Claire (Hart University Book 2)

by Abigail Strom

  “The stew is from cans,” she said as she sat down, too.

  “It smells great.” I took a bite. “It tastes great, too.”

  We ate in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t friendly, exactly, but it wasn’t unfriendly either. It was sort of… neutral, I guess. Thoughtful.

  When I was finished I brought my dishes to the sink and started to wash them.

  “I can do that,” Claire said, coming up behind me.

  I shook my head. “You cooked. That means I clean up.”

  Claire grabbed a dish towel from a hook on the wall and started to dry and put away the dishes I set in the drain. “This is nice of you, but I don’t think the normal rules of etiquette apply here. I mean, I did sort of kidnap you.”

  I smiled down at the glass I was rinsing. “Yeah, you did. But I’m starting to get over it.”

  “You are?”

  “A little. You’re not off the hook, though.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We finished in silence and then went out to the living room. Claire sat down on the couch while I stayed standing.

  “I think I’m going to go to bed,” I said.

  Claire looked a little disappointed, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  I sighed. “You wanted to talk, didn’t you? You wanted to counsel me and toss out some more medical facts.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted. “No medical facts, I promise. I did want to talk, but…” She paused. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

  I sat down in the armchair and stretched my legs out toward the fire. “No, go ahead. You won’t be able to sleep if you don’t get whatever it is off your chest.”

  Now her whole mouth was smiling. “It’s not like that. There’s nothing in particular I wanted to say. I just thought, if you felt like it, you could talk about football.”

  I’d been feeling relaxed, almost mellow. Now I felt my stomach muscles tense.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “I just… I don’t know. I want to understand why football means so much to you. I mean, I know how popular the game is. I can understand the appeal. It’s exciting and even kind of beautiful, in a way. I loved watching your games and I loved watching you play. But you have to admit there are a lot of negatives. Don’t you?”

  I settled back into the chair. “Like what?”

  She leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “It’s so violent. Isn’t that a problem for you?”

  I shook my head. “That’s one of the reasons I love football.”

  She stared at me. “You love the violence?”

  I wasn’t sure I could explain it to someone who didn’t play the game. “I love football because it’s rough. Because it’s hard. Because it tests your—” I hesitated.

  “Masculinity?”

  “No. It tests your courage. Your grit. You have to be able to take a hit and get back up again.”

  “Take a hit? That’s how you got a concussion. How can that be a good thing?”

  “It’s the getting back up that’s the good thing.” I felt frustrated, knowing I wasn’t expressing myself in a way she could understand. “It’s like being on a battlefield. Every second of the game is a fight. And it’s hard, and a lot of times you want to give up. But every time you don’t you get a little stronger.”

  I expected Claire to argue with me again, but she didn’t. She just looked at me, her head tilted to the side and that furrow between her brows that meant she was pondering what she was hearing.

  I went on. “I wish you could see us before the game. When we put on all our gear, all the pads and everything, it’s like we’re strapping on armor. And we know we’re going on that field to hit and get hit, and that thousands of people will be watching. Sometimes guys get so tense they throw up in the locker room.”

  Claire’s eyes got wider. “I never saw you look nervous before a game. I’ve never even heard you talk about being nervous.”

  I shrugged. “That’s because we don’t show it to anyone but each other.” I took a breath. “That’s another thing I’ve lost because of this stupid concussion. I’ve lost the team.”

  “Your teammates still care about you, Will. That’s why we’re here right now.”

  “It’s not the same thing. Teammates bleed together on the field. I’ll never get to do that again.”

  Claire was quiet for a moment. “It won’t be the same, but I could slap you across the face or something.”

  For the first time in a while, I actually laughed. “Thanks for the offer.” I paused. “You don’t really get what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “I’m not an athlete, so I’ll probably never understand that part of it. But I’m in a band, and I’d do anything for my band mates. And even though I’ve never thrown up I get pretty nervous before I perform. So I understand a little of what you’re talking about. I mean, if I had to give up music, I might do exactly what you’re doing.”

  I thought about that. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re going to be a doctor. You have a lot of other things in your life.”

  “But so do you! My God, Will, you were on the Dean’s list last year. You’re smart and funny and sweet and, like, a million other things. I know you talked about going pro but you must’ve had a backup plan. You always said the NFL was a long shot.”

  “I know it was a long shot,” I said after a moment. “But I was going after it. It’s what I wanted more than anything.” I dragged my hands through my hair. “Maybe I should’ve had a backup plan, but I didn’t. I don’t. I haven’t even picked a major yet.”

  “Will—”

  Anger started to bubble up inside me again. “Just stop it, okay? Stop trying to pep me up or whatever. I don’t even know why you’re wasting your time. I’ve been an asshole to you.”

  Admitting that out loud made me remember the day Claire had come over and asked what she could do to help.

  You could sleep with me, I suppose. I could stand to burn off a little steam.

