Claire (Hart University Book 2) (14 page)

I pointed toward the house. “The front door’s open. I’ll be right behind you.”

I waited a few seconds to make sure he headed in the right direction, and then I got my bags out of the trunk and followed him.

Once we were both inside I closed the door behind us. Even though the house was still cold, it was a relief to shut out the storm.

Will was standing with his hands on his hips, looking around. Then he turned to face me.

“Claire, what the fuck is going on? I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.”

When I’d first come up with this plan, and when I’d talked it over with Julia and Rikki and Andre, it had seemed like a good idea. But now, having driven hours through a snowstorm to a remote cabin and standing face to face with a very confused, very pissed off Will, it seemed like a less good idea.

I cleared my throat. “This is an intervention,” I said.

Chapter Sixteen

My head was still spinning and my mouth tasted like a toilet. I would’ve thought I was dreaming if I hadn’t felt so shitty.

“An intervention? Jesus Christ. What are you talking about?”

Claire stood there in her puffy blue jacket with her face pink from cold. There were snowflakes on her hair and eyelashes.

“An intervention,” she said again, like that would explain everything. She brushed the snow off her jacket and went over to the big couch. “Come sit down.”

I followed her, but only because I needed to find out what the hell was going on. If it weren’t for that, I would have stayed as far away from her as possible. I had a feeling I was about to be more pissed at Claire than I’d ever been at a human being in my life.

I sat down on one of the armchairs, wishing like hell there was a fire in the fireplace.

“It’s freezing in here,” I growled.

Claire was sitting on the couch, looking small and fragile inside her puffy jacket.

“I know,” she said, sounding apologetic. “The heat’s on but I’m not sure how long it will take to warm up.”

She looked as cold as I felt. And no matter how mad I was, I couldn’t just sit there while she was shivering.

There was wood, kindling, newspaper, and matches beside the fireplace. I got up from the chair, checked the flue, and started gathering what I needed to make a fire.

“Can I help?” Claire asked behind me.

I didn’t even turn to look at her. “No.”

In a few minutes the twisted newspaper and kindling were ablaze on the hearth, flames licking at the bigger logs I’d stacked in the andirons.

Just the sight of the fire made the air feel warmer, and once the big logs caught I held my cold hands out to the blaze.

I saw out of the corner of my eye that Claire had come to sit beside me on the rug.

“That feels wonderful,” she said, holding her hands out like I was.

We sat there in silence for a minute. Then, confident that the fire wouldn’t go out, I went back to the armchair, moving it closer to the fireplace before sitting down again.

“Okay,” I said. “It’s time to explain what the hell we’re doing here.”

Claire stayed where she was, taking off her jacket and sitting cross-legged a few feet from the fire. She was wearing a dark blue sweater and jeans, and with her blond hair and pink cheeks she looked like an ad for a ski resort.

“Andre called me from the bar,” she said.

The bar?

Oh, right. The bar.

Slowly, my fuzzy memories began to knit themselves together.

“He was worried about you,” Claire went on. “He said you’ve been drinking the last few days.” She paused. “All your teammates are worried.”

A hot pulse of anger turned my hands into fists. “They are, huh? That’s sweet. Did Andre happen to mention that most of those guys drink ten times as much as I do?”

“That’s why they’re worried. You’re not acting like yourself. You don’t even sound like yourself anymore.”

I looked into the heart of the fire. “I’m not myself anymore. I’m not a football player.”

Claire scooted across the rug until she was only a foot or so away. “Come on, Will. You know there’s more to you than football.”

“Yeah. A guy who drinks too much, I guess.”

Claire frowned. “You shouldn’t be drinking at all. Alcohol is a neurotoxin. Your body treats it like a poison, and while it’s getting the alcohol out of your system it slows or stops your recovery from the concussion.”

I used to think it was adorable when Claire talked like the doctor-to-be that she was. But right now, it pissed me off.

“I’m recovered. The doctors cleared me. I don’t have headaches anymore.”

Not as often, anyway. And not as bad.

