Good Boy

by Sarina Bowen

  “I don’t know if he’s into hockey, but it’s still a nice gesture,” Jess says as I pull into the bank’s parking lot.

  “Of course he’s into hockey,” I argue. “This is Canada.”

  “Right.” Her perfect lips twitch. “I forgot.”

  I settle into a chair in the bank lobby with a copy of Sports Illustrated, but Jess reappears before I’m even finished with the first article. “That was quick.”

  “It only takes a moment to sign your life away,” she replies.

  I hate that she has to stress about money. It’s just a freak thing that I don’t. I mean, I’d play hockey even if they didn’t pay me. But they do. A lot.

  Jess doesn’t like to talk about money, and I try to respect her wishes. But one of these days I’m going to figure out how to make things a little easier for her without getting yelled at. Last week I tried to ask her why she isn’t going home to California for American Thanksgiving. I’m pretty sure she can’t afford the ticket, but when I pressed her on it, she got all testy. So I had to back her up against the wall and lift up her skirt and press her in a completely different way just to calm her down.

  Back in the Hummer, I head for the hospital. Jess looks out the window as I steer toward the other end of town. She looks nervous.

  When I park in the hospital lot, she turns to me. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to. It’s kind of grim up there.”

  “Whiz fizz, baby.” I wink at her. “I’m in, as long as I get a kiss after.”

  But Jess feels like giving me my prize in advance. Her face softens, and she leans toward me. I meet her over the gearbox and receive one very soft kiss and a grateful smile.

  After I grab the jerseys out of the back, we go inside, holding hands in the elevator. On the children’s ward, Jess stops outside room 302. She takes a deep breath and then taps on the door.

  “Come in,” says a low voice.

  We enter to find a skinny teenager in a bed, with a blanket pulled up to her chin. And right away I realize one important truth. I’m such an idiot. I thought I had enough jollies to get us both through this, but the girl’s blanket looks like a scratchy hospital edition, and I realize I should’ve brought one of the plush Toronto blankets instead. My mom has ’em all over the house.

  I brought this sick girl a jersey. It’s so fucking impractical that I want to choke myself with it. And she’s too skinny and her eyes are scared and there’s a lump in my throat the size of a hockey puck.

  How does any nurse get through the day? Fucking fuckity fuck.

  But the girl’s expression lights up as soon as she sees me. “Oh my God!”

  “Hey, Leila,” Jess says, her face about fifty times cheerier than mine. “Do you remember me? We did some knitting together? I’m Jess, a nursing student.”

  “Okay, Jess the nursing student.” One skinny finger emerges from under the blanket. She points it at me. “Is that really Blake Riley? Or did they fuck up my meds again? If I’m hallucinating right now, this is a good one.”

  I guess that’s my cue. “Hey there, Leila. Nice to meet you.” I offer her my hand.

  She takes it, still staring at me. “Are you in the wrong room? I didn’t make one of those wishes, from that foundation? They do some cool stuff. But I think it’s bad luck to take them up on it.” I see a tiny shudder go through her.

  “So, you’re superstitious?” I ask. I can work with this. “Because I’m hella superstitious. On game day, I have to fill up my gas tank before driving to the rink. One time I drove there on empty and I had a shitty game. Oh, fuck! Am I not supposed to say shitty on the children’s ward?”

  Leila cracks up, so I’m winning.

  “Here, I brought you something.” I open the shopping bag and pull out both the jerseys. “One is for you, and I heard you had a brother.”

  She squeals. “No way! Will you sign them?”

  “Of course.”

  I’m signing the shirts with my Sharpie when Leila finally turns her attention to Jess. “Did you do this?” she demands.

  I have a dirty mind, so right away I’m thinking about it literally. Oh, she did this, all right. I give Jess an inappropriate grin, which she returns with a glare that suggests I should take it down a notch.

  To the girl she says, “Blake is my boyfriend.”

  Leila’s head thumps back against the pillow. “Holy crap. And, before, you wanted to talk about knitting? You were seriously holding out on me.”

