by K B Cinder
“What took you so long, Goober?” He lived closer than I did, his neighborhood visible from where we sat, the cluster of pristine homes just over the highway next to the golf course.
“I’ve been here since ten. Dash gave me a ride. I was talking with some admirers in the parking lot.” He grinned, waving at a gaggle of women lower on the stands, a row of perfect teeth and hair staring up at us. Some of them were with their kids, wedding rings in full view while they openly flirted with my big brother.
I shot them the finger, transforming their smiles into scowls.
Sage grabbed my hand to hide the bird, his humongous paw covering it. “Juniper, what the hell?”
“Don’t be a pig, Sage.” I shook his hand off of mine, missing its heat as soon as I did. “Can’t you date someone that isn’t a disaster waiting to happen for once?”
It’s like he’d never seen an episode of 20/20 where the lover gets the axe.
“Oh, really, Miss I-Porked-My-Boss?” he shot back, grabbing my hot cocoa and taking a sip before I could object. “Take your own advice, Sissy. You let the Finger fingerblast you.”
Mr. Barton cleared his throat in front of us as I swung a closed fist into my brother’s chest, a slight oof the only reaction as it hit nothing but muscle.
“I dated him for two years. That’s more time than you’ve spent with all your floozies combined and then some. That’s beyond porking, Sage.”
His taunt hurt. He made the relationship seem cheap and tawdry, two things it never was. I loved Brandon.
Maybe I still did so soon after everything that happened. Love needed time to die once cut off from oxygen. It didn’t happen overnight.
“You know what I meant.” He handed me my thermos back, patting my knee before crossing his arms stiffly. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just…you sound like Mom. I don’t need your crap too.”
“You’re blatantly flirting with married women. That’s wrong on so many levels. Sure, you need a woman that knows what she wants, but you need one that isn’t already involved with someone else.” I shot another middle finger at the women still gawking at him, the last stragglers turning their backs to us at long last.
Sage offered a weak shrug of a defense. “Um, they’re flirting with me, so…”
“Ignore them,” I hissed, looking back at the field.
The police officers were stretching on the sidelines and giving everyone a show in their tight pants. Yes, please.
And when the firefighters started? Hallelujah.
I could watch football all day.
Instead of taking my advice, Sage ignored everything else but women, his eyes drinking in those in the crowd even after the whistle blew and the game began.
Not that he missed much.
The first quarter dragged on without any points scored, both teams fumbling constantly while the audience groaned louder each time.
The cold had to be messing with the players, the chill in the air leaving my cheeks and thighs numb, my butt well on its way to becoming a frozen rump roast. I couldn’t imagine how cold they were wearing far less out in the open, most only rocking thin football pants and jerseys.
Grown men moved with the grace of overtired toddlers, missing throws even I could have caught, every move grossly exaggerated. The tackles looked like they were in slow motion, the men seeming to tumble across the turf forever. It was almost painful to watch.
Most players showed their frustration, stomping on and off the field after every turnover. Others, like Dash, took the setbacks in stride, jogging around with their heads held high, even after each pass was dropped or missed entirely.
The second quarter wasn’t much better, but at least the police scored a field goal by the skin of their teeth. With points on the board, the mood ticked up, a few rounds of the wave breaking out in the audience along with cheers, chants erupting for either side on and off.
Karine still hadn’t arrived, and Sage wasn’t feeling chatty, so I was forced to pay attention to the game, not that it was a bad thing. I didn’t mind football. I headed into the city to see the Birds whenever I had the chance, so at least I knew what was going on, and things weren’t looking up for the firefighters who were stuck at zero.
Every play seemed to fall apart before the quarterback’s eyes, and if he didn’t fumble the ball or overshoot his target, he was sacked.
Halftime couldn’t start soon enough, though it came with off-key Christmas carols screeched by the local women’s choir. Ones that left me wishing for a silent night.
It also brought loneliness, Sage booking it to mingle with the ladies, while I contemplated heading to my car to defrost.
