I sit but defy his other orders and look up at him instead. He has hazel eyes and blondish hair. Cute. Who is he again?
As if he can read my mind, he says, “Dave. From the second floor.”
“Oh, right.” I’m not sure if the words come out.
“Don’t try to talk. Let me get you inside.” With one swoop, he lifts me and carries me into Sheridan. I’m woozy, so I take liberties and rest my head on his shoulder. He brings me to the basement lounge and lays me on the couch.
“Hello?” He yells as he pounds on doors. Soon, Rocco, Pooja, and Rodrigo are next to me.
“Meg? Are you okay? What happened?” Someone’s touching my forehead. I can’t keep my eyes open.
Dave tells them he found me outside. Even in my dizzy state, I notice his voice is sexy, like a purr. He tells someone he thinks I ran too hard and orders someone else to get a cold washcloth.
Ben’s is the next voice I hear, and I know his touch when he puts his palm on my forehead. “Oh God, Megan? What’s wrong?” His voice is louder than the others. “Meg? Can you hear me?” Soon, a cool, wet cloth replaces Ben’s hand, and my eyes start to focus. “Meg?”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own. “Water?”
They all scurry, and next thing I know there’s a bottle of water being thrust at me. I sit up slowly, and Ben holds the cloth to my head and the bottle to my lips.
I find Dave in the group. When my throat is moist, I speak to him. “Thanks. I think I over did it.”
“Ya think?” Ben barks.
Second Floor Dave gives Ben a dirty look and squats on the floor in front of me. He touches my knee. “Are you gonna make it?” His purry voice helps to get my blood pumping again.
“I think I’ll live.” With a few sips of water, my mind clears, and the faces come into focus. Pooja hands me another wet towel, but she’s looking at Dave, not me. We’ve all heard the rumors about Second Floor Dave. I wonder if Pooja can see his colors. “Sorry I scared you.”
Everyone’s quiet when Dave says, “No problem. Can I check on you later?” His eyes actually twinkle. How is that possible?
Ben stiffens next to me.
I nod at Dave. It’s perfectly legit for him to want to check on me. “Thanks for helping me.”
When he smiles, everyone thanks him, and he leaves. Pooja raises her eyebrows and grins. “What happened? Second Floor Dave saved you?”
They all sit around waiting for my big story. I tell them I saw the mailman and then… the letter! “I had a letter. Where is it?” Frantically, I look around the couch and the floor in front of me.
Pooja runs into the hallway to retrace my, or rather Dave’s, tracks. She finds it lying on the stairs and brings it to me. She doesn’t comment about the name on the front, but I know I’ll have to explain later.
The letter burns a hole in my hand. “Do you guys mind if I go lie down for a while?”
Ben stands with me and holds my elbow, taking care of me like he does everyone. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“It’s just across the hall.”
He doesn’t let go, taking the five or so steps to my room with me.
Inside room three, I hide the letter in my desk and drop onto my bed. Ben tucks me in and kisses me lightly. Leaning over me, he does a sort of makeshift concussion protocol, looking into my eyes, making me follow his finger from one side of his face to the other. “What happened out there?”
I shut my eyes as I talk to avoid seeing the concern in his. “I ran too hard. I didn’t eat first. I’m an idiot.”
“Please take care of yourself.” He pushes a strand of hair off my face. “You’re always running. Sometimes you have to give yourself a break.”
I don’t remember anything else as I fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
Ben
When Megan falls asleep, I open the drawer where she’d hid the letter. It’s addressed to “Amelia Smith.” I close the drawer again. I don’t want to violate her privacy, but if something got her upset, I want to help her. I wish she’d let me.
As I leave room three, Pooja meets me in the hallway and stops me. “What’s going on with Megan?”
Thinking she’s picked up on our relationship status, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“Well, she seems anxious.”
Oh, that. “I think maybe something with her family.” It’s not a lie. Pooja would know if I lied.
“Who’s Amelia?”
“I have no idea.” I look around the hallway, afraid that if I make eye contact she’ll read my thoughts.
