One Night

by A. J. Pine

  “I could have saved you the early trip,” I say, facing him head on for the first time. “Regan’s joining us for coffee. But no coffee for her, only cake.”

  His brown eyes have that devilish glint, and the corners of my mouth curl up on instinct, a response I can’t control.

  “Ah, see? Now you’ve foiled my covert operation to find out if it really was you who replied to my text or if you’d been kidnapped and replaced with someone who uses emojis.”

  I narrow my eyes at Regan, a silent I told you so.

  “That’s Sexy Vampire? Adam Carson is Sexy Vampire?”

  Tracy’s small face emits something along the lines of mild amusement, but her smile widens as she looks over Regan’s shoulder. We all follow her gaze to a young man in scrubs, approaching our group. In his hands is Regan’s prosthetic.

  “And, I should probably go,” Adam says. “You all have work to do. Had I known we’d be having cake together, I would have waited till then to give you this. But since I’m already here . . .”

  Adam lowers himself to his left knee and hands Regan a business-sized envelope. He stays eye level with her, an achingly sweet smile on his face. She peeks inside and then looks at him wide-eyed.

  “It’s three courtside tickets for Thursday night’s game.” Regan’s voice is light and airy, pure astonishment.

  “Behind the home team’s bench, of course. If you’re up for it. Tracy said you’re getting released Wednesday, so I thought you might be looking for something to do with your newfound freedom.”

  Regan, a girl I’ve known only two days but who’s shown herself to be a master at keeping her emotions at bay, doesn’t try to hide when her eyes glisten, wet with tears.

  “Thank you,” she says with heartbreaking sincerity.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Adam stands up and looks at me.

  “Maybe you and Zoe want to come too? I can grab a couple more tickets. My family’s making an appearance. Guess they want to see the first of my last home games.” He pauses at this, his expression never wavering, but the small gap is enough for me to see his anxiety poke through. The first of his lasts. Everything this year is a countdown for him. I know tons of college athletes don’t go on after they graduate, but Adam doesn’t get a choice.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “I have a handful of tickets set aside already, so if you guys want to come, let me know, and I’ll leave two at the booth in your name.”

  I hesitate for only a couple of seconds, but it’s enough for Regan to jump in and answer for me.

  “Yep. She’s coming.”

  “On one condition,” I say, looking at Adam.

  “Oh, so free courtside tickets aren’t enough? Your attendance is still conditional?”

  He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, the slight tug on the garment allowing a flash of skin to peek through before his T-shirt falls back into place. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, but the pain doesn’t change what I saw or the fact that I want to see it again.

  “Jess? You were about to give me a condition?”

  Oh my god. I’m still looking at his pants, willing his shirt to ride up again. Shit.

  “Yes,” I say, my head darting up so my eyes lock on his. “We’ll come if you follow Tracy’s recommendation to only play a maximum of thirty minutes.”

  Adam’s hands fly to his heart, and he takes a dramatic stagger backward before turning an accusing eye toward Tracy. “You’re enlisting others to gang up on me, I see.”

  “Adam, I’m serious. You were unbelievable on the court, but you overdid it. Please promise me you won’t do that again.”

  His smile falters for the first time. I try to mask my urgency, but we both know he’s done this before. This time was because of me, and I won’t watch him do it again.

  “Okay,” he relents, his brown eyes softening. “I should let you all get to work.” He looks at Regan. “Tracy’s the best. If it hurts, if you think she’s pushing you further than you can go, it’s because she knows you can, so you’ve got to at least try every time she asks.”

  Regan nods, and Adam drops to his knee one more time. He whispers something in Regan’s ear that makes her eyes go wide, her dimples deep. When he stands, he brings his finger to his mouth in a silent Shhh.

  “My lips are sealed,” Regan tells him.

  “I’ll see you in an hour.” Adam looks from Regan to me. “Tracy? You finally going to join us?”

  She waves him off. “Get out of here, Carson. We’ve got some walking to do.”

  It’s not until Adam leaves that we remember why we are here. He has that kind of effect.