  “I love knitting almost as much as I love him,” Jess says with an eye roll. “And knitting is less egotistical.”

  I don’t even argue with the egotistical part because Jess just said she loved me. Did that really just happen?

  “Where is your knitting?” Jess asks. “I wanted to see how the hat turned out.”

  With the practiced ease of someone who’s been here way too long, Leila reaches over to open the hospital bedside drawer. She pulls out a somewhat lumpy hat in a burgundy color with yellow stripes. “Do you think it needs a pom-pom? What do you think of the bind-off?”

  Jess takes the hat and admires it. “The ribbing turned out perfectly. And your bind-off is great. Not too tight.”

  “I was worried about that.”

  “It’s perfect. He’s going to love it. Do you have extra yarn so we could try a pom-pom?”

  “Sure.”

  They get out the yarn and Jess shows Leila how to wrap it around spread-out fingers. Or something. My gaze wanders around the room to the collection of Get Well cards on the windowsill. There are a million of them.

  Jess and Leila make a gold-colored pom-pom, one of them holding the tuft of wrapped threads, the other tying a knot around them tightly. Their two heads are bent together in concentration.

  “Okay. Let’s see what you think…” Jess holds the hat up, her hand securing the pom-pom on top.

  “Hmm,” Leila says, squinting critically. “Maybe it’s more macho without?”

  Jess pulls the ornament away again. “I kind of see what you mean. What do you think, Blake? Can a real man wear a pom-pom on his hat?”

  “A real man can wear anything,” I say. “Especially if it’s handmade by someone who loves me. So where’s my hat?” I seek out Jess’s eyes, and when she smiles, her cheeks pink up.

  She quickly turns her attention back to Leila’s knitting. “It’s perfect. He’s going to love it.”

  The girl fingers the stitches on the brim, her throat visibly bobbing. “I’m having surgery tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Jess says softly.

  “Again.”

  “That sucks,” my girlfriend empathizes.

  “If something happens to me, would you make sure my brother gets the hat? I’m just worried that my parents would be too…” She clears her throat.

  “Of course,” Jess says firmly. “You’re going to be fine, but I understand why you wouldn’t want to take any chances with, like, fourteen hours of knitting.”

  “I know, right?” Leila laughs, but her eyes are shiny. “Just that ribbing took half my life.”

  My heart sinks when I do the math on how many years half her life might turn out to be.

  Jess, meanwhile, just smiles back at her. “The best stuff always takes a while, right?” She tucks the extra yarn into the bedside table. “I’ll come by the day after tomorrow with a box and some wrapping paper so you can hide it properly until Christmas.”

  “Oh! Awesome.”

  Now Leila is looking at Jess the same way she looked at me when we walked in. And I know without any doubt that all of her patients will wear that same expression when she enters their rooms. Jess is a rock star. She leans over Leila and gives the kid a hug.

  “Me too,” I say, bending over the both of them. “Group hug!”

  “I want a picture,” Leila begs as I squeeze the both of them. “My brother is going to freak out when I tell him I met you.”

  “Awesome. I love freaking people out. Where’s your phone?”

 
The phone is fetched, and I sit one half of my ass on the bed so I can take a good photo with Leila. And I smile for the camera even though my heart is breaking.

  My smile stays in place until we exit the hospital building, but once we step outside, I take a giant breath of non-sanitized air and let it out in a gust. “Fuck a duck. How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” Jess squeezes my hand. She looks calm and happy now, and I’m a total wreck.

  “That—help a kid with her knitting when she might die? Cheezus. I think I need some chocolate ice cream just to rebound from that.”

  “Aw!” She jumps up to smack a kiss on my cheek. “You were great! I thought she was going to burst a vessel just from shaking your hand.”

  “Eh. But that was just because I play hockey on TV, you know? It’s just a party trick. You’re the one who really soothed her. You’re amazing.” I sweep her up in my arms until her feet leave the ground, and hold on tight.

  I don’t plan to ever let her go.

