The Year We Fell Down (9 page)

I let out a bark of laughter. “Something like that. But it depends where the injury occurred, and what sort of injury it was. Some guys in wheelchairs do fine. But some of them can raise the flag, only they can’t
feel
it anymore.”

His eyes widened with true horror. “Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“So, for a woman…”

I shook my head. “Next topic, please.”

“I guess a woman could always do it. But if she couldn’t feel it, then she might not want to.”

I stared up at the ceiling, hoping he would let it go.

He took a sip of his drink. “Callahan, one thing you might not know about me is that I don’t embarrass.”

“Well, I do,” I said.

But he didn’t listen. “Now, a guy who wasn’t sure if it still worked would just start slapping things around, like, the minute he got home from the hospital,” Hartley said. “Actually, before that. He would be yanking on it the first time he was alone in the hospital bathroom. And the mystery would be solved.”

Now he was starting to piss me off. “Honestly, you have no idea.”

“Then tell me, Callahan. If I have no idea.” He pinned me with his gaze, and then we were having one of our stare downs. I’m a fierce competitor, of course, but it was impossible to win against Hartley. It was impossible to win if you’re me, anyway. Because staring into Hartley’s chocolaty eyes always took me apart, reminding me just how much I wanted to climb inside his gaze and never come back out.

I looked down into my drink and tried to explain. “Okay, your paralyzed boy? For a long time he won’t be able to tell what works and what doesn’t, because a spinal injury shocks your entire system. He can’t feel
anything
below his ribcage for a while, and it’s terrifying. Then the doctors start arguing about what he’ll get back, and scaring the shit out of his parents.”

When I looked up again, Hartley regarded me with a quiet, liquid gaze.

Though I wished it wouldn’t, my throat began to feel hot and tight. “And your poster boy? He has a catheter up his weenie, okay? And he doesn’t even know — probably for weeks — if he can
poop
like a normal person.” I gulped my drink as an excuse to look away. “It takes a long time for everything to settle back down and start working again. And even then, your boy might be psyched out about the whole thing. Even a committed horn dog might take a vacation from jerking off. If only to preserve his own sanity.”

Hartley’s expression softened. “That really sucks for our hypothetical friend.”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

There was a silence for a minute, but it was not an uncomfortable one. My shoulders began to relax again. I’d never told Dana any of the gory details about spinal cord injury, because I didn’t want her to think pitying thoughts about me. But something about Hartley always loosened my tongue. Hopefully I wouldn’t regret it later.

We sipped our drinks for a little while longer, until eventually he set my game controller on my knee. “Let’s find out if your goalie’s reflexes are still sharp after two margaritas.”

“Yes, let’s,” I agreed.

Chapter Eight:
But You Shouldn't Have

—
Hartley

I was looking over my notes from bio lab when someone knocked on my door. “Enter!” I expected to see Corey wheel in to throw me some attitude about the two more RealStix wins she’d pulled off the other night. But it was Dana who came in. “What’s up, girl?”

She bounced into the room and shut the door behind her. “I want to have a party.”

I tossed my bio notebook onto the desk and gave her my full attention. “Sounds like a plan. What’s the occasion?”

“Well, it’s Corey’s birthday on Friday.” She heaved herself onto my bed. “But we’re not having a birthday party, because those are for five-year-olds.”

“Obviously.”

“I want to throw a party anyway, because…why haven’t we done this already? Our room is great, so we’re totally overdue. So my gift to Corey is that I’m making a giant batch of my famous sangria. And we’ll invite everyone we know.”

“Awesome. What do you need from me?”

Dana fidgeted. “Well, are you free on Friday? Because you’re the person Corey knows best.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. And the hockey team has a home game at seven. I could bring Bridger and some of our crew over by ten.”

She clapped her hands together. “Perfect! And there’s one more thing…”

“Now you’re going to ask us to buy the alcohol, aren’t you?”

Dana grinned. “How did you know?”

“Because your fake ID sucks, and Callahan doesn’t have one.” I picked up my phone to text Bridger. “Call your order into the package store on York, and we’ll get Bridger to pick it up Friday night.”

“You’re the best, Hartley.” She popped off my bed and scurried out the door.

Same to you, Dana
. The game of roommate roulette was not always kind to First Years. But Dana was awesome, and Corey was lucky to have her.

Friday night, when I approached the outer door to McHerrin, there was already music and laughter spilling out into the night. Nice. “This way, guys.”

A dozen hockey players followed me into Corey’s room. Dana’s Something Special pals were already inside, and I recognized some other Beaumont First Years. Mumford and Sons was playing in the background.

“Welcome!” Dana waved a ladle in our direction. “The sangria is over here.” She stood over a big plastic tub, a stack of cups beside her.

I accepted a drink. “Awesome, Dana. Where’s the birthday girl?”

She pointed, and I spotted Corey propped up against the couch, thanking Bridger for the wine delivery.

“Don’t mention it, Callahan,” Bridger said. “I’m going to have a sample,” he winked. “You know, quality control.”

“Sample the heck out of it, Bridge,” Corey said as he walked away.

“Happy Birthday, beautiful.” Without thinking, I pulled her in for a hug, which felt great. But then I felt her stiffen in my arms. I leaned back, hoping I hadn’t somehow offended her. Sure, we didn’t usually go full-frontal. But it was only a birthday hug.

“You went to the hockey game,” she whispered.

And then I understood. She’d smelled it on my jacket — that icy whiff that was so familiar. I’d had the same strange reaction only hours before, when I’d walked into the rink for the first time in months. Nothing else smelled like that.

I relaxed my arms around her. “Yeah. I took the gimpmobile. Did you want to go?”

“Nah,” she said quickly, trying to cover her reaction. “But who won?”

“We did, of course. And now we’re ready to celebrate.”

