Here & Now (13 page)

Of course I see that. I’m not blind, but it doesn’t mean I have to let it happen. Besides, the appointment is made up anyway and I’m not gonna tell Caddy a lie. It might seem easy to do standing here with her mom, but that’s only because it’s not her. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna lie right to my girlfriends face.

“I know she would, but a little pain in my knee is shit compared to what she’s facing, so right now, this is where her attention needs to be. Mine too.”

“Fair enough.” She agrees, resigning herself to the fact that she’s not going to get anywhere with this. “Just don’t wait too long to tell her, alright? Cadence loves you, the same, if not more than you do her and she would want to be there for you, no matter how big or small this is.”

“I won’t.”

She turns and sits back down in one of the chairs again and as I watch her ago, my own words come back around. I mean it. I won’t wait too long. I will handle whatever this is going on with me and when I do, Cadence will know about it, but not yet. Not until I’ve seen her through this. I was right when I said that. This—the moment we’re in right now—is where my focus and attention needs to be and if someone doesn’t come out here and tell me something soon, the whole damn hospital is gonna know it.

I can worry about myself later.

Cadence

They’ve told me that the surgery went well about six times and it isn’t sinking in. I’ve also heard that there were no complications and how hopeful they are that at my fitting in about four to six weeks everything will turn out well. That’s going in the same way as the other stuff, yet not leaving a lasting impression either.

It might have something to do with the death grip a certain someone has on my hand now that we’re together again, and it might also be because every single time I’ve tried to process all of this, that same person has kissed me and made it so the only thing I can focus on is him.

The ways I react to Dillon, especially right now after going through what I did, they’re almost too intense for me. I’m not used to this. Waking up each day, going to school, following this set routine all day long until I end up falling asleep at night, that’s what I’m used to. Not this. The overwhelming need I have to kick everyone but him out of the room so we can continue doing what we started to the night before and never got to finish.

Is this normal? Do all girls experience this or are my hormones somehow screwed up? Could it be that the wiring in my brain isn’t like anyone else’s for more than just the obvious reasons and it’s just another thing I’m going to have to see a doctor about?

Turn that frown upside down, Adrian.

He’s on the bed with me again, but this time he came in bearing gifts. A notepad and a pen along with a whole lot of memories of us writing back and forth a year ago.

Honestly with the stress of seeing this through and the worry that things wouldn’t turn out quite the way they were supposed to, I’m glad for the chance not to have to open my mouth. I’m definitely happy to see a pen and paper.

I’m not frowning, Rocky, just thinking.

You know what that means, don’t you? You need to tell me a story.

He grins and my heart flips, but instead of putting pen to paper and writing out the story he’s wanting me to tell, I decide to show him instead.

Connecting my lips first to his cheek, I softly trace out a path until it ends with our lips together and after a few seconds have passed, he backs away, bringing his hand up and brushing across mine slowly, his grin deeper set into his face, yet softer as he feels me.

“Kiss later, thoughts now.”

What if I said those were my thoughts?

“Then please, continue to show me those thoughts while I come up with a way to spring you from here and have my way with you.”

He has no idea how appealing that sounds right now. I could definitely get used to being sprung from a hospital bed if he’s the one doing it.

When my doctor was in the room earlier, he explained that they wanted to keep me for a few hours, but that if everything felt and seemed okay I could easily be back home in my bed by the end of the night and it was like the holidays came early.

Going into this I was sure I would be stuck here for days, but knowing that I didn’t have to be admitted for any length of time, made it a whole lot easier to manage. After what happened to Eric and Amelia, then Belle, I’m pretty sure Dillon and I have seen more than enough of hospitals. Home is definitely a much better option.

If you can find a way to get my mom out of the room, I can make it worth your while.

“Caddy—shit. Are you serious right now?”

Looking from the paper to him, I smile and nod and the grin on his face gets bigger.

“You have no idea how hot that sounds, but you just had surgery. As much as I want to be with you, I’m not a total asshole. I won’t hurt you.”

Since when?

“I’ve never hurt you, at least not intentionally.”

Crap. He’s taking me the wrong way.

“Not what I meant.”

“Okay, so what did you mean?”

“Since when are you not an asshole?”

