by Ella James
I cry again, because I’m so embarrassed, and my ankle hurts so much I feel like it might never stop. I know it’s broken—with an orthopedic surgeon for a father, I know what numb toes mean.
“How should we do this?”
“Landon, you sit her up there. You and I will then get in and kind of drag her booty toward the back and maybe you or I can wrap our arms around her waist, while the other person holds her foot in their lap?”
“I’ve got a pillow in the backseat. From that game in Charlotte.”
“Perfect. Get the pillow.”
Everything seems kind of slow now. All my freaking out has made me sleepy. Landon does as promised, setting me down me in the back of the Jeep, and I notice belatedly that Tia must have hopped up first. She gets my hurt, left leg under the knee, preventing my foot from touching the floor, as Landon climbs up behind me, wraps his arms under mine, and slowly, gently, drags me so my butt is in the corner formed by the back of the last row of seating and the driver’s side wall of the car.
Landon peers down at me; his face is upside down from my perspective, but even then, I see him hesitate— “DelMar said to put your head flat on the floor and your foot up, but…do you want to lie in my lap?”
“Okay.”
I barely have the wherewithal to feel excited to be near him. Landon helps me lie back, and I’m in his lap, but not really; he’s got me sort of cradled in his arms.
Jake starts driving, and my thoughts get wispy. I watch the shadows pass over the car’s ceiling, and I feel Landon’s hand in my hair. I’m surprised at first, but all my feelings are turned down. He’s playing with my hair…I think.
I’m so sleepy. Lots of starts and stops, and their hands tighten on me. My ankle throbs, but I don’t feel it that much if I just look at the ceiling.
“You okay?” Landon asks. His voice sounds deep and kind of loud.
I look up at him, try to smile if I can, but I can’t. Tia says, “You’re doing great. We’ll be there soon.”
I feel Landon’s lap beneath me, feel his abs against the back of my head, feel him holding onto me with every turn Jake makes.
“I’m gonna call your dad,” he says at one point, and I listen to him through a fog as he tells Dad what happened and says “we will.”
Jake pulls in beside the ambulance bay, and Landon carries me inside the ER, right into triage, where I’m illogically surprised to see my dad in his white coat.
“You’re here?” I manage in a tinny voice. “I thought you were at home…cause…it’s Tuesday?” I feel dizzy and confused as Landon sets me on a table.
“Not yet, honey. Now let’s see what you’ve gotten yourself into…” Dad kneels while the nurse puts a blood-pressure cuff on me, and then things happen fast. Dad and the nurse are talking in serious tones, and Tia and Jake seem to be ushered out as the nurse lays me back on the table.
“What’s going on?” I ask Landon. My voice sounds quivery, and I feel really cold. He kneels by me, and I think how his eyes look silver, like some gorgeous molten metal.
The next thing I know, there’s green all around me. Shifting green, like curtains hanging, and something… It’s a beeping sound. An annoying beeping sound.
I try to open my eyes, but they feel heavy. I do manage a peek down at myself, and I see I’m lying down, covered by blankets. Hey, it’s those heated blankets. I’ve seen them…at the hospital.
I must be sick, but I don’t remember what happened. It was something good. I do remember something good…
Next time I open my eyes, my dad is sitting right by me.
“Hey there,” he says, and I get the sense he’s leaning over me. “How’s it going, green bean?”
I look down at my ankle, but I can’t see it for all the blankets. I’m in a hospital bed, in a hospital room.
“Did you…do surgery on me?” My eyes are rolling back in my head even as I ask the question.
“No, sweetheart.” The top of my dad’s head is cut off by my leaden eyelids. “I didn’t need to.”
If this is a dream, I wonder hazily, why isn’t my dad doing surgery? It’s what he does…
I awaken for a third time and feel fresh surprise to see I’m in a dark room, in what I think must be the hospital. My ankle hurts—like, bad. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. I cough, and a form materializes from the shadows.
