Fighting For You (Bragan University Series Book 2)

by Gianna Gabriela

“I guess we were both wrong,” I add as a punchline.

  “You’re killing me, Evans. I’m not a doctor yet, but the young-and-good-looking thing? You’re right on the money,” he says with a wink.

  I laugh. “Nah, I was wrong about those things too.”

  “You don’t think I’m young?”

  “Okay,” I concede. “I was right about you being young.”

  “Oh, so it’s just the good looking part you have an issue with? Am I not handsome enough for you, Evans?” he asks, and I’ll be damned if I don’t agree with him.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “You’re okay-looking.” I take another bite of my apple. “You were wrong about me too.”

  “I know; you’re not nice.”

  “Nope, I’m a tough cookie. Some would even describe me as heartless.”

  “So, to prove you’re mean, you compare yourself to a cookie? Way to go, Evans.” He pauses, thinking for a moment before adding, “I think you’re nice, but I also think you’re a lot more than that.”

  “A lot more?” I say, suddenly breathless.

  “You’re fiery, energetic, rebellious, funny, and a definite pain in my ass!” He laughs. “I bet you could make a grown man cry if you wanted to.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a hunch.” His gaze is fixed on me, and I fidget uncomfortably in my seat. With a lazy grin, he says, “So, you’re moving in the weekend everyone else does?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you need some help? I’m available.”

  “I’m moving into a dorm the size of a box. I don’t think I’ll have much to carry, so I’ll pass on the help. My parents are coming anyway...but I appreciate the offer.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I smile at his eagerness. “I think my parents and I can handle a few boxes. Thanks.”

  “Are you sure you want to miss out on seeing this young, good looking doctor lifting boxes and breaking a sweat?” he asks, flexing his arms. I stare unashamedly at his incredible muscles, then let out a raucous laugh.

  “I think I’ll survive.”

  He shrugs. “Your loss, Evans.”

  “I’ll recover, Falcon.”

  “Hey…ah…” He plays with invisible lint on his scrubs. “Do you think you’ll still want to be friends with me when you go back to college?” he asks, and I can hear the vulnerability in his voice.

  “God, no,” I say with a wide smile. “I can’t wait to get rid of you. I’ve had to deal with you here for almost the whole summer. I don’t think I can take any more.”

  He chuckles. “I’m literally the best thing to have happen to you this summer. Don’t pretend it isn’t true.”

  “I don’t know about all that,” I tell him, but his words hold some truth. He is one of the best things to come out of this summer. He’s helped me forget about my day-to-day battles, to look forward to the moment he walks through my door to say hello.

  “You know I have been,” he coaxes. “Don’t deny it.”

  Begrudgingly, I say, “You haven’t been the worst thing to happen to me this summer.”

  I’m grateful he still wants to stay in touch—be friends with me—even after all this is in the past.

  He takes in a dramatic breath and blows it out. “Phew, I was beginning to worry that you were going to shut down my friendship offer.”

  “When you say things like that, it makes me want to reconsider,” I joke.

  “Seriously though, I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

  “That’s because I’m not here all the time, and I’ll be here less and less.”

  “Three to four times a month from now on, right?”

  I dangle the core of my apple between my fingers. “Something like that.”

  “See, that’s why we’ve gotta start… hanging out outside of this place. Maybe a cafeteria out in the world somewhere?”

  “My parents are very cautious and don’t want me hanging outside too often,” I tell him honestly.

  “Well, maybe one day we can hang out in your living room.”

  “Maybe. You’ll have to endure my parents though.”

  “For the sake of our friendship, I’ll make the sacrifice.”

  “Cool.”

  “We can also hang out when school starts too.”

  “I haven’t even started school, and you’re already making plans for us?”

  “You’re going to be swarmed with guys the moment you step on campus. I just want to make sure I get ahead of the masses.”

  I stare at him, and he shrugs.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “That’s not going to happen. And in an alternate universe where that’s even a possibility, I’d still make room for you on my calendar.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  I nod. “I can give you that.”

  12

  Friends

  Zoe

  I spend the whole day running—well, more like walking—around my room, picking up all the clothes I’ve left on the floor and repositioning anything that might be out of place. Jesse’s coming over to hang out today, and I’m terrified. I told Mom last night, and, together, we told Dad. A wordless conversation ensued, with him giving us raised eyebrows and a million unspoken questions, but when Mom gave him a long look of consternation, he conceded.

  Ding dong.

  “Door!” Mom yells from the kitchen.

  Like I didn’t hear the bell myself?

  Nervous beyond belief, I take slow, measured steps into the living room and open the door.

  “Hey,” Jesse says. But I don’t respond—I can’t. I look him up and down, mute. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without scrubs. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt—nothing too extravagant, but they complement his body.

  I look back up to find him watching me.

  “You’re not wearing scrubs,” I tell him.

  “I don’t think I’m allowed to wear them on off days,” he says with a teasing smile.

  I shake my head. Idiot. “Come in,” I tell him, taking a step back.

  As soon as he’s inside, I shut the door and let out a breath.