“Easy.” He says, the tension in his shoulders releasing and the smile reappearing. “Since the day a certain girl flicked me on the arm and beat sense into me.”

“Remind me to thank her.”

“If I don’t, will you get her to flick me again?”

“Not if being flicked makes you look like that. It’s not supposed to be a turn on.”

Looking over toward my mom, content that she’s not paying us any attention, he leans in and kisses me softly before pulling away, his lips parting and beginning to speak.

“Everything you do is a turn on.”

Burying my head into his side, attempting to block him from catching the blush that I can feel heating its way across my face, his hand reaches over, cupping my chin and tilting me back up until there’s nowhere to look but at him.

“Blushing is just proving me right.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, his meaning clear, he strokes my face before letting me go, my eyes landing on our legs the moment he does.

Picking up the pen and sliding it across the page, he hands it over to me and when our eyes meet again, he’s got his finger over his lips and he’s motioning his head toward my mom.

Gonna see how much longer we have until I can spring you. Don’t talk about me too much ;)

I’ll try not to.
I write back with a grin, the blush still heating my cheeks. It doesn’t matter how much time we’ve spent together or apart over the last year. He knows the minute he leaves the room, the conversation is going to land on him. Especially given her proximity to us and what we just spent the last few minutes openly talking about, even if I was trying to be as quiet as possible.

Gripping my chin with his fingers, he leans in and after feeling his breath as it comes across his hand and resting on my face, he puts his lips to mine, the shadow of my mom moving in her chair, the door opening around us and her body as she comes to loom over the both of us, fades away completely, just the way I want it to.

Dillon’s musky scent, either from aftershave or cologne all I can focus on besides the feel of his lips on mine. The only things in the world I want to feel even though I know the moment is about to fall apart around me.

Her hand comes to rest across his body and onto my leg, pulling me from my dreamy haze, and it’s only when I look up that I see we’re not the only people in the room anymore. The door opening, the breeze that swept across the floor and up over the bed, it wasn’t caused by my mom.

It was my doctor and judging from the smile on his face, he’s bringing with him some good news.

I can go home.

Dillon

“Head full of fucking rocks!”

“Get your head in the damn game, boy!”

“You forget your feet at home?”

“I’ve seen cheerleaders that can play better ball then you today, boy!”

“Murphy! Get your ass on the bench! McNeil, you’re in.”

One insult after another, all aimed in my direction and there’s not a comeback in the world I can come up with because he’s right. Well, he is about most of it.

My damn head is in the game. It’s the rest of me that’s not. My body is tired, sluggish and arguing with me no matter how much I try and block it out and get the job done. I’m sucking utter shit. I have been for the past three days, and it was only a matter of time before I got nailed by Coach for it.

The week started off good. For once, I showed up to practice and didn’t need to get locked away with Mark for another shot of cortisone. I thought maybe it was finally kicking in and I wouldn’t need it anymore and then again, I got thrown to the ground and everything just blew up.

Walking hurts. If I wasn’t so busy clenching my damn teeth every second—to the point where I swear I’m biting into my tongue— I might crack and cry out. I can’t do that though because if I do, then not only do I make Bruce’s words true, but my coaches as well.

The last fucking thing I am is a girl.

Ryder, having been switched out shortly before Coach threw his final fit and brought Daniel McNeil in, sees my obvious conflict and his expression when he finally moves down the bench is sympathetic.

“Is it the knee again?”             

Cracking my neck, trying to appear as though his question means nothing, still of the same stupid mindset that when I’m out here I need to be the way I’ve always been, I just shrug and he rolls his eyes.

“Tough guy act doesn’t work on me, man.”

“Who says it’s an act?”

“Me. Any more bullshit you wanna sling that I can shoot down? I can do this all day.”

I wanna wipe the stupid smirk off his face. I bet he’s enjoying this, even if his eyes say something different. Why wouldn’t he? My failing means good things for him. No way I’m letting him catch sight of how badly I wanna slip and give in to the pain.

“It’s not BS, but since you’re enjoying yourself, by all means, keep going.”

“No fun when the other person wants it.”

Fuck it all. He’s making me laugh. Asshole.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of a perv?”

“Yeah, I do all the time. Someone’s gotta keep it real.”