“Evie? Hey…” It’s Landon. He leans over my bed, and then he’s way up close. I feel confused, and kind of scared.
“Landon? What am…where am I?”
Landon sits on the side of my bed, or tries to. I hear a click, and he’s moving the railing. He moves some cords, and I notice an IV. I got an IV? When did that happen?
My ankle hurts.
Tears fill my eyes.
“You broke your ankle,” he says. His voice is soft. His eyes are sad.
“Where’s…my dad? Did…he…do surgery?” The word is slurred. I try to regroup, but I can’t. “Where’s Dad?”
“I’m sorry, Evie. Your dad went home to spend the night with Emmaline. Your mom is here, though. She’s been in here with you, but she’s on call. Another doctor is going to come and take her place, but she’s not here yet. It’s about eleven o’clock. At night.”
“My ankle?” I manage hoarsely.
“It’s wrapped. They weren’t able to say for sure, but they don’t think it needs surgery. Your dad thought the CT scan looked good. It’s just a fracture.”
“Landon?”
“Yeah?”
I blink at his face. “Do you…really like me?”
“What?” He looks surprised.
“I need…someone…here who…really likes me,” I say. Then I’m lost.
I wake up again because my ankle hurts. It hurts. It really hurts. It’s still nighttime. I know because the blinds are dark, no lines of sunshine seeping in around the window-frame. I gasp without meaning to, and then I start to cry.
“Evie?”
Landon is leaning over my bed. I can see his outline in the dark.
“I’ll push the nurse call button.” He does, and I shift my gaze to the door. When no one comes, I whimper.
Landon pulls his chair closer to my bedside. “When we first got here, you passed out. Do you remember?”
I shake my head.
“Your dad said you were in shock. Sometimes it happens when you break a bone. You woke back up and…I think it wasn’t pleasant.” He winces. “I heard you from the waiting room.”
“Oh, wow.”
“I think they gave you something for pain, and after that, they had to move your ankle. I was in there for that part.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Your father got you green-lighted through everything, so there wasn’t a lot of waiting. You’d had some good drugs by then, and I don’t think you could feel anything. So they re-aligned your ankle. Your mom was there, too. They both wanted you to stay tonight. It seemed like they just wanted to be cautious.” He looks down, seeming uncomfortable. Then he looks back up at me. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.” He hesitates. “You asked me to stay with you.”
My stomach does a slow roll. “I did?”
He smirks a little. “Buyer’s remorse?”
“I don’t remember. But…no. No remorse.”
The door opens, and a nurse comes in. She gives me something in my IV, or she tries to, but I stop her. “I feel weird. Will that make me feel more weird?”
“What do you mean?” She frowns.
“Like there’s something bad…in here. I know there’s really not. Like, everything’s okay.” My voice cracks. “But…I don’t want to feel weird. I only want some Tylenol.” I tear up, and Landon nudges my arm.
“Who you calling something bad?” His tone is teasing.
“Let me check the orders,” the nurse says. “I’ll give your mom a buzz. She stepped into surgery, but I’m thinking Toradol instead. That way you can feel a little more lucid. Okay?”
I’m confused
about what she said, but I nod, because I think I like it. When she leaves, I cover my face with my hand and look at Landon through my fingers.
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” he says quietly.
I rub my leaking eyes. When I move my hand, he’s still looking at me. His eyes make me feel warm, but I still feel weird, too.
“Will you…hold my hand? For just a minute?”
Six
Landon
Seeing Evie hurt like this is fucking getting to me. I wish I could fix it for her, but I can’t do anything. Holding her head in my lap on the drive to the hospital, seeing her eyes close, feeling her shiver—that shit scared me. When I laid her on the table in the triage room and she passed out, I got shooed back out into the ER. That was worse.
I’ve watched her cry, recoil, and mumble in her sleep all night, and half the time I’ve barely kept myself from shoving my fist through a wall. But she wants me here. For some reason, she said she wanted me to stay.
