Say the Word

by Julie Johnson

  “I’m not sure. Let me think on it. Why don’t you ask me again while I’m driving you home?”

  He leaned forward and grabbed my hand, lacing our fingers together as though it was the most natural thing in the world for the two of us — two strangers from completely different worlds, with nothing at all in common — to be holding hands. With a gentle tug, he pulled me in the opposite direction of the bus stop, toward the student parking lot.

  “I don’t understand you,” I murmured quietly, the entirety of my attention riveted on the warm, unfamiliar point of contact between his palm and mine.

  “See, the thing is, Lux,” he said in an equally quiet voice. “I think you might be the only one who can.”

  I nearly laughed. What could I possibly understand about him? We had nothing in common.

  No sooner had the thought entered my mind, than an image of his face from that rainy day in the car last week flashed before my eyes.

  I saw the bashful flush on his cheeks as he spoke of his love for music. Heard the underlying hurt as he casually dismissed his mother’s beliefs about his inadequacies. Replayed the uncertain canter of his voice as he talked about himself — as though he didn’t really know who he was.

  Could it be that he was lonely? That, despite the popularity, despite the media attention his family drew — he was somehow alone? Unsure of himself, of who he was beneath the photoshopped image of Sebastian Covington that the rest of the world saw on magazine covers and news footage?

  If so, that was something I could understand. Obviously not the fame or the attention, but the sheer loneliness of self-containment. The isolation of never letting down your walls, never letting your happy mask slip.

  I’d been alone for a year without Jamie by my side. Sure, I still had him on weekends and during our brief after-school visits at the hospital. But it wasn’t the same. And a part of me was beginning to accept that it would never be the same again. Jamie was fading, slowly. Each day, each surgery, each round of chemo took him a little further away from me.

  And that was a burden I shouldered all by myself.

  I cast a glance up at Sebastian, who was staring down at me. Tentatively, I squeezed his hand and watched, mesmerized, as a smile bloomed across his face in response. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze in return and was opening his mouth to say something when a voice boomed across the courtyard, stopping us in our tracks.

  “Sebastian! Come to The Grill with us,” Amber called in a syrupy-sweet, arsenic-laced voice. Her dismissive gaze swept over me like a slap, and I tried not to let it bother me that her invitation wasn’t extended in my direction.

  “Not today, Amber,” Sebastian called back.

  “I know you don’t have anything better going on.” She smirked, planting one hand on her hip in a suggestive pose. “And I’ll make it worth your while.”

  I felt my cheeks flame with embarrassment — I’d clearly misread Sebastian’s intentions. I’d been foolish to assume that the coffee he’d given or the smiles we’d shared meant anything. Girls like Amber — who wore the right clothes and came from the good families — would always win. It wasn’t even a contest.

  Already anticipating the dejection I’d feel when he walked away, I unlaced my fingers and started to pull my hand from Sebastian’s. His grip tightened immediately, locking our fingers together firmly so I had no hope of disengaging.

  “Actually, Amber, I do have something better going on,” he tossed out casually, and I watched as Amber’s smirk became a look of shock. “You’ve met Lux, haven’t you?” Sebastian added.

  I could hear the smile in his voice, but my eyes were still trained on Amber. She’d stopped feigning sweetness and was glaring at me with the full brunt of her malice. She didn’t bother to reply, instead turning around with an audible huff and storming away with a silent Nicole close on her heels. We stood in silence for a frozen moment, neither knowing quite what to say to the other.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I murmured. “You should go with them. They’re you’re friends.”

  “Hey,” he said, reaching under my chin and tilting my face up to meet his eyes. “I already have plans. Not with a friend, because this girl I’m with – she’s pretty stubborn and she hasn’t agreed to be my friend just yet. But I’m not worried. I’m persistent. I’ll wear her down eventually.”

  I cracked a smile. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

  “Well, Freckles,” he whispered eying the lightly-spackled bridge of my nose. “I’m Sebastian Covington.” His grin was rakish, his posture confident.

  “Freckles?” I wrinkled my nose in distaste at the endearment. “That’s not a nickname.”

