When Opposites Collide Boxset

by Kathy Coopmans

  “Thank you for this and for saving me.” Amelia finally speaks, holding up her cup. This time, she looks so deep into my eyes that I see strength wanting to emerge from behind them.

  “You’re welcome,” I answer. She smiles, but I know it’s forced. I watch Amelia and who she studies, trying to pick up on what she’s thinking. Deep down, I swear she’s wishing to have what the people surrounding us have. I will give that to her even if I’m not part of the picture.

  She tells me ‘Thank you’ one more time before silently standing up from the table and walking away. I watch her backside as she walks in the direction of the private rooms. It’s apparent even in her stride that a newborn confidence is slowly blooming in her.

  I grab her empty coffee cup, rolling it in my hands, knowing her fingers touched it. The same way she’s touched something deep down in my soul.

  “Zeke.” I lift my head and swallow at hearing her say my name.

  “Yeah,” I answer, a lump caught in my throat. My Bluebird, I think in my head.

  She slowly walks back toward me. Every cell in my body lights up when she smiles so brightly, so beautifully that it grabs ahold of me in a way I can’t seem to understand or shake. What I feel doesn’t even matter. It's the mere fact this woman has changed right before my very eyes, and Christ Almighty, if it doesn’t do something to my heart in a way I’m beginning to understand. I care about her. More than I’m admitting to myself.

  “I may not remember everything. A part of me hopes I don’t. There is one thing I do remember, and I need to thank you for it. It was you who paid and is still paying for everything, isn’t it?”

  She sits back down. My heart lurches in my chest.

  “Yes,” I simply reply.

  “Why would you do that? I mean, surely, you know I don’t have the means to pay you back. My counselor, Ronan, told me that I’m free to leave here anytime I’d like. I’m still working on what I’m going to do when I leave. I have choices, options out there waiting for me. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve never once in my life had anyone do anything for me without wanting something in return. I’ll never be able to give you your money back, but I can pay you back with being your friend.”

  She leaves me speechless. Never have I ever had my thoughts and the oxygen in my lungs taken away like this woman just did. The coffee cup in my hand crunches in my palm. Everything inside of me wants to reach out to touch her. There’s no way in hell I’d ever do that to her, but it’s the urge deep inside of me that makes resisting her a powerful storm.

  36

  Amelia

  “Stop fidgeting, Amelia. You're making me nervous,” Ronan says from beside me.

  I want to tell him I can’t help it. My fingers are always fidgeting, my mind racing with thoughts, and my body unable to relax. I’ve learned it’s a part of me, and I do my best to release that extra energy in a positive way. But once again I’m struck mute as I hold the white envelope in my shaky hands.

  These past two months have been some of the hardest and the easiest months in my life. Admitting you are an addict and the reasons behind becoming one have torn me down and lifted me up. It freed me from the bonds of my own hell, and now I’m left here with choices to make. I hate to say it, but making the wrong choice is simple, which scares the shit out of me.

  I’m traveling on a rocky road. However, the smooth pavement grows closer every day, and that’s my focus. Most of all, it’s my need for survival.

  I’ve endured all the feelings and emotions an addict can experience. The ups and downs. The sweating. The itching. The wanting to claw at my skin to make it all stop. I’m not letting the tantalizing thought of numbing my body tempt me anymore, even though I think about it hourly still. That’s when I know I have to keep my body and mind busy. Shooting hoops and working out has become my new drug of choice. My new addiction. And in my mind, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be healthy.

  I’ll always be an addict. There’s nothing I can do to change that. This envelope in my hand is the first giant step I’ve taken on my own to make sure my life continues walking toward solid ground. Both feet planted on a smooth surface.

  Not only have I changed my way of thinking when it comes to every aspect of my life. I’ve been studying my ass off for the last month to get my GED. It may not be a high school diploma, but it’s mine, along with the state ID with my name on it. It wasn’t an easy task to get trying to acquire a birth certificate with no form of ID. But somehow, I believe Ronan had everything to do with it, just as he has everything to do with why I’m here and why my hands really are shaking.

