12. Miles
CHAPTER 12
MILES
I had this tradition when I was bowling — or not a tradition, but a signature move. Kind of a dick move, if you asked Brian. I’d let the ball go then turn away, not needing to see the pins clatter down. It was half-joke, half-flex, I’m just that good .
I was that good most days, but today, I was off. Today, I stood watching as the ball rumbled off. It went straight at first, then curved to the left, a slow, gentle swerve into the gutter. Brian laughed, the asshole.
“You need the bumpers?”
I flipped him the bird.
“Seriously, what’s with you? You sore from your crash?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I rolled my shoulder where my seat belt had dug in. It twinged some, but not enough to mess up my game. I’d been stiff the next day, but whether that was from the crash was anyone’s guess. It could as easily have been from my exertions right after, all crammed in with Sophie on the tight bench.
Brian’s brows rose. “What’s that face?”
“What face?”
“ Your face.” He shifted his ball from one hand to the other. “You’ve been off all day. If you’re not in pain, why?”
I sat down. “Just bowl.”
“Not till you talk.” Brian set his ball down and perched on the return. “Is it something I said? Those crash victim jokes?”
I laughed. “It’s not you.”
“But it’s something.”
I groaned. The last thing I needed was Brian up in my business. Or anyone knowing I’d crossed the line. What happened that night had been stress relief. A surge of adrenaline, and we’d lost our minds. That surge was gone now, and we were both adults. I’d see her on Monday and we’d talk things through — or, better yet, we’d let it go. She knew, same as I did, what shock could do.
“Is it that partner of yours? You worried she’ll sue?”
“Sue? Did you hear something?”
Brian’s brows nearly hit his hairline. “Yeah. That you crashed. Was there something else?”
My heart sank. This was Brian’s worst trait, and also what made him a great doctor and friend: he was perceptive. Sharp-eyed to a fault. Nothing escaped him, and neither would I.
“It’s nothing,” I said, but my protest came out weak. Brian pounced on it.
“I knew it! You kissed.” He did a fist-pump. “I guessed at the bar when you came back all red, but you didn’t say anything, so I thought maybe not. But you did, didn’t you? And now you’re all stressed.”
I hung my head. “Yeah, but that’s not why I’m stressed. It was after the accident, the rush…”
“Like after surgery.” Brian scooted up next to me and jabbed his elbow in my ribs. “You got that near-death rush, like the OR. What’d you do, kiss her? Round second base?”
I smacked him. “Second base? What are we, twelve?”
“Well? What’d you do?”
My whole neck was prickling. Flaming with shame. “It wasn’t just me. It was both of us. I kissed her, or, I don’t know. She might’ve kissed me. With how fast it happened, it was hard to tell. But next thing I knew, she had my pants off?—”
“Whoa!”
“—and her pants, and our shirts, and— Shut up. Shut up.”
Brian was laughing, half toppling off the bench. I resisted the temptation to shove him the rest of the way.
“It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“She could sue me for real.”
Brian made a tch sound. “No way she’d do that.”
“What do you know?”
“I know she likes you.” He jogged my ribs again, less hard this time. “I’ve got to make fun of you. You know that, right? But I saw how she looked at you that night at the bar. You’re her hero. Be nice to her, and this could be great.”
I buried my face in my hands. Sophie’s hero? Oh, God, if that was true, that made it worse. However weird things had got when we kissed, this would be twice as weird. Ten times, maybe.
“Hey.” Brian gave me a shake. “It’s funny because of how hard you denied it. How you went on and on about how hard she sucks. I told you you liked her and you said no way, then you couldn’t wait for your shift to end so you could have her. That’s hilarious, and I’m going to mock you forever, but at the same time, I’m happy for you.”
I choked on a snort. “Happy? For what?”
“I think she’ll be good for you. She’s smart and she’s sweet.”
“Good for me…” I stared at him. “We’re not dating.”
“Not yet, but you could be if you asked her out.”
I shook my head. Was he nuts? Ask Sophie out? She’d been right the first time, when she’d said to forget it.
“I’m going to tell her tomorrow it was a mistake.”
Brian stood up. “Or, you could not do that.”
“And ask her out? Right.”