  It was the shittiest thing I’d ever said to her. To anyone, really. And I’d said it to the girl I’d had a crush on for a year, the girl who’d never been anything but amazing to me.

  “You’ve been going through a lot,” she said now.

  I couldn’t stand for her to defend me anymore. “I wish you’d leave me alone. I’m not worth all this trouble. Believe me. I don’t know why you’re doing this.”

  Claire chewed on her lower lip for a second, which was already chapped from the dry air.

  “You know what Lou Holtz says?” she said finally. “He says that people need love and understanding and support the most when they deserve it the least.”

  I stared at her. “You’re quoting a Notre Dame football coach to me?”

  “Yes, I am. So take me seriously.”

  I shook my head. “Okay, you win the night. Now I’m going to bed.”

  She sighed. “All right. I guess I will, too.”

  As she got to her feet she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “It’s a text from Rikki.” She read it quickly before looking up again, the furrow back between her brows. “The snow isn’t going to stop until tomorrow night. They’re not going to drive out until Thursday, but they say they’ll come first thing in the morning. Tamsin already bought a turkey.”

  I sighed. “So I’m trapped here with the woman who kidnapped me, is that what you’re saying? For, like, two more days?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. This didn’t work out exactly like I planned, but… well… I’m still glad I did it.”

  She looked so earnest and adorable that my heart did that thing it always used to around Claire.

  But everything was different now. Back in October, I had something to offer her. I had a skill, a talent, something I was good at. Something I hoped might even lead to gainful employment.

  Now I had nothing.

  “I can’t exactly say the same,” I said lightly, “but I’m
not as mad at you as I was.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s a start.”

  The fire had died, but I made sure it was out completely before I headed toward the stairs. Claire followed at first, but when I was halfway up I realized she wasn’t with me anymore.

  I stopped and turned, my hand on the banister. She was standing at the bottom of the staircase looking up at me.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I think I’m going to stay downstairs for a while,” she said. “I want to check the furnace.”

  I started back down. “I’ll do that for you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. Really.” She made a shooing gesture. “Go to bed.”

  “Well… okay. Good night, Claire.”

  “Good night.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I woke up the next morning, I had absolutely no idea where I was.

  It was the aches and pains in my body that brought my memory back. Every muscle felt stiff, and I knew it was because of my white-knuckled drive from Hart to here—a snowed-in cabin in the middle of the wilderness.

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t the actual wilderness. We were in western Massachusetts, not the Yukon.

  But still. When I looked out my bedroom window, all I could see was falling snow—and through that white veil, trees and hilltops and gray sky.

  Even though the house was toasty warm by now—I’d set the thermostat to an indulgent seventy degrees—I shivered. We were so alone out here, cut off from civilization and trapped by the snow. I didn’t even know if there was another house within walking distance. I hadn’t noticed any lights last night.

  All alone… except for the very sexy former football player asleep in the next room.

  The night before, when Will had started up the stairs on his way to bed, I’d stopped in my tracks to stare at him.

  His borrowed pajamas, three inches too short, should have made him look ridiculous. But while the clothes might have been silly, Will himself wasn’t.

  Something about the snowstorm outside, the fire inside, and the relief of finally getting Will to open up to me seemed to coalesce into a bright warmth inside my belly as I stared up at him. Instead of his too-short pajamas all I saw was the man who wore them, strong and powerful on the outside and hurting on the inside.

  I knew if I followed him upstairs I’d keep going right into his bedroom, where I’d tear those pajamas off of him.

  But that was the very last thing I should do on this… trip? Vacation? Kidnapping? Intervention?

  Whatever it was, it was about helping Will—not screwing him.

  If I acted on my attraction it would be selfish. Will needed a friend now, and that’s what I would be.

  But oh, how I wished the rest of our friends were here with us. It would be a lot easier to resist temptation if we had some company.

  I checked my phone and saw that it was nine o’clock—later than I usually slept but not surprising under the circumstances. I threw off my covers and got out of bed, and on my way to the bathroom I checked on Will.

  His door was ajar or I wouldn’t have looked in. But it was ajar and I did look in, standing there for at least a minute just watching him sleep.

  He was on his stomach with his arms flung out wide. He’d taken off the pajama top before bed, and his upper body was bare. Seeing the thick bands of muscle on his shoulders and back reminded me of the time I’d patched him up after his season opener, and I felt a pang of regret that I’d never see him play another football game.

  I still couldn’t imagine how much regret Will was feeling.

  I backed slowly out of his doorway and headed downstairs. This trip was about helping Will move on, right? So maybe it was time to start strategizing.

  I made some coffee and sat down with my tablet to do some research. After an hour or so I got restless, wanting to process what I’d been reading and thinking about. I put on my jacket and a wool hat I found in a bin of outdoor gear beside the door, and then I went out for a walk.

  The snow was falling steadily but the wind had died down. The world was utterly, almost mysteriously peaceful. I walked around the house at first, not wanting to go too far, but after a while I wandered into a grove of fir trees.

