Love Show

by Audrey Bell

  A man named Jonesy buckled me into a harness while the plane idled nearby. Xander, Patrick, and I were all jumping tandem, while Jack was flying solo. He’d done this before, I told myself. There was no reason to worry.

  The plane was noisy and I sat back on a bench, in Jonesy’s lap, across from Jack, who grinned at me.

  “Cozy?” he asked.

  I made a made a face. I didn’t think it was possible to have this many butterflies in your stomach. The plane taxied down the runway and surged through its take off. My chest tightened and my stomach went wild, as the earth shrunk below us. The engines roared in my ears. I could hardly hear the instructor who I was strapped to shouting in my ear.

  “Alright, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re going to open the door in just a minute and then we’re going to jump. Okay?”

  Not okay. Not okay. So not okay.

  I shut my eyes until I heard them open the door.

  “Alright, here we go,” he said. “Let’s start moving.”

  “Okay,” I breathed. We stood up and awkwardly moved to the door. The air was frigid. Actually, breathtakingly cold.

  “Pull your goggles on,” Jonesy shouted over the rattling engines. He walked me right to the edge of the plane. All I could hear now was the wind and the noise. I turned my head, panicked, and I looked at Jack. He’d risen to his feet to watch me go. And when I caught his eyes, I felt safe.

  And then we were standing outside the plane.

  The earth was spread out beneath us, flat, like an unfurled map. Everything was white and gray for miles. I felt my toes just over the edge of the doorway. I felt my heart riot in my chest. My brain went clear. All I could see was the earth. All I could remember was that we were jumping.

  He pushed me out and we tumbled, the air was the sweet Jesus kind of cold, filling my mouth, rushing through my nose, stripping the warmth from my body and the air from my lungs. We flipped once, twice, three times and the dark line of the horizon spun in my eyes like a spinnaker.

  My neck strained against the pressure and then it didn’t feel like we were falling at all. We were still dropping fast, but we were no longer accelerating. I was pressed tightly against Jonesy’s chest, with my arms up against his like a gliding bird.

  He opened the parachute and I felt tightness around my chest and arms as we came out of the freefall. We slowed and then we were just drifting over the earth.

  “Oh my god,” I murmured as I was flooded with endorphins. I felt like I was on drugs. I felt perfect. Like all of the things I ever worried about would never return.

  I never wanted to land. Even though my teeth chattered, I wanted to drift forever.

  “Lift your feet up and then try to stand,” Jonesy told me as we approached the ground. And that’s just what I did. We landed gently. But my legs shook as we stood. He lightly touched my waist and unstrapped me and I sat down.

  “Holy shit,” I said as I watched Jack dropping in alone. He came in faster, whipping through the wind. And he landed at a half-run, taking a few big steps forward and then jogging over to me, shucking off the harness.

  “Holy shit,” I repeated to him.

  He laughed and pulled me to my feet. I looked up at the sky. In the distance, we could see the other two parachutes opening and Nate and Xander drifting back to earth.

  “Can we do that again?” I asked breathlessly.

  He smiled and dropped his head. Standing in an open field, with a parachute still strapped to his shoulders, he kissed me deeper than anyone has ever kissed me before.

  And my knees buckled. They actually buckled. And the thing about your knees buckling that they never tell you in the movies is that usually you’re never expecting it and usually neither is he.

  So he didn’t catch me. The bastard.

  I caught myself on my hands, but not without feeling a sharp shooting pain in my knee, which twisted underneath me.

  “Shit. Ow. Shit,” I said, grabbing at the horrible stabbing in my left knee.

  “Jesus. Are you okay? Did you—what just happened?” Jack asked. He helped me sit up.

  “I have a Charlie horse in my knee.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Oh my god, shut the fuck up, I’m dying,” I said.

  "Are you seriously hurt?"

  "Yes."

  "What happened?"

  "Me knees went out."

  "I made you weak at the knees?"

  "I'm serious. It hurts," I growled.