“I mean, why not? You could take her to dinner, out somewhere nice. Have a real conversation and see where it goes. Maybe you’ll bring up soccer and she’ll fall asleep, and you’ll both agree you’re better off friends. But what if she doesn’t? What if it’s great? You want to pass on that chance in case it gets weird?”
I hunched up my shoulders. He didn’t get it. I wasn’t passing on Sophie in case it got weird. I was passing because one day I knew it would. Best-case scenario, we’d fall in love, then I’d do something, or she would, and we’d end up hurt — and not just our hearts, but our careers. She’d have to transfer, or one of us would. Word would spread we’d been lovers and we’d split up, and we’d let it affect how we did our job. We’d go from trusted teammates to dumb, horny flakes.
“I know what you’re thinking: you’ll just break up.”
“Most relationships end that way. Yours did.” I regretted the words even as I was saying them. Brian made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. He sat down again, on the ball return.
“Sorry,” I said.
“You’re an asshole, but listen. Yeah, I’m divorced. And, yeah, that was awful, and it affected my work. I took that month off because I was slipping, making mistakes I never would make. But if I had a time machine and I could go back, I’d still ask her to marry me, for better and worse.”
I scoffed. “You would not.”
“Yeah, I would , because we were great. We were married ten years and eight were amazing, and if I could do it again, you bet I would. Even knowing she’d leave in the end.”
I thought of what Sophie had said about the past. About how it was sometimes good to look back. But most of the time, if you asked me, it wasn’t. I’d remember Nick mostly when I’d had a bad day, a patient I hadn’t saved. A rescue gone south. I’d think of him then, and how I’d tried to save him, and the look on his face as the light left his eyes. Had the good times been worth that look of betrayal? Or would it be better to remember nothing at all?
“You’re going broody,” said Brian. “I’ll grab us some beers.”
I tried to picture my childhood with Nick lifted out, the park with just me, the schoolyard, the beach. But we’d come as a package deal, Miles and Nick. Nick and Miles. The beach without both of us was only sand. The park was just grass, the schoolyard just asphalt. We’d had other friends, but their faces were blurs, their names in my memory fuzzy and dim.
“Here.” Brian thrust a paper plate at me. “I got you a slice. Olive-pepperoni.”
Normally, I’d have suspected his motives: had he brought me pizza to grease up my grip? But he didn’t need that today, the way I’d been playing. I took a bite.
“Ow. Still hot.”
“Cool off with some beer.”
“That your medical advice?”
Brian laughed. “Yeah.”
I took a cool swig of beer. It was crisp and refreshing, and the pizza was good. Today had been good, despite my losing game. If Brian left someday, got a job somewhere else, would I sit around wishing we’d never met? I didn’t think so, and I wouldn’t give up Nick either. So, why not see where things went with Sophie?
“It has been a while,” I said.
Brian wiped his chin. “Huh?”
“Since I’ve tried dating. It’s been, uh…” I tried to remember how long. Brian had set me up a year or two back, and we’d chugged on a few months before we’d split up. “Since Alex, I think. What’s that, two years?”
“More like four.”
“No way was it that long.”
“No, it was.” Brian set down his pizza to count back on his fingers. “You still had that place back then, with the narrow front door. And I’d just got my dog, so, yeah. Four, five years.”
I got up, grabbed my ball, and bowled it hard down the lane. It flew straight at first, then veered to one side, and struck one sad pin. Brian golf-clapped.
“You know what I miss?” he said. “It’s the little things. I miss having someone to share a day off with, and crash out and chain-watch Bachelor reruns. To text stupid things to, because I know she’ll laugh.” He took his own ball and bowled a strike, and blew on his fingers like they were smoking.
“Rub it in, why don’t you?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He marked his strike on our score sheet. I watched my ball roll back. I tried to imagine a day off with Sophie, sprawled out on my ratty couch, her feet in my lap. It wasn’t as hard to picture as I’d have thought. She could fit in that scene. We could fit together. I’d find her sweaters draped over my chairs. She’d get a spare toothbrush for when she stayed over. We’d wake up together and carpool to work, and I’d meet her mom. She’d already met Brian.
I pulled out my phone, then put it away. I wasn’t going to ask her out with Brian looming. But later, on my own, I guessed I just might.