Chapter 12 #2
"Because you haven't stretched in two days. Because you haven't slept. Because you're punishing yourself."
She stood up. "Stay there. Do not move."
"I can't move," I spat.
She ran out. She came back thirty seconds later with a foam roller, a towel, and a bottle of water.
She knelt beside me again. She didn't ask for permission. She grabbed the hem of my shorts and pulled them up slightly to expose the quad.
"This is going to hurt," she said, her voice devoid of sympathy. "And you deserve it."
She dug her elbow into my IT band.
I screamed. It was a raw, guttural sound.
"Breathe!" she shouted over my noise. "Breathe, you stubborn asshole! Inhale!"
I inhaled, choking on the air.
She worked on me for twenty minutes. She was ruthless. She kneaded the knots out of my legs with a strength born of fury. She muttered curses under her breath the entire time.
"Stupid jock... thinks feelings are a weakness... going to kill himself before the draft..."
Slowly, the iron bands around my hip began to loosen. The blinding white pain faded to a dull red throb.
I lay there, panting, sweat pooling under me.
Jess sat back on her heels. She was breathing hard, her hair falling over her face. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
She looked at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She had been crying.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this to us?"
"There is no us," I lied, staring at the ceiling because I couldn't look at her. "There is only the draft."
"That's a lie," she said. "I felt you. Just now. Your body relaxes when I touch you. You trust me. Why are you trying to destroy that?"
"Because I have to go to Chicago!" I sat up, wincing. I turned to face her. "I have to go, and I can't take you with me. I have to be the machine, Jess. If I'm thinking about you... if I'm worrying about you... I'll fail. And I can't fail."
"So you push me away? You treat me like garbage for three days so it's easier to leave?"
"Yes!"
"Well, it worked," she said, standing up. Her voice broke. "It worked, Nick. I feel like garbage."
She turned and walked toward the door.
Panic seized me. Cold and absolute.
"Jess, wait."
"No," she said, not turning around. "You want to be alone? Fine. Be alone. I'm going to Mila's. I can't stay here and watch you kill yourself."
"Jess!"
I tried to stand. My leg wobbled, but held.
"You can't leave," I said. "The contract..."
"Screw the contract!" She spun around. Tears were streaming down her face now. "You broke the contract the minute you slept with me! You made this real! And now you're trying to undo it because you're scared your daddy will be mad? You're a coward, Nick."
The word hit me like a slap. Coward.
"I am protecting you," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "He threatened you, Jess. My father. He threatened your scholarship. He said if I didn't focus, he'd cut your funding. He'd ruin you."
She froze. The anger drained out of her face, replaced by shock.
"He... what?"
"He knows," I admitted, stepping toward her. "He knows we're together. He said you were a liability. He told me to go to Chicago alone or he'd destroy your career."
I reached her. I reached out, grabbing her shoulders.
"That's why I pushed you away," I said, looking into her eyes. "Not because you're a distraction. But because you're the only thing I have to lose. If I pretend I don't care... if I act cold... maybe he'll leave you alone."
She stared at me. Her lips trembled.
"You idiot," she whispered. "You noble, stupid idiot."
"I know."
"You should have told me. We're allies. We fight together."
"I couldn't risk it."
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around my waist. She buried her face in my sweaty t-shirt.
"You don't have to protect me from the world, Nick," she mumbled. "Just don't shut me out. When you shut me out... that hurts more than anything your dad can do."
I wrapped my arms around her. I held her tight, crushing her to me. The relief was overwhelming.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry."
"I know." She pulled back, looking up at me. "You have to go to Chicago. You have to go and win. You have to be the machine."
"I don't want to be the machine anymore."
"Be the machine for two weeks," she said firmly. "Get drafted. Secure the bag. And then come back. And when you come back... we figure out how to fight him. Together."
"Two weeks," I repeated. It sounded like a prison sentence.
"I'll be here," she promised. "I'll keep the plants alive. I'll study. I'll wait."
She reached up and kissed me. It tasted like salt and forgiveness.
"But tonight," she whispered, pulling away. "Tonight, you're not the machine. You're just Nick. And you're going to eat a sandwich, take a hot bath, and sleep. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She smiled, a watery, sad smile. "Come on. Let's get you off the floor."
She helped me walk out of the gym.
We went back to the bedroom. It felt like a sanctuary again.
That night, we didn't have sex. We didn't have the energy.
We lay in the dark, tangled together. I held her like she was a lifeline. I memorized the feel of her breathing, the scent of her skin. I was storing it up. I was filling the tank for the two weeks of winter I was about to endure in Chicago.
"I love you," the thought whispered in my head.
I almost said it. It was right there on the tip of my tongue.
But I swallowed it.
I couldn't give her that weapon yet. Not while my father was hunting. Not while I was leaving.
"I'll be back," I whispered instead.
"I know," she murmured, drifting off to sleep.
I lay awake for a long time, staring at the shadows, listening to the wind, and dreading the sunrise.
Because when the sun rose, I had to leave my heart in a penthouse in Maine and go to war.