  The scent of pine mingled with the clean scent of the snow. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, letting the soft flakes kiss my upturned face.

  “Hey.”

  I was so startled I almost fell over.

  “Will! Damn it, you scared me to death.”

  He was standing a few feet away, wearing a navy blue pea coat he must have found in the cabin.

  “You? What about me? I woke up and you were gone. As far as I knew you’d gotten lost in the blizzard.”

  “It’s not a blizzard anymore. There isn’t a breath of wind.” I moved closer and took him by the arm. “Listen.”

  He looked at me with his eyebrows up. “To what? I don’t hear anything.”

  “Listen harder. It’s so still you can actually hear the snowflakes landing. I’ve never heard such a soft sound before. It’s incredible.”

  He stood there for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think I—”

  “Listen.”

  This time he was quiet for longer, and I knew the exact moment he heard what I did.

  He went absolutely still, like me. And then the two of us stood there, listening to the featherfall of snow on snow. The barest whisper of sound.

  It made the silence more profound.

  We stood there for a long time. Then I said, “The first time my dad and I met Jenna, she did something I’ve never forgotten. She teaches music, and she told us her secret for getting a crowd of kids to quiet down and pay attention was a Tibetan bell. She would strike it, and then tell the kids to raise their hands when the last—the very last—vibration of sound faded away. She demonstrated with my dad and me, and then she told us we’d just experienced real silence. The kind of silence that gets into your bones.”

  Will let out a long breath, and I watched it turn to fog on the cold air. “That was real silence, then.” He looked down at me again, and suddenly he frowned. “You’re not wearing gloves. They had some in that bin.”

  I looked down at my hands, which were red and chapped with cold. “I didn’t think about it. It’s fine, though. I—”

  Will pulled off the mittens he’d taken from the bin and held them out. “Here.”

  “No, that’s—”

  He didn’t wait for me to finish the sentence; he just grabbed my hands and slid the mittens on. “There you go.”

  I looked down at my now mittened hands, hoping Will couldn’t tell that my body was prickling with goose bumps. “Thanks.”

  Silence fell, but it was different this time. Before, my attention had been on the world around us—the trees, the sky above, the falling snow. Now, all I could focus on was Will.

  I’d never known anyone more likely to do a small kindness—or a big one—for someone else. I loved all his contrasts and contradictions: that he’d sacrificed his body to the roughest, most violent sport imaginable and at the same time was the sweetest person I’d ever met.

  “Do you want to walk around a little, or are you ready to go back?”

  I had to think for a moment before I could answer. “I guess go back? It’s probably lunchtime by now.”

  Right as I said that Will’s stomach growled, and he grinned down at me. “I guess you’re right. Okay, let’s go.”

  We trudged through the snow—well over a foot of it by now—and back to the cabin.

  When we reached the door Will bumped my shoulder with his arm. “Hey, Claire? Thanks.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was thanking me for, but it didn’t matter.

  “You’re welcome.”

  * * *

  We found a frozen chicken pot pie in the freezer and popped that in the oven for lunch. Things between us seemed so friendly, and Will seemed so much like the guy he’d been before his concussio
n, that I decided to launch into my sales pitch for his future once we finished eating.

  After we washed the dishes, I dried my hands on a paper towel and leaned back against the sink. “Okay, so. Can I show you some stuff I looked up?”

  Will shrugged. “As long as it’s not medical information about CTE or TBI or—”

  “It’s not.”

  “Then sure.”

  We went into the living room, and while I pulled up some of the sites I’d bookmarked on my tablet Will built a new fire in the fireplace. Once he had it going he joined me on the couch, and I tried to focus on what I wanted to talk to him about and not the fact that his leg was only inches from mine.

  “All right. You know how you said you don’t have a backup plan?”

  Will frowned. “I don’t—”

  “Just listen for a minute, okay?” I turned the tablet so he could see it. “Here are just a few of the things you could do with your football experience.” I clicked on each website in turn. “You could be a coach like your stepdad. You could go into sports medicine or sports psychology. You could be a sports writer. If you study business, you could be a marketer for a professional team or a program coordinator for an organization like the YMCA. If you—”

  “Claire!”

  I stopped talking, staring at Will with my mouth open.

  He looked frustrated. No, more than frustrated. Angry.

  “What is it?” I asked defensively. “What did I do wrong?”

  He pushed himself to his feet and started pacing back and forth between the couch and the fireplace.

  “I may be broken right now but I don’t need you to fix me. Jesus, Claire. I thought you dragged me out here to make me feel better, not worse.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do!”

  “By acting like my mother? I already have a mother. I don’t need another one.”

  “Then what do you need?”

  Asking that made me remember that day at his house, when I’d asked him what I could do to help.

  You could sleep with me, I suppose. I could stand to burn off a little steam.

  My face flushed red and I had to look away. I knew Will wouldn’t ask that now, but in spite of myself, I couldn’t help wondering what I’d say if he did.