  “Come on,” I say, leading him to my room. Mom said it would be fine for us to hang up there as long as the door was left open.

  We enter my room, and he takes a seat on my reading chair while I sit on my bed. The room is as clean as it’s ever been, and I internally high-five myself.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes before Jesse says, “Tell me a little more about you, Red.” He stretches out his long legs, looking, oddly enough, like he’s been coming here forever.

  “I’m Red now? I thought we were on a last name basis,” I say, shifting around on my bed.

  “You need to have more than one nickname.”

  “What for?”

  He grins. “One is never enough.”

  “I guess two nicknames is fine, but at least make one of them original,” I joke.

  “Do other people call you Red?” he asks, feigning shock. “You mean my nickname for you isn’t unique?”

  “Is the sky blue?” I wait for the smile I know is going to appear on his face, and like clockwork, he gives it to me.

  Mom knocks on my already open door and walks in. “I’ve brought cookies and milk,” she announces, gesturing to the platter in her hand. A chocolatey smell invades every inch of the room, making my mouth water.

  “You didn’t have to, Mrs. Evans,” Jesse tells my mother as she places the cookies and milk on the nightstand between us.

  “I’ve got to feed you to keep you coming back,” she responds, and I give her the look that will hopefully get her to stop embarrassing me. The woman is on a mission—and once she sets her mind on something, it’s hard to get her to give her up. The phrase “a dog with a bone” could not be a more apt description of my mom.

  Jesse blushes. “I’ll keep coming as long as Zoe wants me here,” he says, and I swear my mother smiles as if he’s given her the biggest compliment of her life.
>
  She pats him on the shoulder. “You can come over whenever you want. Will you stay for dinner, sweetheart?” she adds. I look to the window, finding the sun setting.

  How long have we been talking?

  “I’d love to,” he answers at the same time I say, “I’m sure he has better things to do, Mom.”

  “See, Z, he doesn’t have anything better to do than spend time with you.”

  Take me now, I silently beg. Rescue me from the mortification of sitting here and listening to my mother.

  Jesse grabs a chocolate chip cookie from the nightstand and stuffs it in his mouth.

  “This is delicious,” he exclaims, covering his mouth with his hand.

  “Good, but don’t eat too many. You don’t want to spoil your appetite,” my mother says, placing a kiss on my forehead and patting Jesse’s shoulder once again on her way out. I’m surprised when she closes the door fully behind her.

  Jesse moans in complete bliss after stuffing another cookie in his mouth. “Mmm, so good.”

  I feel a blush color my cheeks. I don’t even want to begin to explore what that sound does to me.

  “Good?” I ask a little breathlessly.

  He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch a stray crumb. “Amazing.”

  I need to distract myself from looking at his mouth. Clearing my throat, I ask, “So, can I have a different new nickname?”

  “Firecracker, Fire, Lit, Furnace,” he suggests, listing them on his fingers.

  I grab a cookie. “Those are literally all red-themed. I get it; I’m a redhead.”

  “You’re the second redhead I know, and the other one, I call him by his last name.”

  “So just keep calling me by mine, and we can forget about the second nickname. I don’t have a second one for you.”

  “You could come up with one.”

  I take a bite of my cookie, chewing slowly before saying, “That’s a lot of work.”

  “Fine. I’ll just call you Evans… for now.”

  “You could even call me Zoe,” I say, trying to avoid the nicknames altogether.

  He shakes his head. “Nope, just Evans.”

  “Fine.”

  He grins. “Fine. What do you do for fun now that you’re at home?” he asks, grabbing one of the glasses of milk from the nightstand and taking a sip.

  I reposition myself on the bed, resting back against the headboard. “You mean while my parents loom over me?”

  “Beats being at the hospital,” he responds quickly.

  “I thought you liked hospitals, Doctor Jesse.”

  His expression becomes guarded. “Not particularly.”

  “Why not?” I press. I feel like I might be overstepping our friendship, but I won’t back down.

  “I mean, does anyone like hospitals—really like them?” he asks rhetorically. “People don’t go there because it’s fun. They go there because they’re sick, or to see someone who’s sick…” He takes a deep breath. “Doctors go there to serve. Patients go there seeking help,” he finishes, and I mull over his words.

  “I agree.” That’s all I add to his statement because every word he’s uttered is true. “Speaking of the hospital, how do you like your internship so far?” I ask.

  “It’s Saturday, and my day off. Do we have to talk about it?”

  “That bad?” I ask.

  “Not really. Just Things 1 and 2 need a lot of help figuring things out.”

  “Stealing my nickname for them, I see,” I say, only a little smugly. “And of course they need your help.”

  “I’ve grown to like it. And why do you say it like that?” he asks, taking yet another cookie.

  “Isn’t it obvious? They both like you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Like, actually like you. That’s why they follow you around like lost puppies.”

  “Oh jeez,” he says, and I smile because I can see in his face that the thought of them liking him doesn’t please him.

  “How long until the internship finishes?”

  “About two weeks.” He looks relieved at the thought, and I completely understand. He’s been doing the internship along with football practices and scrimmages. I know he’s exhausted. I still can’t believe he made time to come hang out with me.