  Tracy introduces us to Dr. Anderson, the young guy in scrubs holding Regan’s ticket out of her wheelchair. He shows us all how to attach the prosthesis. Tracy explains that because Regan’s amputation happened below the knee, she’ll have more range of motion than if she lost the leg higher up. This doesn’t do much to assuage Regan’s apparent anxiety.

  Her brow perspires, and her fingers fumble more than once as she tries to fasten the leg herself. The shoe, though, does her in. The leg ends in the epitome of a sensible shoe. It’s white, bulky, and not at all what any thirteen-year-old would pull off the shelf in a shoe store. I’m pretty sure a thirteen-year-old wouldn’t enter a store that had this shoe on the shelf. Regan’s eyes spill over with tears.

  “I know it’s stupid and vain and I should be happy at the thought of walking again, but . . . but.” Wracked by sobs, she doesn’t finish the sentence. Tracy and Dr. Anderson stand there, letting her have her moment. They’re used to this, emotional reactions from patients, but I’m not.

  I kneel down next to her and wait. When all that’s left is the sound of her hitching breath, I say, “You’re thirteen. You have every right to hate this hideous shoe. You shouldn’t be wearing shoes like this for at least another seventy years, and there’s no way I’m letting you walk out of the hospital in them. You’ll walk out of here on Wednesday, but not in those, okay?”

  Regan nods slowly, her eyes resting on mine. When she speaks, though, she’s looking past me.

  “He was right about you.”

  I look over my shoulder to see Adam lingering by the doors to the gym, watching my interaction with Regan. But now he looks only at me, his gaze piercing mine, and in that moment I’m stripped bare, willing to tell him anything, because there’s something he sees that I can’t hide. But the moment is gone the second he walks out the door.

  Standing up, I smooth out my jeans to regain my composure.

  “You ready?”

  Regan sighs, bracing her hands on the armrests of her chair, and I take that as a yes. She pushes herself up between the parallel bars, all of her weight resting on her arms and her left foot. Seconds later, for the first time since September, she stands on her own two feet.

  ***

  “Are you sure you aren’t too tired? I can take you up to your room.”

  “And miss bragging to Sexy Vampire that I took a step today? Not a chance.”

  Regan is emotionally and physically spent, but the selfish part of me is glad she’s still coming. It’s getting harder and harder every time I see Adam to deny how I feel about him. When we walk through the cafeteria doors, I’m confident I shouldn’t be around him alone.

  Adam sits at the table by the window where we had our last coffee date. He usually sits with his back to the door, but today he’s waiting for us, watching for our reaction. Scattered across the table in front of him are what has to be every piece of cake that was on display in the food line. He bought them all.

  When he sees us walk in, the most beautiful grin takes over his features.

  My fingernails dig into my palms as I grip the wheelchair handles. I’m light-headed and need to sit.

  Regan reaches a hand back to grab mine.

  “I think I’m in love. I’m changing my mind because if this is what happens when a boy gets his sap on, I’m so totally in.”

&nbs
p; “That’s Adam for ya. He’s really proud of you, Regan.” Even in a small gesture like this—buying a table-full of cake—he knocks the wind out of me once more, and I’m grateful I’m standing behind her so she can’t read my reaction to him.

  She turns around to face me. Busted.

  “Um, wake up, Jess. I may only be thirteen, but I’m not stupid. The cake may be for me, but he did this for you.”

  Before I have time to react, her hands grip the wheels, and she propels herself out of my hands toward Adam and all of the cake.

  Standing up to greet us, he smiles at Regan, but his eyes come right back to me. He shrugs, a simple gesture, a slight movement, but it’s dissolving every last piece of my resistance.

  My feet get me to the table, but I don’t remember telling them to move.

  Regan already has a mouthful of what looks like cream cheese frosted banana cake. Good choice.

  I pull him a few feet from the table.

  “I can’t believe you did this. Do you have any idea how happy she was just to meet you? To get the tickets? And now this. Who are you?”