  “Amelia. Are you going to open it?” Ronan asks, his voice thick with worry.

  He’s been a hard-ass on me, and that’s putting it mildly. But it’s because of him pushing me that has made me face the facts. It’s because of him and the now sessions with the others in here that I’ve learned to love myself.

  “Sorry.” I flip my braid over my shoulder. “Zoe is supposed to be coming. Can we wait for her?”

  He nods. “Of course, Amelia. Even though I’m wondering what’s inside of that.” He points to the envelope, and I giggle.

  It used to piss me off the way my name would roll off his tongue, but now in an odd way, it’s soothing, reminding me of my future and all the possibilities that are yet to come.

  The three-minute wait for Zoe feels like a damn eternity.

  “What’s up?” Zoe bounces up in her cheerful scrubs. I love that she always wears vibrant colors with intricate patterns on them.

  I hold the envelope up and feel a huge smile spread across my face. It takes me long moments to gather my thoughts and begin to speak. “I studied online for my GED. I had Zoe take me to the testing center, and now I have the results.”

  Ronan’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “Wow, Amelia. So, that’s why you are always on one of the computers.”

  “Yes. She’s been kicking some major ass. You’ve got this, girl,” Zoe squeals.

  Ronan shoots her his disciplined gaze, not approving of her language. But I’ve come to learn that Zoe really doesn’t a give a shit what anyone thinks about her. Her passion for her job, caring for others, is intense. My last friend I can remember having, Lena, was so many years ago, but Zoe has brought up all those feelings a good friend makes you feel.

  I have friends. Sounds silly, I know. To me, it’s a part of living. A step in having a normal life.

  “Open it!” Zoe nudges me in the shoulder.

  With trembling fingers, I slide them under the sealed envelope. “I’m nervous, and since I’m nervous, that makes me more nervous. Terrified. It’s exhilarating.”

  Ronan leans against the wall and lets out a deep chuckle. “You’ve got this, Amelia. Remember, if you didn’t pass, you can take it again. Feeling nervous is good. It makes you feel alive.”

  I shake the folded crisp white sheet out. Even though it’s light, it feels heavy in between my fingers. I begin reading the words, speed reading past all the formalities. The air in my lungs freezes. My eyes bulge, and my heart sings for the first time in a very long while. It’s a sweet and victorious melody.

  “So?” Zoe asks, hopping from foot to foot.

  “I passed. I have my GED. I did it.” Tears of joy and accomplishment take over the room. I’ve actually done something on my own. My nervousness changes to happiness. Ronan was right. These new feelings and emotions make me feel alive.

  Zoe wraps me up in a tight hug and begins bouncing up and down. A very girl thing to do, but I’ve realized girly shit can be fun. We jump for a long time, squealing in delight like big goofballs. I’m also discovering the lighter side of life is sweet.

  When we finally pull apart, I turn to Ronan. I’d love to hug him, too. Not only for this but the freedom he’s giving me to come and go as I please.

  “I really am proud of you, Amelia,” he says, sticks out his hand for me to shake. I take it gladly. We’ve recovered from my nasty outburst months ago. He pats me
on my back. His congratulations to me came out with not one ounce of his counselor's voice. It was friendly. Fatherly. He’s truly proud of me. It makes me realize that my life isn’t where I want it to be, but it’s getting better day by day.

  “I’m off to work,” Zoe announces, sending me one more delightful smile.

  “Me, too. Keep up the hard work, Amelia.” Ronan pats my back one more time before leaving.

  I rush to my room, setting up the letter on my desk, and smile at it one more time before changing into a T-shirt and shorts.

  The orange basketball rolls back and forth between my hands as I make my way to the outside court. It’s empty, the sun is out, and the birds are singing. I breathe in the fresh, clean air into my lungs before shooting around.