  “Alright, alright, alright,” he said. “Hey!” He shouted to one of the instructors. “She hurt her leg. Can you…” They started running over and he looked back down at me. “Babe, can you stand up?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It really fucking hurts.” And it did. It was like a stabbing pain, deep and penetrating and awful.

  I lay on the cold ground, breathing hard. Anyone who tells you that you should wait for that guy who makes you weak at the knees should be shot.

  Three hours later, I had crutches, Percocet, and a brace for my sprained knee. Sweetly, Nate and Xander had stuck out the whole ordeal in the waiting room while Jack tried not to laugh when I told the doctor that my knee just collapsed after he’d kissed me.

  “I hate you,” I grumbled as he pushed the wheelchair to the doors. “Actual, real hatred.”

  “That’s against the rules,” he said.

  “Says who?”

  “I’m making a rule. No hatred.”

  “Okay, flower child.”

  Xander dropped me and Jack off at my apartment. He took my tote bag over his shoulder, giving me a look like he dared me to make fun of him, and helped me to the door.

  “You need to take the elevator,” he said.

  “There is no elevator,” I said, testing out my crutches on the staircase.

  Jack looked at me skeptically. “You are going to die on these stairs.”

  “Don’t be such an alarmist.” I stumbled and he steadied me.

  “No, no, no. I’m not taking you back to the hospital tonight.” He picked me up abruptly, like I was an infant and began walking up the stairs.

  I lolled in his arms. I’d normally put up a fight, but I was sleepy and who the fuck wanted to walk up stairs when they were on painkillers and someone would carry them.

  “I don’t want to hear a goddamned word about how much I weigh.”

  “No more than eleven pounds,” he said.

  “Good answer,” I replied dryly. We reached the stop of the stairs and he set me down.

  “What? No door-to-door service?” I asked, putting down my crutches in the hallway and beginning the awkward jaunt to my apartment door.

  “Fuck no,” he muttered breathlessly. He took my keys and opened the door. David and Ben sat on the couch, smiling at each other, and both of them freaked out when they saw Jack.

  “Seriously, Hadley?” David said, annoyed. I had forgotten. I had completely forgotten that he planned on having Ben over.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  “Oh my God,” David said in an entirely different tone when he realized I was on crutches. “What happened to your leg? Did your parachute not open or something?”

  “I would be dead if my parachute didn’t open,” I said.

  “She tripped,” Jack said awkwardly.

  Jack looked at Ben, then at David, then back to Ben. “David, right? I don’t think we’ve officially met.” He stepped towards him and shook his hand. He nodded at Ben. “What’s up, Mitchell?”

  So they knew each other. Great. I snuck a look at David. He was going to kill me.

  "Hey, Jack," Ben said, standing up. "How's it going? We were doing a chemistry project. You guys went skydiving? That's awesome. I'd love to try that some time. You know, when I don't have to meet with my assigned partner for a mandatory project." He grinned nervously. At least he had the dignity to flush as he tried to disown David, tried to act like the only reason he'd ever spend time with him was because he'd been assigned.

  Jack's
eyes flashed with what I was starting to recognize as his trademark look of silent fury. I was pretty sure he had put two and two together. He knew Ben was the kid who attacked David. "Yeah?" he said shortly. "Good luck with that." He turned back to me. "Come on. You need to lie down."

  "What's wrong with your leg?" David asked.

  "I sprained my knee."

  “Let me. Do you need ice?” David asked. “I know—hold on. I know we have ice. How did you sprain your knee, girl?” He scrambled into the kitchen.

  Ben cringed when David called me girl. David caught it, too, biting his lip, embarrassed. And I glared at Ben angrily.

  “I make her week at the knees,” Jack joked.

  “Um, well, I should go,” Ben said. “Look, I think you can take the rest of the project from here, right, Danny?”

  David’s eyes flashed. Not with anger. With staggeringly insane heartbreaking hurt. Like he’d been slapped across the face. Ben was pretending not to know him. Ben was pretending that he didn’t remember his name.

  “His name is David,” Jack said as I tensed.