  “And then I won’t see you again?” I say out loud, more a statement than a question.

  “Wrong. We’ll be going to the same school, remember? I expect to see you more than I do now when my internship is over.” His words make me smile like an idiot.

  I wink. “Hmm, we’ll see.”

  “Don’t forget about our friendship just because you’ll be back in college.”

  “Don’t forget about me just because you’ll be a senior and I’m just a measly junior,” I remind him. He’s at the top of the food chain, being a football player and all. I have to remind myself that this—us—is only supposed to be temporary. We became friends out of convenience over the summer, and the summer is almost gone. Once school starts, I don’t know what’ll happen.

  “I wouldn’t dare forget about you, Evans,” he says, and I realize how much those words mean. Not because they’re coming from him, but because other people have forgotten about me, and the reassurance that someone else won’t comforts me. “Back to the original question: what do you do for fun here?” He takes a bite of the cookie he’s been holding, and I watch his reaction, unable to stop myself from zeroing in on the way he licks his lips afterwards. He looks back at me with his baby-blue eyes, and I realize he’s waiting for me to answer.

  “I watch Friends,” I blurt out.

  “Let’s watch it until dinner’s ready,” he says excitedly.

  My eyes widen. “Are you a fan?”

  “If you repeat that outside of this room, I will deny it.”

  I make the scout’s honor sign. “I won’t repeat it.”

  “Get to it, Evans!” he urges me.

  “You’re bossy. I may have to rethink my promise of keeping your secret obsession.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he jokes.

  As I turn on the TV and scroll through my purchase list for Friends, I can’t help but think that this is a dangerous game I’m playing, but one I don’t want to stop.

  13

  Lover Boy

  Jesse

  “What are you doing this weekend?” I ask Zoe nervously. I don’t want to come off too intense—too needy.

  “Nothing much. Same thing I do every day,” she answers from her place on the hospital bed.

  “Home, bed, and Friends?” I ask, surprising myself with how well I know her already.

  “Nah, I’m going skydiving,” she responds sarcastically, and I smile at her smartass reply.

  Her mother chooses that moment to walk into the room, and I can’t believe that regardless of how many times I’ve seen her, even in her own house, I can’t help but be terrified of her.

  With a smile on her face, Mrs. Evans greets me. “Hi, Jesse.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Evans,” I respond.

  “It’s nice to see you,” she says, patting my shoulder.

  “It’s nice seeing you too,” I answer, doing my best to swallow my nerves.

  “I overheard you asking Zo what she’s doing this weekend,” she says.

  “Ah, yes.” Great! She probably thinks I want to ask her daughter on a date or something.

  I quickly glance at Zoe to find her cheeks reddening, her eyes fixed on her mother, waiting to see what she’ll say next.

  “How’s the internship going?” Zoe blurts out. It’s a question she already knows the answer to, so I assume it’s to distract her mother.

  My eyes dart between Zo and her mom. “Umm…it’s going pretty well—ending in a couple weeks.” I can’t wait to get a break from this place.

  “I’m sure they’ll miss having you around here,” she finishes, and for a brief moment, I think she’s going to say something else.

  I wished she’d said something else.

>   “I’ll miss everyone too. I’ll come and visit though. And I’ll get to see you at school.”

  My pager, which shouldn’t belong in this century, goes off. With a shrug, I say, “Duty calls.”

  “I’ll see you around,” she says, and her mother gives her a wide-eyed stare.

  “What?” Zoe hisses at her.

  “Ask him!” her mother whispers back.

  I bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing out loud. “Ask me what?” I ask, ignoring the constant buzzing on my hip.

  “About this weekend,” Zoe’s mom replies.

  Zoe looks to me and then back at her mom. “It’s not that important,” she tells her in a low, agitated voice.

  “Yes, it is,” her mom argues.

  “You ladies do know I’m still here, right? I can hear everything you’re saying.”

  Zoe and Mrs. Evans turn to me, both of them looking slightly embarrassed.

  Placing both hands on her hips, Mrs. Evans says, “Tell him.”

  “Yes, tell me!” I insist.

  With a resigned breath, Zoe says, “My birthday is this weekend.”

  “What? That’s awesome!”

  “We’re having a party,” her mother jumps in, unable to contain her excitement. I don’t blame her. A few months ago, I bet she was wondering if she’d see her daughter live to see the next year of her life.

  “It’s not really a party,” Zoe hedges.

  I bite back a smile. “Will there be a birthday cake?”

  “Yeah,” she answers, her eyes bouncing around the room.

  “Sounds like a party to me! How come you haven’t invited me?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to come,” she says, shifting her gaze from me to the floor.

  “Are you kidding me? I’d love to come.”

  “It’s nothing serious—not like a real party or anything. It’ll only be my parents, a few of their friends, and me. Dad will be barbecuing, and we’ll have a cake.”

  “You had me at cake, but the barbecue just sweetened the deal. I’ll be there.”

  She smiles weakly. “Great. I’ll text you the details,” she responds just as my pager pings again.