I look up at her, finally dropping the plate into the sink.

  “He told you?”

  She nods.

  “But when? Why?”

  Zoe reaches across me and turns off the still running water.

  “When he called me that morning, when I was in Madison, he didn’t just tell me to come home. I was freaked out, and so was he. We talked, not long, but he filled in some of the gaps for me, and I tried to do the same for him. Jesus, Jess. Why do you need me to convince you how he feels?”

  “Because!” I yell. “I told him the truth and threw him out. I never answered a single one of his texts the whole week. And when I talked to him today, all I kept thinking was, What if he does still care? I can’t promise him I won’t do this again. I didn’t trust him, and I’ve given him no reason to trust me. What the hell do I have to offer, Zoe? Because after that phone call, I can’t think of one goddamn thing.”

  I can’t stand listening to myself, because I know everything I say takes me a giant step back. It was easy to be brave when I was surrounded by everyone telling me I could be. Reality is much more sobering.

  “You have you.”

  I let out a sound somewhere between laughter and a sob.

  “Fine. You’re right. I’m fucking scared, okay? I’m scared it’s not enough, that I’m not enough.”

  “Is never knowing a better alternative?”

  The sound of a horn, the end of halftime, interrupts Zoe’s question. We walk together back to the couch, where I can avoid reality for at least twenty more minutes, plus time-outs.

  Adam starts the half on the bench. We’re up by ten points, which is a decent lead, but the opposing team’s coach must have ripped them a new one during halftime, because they score in the first thirty seconds. That’s all it takes. Adam’s back in at the first time-out.

  His first play goes well, and I catch myself smiling as I watch. We score, but so does the other team. With still eight points between us, Adam drives the ball down the court. He sets up the usual pick and roll, but the shooter hits the rim. Adam makes it under the basket for the rebound, and he dribbles back, looking for an open pass. But there isn’t one. I stand up because this is one of my favorite things to watch. Adam’s going to shoot.

  He’s wide open for an easy bank shot, but before he lets the ball go, an opponent makes it to him. It’s only seconds, but I grab Zoe’s hand because I know what’s going to happen. The other player isn’t in a position to steal, but he can try to stop the shot with a foul, which is exactly what he does.

  Adam doesn’t see it coming. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid it. The ball leaves his hands, and he goes down hard, his right knee breaking the fall, but only for a fraction of a second before he collapses completely.

  “Oh my god!” Zoe yells, but I can’t speak. I just watch him, sprawled on his back.

  The irony? He makes the shot. The foul wasn’t worth it. Standing in stunned silence, the guy who knocked him over doesn’t reach a hand to pull him up, because he knows what everyone else knows, what the announcers tell the television spectators. He’s not getting up.

  Adam’s basketball career has just ended.

  24

  When I get to the hospital, I check the lab, but Tracy’s not there. I run up to the peds floor to see if I can find Colin. The nurse at the station tells me he’s doing rounds, and I sprint the small passageways until I find him pulling a patient’s door closed behind him.

  “Colin. I mean, Dr. Colin.” I’m panting too much to say anything else. He eyes me warily until recognition blooms.

  “Jess. What are you . . . you were watching the game.”

  I nod, trying to catch my breath.

  “Please. Tell me where Tracy is. The information desk wouldn’t tell me if Adam was in the ER or in a room. Some stupid crap about patient confidentiality. I tried to explain that he kind of sort of used to be my patient, but since I’m kind of sort of only an undergrad intern, that obviously didn’t go over well. If Tracy’s here, then I know she’s with him. Please. Help me find her.”

  He looks at the chart in his hands, avoiding eye contact, and I know he’s going to tell me to leave like the woman at the information desk did.

  “She’s not here,” he says, looking up. “Not yet, anyway. How fast were you driving?”

  “Are you going to help me or not?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you another patient’s room number unless it is an immediate family member. You know that, Jess. Plus, when we have a high-profile patient in a situation like this, we also have to protect privacy from the press.”

  He’s right, but I don’t give a shit about policy at the moment.

  “So you’re not going to help me?”

  He looks back at the chart and then behind him. The small hallway is quiet but for the two of us.

  “I can’t tell you what room he’s in. But since you are technically still a peds intern, I can suggest you step inside and meet one of our new patients.”

  He nods to the door he just walked out of, and a grin spreads across his face.

  “His parents aren’t in town yet. They’ll be here in the morning to discuss treatment, but in the meantime he could probably use some company after a traumatic injury. I’m sure he’d like to meet you.”

  I look at the door and back at Dr. Colin. Then I fling my arms around him.

  “Thank you!” I whisper-shout in his ear.

  He laughs. “You better hurry before one of the nurses comes by. They’re less forgiving when it comes to bending the rules.”

