Chapter 9
THEO
After I leave the hospital, I’m at the practice complex for physical therapy until eight. I grab some dinner on the way home, planning to crash early. A few of the guys are over at Holly’s, but my head is too full of Becca to spend time with anyone else right now.
Carter and Holly both knew that I was going to see her today, and they’ll want to know how it went. I’ll tell them eventually, but not tonight.
Tonight, I just want to be.
To think what I think and feel what I feel and not try to explain it to anyone. What would I even say?
Somehow, our conversation was both everything I wanted it to be and nowhere near enough. It left me restless. Anxious. I want to see her again, but I can’t see her again. Not when her heart belongs to someone else. And I hate that.
She’ll be at the MS Walk, at least, but soaking up spare moments, snatches of time—I’d almost rather not see her than put myself through that kind of torture.
I sigh and lean back against my pillows and mindlessly scroll through streaming options on the TV.
I stop on ESPN when I see an interview with Drew Jackson, the captain of the Denver Renegades. I like Drew. We played together in junior hockey, and he’s solid. A great player and a decent guy off the ice as well.
Once, after a big win back in Frisco—we’d just advanced to the final round of the Clark Cup playoffs—a bunch of my teammates came back to the house to celebrate.
Drew started a street hockey game in the driveway and got pelted in the face with a puck.
There was blood everywhere, and my parents wanted to drive him to urgent care, but then Becca took a look and said it wasn’t bad enough to make the trip.
Instead, she got out the first aid kit and cleaned him up, piecing him back together with a couple of butterfly bandages.
She was so chill about the whole thing. A few of the guys were close to fainting at the sight of Drew’s blood, but Becca didn’t even flinch.
I watched Drew watching her with stars in his eyes, and I couldn’t even blame him. She was amazing. Confident, adorably bossy, steady in a way no seventeen-year-old dealing with all that blood had a right to be.
After she was finished, Drew stood up and clapped me on the back, tilting his head in her direction. “Dude, do not mess that up,” he said.
I should have taken his advice while I still could.
The interview ends, and I turn off the television, tossing the remote onto my nightstand.
It’s only eleven p.m., and I feel too restless to sleep, despite how exhausting PT was today.
My hand throbs as a reminder, pain shooting up my arm.
I try to rub out the discomfort, but neuropathic pain is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
It’s more like a burn, sharper than an ache, and not always from a source I can touch, which is irritating.
I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom to take the meds I was given for whenever my pain flares up. It happens less frequently than it used to, but whenever I really push it in therapy, my hand tends to bother me for the rest of the night.
I swallow the pill, then head back to bed, surprised to find my phone vibrating on the nightstand.
I pick it up, heart doubling in speed as soon as I notice who it is.
Becca.
I quickly answer. “Hello?”
“Hey,” she says, a slight tremor in her voice. “Sorry to call so late.”
“It’s fine. I’m still up. Are you all right?”
“Um? Not really.” Her voice sounds small, thick with emotion. “If I text you an address, can you come and pick me up?”
I’m walking to my closet before she’s even finished her sentence. “Of course,” I say as I reach for a pair of joggers. “I’ll leave right now. Where are you?”
“At a bar in midtown.”
“I live in midtown,” I say. “Send me the address. I’ll be right there.”
She takes an audible breath. “Thanks, Theo.”
Seconds later, a text pops up with an address. I plug it into my GPS and start the route. She’s only seven minutes away.
Worry drives my actions as I stride around my apartment, pulling on a t-shirt and hat, slipping on my shoes, grabbing my keys. I have no idea what circumstances landed Becca at a bar without a ride, but she was clearly upset. Whatever it was, I can’t get to her fast enough.
Even all these years later, I’d drive anywhere to make sure she’s safe. Anywhere.
When I pull out of the parking garage, it’s pouring outside, rain falling onto the pavement in thick sheets. I turn on my windshield wipers and navigate toward the bar, imagining all the different scenarios that might have prompted Becca to call me.
Is she on a date? Her boyfriend lives in California, so not likely. Out with friends? Maybe she had a little too much to drink?
She didn’t sound drunk, and that doesn’t feel like something Becca would do. She’s a planner. If she were planning to drink, she’d have already arranged a ride.