  Basketball helps relieve the endless energy always cycling through my body. I understand it’s all a part of being an addict. I don’t need the numbness anymore to survive. Still, I find it impossible not to be doing something with my hands.

  I start sinking free throws, one right after the other. Back in the day, I always nailed them. I’d love it when the other team would foul me, because free throws were my specialty.

  Backing up, I begin nailing three pointers one right after the other. Sweat begins dribbling down my forehead, so I place the basketball between my tennis shoes, use the bottom of my shirt to wipe away the sweat, then pull my wild blond hair into a messy bun on the top of my head.

  After hitting five three-pointers in a row, I hear a voice and turn to see who it is coming from.

  “Steph Curry in the house.” Zeke’s standing there with his hands on his hips.

  He’s not dressed in his normal scrubs but in loose, black gym shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Hey, you.” I walk over to him dribbling the ball. “Not on duty today?”

  “Nah. A rare free day off. Doesn’t happen much, and since I’ve been really busy at work, I wanted to stop in today.”

  “But it’s not a normal visit day.”

  He shrugs, then before I can react, he swipes the ball out of my hands, sprinting over to the basket, going up for a layup. The ball swirls around the metal rim of the hoop and then falls over the edge not going in.

  I can’t help but laugh at him missing the basket.

  “That’s the easiest basket to make, you know?” I announce rather smugly.

  “Is that so? Prove it, smartass. One on one?” he asks.

  “Half court,” I tell him.

  “Ladies first.” He bounce passes me the ball.

  I roll my eyes but give no sign of my skills. Zeke’s not a dumb guy, that’s for sure, but maybe a bit cocky for his shorts at the moment. I begin dribbling in a sloppy manner, making it easy for Zeke to steal the ball. He takes the bait hook, line, and sinker, and when he reaches out to steal it, I juke just in time, whizzing past him. I have the advantage with nothing between the hoop and me. I go into a layup easily, sinking the ball.

  “That’s how it’s done, doctor.” I chest pass him the ball with force behind it. “2-0.”

  Zeke shakes his head with his friendly smile in place. “I see how this is going to go down.”

  We play for hours not speaking until the sun kisses the horizon and our bodies are covered in sweat.

  “Don’t forget the coffee next time,” I say as we begin to part ways.

  Him, going home and back to his life, and me going to the comforts and safety of my room.

  “Deal.”

  We both turn going in opposite directions, then I halt in my tracks.

  “Zeke.”

  He turns around slowly, staying put. I don’t go to him. My damn fingers begin to fidget, but I know what I’m about to say is okay. There’s an immediate urge to share with him my good news. I have no idea where it’s coming from, but the urge is there.

  “Yeah, Amelia.”

  “I did something and want to tell you about it.”

  This gets his attention, causing him to step closer to me but still keeping a good distance between us. In the three times he’s come to see me since the first visit where he brought me another new addiction—Starbucks—he’s never pushed me into feeling uncomfortable, making our friendship seamless and easy. Which is a first for me on any level. I mean, he’s a man. A very good-looking man whose eyes seem to want to reach into my soul to get to know the real me.

  I was incredibly wrong about him in every way.

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “I took my GED test and passed,” I say. Shocked my words come out more like a high-pitched squeal. Damn Zoe and her girly motives she pushes on me. I like it, though. This newfound woman I’m slowly becoming. I like her. I like him, and then I’m shocked again when the desire to hug Zeke slams into me. I think it over for a beat and then act on it. He remains stiff as a board as I wrap my arms around his waist. I hold him there. His heart is pounding hard, the same as mine. His breathing is picking up and so is mine. A sense of warmth crashes through me. The first thing that crosses my mind to try and explain the way I feel would be a shockingly warm wave hitting me out of nowhere and knocking me down.

  “I’m so proud of you, Bluebird,” he whispers at the base of my ear. Wrapping his strong arms around me. I’m blasted. Plowed over and in a daze.

  The nickname strikes me as odd, too. It’s comforting, and yet I’m suddenly afraid to ask, even more, afraid to speak. We both step away after a hug that confuses me.

