One Night

by A. J. Pine

  I squeeze back. “I’m trying to believe that. I really am. And meeting you—you made it impossible not to want things I thought I didn’t deserve.”

  His eyes close, and I know I’m losing him.

  “Are you still here?”

  “Yes.” The word comes out of his mouth long and lazy, which means I have to hurry.

  “I thought I could figure this all out on my own, but I was wrong. I’m getting help. And I trust you now, Adam. I know it’s probably too late, but I need you to know. I trust you not to run if you don’t want to run, but it’s your decision, not mine.”

  I burrow into his chest knowing anything I say now will be lost to the happy juice.

  “I love you. Even before that night, I loved you, and nothing has ever scared me more than the thought of losing you. But I already have. Haven’t I?”

  He doesn’t answer, his heavy, even breaths telling me he’s out cold. I pull my phone out of my pocket and set the alarm for five. And for one more night, I sleep in the arms of the boy I love.

  ***

  I catch the alarm on first vibration and climb out of the bed without disturbing him. My fingers skim across his forehead, and his skin is cool to the touch. I cup both of his cheeks and lean down until my lips meet his. He returns the kiss but just barely, and I pull back quickly so he doesn’t wake.

  “I love you,” I whisper. “No matter what I did to make you think otherwise, I hope you know now that the only reason I pushed you away was because of how scared I was to care about you as much as I did.” Then I slip out of the room, unseen.

  Zoe’s still in bed when I get home, and I practically face-plant into mine. I barely slept last night, not wanting to miss a minute of being with Adam. It didn’t matter that he was barely conscious.

  I reset my alarm to wake up in time for my classes. It’s three when I head to the hospital, but it’s not for PT. It’s for my consultation with my new therapist. I talked to Tracy earlier today to discuss makeup hours for my internship and to make sure Adam was doing okay, but I’m keeping my distance until he gets through the next couple of weeks. Last night was the height of drama. He needed someone, and I was there. It would be silly to get my hopes up for anything more now that he has his family and doctors and a major surgery to prepare for.

  I sit in the waiting room, knees bouncing with nerves at the thought of meeting my new therapist. I keep waking my phone every few minutes to make sure I’ve got the right time . . . and maybe to check if I have any missed messages. During one of the few seconds I let it rest on my leg, it vibrates with an incoming text. I flip it over, breathing in sharp when I see the sender’s name.

  Sexy Vampire.

  I don’t need to open the text to read it. It’s short enough to fit in the pop-up notification.

  I love you too.

  25

  I bet if I look in my file, the one therapist Nicole filled out after our consultation, it will probably mention something along the lines of the patient waffling between being dazed and near catatonic to jittery and unable to focus. It was only a twenty-minute session, an initial meet-and-greet if you can call it that, for her to get my health history. But I barely offered anything more than one-word answers, at times her having to call my name more than once because all I was focused on was my phone and the message to which I hadn’t yet replied. I’ll explain next week when we have our first official session why, as soon as she began to utter our time was up, I bounded for the door with a frantic “Good-bye!” hollered over my shoulder. And then I ran, too impatient to wait for the small convenience of the elevator. It would have to be the stairs.

  Panting, most likely sweating, and the most frightened I’ve been yet, I stand outside the Superman room. Panic sets in. What if he’s still heavily medicated and doesn’t remember what he wrote? What if he didn’t even write it? I’ve had my phone hijacked before. It’s not unheard of.

  “He’s waiting for you.”

  The words come from behind me, the teasing voice of a precocious teenager, and I turn to see Regan, standing, her smile radiant.

  My eyes sting, but I hold back the tears as I remember the last time I saw her that night at the game . . . and the last time I should have seen her but didn’t.

  “Regan,” I say, my voice cracking, but I manage to hold it together. “I’m so sorry. Your party. I should have called.”

  She doesn’t say anything as she steps toward me with the perfect grace of a girl comfortable in her own skin, on her own two feet, even if one of them isn’t biologically hers. And she wraps me in a hug.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, this child who lost a part of herself but has never once seemed anything less than whole. How is it, after I messed up and let her down, she is the one to comfort me?

  She pulls away and looks at me, my eyes no longer dry.

  “You are okay, aren’t you, Jess?”

  I laugh at the possibility of her question, not because I don’t believe my answer but because for the first time, I do.

  “I think I will be,” I tell her. “I have a lot to work on, but I have a great role model when it comes to learning how to heal.”

  She smiles, and her cheeks redden. “Me?”

  “Yes, you!” I tousle her hair, and she swats my hand away, patting down her locks. “I’m sorry. Were you headed in to see your number one crush?” I nod toward Adam’s room.

  She rolls her eyes in the most glorious display of being a normal teenager. “No. I was already in there. I’m heading downstairs to meet someone.”

  “Meet someone? Who? Where? For what?” I tease.

  She groans. “The cafeteria. For cake. A patient I met a couple weeks ago. He was checking in when I was checking out. Appendicitis. He’s fine now, by the way, but he was coming in for a follow-up with Dr. Colin, and I was planning on visiting Adam anyway, so . . .”

