by Amy Henwood
“Come back to finish your breakfast?” I asked in a joke that flowed naturally.
“Only if it’s still warm.”
“Yeah, about that. Nope.” I steered to the side, letting him come in freely. “What brings you back?”
“Checking in. Wanted to see how you were doing.”
If he wasn’t so darn cute, I would have torn him one about the day's antics.
I responded respectfully. “Sore and slow-moving, but that would be expected. Other than that, I’m upright and drugged.”
“Glad to hear,” he said, and then held out his hand containing a mirror-finished silver gift bag. “This is for you.”
“For me? I should be the one buying you a gift.”
“Consider it a get-well incentive.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He placed it on the couch and I gratefully sat, resting my leg on the coffee table.
I spread apart the wide mouth bag and lifted out a box that was contained inside. A tiny piece of tape was keeping the white unmarked box lid from popping open, so I punctured the tape with my fingernail. He watched me closely as I folded the lid back, exposing the contents. I peeled back the plastic covering to discover a black helmet with red accents, and I lifted it out of the box. A light vibration of something dropping back into the box was accompanied with the sound of it landing on the crinkled protective paper inside. Cradling the helmet in one hand, I looked back inside the box and found red-strapped, rainbow-tinted ski goggles.
“This is too much,” I said in awe of the items in my hands. “Besides, I already have a helmet and goggles.”
“Yes, but it is recommended that you replace your helmet after any crash, and yours was a significant one.”
“I can’t accept these. I will find another one on Craigslist.”
“Please tell me your ski equipment is not used gear from a stranger.”
I was too embarrassed to answer, and he shook his head in disbelief at my silence.
He took the helmet and goggles away from me and returned them with their tags no longer attached.
“I can’t return them now,” he said. “I guess you will just have to keep them, as they will not fit me.”
“Jackson, it’s too—”
He hushed me. “I was looking at ski boots as well, but I don’t know your shoe size.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small envelope the size of a credit card. “A gift card for Mountain Top. It will cover any pair of boots you decide on, but now I think you will need some additional funds as you tell me about all your used equipment. Skis and poles from the mystery seller too?”
I nodded my head before saying, “You know I don't even like skiing. I only go because of Mia.”
“Nonsense, you are a great skier.”
“Well, I guess it would be a waste to let this stuff collect dust,” I said hesitantly.
“That’s the spirit,” he rubbed his hand on my shoulder, but just as quickly as it landed there, he retracted it.
“Maybe next winter we can make arrangements for you to give me some private lessons—ski lessons,” I promptly clarified.
“I would like that.” A smile filled his confiding face.
Sitting next to him was never awkward and the conversations were never forced or faked. We talked with the same serenity I shared with close friends. A close friend that I had failed Hosting 101 on. I could hear Sadie’s little but feisty voice in my head: “Have you learned nothing from me?”
“How rude,” I said. “I’m sitting here all occupied by the generous gifts and I have not offered you anything to drink.”
“I’m okay. Would you like anything?”
“Now you're asking me? My friend Sadie would be highly revolted if she found out that I forgot hosting step one, and now the guest is asking the hostess.”
His body became closer to mine.
“I won’t tell,” he said.
My breathing turned shallow and somehow the three-word sentence brought on unconscious movements of my limbs. My hand pulled the hair away from my face, twirling it between my fingers before moving it to the opposite side, exposing my naked neck to him. My opposite shoulder rose, resting my head on it, displaying exhibit A. Exhibit B, my lips, rubbed together, inviting him.
His mouth moved closer to my neck. His warm breath was welcomed to calm down my chills of excitement. His lips not connecting, but so close to mine, brought an intense pleasure. I rolled my head back, showing him that I wanted this. I wanted him. Finally, a surge of energy lifted me as his lips brushed lightly on my neck. He lifted away and lowered back to a new location each time with the utmost tender caress. My neck, to my chin, to my parted waiting lips.
His kisses were filled with deep passion but at the same time frail delicateness. Our prolonged first kiss was more natural than any Chase and I had shared. My hands knew what to do without reasoning, sweeping from his face and neck to running them through the back of his tangled hair, massaging his scalp.
Then we heard it. An audible gasp that was neither of ours.
10
The sound of someone clearing their throat occurred more prominently than the gasp, confirming we were being watched. I stopped kissing Jackson but kept my lips locked on his, afraid to break the seal to survey the intruder.
“You could have at least left an article of clothing on the doorknob to warn me,” said Mia.
I parted from him, no longer scared but embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her in reflex.
“Don’t be,” she said, smiling and obviously impressed.
Jackson vacated the couch and, upon standing, said to me, “Glad to see you’re on the mend,” followed by a sharp “Mia” on passing.
“Jackson,” she mimicked him.
I slumped into the back of the couch once he left. No “goodbye”, no “see you soon” or “I’ll call you later”. Parts of my soul left with him as I had no idea if I would ever see him again. He agreed to give me ski lessons, but I didn’t have his phone number, nor did he have mine. He knew where I lived, but in a matter of weeks this place I had called home would no longer be mine, but in the possession of the next set of university students. Unless he came back here soon, I would never see him again. Is this what depression felt like? Lonely and cold, full of what ifs and empty hope?