  “Too late.” He laughed boyishly.

  “Seriously, there’s no need dub me with a constant reminder of my imperfections.”

  “They aren’t imperfections. They’re cute,” he insisted. “I have a thing for freckles.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go, weirdo,” I said, walking toward the parking lot and tugging Sebastian behind me. There was a warm feeling spreading though my system, and as I let my eyes skitter over to meet his, I couldn’t help but grin — a full-out, happy, no-holds-barred grin — for the first time in months.

  “Thanks,” I said. “For Amber.”

  “Believe me, Lux — it was my pleasure.”

  ***

  “No way,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Why not?”

  “You shouldn’t even be in here! In fact, I specifically asked to be dropped off at the front doors!”

  “Yes, and?”

  “And now you’re standing in front of my brother’s hospital room, acting like you’re coming in to visit with me!”

  “Right, and?”

  “And don’t you see the problem with that?”

  “Nope.” He was grinning again. I growled in frustration. The boy was intolerable, really. In the space of thirty minutes, I’d gone from infatuated to indignant — no doubt some kind of record.

  “Bash, you can’t come in with me. Jamie doesn’t know you. And it doesn’t make any sense for you to visit!”

  “So you’re saying Jamie doesn’t want company?”

  Ugh. He had me there. Jamie was always looking for company. He was bored stiff in that room all day, so any novelty was welcome. Several times, I’d caught him charming the candy stripers into neglecting their shifts and staying for extended visits, but that was probably just because he liked to look at their cute little red uniforms.

  “Well, no. Not exactly,” I hedged.

  “So you’re saying you don’t want to be seen with me?”

  “No! That’s not my point here,” I whispered in a frustrated voice. He was twisting my words, muddling my argument.

  “What is your point, then?” he asked. “Because if Jamie wants visitors, I want to visit, and you have no issues with it… I don’t see the problem.”

  “But— Well—” I spluttered, at a loss for words. Somehow this entire conversation had been steered out of my control, and I had no idea how to get it back. I opened my mouth to protest again, but froze abruptly when I heard it.

  The sudden, unmistakable sound of the heart monitor in Jamie’s room as it stopped its rhythmic metronomic beeping, and instead released a horrifying, long tone that pierced the air and made every inch of my body break out in gooseflesh. I knew that sound — I spent my every waking moment dreading its arrival.

  A flat line.

  Jamie’s heart had stopped.

  My terrified gaze met Sebastian’s for one suspended instant before I sprang into action, racing around the corner that concealed us from view and sprinting into Jamie’s room.

  “Help!” I called over my shoulder, hoping someone at the nearby nurse’s station would hear my cries. “His heart’s stopped!” I could feel the tears of panic gathering behind my eyes, and I sensed Sebastian’s presence close behind me as we stopped short at Jamie’s bedside. Distantly, I registered the sounds of nur
ses yelling for the crash cart, wheels and sneakers moving on the squeaky linoleum floors.

  I looked at Jamie and felt my own heart stop.

  “Hey, sis,” he said, grinning at me from his bed. I watched, dumbfounded, as he fiddled with the heart monitor wires on his right wrist. When the electrodes slid back into place, the flat line ceased abruptly and the sound of his strong, even heartbeats filled the room.

  “Sorry, Wendy!” Jamie called to the harried woman in scrubs standing in the doorway. “False alarm. These dang electrodes just won’t stay on, today.” My head swiveled back and forth between them and I watched as he winked at her and she smiled in return.

  “Haven’t you heard the story of the boy who cried wolf, James?” she asked with a disapproving tsk sound. “Just do me a favor and don’t mess with the wires when Benita is on the floor. She’s cranky enough these days.” With a playful wave in my direction, Wendy left the room, shooing out the crash cart response team as she went.

  “So, sis, how goes it?” Jamie asked, leaning back on his bed in a pose of full relaxation.

  I stared at him, vibrating with anger. I heard Sebastian let out a snort of laughter behind me, and promptly elbowed him in the ribs.