  Jess and I go back to my place, which is where we usually hang out on the nights I’m home. Her dorm room is the size of my closet and offers zero privacy…and we need lots of privacy for the dirty activities we like to engage in. I don’t know how dirty we’ll get tonight, though. Jess has been quiet ever since we left the hospital. I guess she’s bummed about Leila’s surgery.

  Good thing I’m a pro at cheering her up.

  “Hey, you wanna go out for ice cream?” I call out from the kitchen.

  Jess is on the living room couch, her blonde head bent over her laptop. “It’s November,” she calls back.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Nope.”

  Her tone is absentminded, and I can tell she’s not listening to me at all. I wander over to the sectional. “What are you looking at?”

  Before my ass even hits the cushions, Jess has slammed the laptop shut.

  I grin. “Porn, huh? All right.” I start to unzip my pants. “Let’s do this.”

  She lets out a strangled laugh. “We’re not watching porn together.”

  “But we’re a couple now,” I protest. “That’s what couples do.” I reach for the computer. “So what are we watching? Girl on girl? Ménage?”

  “I wasn’t watching porn!” She sounds exasperated, and she’s slapping my hand away from the laptop, which only heightens my curiosity.

  “Then what were you doing?” I challenge.

  Jess huffs out a breath. “If you must know, I was checking my credit card balance.” She smacks my hand again, and I release the MacBook. “And there’s no way I’m letting you see it. My bleak financial landscape is kind of a mood killer, okay?”

  I frown. I noticed she’s been charging a lot to her Visa lately, but I hadn’t realized her cash sitch was that dire. “How bleak?” I ask slowly.

  Her bottom lip drops out. “Very bleak,” she admits. “My living expenses are higher than I thought they’d be, and I already burned through all the money I got from selling my car back in Cali.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Is this why you’re not going home for Thanksgiving?”

  I know Jamie already bought his plane ticket home and is leaving in a couple of days, but every time I’ve asked Jess why she’s not going with him, she’s insisted she’s swamped with school work and can’t afford to take the time off. Which makes sense, because Canadian Thanksgiving was a month ago and the school doesn’t take a break for the American holiday.

  The way she guiltily averts her eyes tells me I’m right. “It’s not just the money,” she mutters. “I really can’t miss school.”

  “Jamie’s only going for two days,” I point out. “I’m sure you’ll be able to catch up on two days’ worth of work.” I hesitate. “You could hit me up for a loan.”

  Her jaw hardens. “No. I am not borrowing money from you. I’m not borrowing money from anyone anymore, okay?”

  Then she shoots off the couch and stalks to the kitchen, where she grabs a drinking glass from the cabinet. She continues to grumble as she fills it with water from the dispenser in the fridge.

  “Jamie and Wes already offered to lend me some. My mom offered to buy me a ticket so I could come home.” She turns to glare at me. “And I said thank you, but no. You want to know why?”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Because you’re a Stubborn Susie who apparently hates Thanksgiving?”

  Jess slams the glass on the counter without even taking a sip. “I love Thanksgiving!” she bursts out, and there’s a slight crack to her voice. “I love turkey and stuffing and cranberries and I love California and I love my family and I hate relying on them for money! I hate not having five hundred measly dollars in the bank to pay for a plane ticket home! I. Hate. It.”

  I’m at her side in a heartbeat, resting both hands on her shoulders. I try to pull her close. She resists at first. Then her entire body seems to sag, and she melts against me, her cheek resting on my left pec.

  “I feel so guilty,” she mumbles. “My parents paid for my first college education, and now they’re paying for part of this second one. They keep helping me out even after I’ve screwed up. You know how humiliating that is sometimes?”

  “Aw, Jessie.” I thread my fingers through her soft hair. “You shouldn’t feel humiliated. Your family helps you because they love you.”

  “I know.” Her voice is muffled against my chest. “But I want to start helping myself. I want to start helping them. I want to pay them back every dime. I want to get a nursing job and be successful at it.”

  “You will,” I say with conviction.

  Her head tips up, brown eyes flickering with uncertainty. “You really believe that?”