  Ben flushed again and Jack turned his head to look uncritically at David.

  “Oh, oh, sorry, we—we just met for the first time. We’re lab partners,” Ben offered lamely.

  "Don't apologize to me," Jack said.

  "Right."

  He turned to go.

  "You should apologize to David," Jack said.

  Ben stopped and looked at Jack and then at David. "Right, sorry."

  "Don't worry about it," David said, barely above a whisper.

  Ben was halfway out the door already though. He pulled the door shut so hard that the doorframe rattled.

  “Here’s ice,” David murmured. His voice wavered. “W-would you excuse me?” He walked to his room quickly.

  "David, wait," I called after him. "David, come on."

  "Just let him. You need to lie down," Jack said. "Then we can get David."

  “I’m not as neat as you, so don’t have a panic attack,” I warned him when we reached my bedroom.

  I crawled into my bed. I heard David’s bathroom door close softly.

  “So, Ben Mitchell’s gay?” Jack asked, crawling next to me on the bed.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I mumbled.

  “That’s just—wow.”

  “Don’t…”

  “I’m not going to. It’s just ironic,” Jack said. “He uses the word ‘faggot’ more than any straight guy I know.”

  “Don’t tell me this shit,” I said. “I can barely hear David say his name without wanting to hunt him down and David feels like I'm attacking him when I point out what a shit boyfriend he is."

  “He’s the one who beat David up, yeah?”

  I nodded.

  Jack ran a hand through my hair. “Well, it’s certainly not your fault.”

  “I know that.”

  He sighed.

  “Hey, get David for me,” I asked.

  He nodded but didn't move. “Yo, David,” he shouted. “David, come in here.”

  “I meant get up and ask nicely.”

  “The walls are thin,” Jack responded.

  I pushed him. "You are lazy."

  Jack didn't move. "He might want to be alone."

  "Please."

  Jack sighed, got to his feet and knocked on David's bedroom door. "Hey, man, whenever you get a second, Hadley wants to talk you."

  "Yeah," David called back shakily. "Just a minute."

  Jack returned to my bedroom and lay down next to me. "Get under the covers."

  "No."

  "It's cold in here."

  He yanked at the sheets.

  "Do not do that."

  He gave me a perplexed look.

  "I don't like making my bed."

  "So don't make it," he said.

  "But I hate when it looks messy."

  He yanked at the covers, pulled them under and then over me. "Too late."

  "Asshole."

  David appeared, slightly red-eyed, a few minutes later. “Hey,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Loopy as fuck,” I said. “Get in here.”

  David glanced warily at Jack and sat on the edge of my bed.

  "Hey, can I say something?" Jack asked.

  David looked at him twice as warily. "Ah, yeah."

  “Was that your boyfriend?” Jack asked.

  David shot me a look of betrayal.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I insisted.

  “He’s closeted. You can’t tell anyone," David said.

  "So, he's your boyfriend," Jack said.

  "Yes," David said.

  “He's being a douche bag," Jack stated flatly. “And then next time he hits you, hit him back.”

  “Hadley,” David said, horrified.

  “I—I had to talk about it with someone.”

  “Then talk about it with me.”

  I looked at him pleadingly. “You said to let it be. And so I did, but I had to tell someone.”

  David crossed his arms and shook his head. “Just butt out, okay? It seems like you have enough drama in your own personal life, as it is.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, well…”

  “No, I’m fine. Ben and I are fine. I know what the deal is—”

  “He’s going to pretend to forget your name in front of Jack? Someone he barely even knows? He’d rather have Jack think he doesn’t know you than have Jack possibly suspect that he might be friends with someone who is gay? Seriously?”

  “Hadley, I don’t give a fuck. Don’t you get that? I love him,” David said.

  “Well, I’m really sorry, because the way things are going, it’s not going to end well.”

  Jack glanced at me. “Maybe you two should have this fight when you’re both not so emotional.”

  “Oh, shut up,” David and I both yelled at him at the exact same time and in the exact same tone of voice.