When her father had to go get Emmaline, Evie’s mom seconded the idea that I stick around, so someone would be here if she got called into surgery. Which she did—about an hour ago.
I fold Evie’s hand in both of mine. I think of rubbing it, but I’m not sure that would feel good. My hands are rough, a lot rougher than hers.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Ev. You’re tough as fuck. Just keep hanging in there.” My words sound hollow and stupid. I wish I knew what to say.
“I want to go home,” she whispers.
“I know.” I exhale slowly. Don’t I know.
“Why do I feel weird?” she whimpers.
“It’s probably what the nurse said. You had morphine earlier.”
“I don’t like it.” Her voice is soft and sad and sweet. I rub my thumb over the top of her hand.
“I’ll be sure you don’t get any more, then. Think of me as your guard dog.”
“I always thought…you looked a little like a gray-eyed dog.” She giggles, and I think the morphine is still working. Then she sighs. “I feel…wired. But not sleepy. I want to go home.” She moves her IV’d hand off her face and smooths her blanket with her fingers. “I was watching you…earlier.”
“You were?”
She nods, her eyes on my face for just a second before dipping back down. “You got hit by Pax’s elbow.”
“Ah. You saw that?” Pax’s elbow didn’t hit me; I ran into him. I haven’t slept in half of forever, and it really threw me off out on the field today.
“Did it hurt?” Her voice is soft and kind. It makes something tighten in my chest.
“Is that what made you fall? You got distracted by that?” Her wide eyes tell me “yes.” I blow my breath out. “It was no broken ankle.”
I want to pick her hand back up, but it’s on her lap. Instead, I touch her forearm with my fingertip. “I broke a bone before, you know.”
“You did?” She wipes her eyes. “Which one?”
“My arm. The distal radius.”
“Which bone is— wait, I know.” She smiles a little. “It’s the one on the thumb side.”
“It is.”
“How did you break it?”
“I was running through a house. Wiped out. Slipped on a car or Lego or some shit.” I shrug.
“And then what?”
“Then it healed.” I swallow.
“Can I see it?”
I stretch out my left arm. Evie holds her palm up, and I rest my hand on hers. Using her IV’d hand, she turns my hand over, so she can see the inside of the wrist.
“Oh no,” she murmurs. Her finger trails over the six-inch scar. “How old were you?”
“Seven.”
“Oh, that’s even sadder. You’re a righty,” she says, her voice rising in inflection, like she’s asking.
“Yep.”
She nods, like she approves of this, as if she’s glad it wasn’t my right arm that got hurt. “Does this hand ever hurt?”
I shake my head.
She traces the scar again, and I can see her finger shaking. “Were you here a long time?”
I stop breathing, then I notice that I’ve done it, and I take a long, slow breath. “Not really.” It takes focus to keep my voice steady and nonchalant.
“That’s good, then. I hope who you were staying with was super nice to you.”
I grit my molars, breathing deep and slow as I nod.
“Good. I’m glad. I don’t like to think about you…in those different places.” She sounds sleepy. Her eyelids are closing when I look back at her.
That’s a good thing, because I don’t have anything to say.
Evie
I open my eyes in time to see him lift his cheek up off the side of my mattress. In an echo of a memory, or a dream, I think I hear him gasp. Landon gasped; I feel sure that’s what woke me up. He stands so fast, the chair beside my bed wobbles. Then he makes a beeline for the door.
“Landon?”
He turns to me. I can’t see his face, because it’s so dark.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. To get water.”
His voice sounds casual, but I can see his shoulders rise and fall, as if he’s breathing hard.
“Will you come here?”
He’s at my bedside in two long strides, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at me. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark, I can see his face, and it looks strangely blank.
“Is something wrong?”
“What? No.”
But…I don’t know if I believe him. His eyes are abnormally wide, his torso too upright and tense. He blinks, and in the green light of my IV pole, I see something shiny.
“Landon…” My stomach clenches. “Are you crying?”
He drags a hand over his eyes and gives a laugh. “I’m allergic to lemons.”