  I grip the door handle and push down, too caught up in my own adrenaline to think about what the hell I’m going to say when I walk in. But I don’t hesitate. Not for a second.

  I pull the door shut quietly. A curtain separates me from the rest of the room, a poor excuse for added privacy. Stepping out from behind it, I find myself in a spacious room, much like Regan’s, with a bed and small sitting area by the window. The walls, though, they aren’t decked out in murals of Snow White. This one is full out Superman, with different iterations of the Man of Steel on each wall.

  He’s right in front of me, on the bed. His eyes are closed, but he’s almost in a sitting position, so I’m not sure if he’s asleep. I do my best not to make any noise, but it’s taking everything in me not speak. Now that I’m here, I want to say everything.

  He winces but doesn’t open his eyes.

  “You bring me that morphine yet, Dr. C?”

  He’s in pain. What the hell was I thinking? How is my being here going to make him feel better? I try to dart back behind the curtain but stop at the sound of my name.

  “Jess?”

  I turn to face him, all the words and all the breath sucked out of me at once. Two weeks ago I woke up in his arms, and even though he’s right in front of me, the distance between us spreads out like a canyon.

  But I’m done running.

  “Hey,” I manage, taking a step toward him. But I stop when he speaks
again.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Shit.

  “You’re angry.” Of course he’s angry. Some asshole ended his college basketball career six months early, and instead of his supportive and loving family, he has to deal with me.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” I say, unable to hide the tremble of my voice. “I’m sorry. My intent wasn’t to upset you.”

  I didn’t think this through, just got in the car and drove. My heart hammers against my rib cage, the sound of my pulse beating in my ears.

  He closes his eyes tight, and I watch his fist grip feverishly at the sheet.

  “No,” he says through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’ll leave, if that’s what you want. Let me at least call a nurse before I go. You need something for the pain.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not officially admitted yet. They threw me in here to keep the press away. But they’re still working on my paperwork and scheduling the surgery. They’re going to do a complete ACL repair in a couple of weeks, but the doctors are deciding if they can go in arthroscopically one more time to try and hold off. I’m pretty doubtful. But until that’s all coordinated, no food and no meds.”

  His fist still clenches the sheet, and despite his feelings about having me here, I move to the side of the bed. Beads of sweat dot his forehead, and his breathing labors as he tries to manage the pain.

  I can do this, I think, remembering him being there for me, being a friend when I couldn’t offer him more. He needs someone, and I’m the only one here.

  I put my hand on top of his, and he relaxes his grip.

  “Adam.” I even miss his name. “I’m not leaving. I know you don’t want me here, but I’m not leaving you alone like this. So tell me what I can do to help.”

  His jaw tightens and then relaxes. His eyes open, but he stares toward the ceiling instead of at me.

  “They won’t give me water. Until they know if there will be any sort of procedure in the next twelve hours, they won’t let me have anything in case it’s too close.” He takes a few labored breaths. “You know how you might hate something, like Jell-O, but then someone says you can’t have Jell-O, and then all you want is Jell-O?”

  My hand goes to my mouth, and I stifle a laugh. Good god he’s adorable when he’s delirious with pain. Focus, Jess. He’s pissed at you.

  “I’ll get you some water. A few sips can’t hurt, right?”

  I head into the bathroom, where I find a plastic cup and fill it from the sink. I also grab a washcloth and wet it with cold water.

  “Here,” I say, holding out the cup of water. “But if they need to sedate you and you puke, leave my name out of it.”

  He takes the water and leans forward to drink, but the motion must put pressure on his leg, because he stops before his lips reach the rim, his hand shaking as water dribbles onto the bed.

  “Fuck!” he yells, and I grab the cup and put it on the table next to him. “Just go, Jess.”

  I cross my arms, finding strength in my defiance.

  “No.”

  He throws his head back onto the pillow.

  “It’ll be easier for both of us if you go.” His voice calms, the anger gone for the moment. Or maybe he’s too tired to show it. And he’s right. It would be easier if I left.

  I climb carefully onto the bed where there’s a convenient Jess-sized space on his left side, the wet washcloth still gripped in my hand. I wipe the sweat from his burning skin, then pick up the cup of water and bring it to his lips. He accepts my offer, draining it in seconds. When he finishes, I put the cup down and lay my head gingerly on his chest. He doesn’t push me away.

  “I’m sick of easy,” I say. “But I won’t make things harder for you. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

  The door opens before he has a chance to answer, and a petite brunette in scrubs carrying an IV bag steps out from the curtain. A nurse. Her brown eyes widen when she sees me.