  He laughs, his hand rubbing the dark stubble on his jaw.

  “The tickets were Tracy’s idea, but I was happy to do it. This, though . . .” He gestures to the spread on the table. “This was all me.”

  “Impressive, Mr. Carson. You seem pretty proud of yourself. Throw in a pair of Chucks so she doesn’t have to wear those awful orthopedic shoes, and you’ve got a friend for life.” I look at Regan, beaming brighter than I’ve seen her yet. “Scratch that. I think she’s already subscribed to a lifetime of Adam Carson fangirling.”

  He laughs, and my heart swells at the sound of it. “I’m glad you like it.”

  He’s glad I like it.

  “Were you trying to impress me?”

  His brows raise.

  “That depends. Do you want me to try to impress you?”

  My smile falters as I realize what we’re doing. Flirting.

  “What?” he asks, all playfulness leaving his voice. “What did I do wrong now?”

  I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do anything wrong. That’s the problem.” I look back at Regan, at Adam’s lovely display, and I want to thank him. To throw my arms around him and show him how much I appreciate what he’s done. But if we keep bending the rules, we’re both going to lose this game.

  “This grand gesture, Adam. It doesn’t feel like it’s just for Regan. It doesn’t feel like something you’d do just for a friend.”

  His jaw tightens, and I decide to drive the point home.

  “You wanted me to get my shit together, and I’m trying,” I tell him. “But you do things like this, and I . . .” I groan, the disappearance of the patented Adam Carson grin once again my fault. “I want us to be friends,” I tell him.

  “I want that too,” he says, his voice low and even.

  “Then that’s it. We’re friends, just friends?” I ask. “No mixed signals?”

  His jaw ticks again. “Sure. No mixed signals.” I open my mouth to say something else but then close it again.

  Adam’s eyes soften. “Can I say one more thing?” he asks, and I nod. “You were so good with her in there today. I saw you get her out of that chair, Jess. You are so strong, but you somehow don’t believe it. I wish you saw yourself like I see you.”

  He chooses this moment as the one to walk away, back to where we’ve left Regan too long with too much cake.

  When I’m around him, it’s like trying to outrun a storm. I can see clear skies ahead but can’t seem to get out of the rain. I feel anything but strong. Scared, weak, ready to hide—those adjectives are more befitting my life as it is now. I wish, though, I could see what he sees.

  17

  “Zoe, it’s just a basketball game!”

  I knock again and look at the clock on the DVR. Maybe I’m a bit anxious. The game doesn’t start for two hours, but there’s the ten-minute drive, parking, walking in. Yep. Anxious.

  Zoe pops her head out of her room. The cool annoyance in her eyes is matched only by the metal glinting from the various piercings in her ears and face.

  “I’m packing, Jess. You remember I’m taking the late bus to Madison after I chaperone you at your non-boyfriend’s game, right?”

  She speaks in a slow, measured cadence, like I’m a toddler being scolded.

  “I remember,” I grumble.

  “And I’m happy to go with you,” she adds. “But do me a favor?”

  I nod.

  “Sit your ass down and chill.”

  She slams the door in my face. With a huff, I stomp over to the bar and plop down on a chair, a hard stare aimed at her door. I sneak a cream cheese frosted banana cupcake out of the plastic container next to me. Regan was officially released from the hospital yesterday, but her parents are throwing her a homecoming party tomorrow since we’re all headed to the game tonight. No one will notice if I indulge my nerves a day early.

  With zero eater’s remorse, I close my eyes and give myself thirty seconds to get my shit together. I am not going to let the thought of watching Adam play live get to me. I’m not going to think about how less than twenty-four hours after mentioning Regan’s shoe situation, he dropped off a hospital release gift for her, a mismatched pair of Chucks, one to fit her left foot and the other for her prosthetic. I’m not going to get worked up over a basketball game. Because that’s all this is. A game. So why does it all feel like anything but?

  “You can sleep sitting up? There’s a lot I don’t know about you, roomie.”

  My eyes flick open to Zoe standing close enough to be invading my personal space.

