by Bonnie Dee
“Is your headache gone?” I asked.
“What headache?” Jason reached for me again, but I pushed him gently away.
I hopped up from the bed, tucked my boobs back into my top where they belonged, and went to get the glasses of juice we’d abandoned. A cool drink helped calm my fiery libido a little.
I handed the other glass to Jason, then lay beside him on the narrow bed, head propped on one hand. My palm rested on his chest. His heartbeats were as steady as the rain drumming against the windowpane.
“I’m glad we left the club. This is better,” I said.
He set his glass on the nightstand and curved a hand around my hip. “Yeah, a lot better than puking in a public john.”
I traced my fingers along the ridges of scars. “Do you have a lot of pain?”
“My leg is usually stiff by the end of a shift, but I’m pretty good these days.” He moved restlessly, signaling his discomfort with the subject of his injuries.
Instead of backing off, I forged ahead and asked, “Will you tell me about your accident? What happened? I know it’s none of my business, but it’s such a big event in your life, we can’t avoid discussing it forever.”
“How about for the rest of tonight?” He gave me a seductive look from under his brows.
I smiled. “Okay.”
I lay my head on Jason’s chest and tapped a rhythm to match the raindrops on his stomach. “I love a rainy night. When I was a kid, I was never afraid of storms. I’d throw my window open and breathe in the damp breeze, then jump back into bed and cuddle under the covers. My mom scolded me because the floor got wet, but it was worth it.”
“My dog used to be terrified of thunder.” Jason’s voice rumbled beneath my ear. “He’d hear it long before any of us and stick right next to me, whimpering.”
“Crap! I wonder if Baby’s afraid. I didn’t even think of that.”
“No thunder tonight, only a little rain. She should be all right.”
I hoped so, because I sure didn’t feel like rushing home. I was drowsy and comfortable, although it was kind of hard to lie there and not allow my hand to drift down Jason’s belly toward the fly of his jeans and the bulge beneath.
“It was raining like this the night of my accident,” Jason said abruptly. “Nothing heavy. Not enough to make the roads slick. No good reason for taking out a guardrail and rolling down an embankment.”
I held my breath, waiting for him to go on.
Jason’s chest rose and fell beneath my head as he exhaled. “I’d been to a kegger, but I don’t remember anything about that night except rain hitting my skin and the wet grass underneath me... And lights in my eyes.”
“How long before somebody found you?”
“There was a car behind me. The guy called nine-one-one.” Jason took another breath. “It could’ve been so much worse. I might have killed somebody.”
I could imagine the weight he carried and how much heavier it would’ve been if another car had been involved. I stroked the hair on his stomach. “But no one else was hurt. No point in beating yourself up over what might have been. Seems to me you’re already paying for your bad judgment every day. Don’t add an extra helping of guilt on top of it.”
“I guess. Anyway, you wanted to know about the accident. That’s it. After that, I was in a coma and then rehab for a long time. Lots of hospital stays, lots of bills, which my parents paid, since I was a college student with no money. Insurance only covers so much.”
“That sucks,” was all I could think of to say. His story was practically a PSA for not drinking and driving. There wasn’t any response I could make that seemed more appropriate. The pain in his voice roused an answering ache in my chest.
“I want to pay them back, but there aren’t a lot of high-paying jobs for a college dropout with memory issues.” Jason stroked a finger over my wrist. The tickling touch sent shivers through me. “Enough about that. Tell me more about yourself and growing up in Michigan.”
“Okay.” I cast around for a funny story to lighten the mood. “We used to have this cottage on a lake and spent weeks there in July or August. I had summer friends who I only saw at the lake. One summer, three convicts escaped Jackson prison. Rumors were one of the men was from the area, and everyone talked about whether he’d head for home. My friends and I embellished the story all summer, inventing more lurid and numerous crimes than one man could ever have committed.
“One night, we went camping. Nothing would make our horror stories scarier than telling them by firelight in the dark woods with an escaped killer possibly stalking us. Shelly and Brea were up for camping, but we had to coerce Crystal. She had a huge crush on Shelly’s brother and we threatened to tell him if she didn’t come with us.”
Jason chuckled. “Mean girls, like my sister told me about.”
“I convinced myself it was in Crystal’s best interest to stop being such a wuss. So we trekked out about a quarter mile from Brea’s house—not too far, in case we needed to go back for something. Let me tell you, it was scary in the woods once the sun went down. We sat around our campfire and told all the urban legends and horror-movie plots we could think of, and ate more sugar than any human being should ingest in a day.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It was…until we heard something moving in the woods. We all screamed, but Crystal bolted up and started to run. Unfortunately, she plowed straight into a tree branch that knocked her back on her ass. The thing in the woods came crashing toward us, and we were all screaming and trying to get Crystal up. Then Shelly’s brother, Mike, and one of his friends burst into the clearing, laughing. Or they were until they saw the gash on Crystal’s forehead. Blood was running down her face like Carrie at the prom.
