Chapter Thirteen
Jaxon
I didn’t mean to put her on the spot when I invited her out, but from the look in her eyes when I asked, that’s how she felt. I couldn’t help myself, though. Somewhere in the middle of that conversation, I realized we’re the only two people who know exactly what happened that night. We’re the only two people who are struggling with what we say and don’t say, and if we’re going to get through this, we’re going to have to lean on each other.
Underneath all her nerves, anxiety, and baggy clothes, I could see anger simmering. I could see feistiness that was begging to come out. It still is. And I know if we can help hold each other up, she’ll be able to come out stronger on the other side. We both will.
Plus—and I know it’s the selfish part of me talking—I like her. There’s something about Annika that calls to me. I could wax poetic and say she’s like a siren calling to me in the night or some shit like that. But it’s the truth. It has nothing to do with how beautiful she is, and she really is beautiful. Even with her hair pulled up high on her head and dark circles under her eyes, she’s still a knockout of the All-American variety.
But that’s not the main reason I like her. Nope. It’s her strength and her resilience. She’s surprised me at every turn. I don’t know many people who could maintain a sense of humor under these circumstances. Hell, I don’t know a lot of people who wouldn’t just drop out of school and hide away. But she’s not. She has determination and drive. And even if what’s happening between us ends up being nothing more than friendship, even if this is nothing more than a mini support group, I want to get to know her better. I need to know her better.
Leaning against the red brick wall outside Buck’s, I scan the crowd as I wait for her. Buck’s is right on the edge of campus within walking distance of the dorms. I was glad to see they had the game on tonight because this is the perfect place to meet up. It’s close enough to campus that Annika doesn’t have to find a ride. But I have to remember it’s far enough away from her dorm that when the game is over and it’s dark out, I need to walk her back to her room. I don’t mind. I hope she still feels comfortable with me after tonight.
I have no expectations, and if she changes her mind about hanging out with me, I can respect that too. I’m trying my damndest to be sensitive to however she feels, for as long as she feels it. Because dammit, I’m going need some grace too.
She’s late. My watch says 7:05. Just when I think she’s not going to show, I look up and see her coming around the corner.
For the first time, I’m seeing her with her hair down. She’s even more beautiful with her long, straight brown hair fluttering in the slight breeze. She not wearing a stitch of makeup, and yet, those dark lashes make her eyes look big. And her pink lips don’t need any color beyond what’s naturally already there.
“Hey.” I flash a wide grin her direction as I meet her at the door. “I was wondering if you were going to show.”
Her cheeks blush as she admits, “It takes a few minutes to mentally prepare myself for showering. I didn’t plan far enough in advance, I guess.” I refuse to react to her admission. I don’t want her to feel embarrassed or like I’m shocked. And I sure as hell don’t want her to feel like I’m pitying her. Somehow, I know she’d hate that. Fortunately, it seems to work as she adds, “Plus I didn’t want to come with wet hair. You should feel special. I don’t use a blow dryer for just anyone.”
Her wit is back, and it makes me smile. “Well thank you. I’ll make sure to compliment your hair several times tonight to make it worth your while.”
“A true gentleman,” she says, smiling up at me playfully. We step through the doors and into the building. It’s not a huge room, but it’s big enough to have several flat screens around the room, a bar that spans the entire length of the place, and booths lining all the walls with tables scattered in between. “Do you come to Buck’s often?” Her nose crinkles up like she smelled something bad. “Wow. That sounded like a bad pick-up line.”
“That’s because it was a bad pick-up line,” I joke. “Thank goodness we already made plans to meet. That could’ve been awkward.”
“It really could.” We look around for a table and spot an open booth in the corner that we head toward automatically. “But for real, I come here to watch games all the time. Why have I never seen you here?”
I shrug. “One of my teammates has Sunday Ticket, and we make a party out of it at his place. Especially if there’s an alumnus playing.”
“Oh, I can only imagine the trash talk that happens.”
She has us pegged. “You have no idea. It can get downright nasty. Honestly, I think I’d rather be here most times.”
After we slide onto the red vinyl benches facing each other, a waitress shows up almost immediately. She’s dressed in the normal game night attire: short shorts and a flannel button-up with one too many buttons open and tied at the waist to show a little skin and make bigger tips. Normally I might be attracted to her, but not tonight. Tonight, I don’t even give her a second glance.
“What can I get y’all?” The squeaky baby doll voice that comes out of her is another good reason why I will never give her a second glance. “We got two-dollar drafts. You interested?”
“You have Shiner on tap?” I ask, trying not to poke my finger in my ear to block out the noise. Annika tries to stifle her giggle at my reaction.
The waitress never even notices, too busy tossing our napkins on the table. “Sure do. One Shiner or two?”