  I mess with her hair again for good measure. “Go get him, kiddo.”

  “You too,” she says and starts to walk away. But I grab her hand.

  “Wait, Regan. What do you mean he’s waiting for me? Did he send me that text, or did you?”

  She crosses her arms and looks at me.

  “Are you really going to wait out here when my number one crush waits in there, in love with you?”

  I have to catch my breath before answering. I pull my phone from my pocket and read the text again. It was easy to believe it when I didn’t have to face him, but what if I walk through that door and don’t find what I’m looking for?

  “Well?” Regan asks.

  “Don’t rush me,” I say. “Maybe I’m a little nervous.”

  Regan rolls her eyes again.

  “I’m not looking forward to my twenties if all of this stuff gets so complicated. I like a boy. He likes me. We’re going to have some cake. I don’t know the whole story between you and Adam, but it seems pretty simple. If you love him and he loves you, why can’t you work out the other stuff?”

  “Well, when you put it like that it makes my I don’t know sound like a pretty lame response.”

  “Exactly,” she says, grabbing my hand and placing it on the door handle. “Do you remember the day in the lab, the first day I tried walking?”

  I nod.

  “Do you remember when I said he was right about you?”

  I replay the days in the hospital when Regan first met Adam, when she realized who she had texted from my phone. An image of him whispering something in her ear registers. I never asked either of them about it. There was never a chance before everything fell apart.

  “I remember.”

  She grins. “Ask him what he said.” I open my mouth to protest, terrified enough just to walk in there, but Regan cuts me off. “Finding out is better than not knowing, right?”

  I know she means more than finding out what he whispered in her ear, and I laugh quietly to myself at this girl, eight years my junior, with a wisdom far beyond her years.

  She doesn’t wait to see if I open the
door but lets me have this moment to myself. Last night I came here not expecting anything from Adam, only wanting to be here for him when he had nobody else. But now there is hope and expectation and need. I need him, and admitting that is the scariest part of all.

  I don’t remember putting weight on it, but the handle gives, letting the door creak open.

  The curtain that gave the added guise of privacy last night is no longer closed, and as soon as I step in, our eyes meet. He sits up, dressed in a gray T-shirt and black basketball pants, a large brace running the length of his right leg.

  He smiles at me, his eyes starting to answer the what-ifs.

  “You heard me, last night?” My voice trembles, and my heart threatens to burst through my rib cage. And I’m totally white-knuckling the door handle. With all the recent embracing of my own emotions, I’m pretty screwed when it comes to my poker face. Whatever I’m feeling right now, I have no doubt he can see it.

  “I heard you.”

  “Everything?”

  He nods, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Yeah, he knows I’m squirming here, but God it’s good to see that grin.

  “Everything.”

  I coax my hand to release its grip, allowing me to take a step toward the foot of his bed.

  “And the text? Was that under the influence of medication?”

  He lifts his arm to show me the absent IV.

  “They’re releasing me this afternoon. No narcotics since this morning. I’ve got a prescription to fill, but I haven’t taken anything yet.” His face grows serious. “I know you, Jess. You know I do.”

  I nod.

  “And I knew you’d find a reason to doubt because you’re scared. So here I am, free of pain-killers. Just me and how I feel about you. I’m scared too, you know.”

  He leans forward, his hand reaching for mine, and I move around the side of the bed to meet him.

  “I need to say some things now too, so just listen.”

  My teeth graze my bottom lip as I wait.

  “I never should have let that night happen, not without telling you how I felt. Maybe that would have changed how things went down the next morning.” He scrubs his free hand over his stubble. “I love you, Jess. Even when I thought you didn’t want me like I wanted you, I loved you. Please tell me you knew how I felt.”

  I can’t bear the anguish in his eyes, because I know. I put it there.

  “I loved you,” I tell him. “And that was enough for me. But I knew when it was over I’d hurt you, that you’re still hurting now.”

  My breathing catches, and he squeezes my hand.

  “It doesn’t matter how pissed or hurt I was. I shouldn’t have said those things about you and Jake, and . . .” He throws his head back into the pillow. “Shit. I will never forgive myself for that. You have to know, though, I never judged you, not before I knew and certainly not after. No one should be expected to lose what you lost and know how to deal with it. I sure as hell didn’t deal with it the right way. But you’re strong, Jess. You’re so strong. I need you to know I see it, that I love you for your strength.”

  I shake my head, not fighting the tears anymore.

  “Adam.” My free hand reaches for his cheek, and he leans into it, his warm exhale on my skin making me tremble more. “I don’t feel strong right now.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” he says, a slow, sweet smile spreading across his face. “To remind you every day that you are.”

  I stand for several moments, my hand on his face, willing myself to believe him.

  “You’re right. I am scared,” I finally say. “I never felt worthy of your love, not when I couldn’t give you what I thought you’d want. To love you, to need you, it still feels unfair because I do. I love you so much, and I’ve never needed anyone more.”

  His lips press into my palm, his other hand still gripping me tight.

  “You, Jess. You, are what I want.”

  He pulls me onto the bed, and I lie facing him, fitting my body to the shape of his.