“You know I know, right?” Pooja’s eyes target mine, and I feel all my secrets escape. Damn her and her powers.
I try to fake it, grimacing as I rub my beard. “Know what?”
Pooja shakes her head. “Oh, Ben.” She laughs as she walks down the hallway toward her room. “You know where I am if you need to talk.”
I’m more relieved than upset that Pooja figured it out. For one thing, I didn’t tell her. For another, maybe she will help Megan accept that something is actually happening between us. Something more than the damn contract.
I open the door to room three to check on Meg one more time. She’s snuggled under her purple comforter, sleeping soundly, so I close the door again to let her rest.
Amelia Smith, I repeat in my head as I open the door to my room. The name sounds familiar. I lay on my bed and Google.
When my phone flashes the results, I move it closer to make sure I’m not misreading. “Ho. Lee. Shit,” I whisper to the empty room.
I study the old newspaper image and then read the caption. “Big Joe Smith hoists his daughter, Amelia, onto his shoulders after accepting his second Championship MVP award.”
Megan is Amelia Smith, daughter of football legend Big Joe Smith? “Holy shit.” That’s why she disappeared on Sundays during the season! That’s why she knows so much about football! Big Joe has been my favorite player since I was in grade school. His jersey sits a few feet away from me in my dresser.
Why wouldn’t she tell me that she’s his daughter?
When the alarm chimes and the banner flashes in front of me, I jump. Physical therapy time. Coach will know if I skip. Unsure how to handle this new information, I grab my keys and I.D. and scowl as I head out to therapy.
Outside, the air is cold, and the sky starts to flurry. I love the winter—the briskness, the sports, the snow. If it weren’t for what happened in November, I’d probably be skiing, snowboarding, playing ice hockey, and of course, winter football league. But since everything, strenuous activity causes me pain and makes me remember.
I shake my head and snowflakes fly off. I know I shouldn’t complain. My injury is nothing—it could have been so much worse. It’s a blessing I’m alive. The bullet didn’t hit my brain or my spinal cord. Still, I hate PT. It puts me in a shit mood and hurts physically and emotionally.
Everyone at the rehab center knows my role in what happened and probably studied my chart, so they stare at me or worse, ask questions. I try to be nice—Mr. Nice Guy of Sheridan Hall fame—but I want to punch every person who calls me a hero or who tells me that “someday” my shoulder will feel better.
My therapist, Tony, is okay, but all I hear when he talks to me is the blast of the gunshots in room one that day. All I think about when I see him is how Frank wanted to be a physical therapist. How I wanted to play football and have a normal life with a functioning shoulder. None of that will happen now.
I check my phone to see if Megan texted me. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me Big Joe is her father. Come to think of it, Megan has not trusted me with one piece of information about her personal life.
What am I doing? Maybe I don’t belong with Megan after all. Maybe she’s only a rebound from Juliet. Maybe I am too “invested,” as Chase said. Thoughts circle my brain. At PT, I spiral into a physical, emotional mess.
I work out with Tony for an hour, avoiding conversation as much as possible, and then I grab my b
ackpack and head for the train. When I feel like shit, the only place I want to be is home.
I call my mother on the walk to the station.
“Ben?”
I exhale at the sound of her voice. “Hi, Mama. Can I come home?”
“Home? Don’t you have class?”
“I’m done with classes for the day.” It’s a lie. I’m actually skipping English Lit. “Can you make me dinner? I’ll take the train and study on the way.” Another lie, but I’d rather sleep on the train and inconvenience my brothers than pay for gas for the Buick. “You can make Evan drive me back later.”
My needy voice works like a charm. “Of course. You’re my favorite son.” I’m the youngest of five boys. Mom always tells me I’m her favorite.
“I don’t have much competition.” My brothers are idiots, but she knows I love them. “I’ll call when I’m close.”
“I can’t wait to see you. I’ll make your chili.”
I smile. “Thanks, Mama.”