  “Thank you,” I stutter my response. Tuck my loose hair behind my ear. He watches my every move.

  Something strange is shifting between us. Unfamiliar. Downright scary.

  “Rematch next week,” he says.

  “Okay. Thanks for coming.” I’m at a loss for words, and as I watch him walk away, I’m more confused than ever over this feeling inside of me I know nothing about. This one really makes me feel alive.

  I lay my head on my pillow, thankful for my life, the chances I have, and my new friends. The thought of leaving here doesn’t scare me anymore. I know I won’t die or go back to where I was when I leave, because I’ve learned to believe in me. I’ll have a support system at every turn. I’ll attend my meetings. Keep busy with my hands and take one day at a time. The question that keeps plaguing my mind is, what in the hell am I going to do? What do I want to be? Where do I want to live? The questions are exhilarating, circling in my head for hours before I finally fall asleep dreaming of Zeke.

  37

  Zeke

  “It’s as if she’s a ghost, Zeke. Unless you can get her to open up to you, I have nothing.” I plow my way through my office doors at the hospital after another meeting regarding this charity auction, pull off my tie, and toss it on my desk.

  My knuckles are going white around my cell phone. I’d break the bitch out of rage if that was an option right now.

  If Katch is telling me he’s at a dead end with trying to find Amelia’s family, then I know I’m fucked. The guy can sniff out death in his Goddamn sleep. He’s a hired killer born to track anyone. This is not a good sign.

  “It’s not that easy. This girl is broken.” My fist is thirsty to pound the living shit out of someone. Preferably those sick bastards. “I appreciate everything, Katch. We won’t stop until we find them,” I say, hang up, and pause my arm mid-throw from crashing my phone up against the door when it creaks open to reveal none other than Marissa. Jesus. She’s the last person I want to deal with. She won’t give up. This is what I get for thinking with my Goddamn dick. My dick that hasn't seen anything but my hand for months now.

  “I saw you walking in just as I was leaving, thought I’d come up and see if you wanted to come to my place. Dinner, drinks, then go from there.” The tone of her voice lets me know about all her dirty intentions. She wants to be entertained via my dick.

  I would have sad yes in a heartbeat several months ago. Actually, I would’ve bent her over my desk, ripping down her scrubs, giving her round one then promising her round two through ten over dinner and drinks. Not a
t her place, though, and definitely not at mine. I’m fucking shameless. A pig.

  That’s all changed now and my reason why doesn’t have a thing to do with not enjoying Marissa’s company. My dick has never been selective. It has everything to do with a certain blue-eyed woman who happens to be sixteen years younger than I am, and even though I know it’s wrong to think about her in a way I shouldn’t, I can’t seem to help myself. Age is only a number and all that fucking shit. Amelia Moore is one complicated woman with more to her than most people can handle. Everything about her calls out to me. Her voice, her strength, her internal beauty. My Bluebird.

  “I can’t,” I answer, stuff my phone in my pants pocket, grab my tie, and head in her direction.

  I had every intention of getting some work done tonight, but that’s going to have to wait. Marissa is not going to take no for an answer. She never does. Well, she’s in for a big dose called first, because the answer will remain no. Even if I have to remove her physically.

  “It’s been months,” she whines. “You keep pushing me off claiming you are too busy. Zeke! I’m here and ready.” She’s here and ready? Good God.

  “Marissa,” I growl. “No. Not interested. We’ve had our fun, and I’m done.” I do not make eye contact; I keep focusing on the paperwork on my desk.

  “We’ve had our fun?” she bolts out, slamming something with her fist. “You mean you had your fun. Fine. You were never a good fuck anyway.” I ignore her snide remark.

  I should feel like a dick. Beg for her forgiveness, but none of it matters. Marissa is a long-forgotten memory even with her standing in front of me. Just a bump in the road. It was fun while it lasted. My soul never connected with her. My dick, yes.