“Well, well,” said Mia, body slamming herself onto the couch beside me. “I didn't think you had it in you, but, man, was I wrong.”
“I didn't mean to. It just happened.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, unless for some odd reason you need to justify your actions for your mental well-being. I will admit, I am a little jealous you got to the cutie before me.”
“What about Ryan?”
“What about Chase?” she countered. My overly gorgeous, borderline abusive, can't-help-but-fall-for-him boyfriend. “Holy crap,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Where did these come from?” She pointed at the items on the coffee table.
“It’s from Jackson. He called it a get-well incentive.”
“Do you have any idea what those are?”
“Ski gear.” Duh, I thought.
“Obviously, but do you know what kind?”
I gazed at her. My ski gear knowledge was as good as my skiing skills: not much. I knew what each piece of equipment was called and its purpose, but I could not tell a thousand-dollar ski apart from a hundred-dollar one.
Her hand approached the helmet and looked at me for permission. I shrugged, indicating that I really didn’t care. No big deal, it was only a helmet. Apprehensively, she lifted the helmet and held it with caution in one hand and the other ran over the smooth, untarnished surface. Animation dilated her pupils, looking as if it was a prized possession of rare commodity.
“Black Diamond Vapor,” she spoke with disbelief. “And the goggles. This has to be over five hundred dollars worth of gear.”
I quickly rewound what she had said. Five hundred dollars? That
was a month’s worth of groceries for us, and that didn’t include the undisclosed amount on the gift card. I sent the gift card sliding across the table to her.
“Mountain Top? Holy double crap. I don’t know what you said or did to him at the hospital.”
“Mia!” I cut her off.
“Pardon me, but didn’t I just walk into some intense fondling? I’m just regretting how I wasn’t smart enough to intentionally crash to get the boy.”
“Not even close to intentional.”
“Sure,” she said with sarcasm.
The gifts from Jackson had been difficult enough to accept, and knowing the monetary value of them made it even harder.
* * *
The beep and vibration of my phone on my nightstand startled me awake. Swiping the screen to display the alert, a text message from an unknown number appeared.
I would like to see you again. Are you free today?
My stomach fluttered, hoping it was Jackson; but since luck had never played in my favour, I responded:
Wrong number
Forgot you don’t have my number. It’s Jackson
My heartbeat tripled its resting rhythm. My fingers raced, replying as fast as they were able to hit each letter.
I will be home all day. Stop by anytime
A smile erupted that I was unable to extract, even when I tried. Having the opportunity to see Jackson thrilled me strangely more than spending my day with Chase. Twenty-two years of my life and there was not one person that I had romantically loved, and now I was finding myself unfaithfully dividing my time between two.
Every hour dragged while waiting, not knowing when he was going to arrive, assuming he was not bailing me on. Mia was off with Ryan, making up for their ruined date, which created a torturous time-killing frame. I did applaud her for settling down with one man. This guy one night and that guy the next was getting tiresome. I tired of trying to keep all their names straight and not giving off any indication that he was only one of many. My terrible acting skills would be put to their ultimate test. Drama was a subject that I only took if it was required, never electing to take the class at my own will.
I attempted to keep myself occupied while awaiting his arrival, though being limited in mobility made that simple task difficult. I decided on some additional, dreadful studying. I turned page after page, retaining no new information than I had the day prior.
I directed my attention to something else. The refrigerator housed leftovers from my dinner with Sadie. I retrieved a plate out of the cupboard and stacked it with vegetables and a whole piece of boneless, skinless chicken breast. I prepared everything directly beside the microwave to prevent from having to bounce around on one leg with a plate full of food. The microwave beeped and my brunch was ready.
I pushed the door release and the scent of leftovers was just as grand as the smell of them freshly prepared. I questioned how I was going to get myself and the steaming plate of food over to the table simultaneously. I leaned one crutch against the counter and the other under an arm. I used my free hand to grab the plate. It singed my fingertips on contact, but I held tight in spite of the escalating heat. Carefully, I moved the single crutch forward then hopped while balancing the plate. Three hops in, it was going well—that is, until I was startled by a knock at the door. The plate escaped my hand, bounced off my injured knee and scattered across the kitchen floor. Naturally, I screamed aloud, shit-full of pain. Food was distributed around the floor accompanied by pieces of shattered plate. Sticky orange glaze tinted the lower cabinets and walls.
“Scarlett, are you alright?” Jackson’s muffled voice filtered through the door.
I stood motionless as the pain rushed to my brain, reminding me how much it hurt. Gasping, I tried refraining from shedding tears.
“Scarlett,” he remained persistent. “Is everything okay in there?”
My ever-growing hate for thin cheap walls and doors increased. “Coming,” I managed to holler cry-free.