I decided against it because one: I’d only be colder for the second half; and two: I spied Brandon canoodling with Clare at the end of our row, blocking the exit. I didn’t trust myself not to act up in public, so I stayed put and suffered in cold silence.
Sage reappeared as the third quarter started, his face flushed and lips swollen from doing things I didn’t want to think about.
I ignored him, focusing on the game, ticked we were spending our yearly tradition bickering rather than having fun.
For once, the firefighter’s quarterback sent a perfect throw through the air, the ball spiraling beautifully toward Dash who was nearing the twenty yard line.
It landed against the center of his chest with a satisfying thunk, just as an opponent came crashing into him, sending them both sprawling to the ground, their helmets clunking into one another.
While the defense player slowly climbed back to his feet, Dash stayed down, his body crumpled on the turf.
I batted away the sinking feeling at my core, dismissing it as him recovering. It was a hard hit. I wouldn’t bounce right up, either. In fact, I’d probably be bawling like a baby.
But I knew something was off.
I knew it before the other players rushed to his side.
Before the medics hurried onto the field.
Before Sage grabbed my hand.
Before we were running down the stands to get to him, barging through bodies rather than taking the stairs.
Something was terribly wrong.
5
Dash was still down when we stormed the field, his helmet discarded to the side as medics fluttered around. His neck was steadied with a brace as he lay splayed out in front of the town, his eyes blinking and unfocused.
He was conscious, at least, answering questions as they poked and prodded, thankfully not paralyzed as he winced when a finger jabbed the sensitive meat of his inner thigh.
He was undeniably in pain, however, his hazel eyes glazed over like he had the world’s worst migraine, worsened by the cheers of the crowd, the whoops and shouts getting louder and louder, encouraging him to stand.
“Oh my God, are his parents here?” I asked, spinning to look at the audience, scanning for a trace of the Banes. I could only imagine their horror at seeing their only child plowed over. Especially poor Marie.
“No, they’re in New York for a show,” Sage explained, running a hand along his jaw. “Dash bought Marie tickets.”
I tried to collect my thoughts, diving into what little crisis-management skills I had from working in the public school system. Head lice and chicken pox hadn’t exactly prepared me for such a thing, tears threatening as I looked at our downed friend.
“He’s okay,” Sage assured, catching the worry in my eyes, his shoulders noticeably slouched since getting a good look at his best friend up close. “He’s not paralyzed, and he’s conscious. He’ll be fine.”
A medic approached us, a man I recognized as one of Sage’s friends from the gym, a man whose name I couldn’t remember for the life of me. “Can you ride with him to the hospital, Sage? We need to rule out a concussion since it was helmet to helmet.”
“Absolutely.” Sage didn’t hesitate, not that I expected him to. Dash had been his best friend for as long as he’d been alive, practically. Mom had pictures of them playing in the sand down the shore in diapers.
The medic turned away to help load Dash onto the stretcher, and I nudged Sage’s ribs. “Do you want me to call the Banes?”
He shook his head, eyes never leaving Dash who was moaning, his hands pressed to his temples in agony. “Let Marie enjoy the show. She was upset enough about spending the holiday apart. She’ll be beside herself. Dash can’t fart without her worrying. If you tell her he’s in the hospital, she’ll have a stroke.”
I nodded, following as they carted Dash off the field, the crowd still cheering, unaware of the torture they were inflicting on the fallen hero.
“What can I do?” I hated feeling so useless.
“You can stop looking at me like it’s the end of the world, for one,” he growled, hands clenched at his sides as he walked. “He’s fine. I don’t know why you’re so worked up.”
I flinched, nearly dropping my thermos. “Excuse me? Did you not just witness what I did?”
It was terrifying to see anyone destroyed like that, but especially Dash. He wasn’t exactly a delicate flower.
“I did, and I’m not crying about it like a child, Juni.”
“I’m not…” I started, but he cut in front of me, stopping with his chest inches from my chin.