“What?”
“Yeah. It’s probably the cleaning shit. I’m going to get water, Evie. Do you want some water?”
“Sure. Yeah…thanks.”
After he leaves, I notice that there’s water on the cart beside my bed.
He comes back with two big cups of water from the nurse station. He must have filled them both up with a lot of ice, because it’s clinking together kind of loudly.
He holds a cup out to me, and I take it with both hands. Landon carries his own to the window. He peeks out the blinds, and I see yellow light from street lamps.
“What time is it now?” I ask him.
“One-thirty.” I’m frowning at his shoulders, trying to decide what still seems off, when I notice that I still hear ice clinking.
I watch as he sets his drink down on a table and takes a seat on the vinyl couch beside the window. He pulls his phone out and leans over it.
“What game are you playing?” I ask after a minute.
“Nothing.”
His voice sounds weird, but I can’t put my finger on exactly how.
“Will you come sit beside me?”
“I’m cool here for now.” He sounds casual, but—again—my Spidey sense is screaming. Then I realize why. My mom and dad cook asparagus in the pan, with olive oil and lemon juice, and he ate that just fine. His eyes were wet just now…and that’s not why.
“Please?” I say in my most injured voice.
After a long second, Landon gets up, a shadow moving through the darkened room. As soon as he sinks down into the chair beside my bed, I notice his shoulders pumping: up and down, and up and down, as if he’s breathing hard. He looks down at his knees, then wipes his palms on them.
“Landon…look at me.”
“What?” The word is sharp. Then he looks up, and I can tell something is wrong.
“You’re not allergic to lemons,” I whisper.
His face tightens, and for a second, he looks furious. Then he cups his hand around his eyes.
“What happened?” I ask softly. “Did I…is it me? Did I make you upset or like…mad or something?” Tears fill my eyes.
&nb
sp; “No, Evie.” His face and voice are hard. “I promise, you did nothing wrong today. Now, I’m going to go back to the couch.”
I nod, and a tear streaks down my cheek. I’m just so tired, my body so strung out, I can’t help it. “Sure.”
He sighs roughly.
“I said okay.” My voice is reedy, and I hate myself for it.
“It’s not you, Evie. I said it isn’t you. Just let it go.”
“Okay.” I bite my lower lip, willing my tears to stop. “Go back to the couch. I can’t make you talk to me.”
Landon stalks over to the couch. Instead of sitting down, he opens up the blinds fully, revealing a dimly lit view of another wing, and a parking lot below.
“You don’t leave shit alone, do you?” His voice is hard. His back is to me.
“I don’t,” I snap. “If I like someone, I don’t leave ‘shit’ alone. I try to see if they’re okay. Does that bother you? If it does, I think that says more about you than me.”
Now his shoulders are really heaving.
Tears streak down my cheeks. “I’m sorry I’m so annoying to you. I’ll just shut my mouth now.”
I lie back against my inclined bed and shut my eyes. My ankle throbs. I’m thinking about that, not Landon, when I crack my eyes open to find him standing by the bed.
“I don’t like hospitals.”
He sinks down into the seat beside my bed and puts his head in both his hands.
“I’m sorry.” I feel a swell of empathy for him. I just can’t help myself.
His shoulders start to rise and fall again. His hands sink into his hair. “Why do you care, Evie?”
“Because I care.”
“You don’t know me.”
“So what? But that’s not even true. I do know you.”
“You just met me.” His voice sounds hoarse.
“Well—so what? I can still know you. Honestly, it doesn’t take that much. I know that when you cut your tenderloin, you like all the pieces to be straight, like some kind of freaking surgeon,” I say, slicing the air with my finger. “You finished all your math homework for the semester early, but you don’t want anyone to know you did, because it’s not the image you want people to have of you. I think you downplay how smart you are, because you say that you hate pop music, but you know all the words to almost every song that’s gotten air play recently, meaning you must know them as soon as you hear them.” He hasn’t looked up at me, so I keep going.