  “And you’re busted.” She wipes a thumb across my upper lip and shows me the evidence.

  “I was chilling, with my ass down, just like you asked. You didn’t say I couldn’t snack.”

  Zoe doesn’t say anything more as she grabs my elbow and pulls me out the door.

  We get to the stadium minutes before six o’clock, and as promised, two courtside tickets wait for us at the booth. When we get to our seats, Regan and her parents are already there. She’s in the wheelchair but wearing the prosthetic. She’s wearing her new shoes too.

  “You must be the rock star client Jess has been telling me about.” Zoe extends her right hand. “I’m Zoe.”

  Regan shakes Zoe’s hand and looks earnestly at her parents.

  “I’m totally getting my nose pierced before I go back to school!”

  They both shake their heads and laugh. Even if the accident hadn’t happened, I have a feeling Regan would get her way anyway. She’s impossible to refuse.

  Regan beams as she watches the opposing team warm up, reveling in every squeak of their shoes. It’s hard not to get caught up in her giddiness.

  Back in my sorority days, we had a block of seats in the balcony level at center court. Ashley, Bryan, and I attended games regularly. The thought of them looking down from a couple of stories up to see me on the polished wood of the court gives me a tiny bit of satisfaction. It also makes me think of what Ashley said, that Bryan came to see me at the hospital every day I was there, something I still don’t believe because I don’t remember it.

  Without thinking, I look up to our old section but don’t recognize anyone from this distance. The floor seats start to fill, and I remember what Adam said about his family coming to see his last first home game. A heaviness presses on my heart when I think about the implications of tonight’s game for him and that he wanted me here too. I scan the seats, not sure who I’m looking for, when I spot an older couple several seats to left who fit the bill. The woman is tall and slender. Her hair, a dark brown, is cut into a chin-length bob. Her high cheekbones and full lips are unmistakably Adam’s. The man next to her stands a few inches taller with salt-and-pepper hair and matching beard. His facial hair does nothing to hide his chiseled jaw, and looking at the two of them side by side, I have no doubt they are his parents.

  The roar of the
crowd interrupts my thoughts as the home team takes the court for the remainder of the warm-up time. There he is, number eighteen. He confirms my suspicions when he makes clear eye contact with the couple. They stand and wave, pride emanating from their entire countenance. But they’re not standing alone. A third person stands with them. A girl. She’s tall like Adam’s mom, wavy blond hair to her shoulders resting above a low-cut, fitted top accentuating her curves. And holy shit, she has curves.

  Dark-haired, dark-eyed number eighteen can have a fair-haired gorgeous sister, right?

  Adam smiles toward the group of three, but there’s something insincere in it. His eyes betray him. I wait for him to scan down the row to where he knows Zoe, Regan, and I should be, but his focus moves back to the court.

  “Hey.” Zoe’s hand grips my forearm in gentle reassurance. “His attention needs to be out there. I’m sure he’ll come by after the game.”

  She follows my gaze down the row to a certain party of three who did receive Adam’s brief attention.

  “You’re not family, Jess. Just friends, right?”

  “Right.”

  My phone vibrates with a text, but I ignore it. Anyone I’d have any interest in talking to, and the list is short, is right here. A minute later another text comes through. I take my phone out of my pocket to turn off the text notifications. Both missed texts are from Bryan. Instinct tells me to look up to the balcony section, but I don’t see him. Another text. This time I read it and the two that came before.

  Bryan: Can we please talk?

  Bryan: I’m at the game.

  Bryan: Floor seats, across the aisle to your right.

  I stare at the last text for a few seconds before reacting. There’s fifteen minutes before tip-off. Ashley’s ambush was only the beginning. If I can put an end to this tonight, maybe I can stop feeling stalked by a life I’m no longer part of.

  How did I not notice him? Bryan sits across the aisle from Regan and her parents, the only thing separating him from us are the stairs running up the floor section of seats. He looks down, elbows on his knees and hands clasped behind his neck. One still holds his phone. Good. Let him be nervous.