“Of course, we were furious at them, but in the end it all worked out. Crystal was thrilled Mike had to carry her back to the house, and Shelly was happy to have something to blackmail her brother with. She promised not to tell their parents about the prank if he’d give us rides to the mall for a month. Win-win. Being a budding lawyer even then, I negotiated the deal.”
“So that’s the sort of thing lawyers do. I always wondered,” Jason teased. “You feeling better now about being a lawyer? You didn’t seem too sure when we first met.”
“That was so two weeks ago,” I joked back. “I’m fine now.”
I traced around his navel with one finger, making his belly twitch, and considered unfastening his jeans and giving him a hand job. But that sort of negated the no-hands-below-the-waist policy. Maybe next time.
Next time. Did I want there to be one? Was I up to the challenge of the baggage Jason came with? Or maybe I was exaggerating his issues. And anyway he might not be interested in seeing me again. The heat of his kisses suggested yes, but it would be arrogant of me to assume.
“Summers on a lake. Sounds like a great way to grow up.”
“It was pretty great.” I realized how true that was. My parents may have been demanding, but my life had been pretty great overall. “What about you? Do you have any childhood stories to share?”
“Watching my sister on the field the other day brought back a memory of playing soccer; the smell of the air, my feet pounding over the ground, a stitch in my side. It almost hurt, how sharp the memory was.”
I rested my chin on my folded arms on Jason’s chest and looked at him. “I think we all get those flashes. You hear a song you haven’t heard in years, or smell a scent and some memory comes crashing into your day like a wrecking ball. There was this guy I dated for—well, for longer than was good for either of us. Since we broke up, sometimes I’ll pass some man wearing Tim’s cologne and get choked up. I don’t know why. I certainly didn’t want to be with him anymore, but the scent reminds me of our early days together. It smells like hope.”
I pressed my face into my arm, embarrassed by the cheesy analogy. Blurting things out without considering how they’d sound wasn’t cool for someone whose career included public speaking.
> But Jason nodded. “Yeah. That’s exactly what soccer smelled like—hope. Dirt and fresh-cut grass and sweaty kids who think they can run forever and their legs will never give out.”
The rawness in his voice painted a picture of the loss he’d suffered, the potential wasted, the upheaval of an entire life because of one bad night. I felt Jason’s pain just then, not with the sympathy of an outsider but as if his pain were my own.
“I guess we all have regrets,” I said.
Chapter Nine
I wasn’t an addict in a twelve-step program, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt me to do the “making amends” part of one. After my amazing weekend with Anna, I was flying high and feeling great, and I wanted to drop in on my therapy group and patch things up.
Rob glared when I walked in the door. “Look who’s back.”
“Hey, Rob,” I greeted him as I sat on one of the folding metal chairs. Before he could work up a good head of anger and Maxie would have to smooth things over, I added, “Sorry about last time.”
I looked around at the people who were seated and the latecomers drifting in. “Sorry to everybody for making shit up last time I was here. It was rude and wrong. I know you all share really important things—deep things. I’ve been holding back and floating on the surface, but I think I’m ready to face up to some stuff now.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” Good old Rob, confrontational as always.
“Rob, let’s wait for everyone to get settled,” Maxie said. “Then, Jason, you can speak first if you’d like.”
Oh joy. But I’d come here determined to make things right with these people, and the only way I could do that was by sharing something about my survivor’s guilt.
Pretty soon, things quieted down, and Maxie started the meeting by talking about the groups’ purpose for any newbies. “Whatever you say here is in confidence. We’ve all gone through some type of extreme situation, but although our experiences vary widely, no one needs to fear sharing with the group. There’s no judgment here.” She shot Rob a look before addressing me. “So, Jason, it sounds as if you’d like to talk today.”
“Uh, sure.” With all eyes on me, I was suddenly a lot less buoyant than I’d felt walking into the room. Then I remembered everything I’d confided in Anna—on a first date with a girl I wanted to impress, not drive away. If I could tell her about the accident, I could certainly tell these guys.
“Most of you know I was in a car accident that left me with some permanent injuries. There’s not a lot to tell. I got drunk and drove, hit a guardrail and flipped the car. Got thrown from the car because I wasn’t wearing a seat belt, and ended up with some head injuries and other stuff,” I blurted fast like ripping a bandage off a wound, then exhaled in relief.
But Maxie wasn’t finished with me yet. “Those are the details of what happened to you physically, but what are the aftereffects? What do you feel about the accident? Isn’t there more you’d like to say?”
Not really hovered on the tip of my tongue. I shook my head. “Not today, if that’s all right.”
“When you’re ready.” Maxie smiled. She really was a sweet lady. “Anyone else have something they’d like to share?”
The spotlight moved on, and I felt as exhausted as if I’d run five miles. I’d hardly said anything, but it was a start. From Rob’s little sneer, he didn’t agree. The guy really despised me.
As I listened to the others pour out their grief or talk about their road to recovery, I started to really want to tell about my date with Anna. It was too big to keep to myself and made me realize I had no close friends I could call just to shoot the shit with.