  “James Arthur Kincaid, you are in so much trouble!” I hissed, striding closer to the bed.

  “Aw, come on sis. Don’t have a heart attack,” he joked. Looking around me to Sebastian, he asked, “Too soon?”

  “You might want to let her cool down a little before throwing around the heart failure jokes,” Bash advised with a grin. I glared icily at them both in quick succession.

  “What the hell were you doing, Jamie? Trying to scare me to death?” I asked.

  “Oh, relax. Without my little flat line, you two would still be out in the hall bickering about whether Sebastian here could come in and see me, and my precious visiting hours would be wasting away,” he said. “Also, I want my contraband.”

  “Contraband?” Bash asked, his brows lifting amusedly.

  “Maybe you don’t deserve it,” I told Jamie.

  “Give it up, sis, or I tell Sebastian the fish food story.”

  “You wouldn’t!” I cried indignantly.

  “Oh, I would,” he promised, a gleeful grin spreading across his face.

  “I want to hear the fish food story,” Sebastian chimed in.

  “Fine, you devil,” I said to Jamie, unzipping my backpack and handing over three Cadbury chocolate bars. “Not a word about fish food, or that will be the last candy you get from the outside world.”

  “Like you’re my only source,” he snorted, making light of my threat. But I knew he’d keep his mouth shut. Jamie might tease me, he might do his best to drive me up the wall with his antics and practical jokes, but he’d never do something that would genuinely hurt me.

  “Chocolate?” he offered around a mouthful of candy, extending the half-wrapped bar in Sebastian’s direction.

  “Nah, I’m good,” Bash replied, dragging one of the stiff-backed wooden chairs away from the wall and positioning it next to Jamie’s bed. He promptly flopped down in it, turned to my twin, and struck up a conversation about the Bulldogs’ postseason performance. Jamie’s eyes lit up instantly — it’d been a long time since someone talked football with him.

  While Jamie was a full-fledged Auburn-hating, UGA-loving “dawg,” I shunned my Georgian roots with my total lack of interest in our state sports teams. Once terms like NCAA and SEC started floating around, I was more liable to nod off than join in the conversation — not exactly an ideal chatting partner when it came to discussing the Deep South’s Oldest Rivalry.

  All things considered, it was pretty remarkable we’d shared a womb for nine months.

  Within minutes, as was inevitable whenever boys talked football, a heated debate had broken out concerning next season’s new recruits. Sebastian was confident they’d have the sheer talent to take us all the way through the bowl games with certain victory, while Jamie contended that their inexperience would make for an uncoordinated, unsuccessful performance on the field.

  I looked at the two of them, sensing already that this budding friendship did not bode well for me. Leaning back against the wall, I let my eyes drift closed and released an extended, unladylike snore loud enough that both their heads snapped in my direction and their conversation instantly came to a halt.

  “Sorry,” I said, lifting my hand to cover the large faux yawn splitting my face. “Fell asleep for a minute there.”

  “Cute,” Bash commented, grinning across the room at me and throwing in a wink for good measure. I fought off a blush, but couldn’t stop my answering smile.

  “Dude, that’s my sister,” Jamie complained. “You seem like a good guy, and you hate the Crimson Tide almost as much as I do…but boundaries, my friend. Boundaries.”

  “Jamie,” I protested, feeling my cheeks heat.

  “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Sebastian laughed, turning back to Jamie. “How about I get us into my father’s private box next season for a game? Will all be forgiven?”

  “Dude,” Jamie said, eyes wide. “You make it a championship game, you can call my sister whatever you want. Seriously. Whatever you want.”

  “Standing right here,” I noted, glaring at my traitorous twin. “I can hear you, you know.”

  “I know, sis,” Jamie said, laughing lightly when he caught sight of my expression. “But we’re talking box seats. Prime real estate. You know I love you, but…don’t make me choose between you and football.” He grimaced at the thought.

  “Listen to the man, Lux. That’s a real Sophie’s Choice you’re giving him,” Sebastian added, shaking his head in feigned sadness.

  “I hate you both,” I told them, trying very hard not to smile at their teasing.