Claire shook her head. “Recovery from a concussion can go on for months. Alcohol can only slow that process down. People who’ve suffered brain injury are more sensitive to alcohol, and alcohol can magnify the physical and cognitive problems of TBI.”

Now she was talking in acronyms. “What the hell is TBI?”

“Traumatic Brain Injury. Another thing is, you’re about eight times more likely to suffer from depression in the first year after TBI. And since alcohol is a depressant drug, using it can cause or worsen depression.”

“I’m not depressed.”

“Really? Then why are you drinking, Will? Why did you go to that bar?”

The fire was really going now. My back still felt cold but my face and chest were warm.

“Because I wanted to get drunk.”

Claire shifted her position, drawing her legs up and hugging her knees. “Is that all?”

I shook my head. “I picked that bar because it’s got a reputation, and I wanted to get into a fight. After that, I was hoping to hook up with some girl and have a one-night stand.”

One of the logs split, falling off the andirons in a shower of sparks.

“Will.”

I hated the sympathy in her voice, and I hated how pathetic I felt.

“Shit,” I said. “I wanted to get drunk and throw some punches and have anonymous sex, and just look at me now. I’m not even good at being bad.”

“That’s why I love you,” Claire said. She paused, and then added, “That’s why we all love you.”

I closed my eyes. I thought of all the times I’d imagined Claire saying those words to me, and then I thought about how I looked—and smelled—right now.

Like crap.

Not that it mattered, of course. Claire loved me as a friend, and she’d dragged me out here for the same reason. Which reminded me—

“Why the hell are we here? Have you taken me prisoner or something?”

That made her smile. “It’s an intervention, like I said. We decided to spend Thanksgiving break with you. Trying to convince you not to flunk your classes or drink yourself into oblivion or whatever.”

“I see. So where’s the rest of my therapy circle?”

Claire looked embarrassed. “Okay, so, it’s possible I didn’t plan this very well. I also should’ve paid more attention to the weather reports. Rikki and Sam were supposed to come out tonight, but that obviously won’t be happening. Andre and Dyshell and Tamsin and Julia are supposed to come tomorrow.”

“Why aren’t you guys spending Thanksgiving with your families?”

“We decided this was more important. We’re going to have Thanksgiving dinner here. With you. Tamsin and Julia are going to shop for a turkey and all that before they come out, and we’re all going to do the cooking.”

I felt a little shaken. My friends had sacrificed Thanksgiving at home to be with my sorry ass?

But I shook off the guilt and went back on the attack. “I didn’t ask you guys to do that.”

“I know. We—”

All of a sudden, I needed to get away.

“I feel like shit and I smell like shit. Does this place have a shower?”

Claire scrambled to her feet. “I’m sure it does. Upstairs?”

I wanted to find more reasons to be mad. “I don’t suppose your brilliant plan included bringing along a change of clothes for me?”

Claire looked stricken. “I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.” Then she brightened. “But Julia said there are sheets and towels and things here, so maybe there’s other stuff, too. She has two brothers. Maybe they left some clothes. Let me go see what’s in the bedrooms.”

She took off before I could say anything else, and I watched her hurry up the stairs until she was out of sight.

While she was gone I put another log on the fire and nudged the others with a poker. I knelt down on the hearth and stared at the blaze until the heat became too intense.

I got to my feet and backed away just as Claire came hurrying back downstairs with something in her arms.

“Okay, I found a few things in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. A pair of jeans and some shirts and a pair of pajamas. I laid the clothes out on the bed but I brought these down.”

She handed me what she’d been holding—a pair of men’s pajamas, white with navy blue pinstripes.

I took them from her and shook out the bottoms, holding them up to my waist. The pant legs ended about three inches above my ankle.

“They’re a little small,” I said.

Claire bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

She really did look sorry, and God knew she had plenty to be sorry for. But as I stood there facing her I realized I was bone-tired, and I didn’t have the energy to rub anything in her face at the moment.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

Claire’s tense face relaxed a little. “Okay. Good. I brought some food, and Julia said there’s canned stuff and staples in the kitchen. I’ll make us something for dinner.”

The thought of food made me feel nauseous. “That’s all right. I’m not really hungry.”