I look over at Annika, and she’s wearing that expression again. I’m starting to figure out it means she’s fighting her instincts to run screaming. I consider grabbing her hand and saying something reassuring, but she doesn’t need me babying her. She doesn’t want that. If she kicked the social worker out of her room to talk to me alone because Pippa was too overbearing, it’s more likely she wants to power through this one on her own. So I let her.
“Um, I’ll just take a water please.”
“One water, one Shiner coming right up.”
She walks away and for a fleeting second, I pray she doesn’t return if I have to listen to that voice all night. But that second ends quickly and my concern switches back to Annika. I know having an open drink, even if it’s just water makes her uncomfortable, so I’m surprised to see a gleam in her eye.
As she smirks, she reaches down into the front pocket of her hoodie and pulls out a bottle of water. I laugh at her victorious smile.
“Stealth mode,” she says proudly. “Even without a purse.”
“I’m impressed.” I don’t tell her it’s not because she snuck in a contraband, but because she’s still smiling.
The next couple hours are spent sharing a plate of loaded nachos, fried pickles, and some mozzarella sticks while we argue over the game. She’s team Steelers all the way, which I’m trying not to hold against her, even though I’m pushing for the Broncos.
“Anyone can beat that asshole quarterback, Tim McGovern.”
“What do you mean asshole quarterback?” Annika exclaims, throwing a broken chip in my general vicinity, missing me when I duck. “He has the best completion percentage in the league right now. And the lowest number of interceptions.”
“Yeah,” I scoff, “because he has a good offensive live, not because he has any actual talent.”
She gapes at me. “I can’t believe you just said that,” she whispers harshly.
“What? It’s true. Look at how many interceptions he threw before they got Randy Malone. Now that guy, he’s pretty amazing, and he’s what makes Tim look good.”
Annika shakes her head a look of disappointment on her face. “I can’t believe you would say that. You, the mathematical genius.”
“Trivia genius,” I correct.
“After all these years of memorizing, how can you say he’s not one of the greats?”
I snort a laugh. “Being one of the greats means you can lead a team to victory even if that team sucks donkey balls. As much as it pains me to say it”—I rub a hand over my chest like I’m hurting—“the Steelers don’t suck donkey balls this season.”
“See? We do agree on that,” she says happily. “The Steelers are going all the way this year.”
I look at her with disgust. “Unfortunately, I agree with you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. But I will never agree that Tim McGovern is one of the greats.”
“Fair enough,” she says with a shrug as she finishes eating her nacho and pulls the water bottle out of her lap.
“How’d you become such a big football fan?” Her knowledge of games and players is impressive. And not because of her gender. I might have to invite her to my fantasy football league. I may have met my match, and it sure would make it more fun to have a worthy opponent.
She swallows her water and crushes the empty bottle, dropping it on the pile of dirty napkins we’ve accumulated since we’ve been here.
“Football is huge in my family. My dad and brother and I are obsessed. You should see my dad’s tailgating setup.”
My eyebrows rise. She notices and points at me.
“That’s the expression we get whenever we drive into the parking lot with his trailer and mobile grilling station hitched to the back of the truck. At first, security didn’t want to let him use it. Said it was a hazard because it was too big. And then he gave them some brisket.”
I laugh. “Let me guess…he won them over with his secret recipe.”
“Passed down for three generations,” she says with a laugh. “I’m gonna jump to the conclusion you don’t get to do a lot of tailgating, being that you have box seats and all.”
I can feel the blush creep up my face. She’s right. There’s no way my family or I could get away with hanging out in the parking lot of the stadium. “Nah. But we do get the best hot dogs in the house.”
She grins back and me, licking her lips of the grease from our food. Wiping her hands on a napkin, she completely changes subjects on me. “Why’d you decide to get into medicine?”
Well, that was a giant topic leap. I have nothing to hide, but I brace myself for her reaction. “I had cancer as a kid.” She stops chewing with the bottle halfway to her mouth. “I’m fine now, I’m considered ‘cured.’ But those experiences kind of shaped me, ya know?” She nods and gets back to eating. “Have you heard of the Heart to Hart Foundation?”
She thinks while she finished chewing and swallowing. “Now that you say that, I have heard of it. But I didn’t put it together with your name.”
I like that she isn’t overreacting to this conversation. Most people want to ask all kinds of annoying, prying questions, not only about my previous illness but the celebrities I’ve met. I like that she’s much more reserved.
“My pediatric oncologist is on the board of directors. He’s a great guy and made my experience much more comfortable. I’ve always wanted to grow up and be like him.”
“A good doctor can make all the difference in the world.” I see a flash of what is probably a memory on her face. She tamps it down quickly, but not before I catch it. I can’t help but hope her doctor was one of the good ones and made her feel comfortable. Maybe I’ll ask her someday, but for now, we’ll stick with safer topics Like cancer. Ironic. “So it’s because of him you want to be a doctor?”