Talking with Ryder, it isn’t a death sentence the way I was expecting. I’m still wary around him, but in moments like this, it’s hard to give my complete focus.

Ryder Kane seems almost human.

“You ever gonna take my advice?”

“Depends, you dish out so much of it every day, it’s hard to keep track.”

He’s been giving me advice since he got here. First, it was that I needed to get my head in the game like Coach said, but put in more vulgar terms. After that it was about dealing with my leg, which I’m pretty sure he’s getting at now.

I’m not in the mood for it. Mainly because I know he’s right.

This isn’t going to go away until I find out exactly what’s going on, but with a game around the corner and back to back practices, I just don’t have time right now.

“Coach isn’t gonna play you if you keep this up. Take the game off, let second string play and do something productive with the time off.”

“There’s no way I’m not playing in the game this weekend.”

“You willing to cost us a win because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re injured?”

This is what Ryder needs to learn. I don’t lose games. I bust my ass and make sure that we win, no matter what it costs me. It’s half the reason I’m going around with a fucked up knee to begin with. I refuse to let the pain dictate what I can and can’t do. The only person that ever did that is gone. There’s no way I’m giving anything else the satisfaction, even my own body.

“We won’t lose.”

“Famous last words.”

“What’s your game, man? Seriously. It’s like you want me to pull out, so you can get put in.”

“Now who’s the perv?”

There’s that fucking look again. The one he gets whenever things get remotely perverted and he’s not in control of it. Son of a bitch. I’ve been watching this guy for weeks now and I still can’t figure out what the hell that’s about. All I know is that there’s more going on with this guy then meets the eye.

Maybe I need to spend a little less time thinking he’s out to get me and focus my attention more on what the hell forced him to leave the comfort of a QB position in a major city to come here and play with this bunch of misfits.

“I’ve always been one, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want your spot, Murphy. I fucking told you that. What I do want to be is a friend. Looks like with the way the other guys are, you might need one.”

He’s noticed it too. The way we all come together on the field and work together, but how off of it, none of us say two words to each other. There’s no brotherhood here. There should be, but there’s something about a lot of these guys that I just don’t trust and it has nothing to do with being jealous of them or my spot somehow being taken the way it is with Kane.

They’re just shifty and honestly, a lot like I used to be.

“You wanna be a friend, huh?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

Honestly, I don’t. With Kayden off following his own path, the only time we get to really hang out are the off times we’re home at the same time. It might be nice to have someone else to shoot the shit with.

It also helps that when Ryder talks football, he can get as heated as I can. What starts as a simple conversation can turn into a full-fledged debate in a matter of seconds, something that I never had, even with as much time as Kayden, Tim and I spent hanging out.

“I might consider being your friend, but only if you admit that what I said the first day is true.”

“Not in a million years.”

Yeah, I can definitely be friends with this guy. If he had been easy to sway, it would have taken all of the fun out of it and he would be like every other teammate I’ve tried the same shit with since I got back.

“I think my knee is screwed.”

“Define screwed.”

“If Coach finds out, I’m not going to be playing this year.”

“That’s a pretty deep screw.”

He laughs and where I expect him to get all shady again, his eyes lowering, going darker and more clouded because again, he’s touched on something that could be seen as perverted, there’s nothing. He’s animated the same way he was when he first sat down and it confuses the hell out of me.

Ryder is hard as hell to nail down.

“Yeah. So you gonna tell him?”

“Like fuck. Even when your game is off, you’re still better than the second and third string he’s got. If I go and rat you out, then we really don’t stand a chance of winning the game.”

“What about me needing to get this checked out?”

“I still mean that, but I don’t want you getting the shit handled for Coach or even those jerks that keep trying to take you out. I think you need to fix your knee for you. Be a shame to see you at an awards dinner rolling around in a chair.”

The casual way he brings up the seriousness of the situation, slams my reality home. He’s right. If I don’t get this looked at or dealt with soon, there’s a real possibility that when the other teams figure out I’m not at a hundred percent, they won’t rest until I end up rolling around with wheels instead of legs.

“I’m gonna do it. I just want to get through this weekend first.” I admit and he nods. “Once we have a few days off where we’re not being drilled into the fucking green every second, I can sort it out.”