He looked down at me with hard eyes, his jaw rigid in anger. “You are. I don’t know where the fuck the doe eyes for Dash came from, but they need to stop. Now.”
I pushed against his chest, not budging the ogre an inch, so I pointed a finger directly in his face to get my point across. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you will not speak to me like that.”
He rolled his eyes, unmoved at my warning. “I’m serious, Juniper. Whatever it is: no. Knock it off.”
At that, he turned to catch up with the stretcher, leaving me behind fighting back tears of frustration.
Rather than follow him, I headed to my car, too shaken after what I’d seen to enjoy the rest of the game. Every time I blinked, I saw their heads colliding on replay.
As I cranked the heat on full blast, my phone rang, Sage’s ridiculous wrestler walkout ringer echoing across the car.
“What is it, Captain Douchebag?” I barked as I accepted the call.
The shithead probably forgot he needed a ride home after and needed his precious Sissy to save the day. He could pound rocks and walk. Barefoot, for all I cared.
“I got a call from the security company. The alarm is going off at the gym. Can you sit with Dash at the hospital while I take care of it?”
“Oh, now I’m allowed to care?” I ground out, adjusting the heat setting from toasty to hell.
“Don’t be a dick, Juni. I’m going to take Dash’s truck. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
As much as I wanted to spite Sage, I didn’t want Dash to be alone on Thanksgiving. No one deserved to be alone at the hospital ever, especially on a holiday. “Am I driving there or riding in the ambulance?”
“Your choice,” he replied, a shuffling on his end. “But I’d suggest driving. One of the paramedics smells like Satan’s asshole.”
“I’ll meet them there. Honey Medical, right?”
Maybe he wasn’t a complete jerk. At least he warned me about the funk.
Then again, he might just be worried about me riding in the back of an ambulance with his hunky best friend. I might just fall on his dick during a turn, right? At least that was Sage logic, generally.
“Yep. You’ve hung out in their ER a time or two.”
That was an understatement. I was surprised they didn’t build me a bedroom.
“K,” I muttered before hanging up, tossing my cell back in my purse with a huff.
I flexed my hands in front of the vents to regain movement in my fingers, the digits painfully stiff from the cold.
Once I had feeling from head to toe, I navigated my way out onto the highway, flooring it to the hospital. Surprisingly, traffic was sparse, a rarity in Jersey, especially on a holiday.
The hospital parking lot, on the other hand, was a disaster, a mix of signs and arrows for designated areas for everyone but me, apparently.
I pulled into the first available spot, not giving a flying fig who it belonged to. I doubted I’d be long.
Sage’s stupid alarm went off all the time, usually triggered by something silly like a balloon or a banner falling.
I pulled my cell out and texted Karine, not wanting her to bother with the game. She was better off spending time with her family than freezing her nips off like I had.
Don’t go to the game. Cold and miserable. We left. At hospital with Dash. Football booboo. Nothing major.
I rushed inside, following signs to the emergency department, a scowling woman with electric blue cat-eyed glasses manning the sign-in station. People crowded the waiting area behind me, a swarm of figures in various states of distress.
“Hello, has Dashiell Bane arrived? He’s a patient from the police vs. firefighters game.”
The woman didn’t look up from her computer, issuing a grunt of a response. “Family only.”
“I am family,” I replied, gripping the counter. I might not have been blood, but Dash was like a brother. One who I strangely found hot all of a sudden, but still, a brother.
“I’ll need to see ID.” The woman still didn’t give me the time of day, typing without looking up.
I dug into my purse, fetching my license that revealed the horror of when I thought bangs were a good look on me. “Here you go.”
The woman snatched it from my hand, looking between the photo and me. “Your surname isn’t Bane. Family only.”
I sighed, summoning my inner television-movie actress as I looked at her with watery eyes, stuffing my left hand in my coat pocket. “He’s my fiancé, ma’am. Please. I rushed over here as soon as I heard. His parents are in New York, and I don’t want him to be alone when he wakes up.”