Reaching backwards through the pain, I grabbed a hold of the crutch against the counter. With great caution, I crutched myself to the door, avoiding the shards of broken plate and splattered food.
“What happened?” he asked, taking in the mess distributed on and around the floor.
“I was getting something to—” I couldn’t hold back those tears of pain and frustration. Salted moisture dripped down my face with the pull of gravity. I struggled to obtain additional words. “Eat. Then. Knock.” More tears fell. “Slipped. My. Hand.” I was gasping for breath between each word.
My good knee weakened, and my supporting foot gave way. The action was caught like a slow-motion camera as the gap between me and the floor decreased. I closed my eyes and braced for the final blow to the floor. It would not kill me, but I wished it would, as the pain would be beyond unbearable. No such impact transpired. Instead, I was lowered to the floor gently and the crutches were the only items that made intense contact with the laminate.
I applied pressure with both hands around my kneecap, with tears increasing in flow. In time, my frustration began to ease as the pain lessened. Finally, I opened my eyes and saw that Jackson’s face was inches from mine. We were tangled with each other. He had broken my fall. His legs were under my knees, propping them up, and his one arm was stretched outwards supporting my leg while the other was comfortably in the curvature of my back. I buried my head into his upper chest, rising and falling with each of his breaths. He relocated his hand from my face with his thumb. I limped into him further like a rag doll.
“Now tell me what happened,” he said.
I didn't want to release my head from the security of his toned chest, so I spoke murmurs into him. “I was trying to get my food from the microwave to the table. It was hot and I dropped it.” I left out the part about his knock, which is what truly startled me, causing me to let go.
“Are you okay?”
I am now, I thought. “Yes,” I said.
“That’s the important thing. Let’s get you off the floor, and I will clean this up.”
Losing the comfort of Jackson’s body pillow distrusted me. He squatted beside me and with one movement, I was lifted into the air like I was no heavier than a puppy. He carried me to the table and without the slightest stance of unsteadiness, he released a chair out from the table and set me down.
He filled the garbage pail with the spilled food and large broken plate pieces. The broom was located in the back corner of the entryway closet and would aid with the cleanup of the tiny shards. I began to open my lips to inform him where it was stored, but he was pushing the closet door shut with the broom in hand before I could say anything. I was baffled by how he knew where it was kept, as during his short time here never once had he used it or been in the closet. The thought left me as quickly as it came when he bent over to sweep the small fragments of the plate into the dustpan.
There was no point in trying not to, as I observed his perfectly proportioned ass, with his jeans hugging him in all the right places. I anticipated his turns toward me and directed my attention elsewhere, hoping he didn't catch me staring.
He emptied the dustpan filled with the remaining dish pieces and food crumbs into the garbage and placed the broom and dustpan back into the closet.
“Thank you,” I said quietly to him.
He didn't respond in words, only a grin, and sat beside me. “What is Mia doing today?”
I was curious to know why he would want to be informed of her whereabouts. Maybe he wanted to gauge what time she would be arriving home so he would know how much time he had to seduce me. I wouldn’t mind if he did, stretching my hopes. “She and Ryan went out for the day. She left with her ski gear, so I’m guessing she is planning on tormenting him as she did with me.”
“And what are your plans for today?” He was digging deep, wanting to know my schedule too. All he had to do was ask and I would.
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes, you have plans?”
�
�No.” I shook my flusters out. “I mean, I don't have anything planned for today other than catching up on terrible T.V. programming.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
Does it involve him in my bed? “Sure, anything would be better than my plans.”
“Remember, this is only a suggestion; you can ex out and tell me to get lost and never come bug you again. I will not be offended.”
I would never reject any suggestion from him.
“You have been cooped up in this place for two days straight; I thought you might enjoy getting out and moving around.”
His suggestion brought on as much disappointment as it did excitement. I wanted to stay out of the public’s connecting spirits and spend the day twisted within Jackson, starting where we left off before our rude interruption from Mia. There was no telling how far we would have gone if she had one of her not-coming-home evenings.
“Yes, I would like that,” I said, brushing my hair behind my ear.
“Excellent.” He sounded thrilled at my agreement. “Now that we have that settled, what shall we do this afternoon?”
“A movie,” I suggested.
“Good idea. Anything particular you would like to see?”
There was always a chick flick playing, but I was not going to put him through such misery. I tried my best to recall any commercials I had seen on television lately for action movies but came up empty-minded.
“Nothing that I can think of,” I said, shrugging.
He made a light humming noise, like a bee looking for its next flower of nectar, indicating his thinking, until I interrupted his thought process.
“How about we go to the theatre and pick the first one that is playing based on our arrival time.”
“Okay,” he said, agreeing instantly.
“Okay?” I wasn’t sure why I was questioning him. Something about him made my thoughts fuzzy, affecting what I blurted out.
“Yes.”
I began to lift myself up from the chair to retrieve a sweater to cover my bare arms. He was up beside me before I managed to get both butt cheeks off the chair. Extending his arm toward me, I took hold.