  “But I can’t . . . you know I can’t . . .” My voice breaks completely, and his hands are on my cheeks, thumbs wiping the tears falling faster than he can make them disappear.

  “I know,” he whispers, kissing my forehead. “I know.”

  “How?” I ask, choking on a sob. “How can I be enough?”

  His lips trail over my eyes, my cheeks, until he pauses above my mouth. “Enough? No. That’s not the right word.” He kisses me with all the intensity of the moment, showing me how much he feels it too. “You’re so much more than enough. You’re everything, Jess. Do you understand? You’re everything.”

  He waits for me to respond, and I nod slowly, not able to find words adequate for what I feel. So I kiss him hard, unrelenting, because he is everything too.

  “Be my future, Jess,” he says when we break for air. “And let me be yours. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

  When our lips meet this time, it’s with endless ferocity, and I taste him, mixed with the salt of my tears. My fists clench in his T-shirt, and I pull him closer, remembering the last time we kissed, the morning when I told him everything. I thought I saw pity in his eyes then, and when he kissed me I felt only regret. But it was my regret, not his. I know that now.

  “I was never going to run,” he says against me, his words filling me with what I haven’t allowed myself to feel in so long.

  “I know.”

  “Do you trust me?” he asks, still kissing me in between his words.

  “I do.”

  “And I trust you. Because I’m not going to lose you again. I’m not going to let you punish yourself for what happened. If things get messy again, I’m going to remind you it’s you I love, not some idea of what love should be. You can’t push me away, because I’m not going anywhere. You get that?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his. “I get it. No pushing.”

  We kiss for several more minutes, making up for the weeks we’ve been apart, for the truth we’ve both been holding back. There’s nothing to hold back anymore, and it takes me a while to come down from this. When I finally do, I pull away gently, propping myself up on my elbow.

  “Hey,” he teases with a smile. “Why’d you stop?”

  I brush my lips against his once more. “I don’t want to stop, but I also don’t want anything else to go unsaid. Don’t you want to know why I’m here right now?”

  He trails his fingers through my hair and laughs quietly. “You didn’t rush here to see me as soon as you got my text?”

  I groan. “I wanted to. It was the best text sent at the worst possible time.”

  He raises his brows.

  “The prescription bottle you found? It shouldn’t have been expired.” I close my eyes, wondering how messy he’s really prepared for this to get. “I’m on medication.”

  He kisses my nose and flashes the wicked grin I’ve missed so much.

  “So am I,” he says.

  “Not the same thing,” I retort.

  “Hey.” He puts a finger under my chin so my eyes meet his. “You’re managing your pain, and I’m managing mine. It’s okay.”

  I smile weakly. “I’m in therapy.”

  I’m not ashamed of this, not at all. But I need him to know what he’s getting into, that once we leave this bubble of safety, things are going to get more real than they’ve ever been.

  “So am I.”

  My eyebrows raise this time.

  “Learning how to transition,” he says with air quotes, and I realize I’ve said nothing yet about him, about what happened.

  “I’m sorry.” I kiss his cheek, his neck. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  He shakes his head. “It was always a risk. I knew it the minute I got off the bench. I could have retired early.”

  I shake my head. Early retirement was never an option for him.

  “But you loved it too much.”

  He nods, and I run my fingers through his hair,
wishing I could give him back the last few months of his career, to let him prepare for the end.

  I decide to lay everything on the table, making sure he knows exactly what he’s getting into with me.

  “So, here it is,” I start. “I’ve got baggage.”

  His laugh is sweet.

  “Got it too,” he adds.

  “But I’ve also got a promise not to run if it gets messy. Because it will.”

  “I promise not to let you,” he says.

  I open my mouth, but he stops me with his finger. “I’d like to add something to this uplifting list of ours.”

  I don’t fight him.

  “I’ve got . . . a never-ending need to kiss you.”

  He removes his finger, allowing me to speak.

  “That is uplifting. I can help you with that, you know.” I start to kiss him but pause, remembering what Regan said. “Hey. I saw Regan out there.”

  “Kind of an odd thing to say right now.”

  He grins and leans in to kiss me again. Who am I to argue? But as his tongue slips past my lips, all I can think about is what she said. Finding out is better than not knowing, right?

  I need to know. So I pull out of the kiss again, and Adam groans.

  “She told me to ask you something,” I say. “About what you whispered to her that day when you first met her.”

  I wait anxiously as he seemingly begins to comb his memory.

  “It’s stupid,” I say. “You probably have no idea what I’m talking about. Forget it.”

  His fingers trace the outline of my lips. “I’m messing with you,” he teases. “Of course I remember.”

  I push his shoulder playfully.

  “What did you tell her?” I ask, my tone demanding now.

  He smiles against my cheek, whispering in my ear. “I told her to keep an eye on you, that you have a habit of making your clients fall in love with you.” His face drops to my neck, where his lips kiss and taste.

  I gasp, understanding what I was so afraid to see back then. He loved me. Even before that night, he loved me.

  We melt into each other. I will never stop needing this, stop needing him. But I don’t have to hope anymore. Not now. Now I know.