I was full of shit on so many levels, but she didn’t need to know that. She didn’t seem to care, either, shoving my license back with a grunt as she buzzed me in. “Bed 208.”
And Karine said those movies were a waste of time.
I nodded, dropping my ID back in my purse. “Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving.”
The emergency wing itself was a different animal, wailing coming from behind curtains as I hurried down the hallway. The beeping of machines and chattering of doctors joined the mix the deeper I went into its bowels, finally finding the cubby with 208 above it.
Without thinking, I tugged the curtain back, revealing a topless Dash sitting up in a hospital bed with a gray-haired doctor at his side, the chest piece of a stethoscope pressed to his heart.
I blinked stupidly, both men staring at me in surprise. “Oh, uh, hi.”
“Hey, Juni.” Dash’s voice was weary, his eyes hazy as they moved to me slowly but surely.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, stepping in and yanking the curtain closed behind me. I kept my eyes squarely on his face, ignoring the miles of exposed skin.
“I’ve had better days, for sure,” he chuckled, flashing a smile that made my heart skip a beat. “I must have pissed off that police sergeant, huh?”
“Are you okay? Is anything broken?” I was more so asking the doctor than Dash, knowing I’d have to fill Sage and maybe even Marie in later.
“Your husband is going for x-rays shortly,” the doctor informed, pulling the ear tips of the stethoscope out and looping the device around his neck. “He took a hell of a hit to the head, so we need to take a peek inside to make sure all the lights are on upstairs.”
“He’s not my husband,” I informed, offering a hand in greeting. “I’m Juniper Mullen. We’re good friends.”
“Dr. Robbins,” he introduced, giving me a firm handshake with a smile. “And sorry for the assumption. A beautiful woman walking into a man’s exam room usually means she’s his wife.”
He turned his attention back to Dash, running a hand along his ribs, gently applying pressure every so often. Dash didn’t show any signs of discomfort, st
aring stone-faced ahead.
“That game was something,” I muttered, trying for small talk. I knew how awkward he had to feel sitting topless in front of me while an old guy rubbed all over him.
“More like embarrassing,” he laughed, shaking his head softly. “Hopefully my boys rallied after I was carted off.”
“Something tells me that didn’t happen,” I teased, leaning against the counter.
He tapped his left foot on the bed, a thick, white sheet hiding the limb. “Come sit down, Juni. You’re making me nervous standing there looking at me like I’m a goner.”
“There’s no chair.” I stayed right where I stood, picking at imaginary lint on my jacket.
Nope.
Not doing it.
Not today, Satan.
“Juni, sit on the damn bed. I don’t bite.”
But I might.
That didn’t stop me from obeying, coming over to perch at the very end of the bed, my thigh smooshed against the metal footrest.
“I have cooties now, too?” Dash chuckled, seeming to enjoy my discomfort as Dr. Robbins checked him over. “Doc, better run a test for those too.”
“I am going to run some routine bloodwork,” Dr. Robbins noted, working his way up Dash’s arm checking for anything amiss. “I’ll check for cooties while I’m at it.”
I blushed, but stayed quiet, biting my tongue for once in my life. It’s not like I could tell him oh, hey, I have this ungodly urge to ride you, right here, right now.
There was something wrong with me. He was injured, and my vagina had a mind of its own, still focused on wrapping itself around whatever he was packing. God I needed help.
As Dr. Robbins turned to a side tray and withdrew a needle to stick him, I felt my breath catch, suddenly nervous. I had no clue why, seeing that he’d experienced way worse on the job. But somehow, that little itty bitty needle seemed like the end of the world.
I took his hand in mine as Dr. Robbins probed the other arm for the perfect vein.
I felt woozy, despite being a champ with needles usually, the tiny rose tattoo on my ankle attesting to it. I did my best to stay strong, keeping my eyes locked on Dash’s instead of looking anywhere near Dr. Robbins or the needle.