  Jack looked at David and then at me. I saw him fighting a smile.

  "Right. Sorry," he exhaled.

  I threw my head back. “David, I love you. I just think your boyfriend’s an asshole. Okay?”

  I closed my eyes and waited to hear his voice. “Fine,” he said it tersely. “Just, you know, try to stay out of it.”

  I took in a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. Okay, I will.”

  “You’re my best friend,” he said softly. “Feel better.” He closed the door softly behind him.

  Jack was quiet next to me.

  “How you feeling?” he asked, kissing my temple lightly.

  “Ugh.”

  “Here. Why don’t you take your painkillers and try to fall asleep?” he asked. “Do you want the TV on?”

  “Yeah.”

  He flipped through the channels.

  “What do you want?”

  “The news.”

  He looked at me. “You fall asleep to the news?”

  “I like to think I can hear it when I’m sleeping.”

  “You are a psycho,” he said. He left the room and came back with a glass of water. He helped me sit up and take the pills. And then he set the crutches next to my bed, where they’d be easily to reach.

  He lay down next to me on the bed and we watched the headlines.

  “This is what you fall asleep to?” he smiled. “You ever heard of lullabies? Or Planet Earth?”

  “Yes. But this is what I like,” I said, curling into the covers.

  “Violent demonstrations in Egypt?”

  “Yes.”

  The tension in my knee had been so great, that I didn’t truly begin to notice it until it had begun to dissipate.

  “Disturbing,” Jack teased.

  I felt Jack’s hand in my hair, and I felt his lips brush the top of my head. “Alright, just call me if you need anything, kid,” he said.

  “Hey?” I reached for his wrist. In the darkened room, the word that broke our rules was easy to say: “Stay.”

  He hesitated. "Ar
e you sure?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, I want you to stay."

  He kicked off his shoes and settled beside me and I drifted to sleep easily.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I woke up groggily and in pain again. I swore as I sat up. And then I swore again when I saw Jack curled next to me. We were both fully clothed. We had been cuddling.

  “Shit,” I muttered. I reached for the crutches and the orange bottle of Percocet and choked another pill down.

  Jack stirred. He blinked open his eyes and sat up suddenly. He looked at me and then at the TV screen. “Hey, CNN is really like a lullaby,” he murmured, as the morning headlines rolled across the screen.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just a little sore,” I said, leaning forward in the bed for my phone. My knee was a problem, but it felt like a small problem compared to Jack sleeping over.

  I scrolled through my texts—nothing important or interesting. And then I checked my email.

  Andrew’s new memo to staff writers on fact-checking.

  Justin’s article, which he was having trouble sourcing.

  An email from Dale Broussards confirming my interview on Thursday. It was hard not to be happy about that. I grinned broadly.

  "What?" Jack asked.

  "Nothing," I said.

  "You're smiling like an idiot."

  "It’s nothing," I said. "Just the job I'm interviewing for. I’m excited.”

  Jack held out his hand for my phone. "Let me see."

  I handed my phone over. He scanned the email quickly and handed the phone back to me with a noncommittal nod of his head. "Neat."

  I guess I should've known he wouldn't be too excited about jobs, given his aversion to them.

  I yawned. "David's cooking," I said, hearing the sound of him in the kitchen.

  "I was going to say it smells amazing. When can I move in?”

  I gave him a look and got to my feet shakily.

  "Easy, tiger," he said, springing out of bed. "Where you going?"

  "To brush my teeth."

  "Let me help you."

  "Brush my teeth?"

  “I bet you don’t have an extra toothbrush.”

  “You can use mine,” I offered.

  He made a face.

  “Your mouth has had worse.”

  He chuckled at me as I limped to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror as I brushed my teeth, slumped against my crutches. I couldn’t believe I had sprained my knee. I had an interview for a job in Syria, reporting on massive upheaval and unrest. What was I going to tell the New York Times when they asked how I sprained my knee? Some boy made me weak in the knees? That I couldn’t handle a kiss?