I’m just about to stick my phone in my pocket when it buzzes. Megan’s name and picture flash across the screen. When I’d taken the pic, she’d put her hand out to cover my phone, so really, it’s a picture of her hand. But between her fingers, you can see an eye. I love the picture and told her I’m not changing it.
“Sweet Meg,” I answer. “How are you feeling?” I don’t mention the letter or her famous father.
“I’m fine. Thanks for taking care of me this morning.”
“My pleasure. I like taking care of you.” Innuendo intended.
She laughs. “You do it well.”
“Thanks.” Why won’t you let me in?
“Are you going to be back tonight?”
“Yep. With chili for you.”
“Yay! That makes me so happy.” The excitement in her voice makes me laugh for the first time today.
“Are you happier for the chili or for me?”
“Both. Go enjoy home. See you later, Grungy Ben,” she sings before she hangs up.
I think about her on the train ride to Philadelphia and again on the bus to the Evander Town Center. I text my mother when I’m close, and she sends my brother George to pick me up.
George is getting married in a month to Li, a woman he met in grad school, and her family is flying in any day now to meet him. He’s a nervous wreck and recently developed a stutter and a weird blinking tic. Poor guy. George is the only Riley brother who isn’t really a people person. He’s “the smart Riley brother,” but none of us really know what he studies. Something about astrophysics and rocket science. It’s a running joke in my family that the rest of us are too dumb to understand his job title.
Even my parents don’t really know how George got so smart. We tease my mother that he’s adopted, and she gets mad and threatens to cry. Then my dad yells at us. “At least 20% of you have some brains.” My parents do this weird thing with percentages for us. Mom’s always yelling at dad for saying the rest of us kids are dumb. It’s chaos at the Riley house.
Today is no different. George drops me at home and rushes off to pick up Li, and for a while, it’s just mom and me. Even though I’m eighteen, I still appreciate having her all to myself, especially when she’s in the kitchen cooking chili on a cold day. The smell of the spices, the sound of her voice, it’s home.
“Hi, Mama,” I say and wrap my arms around her. She’s tiny but tough. I tower over her and kiss her head.
She squeezes my forearms around her shoulders. “My favorite son.”
From somewhere in the house, I hear the ticking of Busterina’s collar. The little bulldog runs into the kitchen and jumps on my legs.
I bend to pet her while Mom inspects me. “Oh that beard! Benjamin, please. For the sake of your mother’s sanity, shave.”
I kiss Busterina, who’s slobbering all over my jeans, then stand to scratch Mom’s cheek with my facial hair. She squeals and points me to the kitchen table. “Sit. I have to finish up here. Talk to me.”
Busterina plants herself on my feet as my mother asks the usual questions about school, my shoulder, PT, Jules, but I don’t want to talk about any of that. Instead, I tell her about Megan.
“She’s the blonde girl from your floor? With the long hair?” Mom looks over her shoulder at me while she stirs.
“That’s Maggie, her roommate. Megan has shorter hair and these big blue eyes. She’s more athletic looking. She ran cross-country in high school.”
“I don’t remember her from November.”
“She moved to another dorm after the November incident and kept a low profile.” The rest of us were constantly hounded by press. I wonder if Meg moved to avoid being recognized as Big Joe’s daughter. “She managed to stay out of the spotlight.”
“Is she nice?” Mom leaves the chili to bubble and turns to look at my face.
I shrug. “Yeah. She’s nice. She’s smart. Super cute. We have fun. We like the same things. She’s really into football and fitness.”
“So what’s the problem, baby?”
“I was kind of a dick to her in September, before Jules. I apologized, but I think it still bothers her.”
“Ah.” Mom wipes her hands on a towel and moves to the coffee pot. She always has a few cups in reserve. She reaches for the cabinet and finds two mugs. “Well, you can’t turn back the clock.”
“That, and she’s secretive.”
“I don’t like that. Secrets never help a relationship.”
She squeezes my good shoulder as she places a steaming mug in front of me, and then she sits across from me with her own. “She keeps to herself. She’s friendly but getting her to open up about anything is like pulling teeth. It’s like she’s guarding herself from something.”