  “I am sorry, miss, but unless you are immediate family, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Mr. Carson, you are officially admitted, and according to your scans, looks like nothing is happening until the full ACL in a couple of weeks, which means we get to start you on an IV and give you a little something to take the edge off. Now honey, if you could scoot on out of the patient’s bed, we can get started.”

  I commence scooting, but Adam’s arm wraps around my back and grips my shoulder. I watch him read her name tag and, despite the pain, turn on the grin that’s impossible to refuse.

  “Sheila? Hi. Look, I don’t have any immediate family here right now. They won’t be here until tomorrow. And Jess used to be my PT.”

  He pauses, and I wonder what the hell he’s going to say to get this woman to let me stay, because it’s clear I’m not old enough to really be a PT. And the position I’m in is anything but professional. My pulse quickens, not because I’m afraid she’ll say no but because Adam wants her to say yes.

  Sheila rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t look like she’s your PT anymore, Mr. Carson.”

  He loses the smile, and I feel his chest rise and fall with his sigh.

  “Please, Sheila. It’s been a shit night. My family can’t get here until tomorrow.”

  The pleading in his voice almost breaks me because I know whatever his reason for wanting me to stay, it’s bigger than the two of us. Tonight was not part of his plan.

  I do want to make it through this year.

  He spoke those words with confidence only weeks ago, and now everything is different because of someone else’s decision.

  Sheila sighs, and I sink further into his shoulder with relief.

  “As soon as the shift changes, she’s gotta go. Donna will not bend the rules, not even for that smile of yours.”

  But Sheila does, so Adam smiles again.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  I feel his body relax with his words and watch as Sheila sets up his IV.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes with the happy juice. Think you can hold out until then?”

  Adam nods, and Sheila points a finger at me.

  “Six a.m. That’s shift change.” She disappears behind the curtain.

  “Got it,” I call after her.

  Adam’s chest shakes under my head. I prop myself up on my elbow to see him laughing. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve seen him laugh. Or maybe it’s because I can’t believe his smile could have anything to do with me. But I laugh with him because no matter what the reason, when Adam Carson smiles, I do too.

  I run my fingers across his forehead, pushing his hair, now matted with sweat, away from his eyes.

  “You really want me to stay?”

  He laughs again.

  “No, I just like seeing how many people will break the rules for me.”

  “I’m sure the list is countless. Have you seen your smile?”

  I watch his grin fade with the mention of it.

  “You never answered my question, Jess. Why are you here?”

  I shrug and lay my head back down on his shoulder.

  “Because I couldn’t not be.”

  I reach across his chest to the hand that was gripping the sheet. It’s relaxed now, and I take in a breath as I lace my fingers through his, waiting for him to pull away. But he doesn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry for what I did to you, for what I put you through. I don’t expect you to forgive me, and I sure as hell don’t expect you to want anything to do with me past six tomorrow morning, but I want to be here for you. Just for tonight.”

  I squeeze his hand, and he lifts it to his mouth, placing his lips on my skin. A shaky exhale escapes my lips. I want to be here. He wants me to stay. For tonight, that’s all there is.

  “Thank you,” he says, his lips still on my hand. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  The curtain flies open with a terrifying swish, and I pull away out of reflex.
<
br />   “Happy juice!” Sheila sings. She opens a valve on Adam’s IV tube and inserts a syringe.

  “Is that going to make him all loopy?” I ask, wanting a few more minutes of clarity.

  “Maybe,” she says. “He’s definitely going to forget about his knee for a little while.”

  I lean up to look at him, and his eyes flutter shut.

  “Already forgetting,” he says, and I feel the tension leave his body.

  “Remember . . .” Sheila’s look aims at me.

  “I got it. I got it,” I say. “Six.”

  She nods and walks out of the room.

  “How do you feel?” I ask.

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “Pretty good.”

  “Ya loopy yet?”

  He laughs. “Not yet.”

  I hold up two fingers. “How many?”

  “Two.”

  I add one more.

  “How about now?”

  “Three. What’s with the quizzing?”

  I let my hand fall back to his chest.

  “I need to say some things before I lose my nerve, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  His eyes fix on mine.

  “I should have told you. That night, after the game, I should have told you what happened between Bryan and me. But I was scared.”

  He brushes my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear, and I close my eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of his hands on me in case this is the last night I’ll be this close to him.

  “Why didn’t you trust me?”

  I shake my head.

  “Because. I spent a year believing no one could want a future with me if that future was so uncertain. I blamed myself for what happened, for not getting to the hospital in time because I was too damned scared to tell my parents what I thought was happening.”

  “Jess.” He squeezes my hand. “God, Jess. It’s not your fault.”

  His voice strains with each word. I’m supposed to be here for him, and he’s using the last of his energy to comfort me.