Corey looked around. “You brought all these guys? Awesome.”

“Sure. It wasn’t easy dragging them into a room full of singing group girls for a cold drink. But I managed. Hey — I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to drop my jacket.” I let go of Callahan and crutched into her bedroom. I took off my jacket, and was just reaching into the breast pocket when Bridger came in, startling me.

“Hey, man.” Bridger chucked his jacket onto Corey’s bed.

“Good game tonight,” I said, even though it really wasn’t. But the unhelpful injured shouldn’t be too critical.

“Eh,” he said. “At least we won. Could have been worse. And now there’s a redhead showing me the ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

“You’d better get out there, then.” I needed him to leave so that I could sneak Corey’s birthday present out of my jacket.

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t move. “So what’s the deal with you and Callahan, anyway?”

That was a question I hadn’t really been expecting. “We’re tight, that’s all.” I gave the most casual shrug I could muster. Bridger wouldn’t understand. He didn’t have any girl friends, or even any girlfriends. His M.O. with women was simply to exchange body fluids and then move on.

“You two look awfully cozy,” Bridger crossed his arms. “She’d be a really big improvement over Stacia.”

“That’s real nice, asshole. I’ll give Stacia your love next time she calls.” But it was no secret that Bridger wasn’t the president of my girlfriend’s fan club. And the feeling was unfortunately mutual.

Bridger raised his hands defensively. “It’s just an observation. Corey is more your type than Stacia ever was.”

It was hard to argue that point. Before dating Princess Stacia, I’d always gone for the jock girls. Not just
any
jock. But there was something really sexy about a pretty girl who could also throw a football, and who didn’t mind watching the Bruins. But that was beside the point. “Stacia’s not going anywhere, Bridge.” He’d better get used to it.

“Too bad.” He turned and left Corey’s room.

Alone again, I pulled my gift out of my jacket and dropped it onto Corey’s pillow. Shit, if Bridger knew what was in this box, he would never believe that we were only friends. The birthday girl was going to blush like a tomato when she opened it. It was sort of a gag gift, but sort of not. Given the intense discussion we’d had a week ago, I hoped she’d understand.

“Good party,” I told her when I came back out into the common room. And it was. Tonight they were
that
room — the one bursting with energy and conversation.

Unfortunately, I was in no mood for a party. I had just spent the past two hours trying not to scream with frustration. It had cost me five dollars to buy a ticket in the student section to watch my own team play Rensselaer. And they’d barely eked out the win, breaking the 1-1 tie fifteen seconds before the buzzer. There was no less powerful feeling than watching your teammates struggle without you. And all the while, the cold air of the ice rink had slowly frozen my leg into a painsicle.

I felt selfish just thinking it, but what I really needed that second was a couple of hours alone with Corey, shooting the shit on the sofa. I needed the warm glance I always got from her when I walked into the room.

Whatever Bridger might make of it, I needed my Corey fix.

I flopped down on Corey’s empty couch, and patted the cushion next to me. She looked down, calculating the effort required to grab her crutches and relocate from the arm of the couch to the seat. It was Crutches Math 101. I did it all day long, too.

Saving her the trouble, I reached up and grabbed her by the hips. A half second later she landed next to me, her face startled. “Good thing this drink wasn’t full,” she said, staring into her cup.

“Good thing.” I arranged my aching leg on the coffee table. “Talk to me, Callahan. What’s the gossip?”

“Wow,” she said. “Check out Bridger. He sure works fast.”

I looked up. And sure enough, Bridger was already making time in the corner of the room, lip-locked to one of Dana’s singing group friends. I rubbed my aching leg and grinned. “The dude
does
work fast, and not just with the ladies. Bridge gets more done in a day than most people do in a week. Did you know he’s in that program where you get a masters degree at the same time as your bachelor’s?”

“Really?” Corey cocked an eyebrow toward the corner, where Bridger seemed to be eating the girls’ face. “Where does he find the time?”

“Unlike us normal people, Bridger never sleeps. After hockey season ends, he drives a forklift three nights a week in a warehouse.”

“Seriously? You’ve known each other a long time, haven’t you?” She propped an elbow on the back of the sofa and turned her face so she could see me. Corey always gave me her full attention, like there was nobody else in the room.

“Yeah. Bridge and I played on the same league in high school. And we’re both members of another club.”

“Which one?”

My smile was probably more like a grimace. “The Poor Club. Hartley grew up about ten miles from here, on the wrong side of the industrial wasteland.” While Harkness College had a beautiful campus, the city around it was actually kind of a shithole. “And my town isn’t much better. When I first came to Harkness, all the money here was a shock.”

Corey took a thoughtful sip of her sangria. “But at Harkness, everybody lives in the dorms and eats in the dining hall. I love that about this place. It doesn’t matter who’s rich.”

I shook my head. “Wait until spring, when people start arguing about which Caribbean island to spend break on.”

“I’ll be spending it in sunny Wisconsin.”

“Your girl Dana will probably head down to St. Croix or St. John. I’d put money on it.”

Corey’s eyes darted to her roommate on the other end of the room. “Well, her family has a house in Hawaii.”

“See what I mean? My frosh year, the first time someone told me they had a second home at Lake Tahoe, I thought, ‘That’s weird. Who needs two houses?’ I had no fucking clue. This place gives you a great education in more ways than one.”

“Dude.” Bridger appeared beside me, leaning down to ask a question into my ear. “Where do you keep your goalies? I’m all out.”

I chuckled, giving him a shove on the shoulder. “They’re in the logical drawer. Help yourself.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Bridger straightened up.

Whatever. I didn’t have any near-term need for condoms, anyway. “But, dude? Take the party elsewhere, okay?” I didn’t need to find Bridger fucking some girl on my bed. When we were roommates that had happened more than once.