  “Of course. You’re going to be a kickass nurse, and soon you’ll be making dough hand over fist. You’ll be the first nurse to hit the Forbes list.”

  Jess laughs. “Wow. You aim high, huh?”

  “For the stars, babe. Always aim for the stars.” I sweep my thumb along her cheekbone. It’s slightly damp, as if a few tears slipped out when I wasn’t looking. “And here’s the thing—if my man Cindy offers to pay for your airfare, it’s not because she feels sorry for you or wants to rub it in your face that you’re broke. It’s because she loves you and misses you and wants to see you.”

  A trace of guilt returns to her eyes. “I know. But…I can’t accept any more money from them, Blake. I just can’t.”

  I grasp her chin with my hand. “Then accept it from me.”

  Her mouth falls open. “No.”

  “Yes.” I pin her with a stern look. “Let me buy you a plane ticket home, baby. I know you miss them.” I’ve seen the longing in her expression the last few times we’ve visited my family. The Riley clan is as loud and boisterous as the Canning crew, but I know it’s not the same as being with her own family.

  “I do miss them…” She bites her lip. “But…no. I appreciate the offer, Blake, I really do, but—”

  “But nothing. Let me do this for you.”

  “No—”

  “Yes. And you know what? It’s not even a loan. It’s a gift.”

  “No—”

  “Yes. I mean it, J-Babe. I want to give you this gift.”

  She sighs. “You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

  I grin widely. “She’s learning.”

  She starts doing the lip-biting thing again, which stirs the Blake Snake to life. I ease my hips back slightly so she doesn’t feel my semi-snake pressing against her belly. I don’t want her to think I want to bone her right now. Or worse—that she has to bone me in exchange for this plane ticket.

  “Don’t you get it by now?” I say gruffly. “I want you to be happy. I want to be the one making you happy. Cuz that’s what—”

  “Couples do?” she finishes, a wry smile playing on her lips.

  “Yup. That’s what couples do. They make each other happy.” I reach down and smack her ass. “So open up that laptop of yours and find us a good flight deal.”

  “Us?�
�

  Shit. I immediately regret the phrasing, because there’s a happy glimmer in her eyes now. But there’s no way I can go to Cali with her—we’ve got three days of East Coast road games this week. That’s why Wes can’t go.

  “You,” I correct ruefully. “I wish I could come with you, but it doesn’t work with our schedule.”

  “Right.” She nods. “The road games.” There’s a pause. “Maybe next time?”

  I can’t hide the pleasure that swamps me. It shows itself in the form of a broad smile. “You’d really take me home with you?”

  “Why not? My folks already know we’re dating. Besides, it’s not a real relationship until you’ve been interrogated, tortured and made fun of by my siblings.”

  I snicker. “Let ’em try. I can out-torture anyone, babe. I just act extra annoying and they wave a white flag to get me to stop babbling.”

  She snorts, then wanders back to the couch and picks up her laptop. I stand back for a moment, admiring the way her loose shirt slides off one smooth shoulder. And how long her legs look in those stretchy yoga pants. And how fucking hot she looks sitting on my couch.

  My gaze shifts to the stack of textbooks on my coffee table. And the bright blue winter jacket draped over one of the counter stools. Her laptop case on the hardwood. And then there are the items I can’t see—Jess’s toothbrush and toiletries in my bathroom. The extra PJs—my favorite ones with the cartoon bananas—she keeps in my dresser.

  These past few weeks, little signs of Jess have made their way into my apartment. And…I like it. I like coming home after a brutal game to find that she let herself in with the spare key I gave her and cooked dinner for me. I like snuggling up to her warm, soft body and falling asleep together.

  “If you’re serious about this ticket, there’s a crazy deal happening on this travel site right now,” she says from the sofa.

  “Jess…” I say slowly.

  She peers up from the screen. “Yeah?”

  I take a breath. Shit. Is this nuts? The last time I let a woman into my private domain, she turned my entire life upside down. She took my frickin’ dog and then abandoned him in another province. She broke my heart.