“Fair enough, but like I said before. Do it soon. Those are a damn fine pair of legs. I’d hate to see you lose them.”

Hearing his name being called from across the field, he stands and throws me a shrug before jogging back out to where Coach is standing, his back to me, screaming more insults, but this time, at my backup.

It’s watching him go that I focus on two things, one having to do with the guy that extended the branch of friendship and the other about me.

I need to talk to Mark, up the shots to my leg so it can ease the pain completely. The game this weekend depends on it, but it’s the revelation about Ryder that gets to me more.

His comment about my legs and the misty look he got when he said it, his eyes raising and focusing out beyond me thinking I didn’t notice, can only mean one thing. In fact, when it’s added to the way he’s already been caught reacting, it looks like Ryder Kane is holding on to a pretty big fucking secret and it makes sense why.

If I’m right, he’s gay and that’s the last thing he needs getting out.

Looks like we’re gonna be pretty good friends after all. Our secrets are gonna make it that way.

*****

“D, I don’t know how comfortable I feel making this a continuous thing.” Mark explains as he pierces my skin with the needle, injecting the fluid into my leg, proving just how comfortable he really is. “You need to get it looked at.”

“Yeah, and I told you, after the game this weekend I will. Scouts Honor.” I appease, holding up my hand even though I have no idea what the fuck the Scout code of honor is. “I just need something to get me through.”

“Shit!” he snaps before tossing the needle into the trash and making a beeline for what I now see is the open door with a body standing watch outside, his eyes not trained on Mark or even on what’s going on around him, but on me.

As Mark kicks the door shut and it closes in his face, disconnecting us completely, his look of confusion is crystal clear in my head.

Ryder caught us.

He knows. Secrets out.

“Why didn’t you warn me the damn door was open?” Mark yells and I shrug. Maybe if I had been paying attention to something other than the god damned pain in my leg, I might have been able to kick it shut behind me.

“I’ll talk to him alright? Kane is cool.”

“Not when it comes to you, he isn’t.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“D, you know as well as I do what position he played before he got here. He might be cool with you out on the field, but don’t mistake that for friendship. He wants his position back and with what he just saw me doing with your knee, there’s no way in hell he’s gonna keep his mouth shut.”

I might have thought that before, but with the way he said he’d stay silent out on the field less than a half hour ago, I’ve got my doubts now. If Ryder wanted to cause shit for me, he could have done it weeks ago when he saw me walking with the limp and he didn’t. Despite knowing deep down that he could just be biding his time, I can’t agree with Mark on this.

“I’ll talk to him, its fine. He knows how important the damn game is. He won’t fuck with it. Not if he really does want to be first string quarterback.”

“He can make me lose everything.”

“Us, Mark. He can make
us
lose everything and I told you, I won’t let that happen. Damn man, chill out. I think your hair’s going gray.”

It was meant as a joke, but with as riled up as Mark is right now, I know that it won’t get through. I get why he’s so worried, he stands to lose a lot more than I do, but I really do think Ryder is gonna be alright with this.

“Keep his mouth shut, Murphy, or I’ll make sure if I go down, I bring you down with me.”

“It’s a cortisone shot, Mark. It’s not like you’re performing some illegal fucking surgery on my leg. Jesus.”

Slipping off the table, I limp my broken ass leg to the door, paying attention to every stabbing pain that shoots through it the minute any pressure gets added and I sigh. Four more days, that’s all I need. Once I get past the game, I can stop using Mark and do the right thing and everything will be fine. I just need to suffer through the pain a little longer.

And make sure both of our asses are covered.

“I mean it, Murphy.” He snaps again, the use of my last name starting to grate on my nerves. “Do whatever you have to, but make sure that he keeps his fucking trap shut. I refuse to pay for this alone.”

If I didn’t need the guy, with the way he’s snapping at me right now, I’d head out and go right to Coach myself. Confess it all and make the son of a bitch pay, but I can’t because what he’s doing is helping, even if it’s minimal and giving it up would mean losing everything.

Looks like it’s time to fast track this friendship with Ryder.

There’s no fucking way I’m walking away from this now. Football is my life and if an injury isn’t enough to make me give up, the threat of Ryder spilling it all won’t be either. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let him take away the one thing that means anything to me.

No way in hell.