When I’d first been in the hospital, I’d had visitors, or so my mom said. I was in a coma, so I didn’t know it. By the time I was working through rehab, the visits, calls, and texts had dried up. Friendships I’d made in college were too new to weather that kind of crisis. Old friends from high school were scattered far and wide and focused on college life. Katie used to read me notes people left on my Facebook wall, but most of the names meant nothing to me, and by the time I was able to read again, those messages had stopped. It’s pretty easy to fall off people’s radar. The closest thing I had to “friends” now were the homeless gang that hung out in the park and this group of survivors struggling to reclaim their lives.
I glanced at Rob and tried to imagine hanging out with the guy. Shit, why not? Maybe I’d uncover the reason for his deep-seated loathing of me. When the group broke up after an hour of talk, talk, talking, I approached him.
“Hey. Wanna grab a beer or something?”
He stared at me as if I were the stupidest person alive. “I’m an alcoholic, which you’d know if you ever listened to what people say in here.”
“Oh right. I forgot. How about coffee, then?”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s up with you today?”
“Nothing. Maybe I’m hitting on you because you’re so hot.” I grinned. Should’ve known better. Rob doesn’t have a sense of humor. He kept staring at me with pale gray eyes that could’ve shot a freeze ray.
“Kidding,” I said. “I just thought it was time to start being friendly with some people. I haven’t been exactly social since the accident.”
He shrugged. “Okay. When?”
“If you don’t have anywhere to be, how about now? I don’t work until later this afternoon.”
“I guess.” Rob put on his jacket and picked up the messenger bag he always carried with him.
It was all I could do not to make some smart-ass comment about the mysterious, ever-present bag. Yanking Rob’s chain was too easy. The guy was tightly wound. But I minded my manners and made small talk about the weather as we walked out of the building and down the block to a café.
Rob sat at a table, clutching his bag in his arm as if it held state secrets he expected to have stolen at any moment. He was a funny-looking guy, the kind who seemed to be put together from spare parts that didn’t quite match: limbs gangly, ears too big for his small head, and of course that slicked-back hairstyle did him no favors.
“What do you really want?” he demanded abruptly.
“Nothing. Jesus!” I was starting to wonder why I’d bothered. If I was going to pick any of the people from group to make friends with, why had I chosen Rob?
“Why are you suddenly volunteering to talk at group and asking me to hang with you? What happened?”
“I guess it’s like Maxie says, I’m finally ready to talk. So tell me more about yourself, Rob. You’re in the insurance business, right?”
“Claims adjustor.” He drummed his fingers against his bag. “Or I was. I’m laid off.”
“That’s too bad. Fucking economy, right?”
“Fucking jerks running my office, more like.”
I bit down on another smart-ass comment. Can’t imagine they’d want to lose a guy with a personality like yours. Instead, I made the mistake of saying, “Tell me about it.”
Rob did. In detail. For the next forty-five minutes while I sipped my iced coffee.
“That guy’s been out to get me since I was hired. It was only a matter of time,” Rob finished gloomily.
“That sucks,” I repeated for the tenth time, then changed the subject. “You had a head injury when you got mugged, didn’t you? Ever think of claiming disability?”
That launched Rob on another tirade, this time against government bureaucracy.
“Sounds like you’re having a hard time,” I said finally. “It’s not easy to bounce back from stuff is it?”
He tapped a finger against his coffee cup. “What’s the deal with you, anyway? People don’t just change all of a sudden.”
“I…” Again I wished I’d picked anyone other than Rob to talk with. He was the grumpiest guy I knew. “I don’t like to whine about what happened to me. That’s why I never talk at group. All you guys have suffered traumas inflicted on you. What happened to me I did to myself. It didn’t feel right to complain about it.”
“So w
hat’s changed?”
Anna’s smile flashed in my mind.
“I met this girl.” I forced back a goofy grin that wanted to bust out all over my face. “I’d figured I was pretty much done with dating. I was living one day at a time with as little contact with people as possible.”
“How’d you meet this chick?” Rob’s shaggy eyebrows knit together as if he was trying to figure out whether I’d simply picked up a hooker.
“In the building I clean.”
“What’s the woman do?”
“She’s a lawyer.” It sounded ridiculous when I said it out loud. Why in the world would a successful career woman be interested in a janitor?
“Oh.” Rob sounded as if he’d come to the same conclusion, and he didn’t pull any punches. “You sure you’re not making this up? Like maybe you have a crush on her and she has no idea who you are?”
“No. I’m not making it up. We went out this weekend, and it was”—a barrage of memories of that night swept over me, and I could hardly formulate words—“good. I think we’ll be seeing each other again.”
Rob squinted doubtfully.
“I didn’t expect anything like this. It’s kind of changed my perspective about what I can expect out of life. So I’m trying to put forth some effort at group.”
“Well, I guess I could see some girl liking you. You’re not ugly. But a lawyer? How you gonna deal with her being successful and rich?”
I don’t care. Stop harshing my buzz. I’m happy for the first time in a really long time. Can’t I just enjoy it for two seconds?
“I wouldn’t count on it working out,” he continued. “It can be hard for a guy to date a really successful woman.”
“You speaking from experience?”
He didn’t answer. “So now you’ve got this new-lease-on-life thing going. Well, don’t expect that to last.”