“Hm. Is she close with anyone?”
“Her dad. She sees him every weekend. I found out he’s someone famous but she never told anyone. She has an uncle she’s close to.”
Mom lifts her coffee. “What about her mother? Any brothers or sisters?” She looks over the rim of the cup as she takes a sip.
“No siblings.” I rack my brain but can’t remember Meg ever mentioning a mom. “I don’t think she has a mom.”
“That’s sad. Maybe she’s guarded because she doesn’t know how else to be. Dads can be great —uncles, too—but as you know, there’s nothing like a mom.” Mom poses and dramatically fluffs her hair.
I lean over the table and kiss her. “That’s why I’m here, Mama.”
“Could you imagine growing up without your brothers? Without me? How different would your life be if it was just you and Dad?”
I grimace, picturing Dad in his recliner and me sitting on the couch with frozen dinners on trays in front of us. “Ah. Yeah. I see your point.”
Mom playfully smacks my arm. “He’s not terrible, your dad, but it would be a different dynamic.”
Meg’s “dynamic” with Big Joe as her dad must have been pretty unique. Who took care of raising her during football season when he was still playing? Maybe she had a nanny. She must have had someone to talk to.
Mom rubs the rim of her mug with her thumb. “If you’re looking for advice, mine is that if you think it’s good between you two, try to talk to her about her secrets. Let her know it’s safe to talk to you.”
I nod. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she doesn’t feel safe if people know?
Within hours, my dad, four brothers, pregnant sister-in-law, sister-in-law to-be, and two sets of grandparents cram into the house, fawning over me. They all worry about me since the shooting. When Mom blabbed that I was home, they all rushed over. At the hospital during my recovery, the entire lot of them, along with Jules, cycled in and out in shifts, bringing me food and catering to my every need. I never felt alone, which helped keep my mind off Frank.
Tonight, my siblings and family members trickle in, panicking about why I’m here, thinking it has to do with my shoulder. When I tell them I’m fine, they start with their usual teasing and joking.
Sam, my sister-in-law,
asks me about the ACME experiment. She claims she’s interested because she’s a counselor, but I know she’s just being nosy about my love life. After the shooting, she spent time with Jules, sort of makeshift counseling her. She helped me figure out how to stay friends with Juliet after Chase entered the picture. She knows I’m still fucked up from the shooting, but she’s too cool to call me out on it. Still, she drops hints about different therapists and groups I can join and sends me emails with articles about grief and depression. I appreciate her interest in me—she’s the sister I never had—but I can’t talk about any of that stuff. ACME is an easy topic.
I plop down next to her on the couch. “I matched my questionnaire to female number one hundred and forty-seven with ninety-five percent accuracy.”
“That’s crazy high.” She rubs her pregnant belly. “Wanna touch?”
The thought of a human in there freaks me out. “I’ll wait until she comes out.”
Sam smiles. “She’s going to be spoiled rotten with all you uncles.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be her favorite.” I whisper, moving my lips to Sam’s belly. “I’m Uncle Ben, the best uncle.”
Sam shifts on the couch, takes my hand, and puts it on her baby belly. Her bump is solid. “Big kid. How does she fit in there?”
Sam shrugs. “More importantly, how am I going to get her out?”
I shake my head. “No clue, sis.”
She smirks. “Tell me more about your match. Is she you, minus that awful facial hair?”
“Another beard hater. Really? Does anyone like the damn beard?”
George yells from the kitchen. “Nobody likes it!”
I ignore him and turn back to Sam. “I didn’t meet her. She bailed. Jules is on the hunt for her though. She must have seen me and run the other way.”
“Her loss,” Sam says. “You’re the cutest.”
I give her my best grin. “I love you. Dump old man Sam and marry me.”
My oldest brother smirks from the other side of the room as I flirt with his wife. “He’s faking, hun. Told me not to date you.”
Acting shocked, I point at my second oldest brother, Nate. “Not true! That was him. I was always Team Sam Squared.”
She Runs Away (The Sheridan Hall Series Book 2) Page 9