Then I brushed past her and went upstairs.

I found the bedroom she’d mentioned and saw the clothes she’d laid out on the bed. Whoever had left this stuff here was shorter than me but fatter, too, so I’d be able to wear it even if the arms and legs were too short.

The bathroom was down the hall. I closed the door behind me and looked around, seeing towels folded up on a shelf and shampoo and soap in the shower. Inside the medicine cabinet I found a new toothbrush still wrapped in plastic and a tube of toothpaste.

Thank God for that. I didn’t want to go another minute with my mouth tasting the way it did.

I brushed my teeth until all I could taste was mint. Then I shed my gross-smelling clothes, kicked them into a corner, and turned on the shower.

The house was starting to warm up, but it still felt good to step under the hot spray. I just stood there under the water for a few minutes before I soaped myself up, and by the time I’d rinsed off and stepped onto the bathmat I was feeling more human than I had in days.

I was also feeling hungry. Please, I thought as I went back downstairs, let Claire have ignored what I said. Let there be something to eat.

There was. There were two bows of steaming beef stew and a plateful of cheese and crackers on the kitchen table.

Claire stood behind one of the chairs, looking uncomfortable. “I thought you might be hungry after all,” she said.

“I am,” I told her, taking the other seat. “I’m starving. Thank you.”

“The stew is from cans,” she said as she sat down, too.

“It smells great.” I took a bite. “It tastes great, too.”

We ate in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t friendly, exactly, but it wasn’t unfriendly either. It was sort of… neutral, I guess. Thoughtful.

When I was finished I brought my dishes to the sink and started to wash them.

“I can do that,” Claire said, coming up behind me.

I shook my head. “You cooked. That means I clean up.”

Claire grabbed a dish towel from a hook on the wall and started to dry and put away the dishes I set in the drain. “This is nice of you, but I don’t think the normal rules of etiquette apply here. I mean, I did sort of kidnap you.”

I smiled down at the glass I was rinsing. “Yeah, you did. But I’m starting to get over it.”

“You are?”

“A little. You’re not off the hook, though.”

“Fair enough.”

We finished in silence and then went out to the living room. Claire sat down on the couch while I stayed standing.

“I think I’m going to go to bed,” I said.

Claire looked a little disappointed, but she nodded. “Okay.”

I sighed. “You wanted to talk, didn’t you? You wanted to counsel me and toss out some more medical facts.”

One corner of her mouth lifted. “No medical facts, I promise. I did want to talk, but…” She paused. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

I sat down in the armchair and stretched my legs out toward the fire. “No, go ahead. You won’t be able to sleep if you don’t get whatever it is off your chest.”

Now her whole mouth was smiling. “It’s not like that. There’s nothing in particular I wanted to say. I just thought, if you felt like it, you could talk about football.”

I’d been feeling relaxed, almost mellow. Now I felt my stomach muscles tense.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I just… I don’t know. I want to understand why football means so much to you. I mean, I know how popular the game is. I can understand the appeal. It’s exciting and even kind of beautiful, in a way. I loved watching your games and I loved watching you play. But you have to admit there are a lot of negatives. Don’t you?”

I settled back into the chair. “Like what?”

She leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “It’s so violent. Isn’t that a problem for you?”

I shook my head. “That’s one of the reasons I love football.”

She stared at me. “You love the violence?”

I wasn’t sure I could explain it to someone who didn’t play the game. “I love football because it’s rough. Because it’s hard. Because it tests your—” I hesitated.

“Masculinity?”

“No. It tests your courage. Your grit. You have to be able to take a hit and get back up again.”

“Take a hit? That’s how you got a concussion. How can that be a good thing?”

“It’s the getting back up that’s the good thing.” I felt frustrated, knowing I wasn’t expressing myself in a way she could understand. “It’s like being on a battlefield. Every second of the game is a fight. And it’s hard, and a lot of times you want to give up. But every time you don’t you get a little stronger.”

I expected Claire to argue with me again, but she didn’t. She just looked at me, her head tilted to the side and that furrow between her brows that meant she was pondering what she was hearing.