I shrug. “Him. My dad. My desire to help people. I spend my time in practice helping the other players get better using statistical data. I figure maybe I can use this weird gift of mine to do some good in the world.”
She wipes her mouth with a napkin and leans forward, clasping her hands together and leaning on the table. “I think that’s really admirable. Most guys in your position would follow right in their father’s footsteps and use their connections to be an agent or manager or something. But to go out on a limb and do your own thing, that’s really cool.”
She gets it. I like that she gets it. I’m not my dad. I’m not his foundation. I’m me. I have my own dreams and goals. She has no idea how badly I needed to hear someone say it.
“What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “What’s your major?”
“Double major in kinesiology and physical therapy.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I wanna be a trainer. Ideally”—she looks up at me and I can see it before she says it—“for the Steelers.”
“No,” I groan. “Who would want to touch those guys in the locker room?”
She smiles at my quip. “It’s not about touching them. It’s about working their muscles and joints, so they can be the best players they can be. It’s about making sure they’re in tip-top shape and are well-oiled machines. I wanna help with that. I’ll probably never darken the doorway of that locker room, but it’s still my dream.”
“How come I haven’t seen you on the field before?”
“You have to be a junior to get into the training program. You’ll probably see me there next year. And maybe even in some classes, now that you’ve changed your major.”
“I didn’t even think about that; yeah, I’m sure some will overlap.”
Our conversation is cut short when the commercial break ends, and the final quarter begins. We spend the next forty-five minutes watching the Steelers beat up the Broncos, much to her delight and my dismay.
When the game is over, it’s dark out, and she has no hesitation when I offer to walk her home. The conversation continues with us talking about my siblings, her dad, and Lauren’s last gymnastics meet when she fell on the beam and ended up with a bruise from the inside of her knee all the way to her groin. I’ve had big bruises before, but I admit when she showed me the picture, I’ve never had anything like that before.
We have a lot in common, and she makes me laugh. I still feel protective over her, but now, I want to keep getting to know her.
Lauren isn’t there when we get to the dorm, leaving Annika all alone. She lets out a yawn, and I know I feel the same way. There’s only so many nights without sleep a person can get. I know I should leave, but frankly, I don’t want to leave her behind.
“I had a really good time,” I say, trying to find a polite way to make my exit.
“Me too. You were right. I needed to get out and back amongst the people. I think next time will be easier.”
“You’re really impressive, you know that, Annika?”
She tilts her head in question. “Really?”
“I’ve never met anyone as strong as you. Anyone who refuses to be beaten down and takes life by the horns and makes it her bitch.”
“I don’t feel as strong as you’re making me sound,” she admits sadly. “I know it’s going to take time, but I guess I need to fake it till I make it, right?”
“I need to learn how to fake it better.”
“It sucks to be afraid all of the time, to not even be able to drink water at a bar. But more than anything, I’m pissed off.”
I take a step closer to her. She doesn’t even flinch. “Good. Be angry. Stay angry for as long as you need, until you feel like you’ve pushed through the hard parts. Coach always says to let your anger fuel you to be the best you can be.”
“He sounds like a good motivational speaker.” She yawns again, and I take that as my cue. But before I can head out, she stops me, putting her hand on my arm. The look on her face is almost pleading.
“This is gonna sound really strange, but the only time I seem to relax is when you’re around.” I understand exactly what she’s talking about. “I know this sounds really forward, but I’m so tired.” Her eyes close and her head drops in defeat. “Would you please stay the night with me? Maybe I’ll sleep better if you’re here.”
My eyebrows quirk up, and she slaps my arm playfully. “Not for that.”
“No, I know,” I say with a laugh. “Just for sleep.”
“Yeah. Maybe you being here will help me relax enough to sleep. And I think maybe you’ll be able to sleep too.”
I know I should walk out that door and tell her it’s not a good idea, but she’s right. Every part of me wants to stay, to make sure she’s okay. Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep as well.
She sits down on the bed and takes off her shoes. I follow her lead and toe mine off as well. Stripping myself of my sweatshirt, leaving just a white T-shirt underneath, I meet her at the bed.
Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t take her big hoodie off at all.
It takes some time to situate ourselves on the bed. We’re both unsure of how much touch will make us uncomfortable, but it’s inescapable because dorm beds are not big at all. Finally, after some maneuvering, we’re lying comfortably, facing each other, her hands under her cheeks.
“Get some rest,” I say as her lids are already getting heavy. “And Annika?”
“Hmm?” she mumbles.
“If you end up working for the Steelers, this friendship is over.”
The sound of her light chuckle is the last thing I hear before drifting into the best sleep I’ve had in a week.