  In actuality, I was thrilled.

  Jamie hadn’t looked this happy in a long, long time. I knew a big part of that was due to Sebastian’s presence. Jamie always perked up when he had visitors other than his lame, boring sister, as he so affectionately referred to me. His spirits were high, there was a healthy dose of color in his cheeks, and for a minute I let myself be overtaken by dangerous hopes.

  Hopes that he’d recover fully.

  Hopes that this latest surgery would also be his last.

  Hopes that he’d walk again.

  Hopes that he’d be well enough to enjoy those box seats next season with Sebastian.

  And, finally, hopes that there’d be more afternoons like this one. That Bash wouldn’t stop visiting. That he’d continue to use that inner light he carried around to ward off the shadows clinging to my life. Because I was pretty sure that Jamie liked him.

  And I knew for certain that I did.

  Chapter Eleven

  Now

  “Lux!” Jeanine’s voice clipped out, her order cutting through the air like an arrow aimed straight for my heart. “My office. Now.”

  My head snapped away from the computer screen on my desk, turning automatically toward the sound of her voice. The harbinger of my doom. I caught sight of her for only a brief moment before the opaque door closed at her back.

  This was it — I was definitely getting fired. Cara would be so pleased.

  I didn’t allow myself to think about the fact that Sebastian had made a special trip down to Harding headquarters to report me to my supervisor. That would only make this harder. He’d been in there for less than fifteen minutes — more like fourteen minutes, thirty-seven seconds, but who was counting? — but I figured that was ample time to describe yesterday’s incident in enough detail to justify my dismissal.

  I cringed inwardly as I wove through the labyrinth of cubicles toward Jeanine’s office. Outwardly, though, I kept my brow unmarred by worry lines, my shoulders back, and my head held high. I felt the weight of my coworkers’ eyes on me; there was blood in the water, and the sharks were excited. They all watched my journey — some with sympathy, but most with a poorly concealed anticipatory glee at my impending demise.
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  “Good luck, girlie,” Sasha murmured with practiced solicitude, her forced frown rendered unconvincing by the excited gleam in her eyes. My gaze shot past her to Fae, who rolled her eyes and proceeded to make ridiculous faces and inappropriate hand gestures in Sasha’s direction.

  I felt my lips twitch in repressed laughter as I walked the final steps toward my destiny.

  The faint smile died when the glass door slid open and Sebastian stepped out of the office. I froze like a startled doe caught in someone’s high-beams, unsure whether I should acknowledge him or walk past without so much as a hi-how’ve-you-been-for-the-last-seven-years-since-I-ripped-your-heart-to-shreds-like-an-old-grocery-list.

  Maybe I could just do something casual.

  A wave? No. Too friendly.

  A smile? Definitely not. Too fake.

  A wink? HA! Who was I freaking kidding?

  A nod? Hmm.

  Actually, a nod sounded perfect. A nod was casual. Indifferent, yet polite. Neutral but direct.

  So I nodded at him — just a slight bob of my head to show that I wasn’t being rude, but remained as unruffled by his presence as he evidently was mine. If only.

  To my surprise, Sebastian nodded back — and he didn’t even glare at me while he did it! Not that he smiled or anything. But I was going to consider Operation Nod a success.

  Good call, Lux.

  My mental congratulations came to a halt when, to my horror, I sidestepped right to pass by him at the exact moment he stepped left to do the same. What followed can only be described as the most awkward, uncoordinated, sidestep-shuffle ever to occur in the history of such collisions.

  I immediately corrected my course, stepping left.

  At the same time, Sebastian took a hasty step right.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, bobbing.

  “Pardon me,” he murmured, weaving.

  This was completely ridiculous. Why me? I cast my eyes heavenward.

  An uncontrollable, semi-hysterical laugh slipped through my lips as I admitted defeat and stopped moving altogether. At the sound, Sebastian froze and his eyes flew to my face, riveted on my lips, as though he was fascinated they’d just produced such a noise. We were face to face, frozen in time for a brief moment, and all I could do was stare at him.