I grip the steering wheel, nerves making my chest tight, as I ease to a stop outside the bar.
I’m a few car lengths away in the only open spot, and I have a clear view of the door.
With the rain, the streets are basically empty, except for one woman standing in shadow under the awning outside.
She steps to the left, light from the window catching her profile, and I know it’s Becca.
I shift into park and glance into the back seat.
I wish I’d thought to bring an umbrella.
As it stands, all I have is the gym bag I left in the car earlier.
I reach for it and pull out a hoodie, thinking Becca can use it to cover her head as she walks to the car.
It isn’t far, but she’ll be soaked without anything to block the rain.
I turn off my car, about to make a run for it, but then a man steps outside and leans toward Becca. I pause, watching as he lifts a hand to her elbow.
She tugs away and shakes her head no.
I have no idea who the guy is, but she clearly doesn’t want him to touch her.
And that’s my cue.
“Becca,” I call as I jog toward her. I step under the awning, intentionally placing my entire body between her and the other man. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” she says, and I can see the relief on her face. “Thanks for coming.”
“I would have called you an Uber,” the guy says from behind me. “You didn’t need to call someone.”
I look over my shoulder, raising my eyebrows at him, and he retreats a step, pushing his hands into his pockets.
“You’re wrong,” Becca says. “I did have to call someone. You made it clear you were done. So we’re done. I’m no longer your concern.”
This guy is the boyfriend? Or ex-boyfriend now, by the sound of it.
Is that why he’s here? I give him another look, this time with new eyes.
He’s maybe six feet tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes.
He’s wearing a cheap suit but an expensive watch, and he’s staring at Becca with an expression that’s half frustration, half guilt.
His presence raises a lot of questions, but at this point, the answers don’t matter. Nothing is more important than getting Becca somewhere dry and warm and safe. At this point, those are my only priorities.
“Let’s go,” Becca says to me, and I nod, lifting the sweatshirt.
“It isn’t much,” I say, holding it over her head, “but it’s better than nothing.”
“Becca, I really am sorry,” the guy says before we step out from under the awning.
She doesn’t even look back.
I stay with her, shielding her as much as I can until she’s in the car, then I sprint around to the driver’s side and jump in, tossing the wet hoodie into the seat behind us.
“I should have grabbed an umbrella,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
She rubs her hands down her arms, wiping away the water that accumulated on her skin.
She’s wearing a short black dress, her arms and shoulders bare.
I let my eyes travel over the length of her, and for a split second, I drink in the sight.
So far, I’ve only seen her in scrubs. She looks great in those, but this …
she’s stunning. Even with rainwater dripping off the ends of her hair, it’s hard to pull my gaze away.
“Please don’t apologize,” she says. “I’m sorry I even called you.
I just didn’t know what else to do. Rory picked me up, which means I didn’t have my car, and Mia got called into the hospital for a shift, so she was no help.
And I’m locked out of my Uber account, and I don’t have any cash…
” She sighs, and her shoulders drop. “Sorry. You don’t need any of those details.
The point is, I don’t know very many people in the city, and I really, really needed to not be around Rory anymore.
” She takes a deep breath. “Anyway. Thanks again for coming.”
“I’m glad you called me,” I say as I start the car. “I only live a few blocks away. It wasn’t a problem to come.”
She nods, her gaze on her lap. She looks exhausted, and I feel an impulse to take her home, put her in dry clothes, and make her some soup. I don’t even know how to make soup. But I’d learn for her.
I turn on my blinker, then ease us into traffic. “So … your boyfriend was here?”
She breathes out a sigh. “Ex-boyfriend, now. He was here for a business dinner and had a few hours before his flight to New York tomorrow.” She lets out a little chuckle. “Turns out a few hours is all you need to tell your girlfriend you’ve fallen in love with someone else.”
“Ouch,” I say, even as my heart flips over in my chest. I am not happy that she’s hurting. In fact, I’d like to turn the car around and drive back to the bar just so I can punch her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—in the nose.
But I can’t ignore what else this means.
Becca’s single.
I will not make this about me. Not now. But the hope surging through my chest draws my feelings into sharp focus. If I had any doubts about what I wanted after our conversation this afternoon, those doubts are all but completely gone now.
I want this. Her.