Chapter 13 Annie #2
“I’m happy for you,” I say, and I mean it. My chest warms with something that feels like solidarity, even if I can’t tell her about mine. “You ready to tell me who it is?”
“Not yet,” she says, cheeks pinking. “It’s too new. And you’ll judge me.”
“I won’t. I’ll judge him.”
“Fair.” She sticks her arm out for me. “Okay, Doc. Fix me so I can carry fourteen pounds of camera gear and my poor life choices.”
I palpate gently along the tendons, feel for swelling. It’s tender over the abductor pollicis longus, and she subsequently hisses when I press that track. “Overuse. Rest. Ice. And a brace for the next couple of days. I’ll tape you now if you want to shoot.”
“You’re a saint.”
“I’m a pragmatist.” I wrap her and anchor it with clips. “How’s that feel?”
“Like I made at least one good decision today.” She tilts her head at me. “Anything new with you? You’re not as…cranky as usual.”
My heart flutters. I want to tell her. Just thinking about Brick makes me feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. But I can’t. Not until the rodeo is over.
“No, nothing new.”
“It’s the new guy, isn’t it?”
I close my eyes and just breathe. “It’s too new to talk about.”
She gasps, and Jaden breezes back in with the swagger of a man who secured two crates of ice and four bottles of water. “What’s too new?” he asks cheerfully, then does a double take at the wrist. “Wait. Did the camera hurt you again?”
Mac’s eyes go wide for a second, and then she smiles. “Something like that.”
Jaden turns to me, eyebrows arched at maximum tease. “Or is ‘too new’ Annie’s new guy she’s been texting when she thinks I’m not paying attention?”
Mac swings her gaze to me so fast she might sprain a different joint. My mouth opens, and a laugh comes out that sounds a little feral. “My nothing is nothing compared to Mac hooking up last night,” I say, as if pointing the spotlight across the stage will redirect the audience.
“Whoa,” Jaden says, delighted and betrayed. “Everyone’s dating except me.”
“We’re not dating,” Mac protests. “We’re two consenting adults who happen to have compatible…schedules.”
Jaden clutches his chest. “Oh, the romance of it all. My poor, lonely, saintly heart.”
“You’re fine,” I say, tossing him a roll of gauze like a rock at his head. He catches it one-handed. “You flirted with Blaze yesterday for ten minutes and almost fell off your own shoes. You’re doing just fine.”
He catches the gauze without missing a beat. “That was medical appreciation. Completely professional. I was inspecting her hydration status.”
“Uh-huh,” Mac says, grinning. She nudges my shoulder with hers. “Can’t believe you broke doctor-patient confidentiality just to get the heat off yourself.”
“This is a medic tent,” I say, deadpan. “There are no walls. What makes you think confidentiality exists here?”
“Cold,” she says, eyes bright. “But fair.”
Jaden points at the wrap on her wrist. “You going to be okay with that?”
“Yeah. Doc fixed me. Again.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
She lifts her camera bag with her good arm, tests the weight with a satisfying tug, and then leans across the counter to peck my cheek. “Thanks, Annie.”
“Any time. Go film pretty people doing stupid things. I’ll be here to patch them after.”
Mac rolls her eyes and backs out, still smiling.
The tent feels warmer once she leaves, like she took some of the breeze with her.
I catch my reflection in the glossy edge of the sharps container and see I’m smiling too.
It’s not just her joy. It’s the stupid, bubbling fizz in my chest that won’t settle, no matter how many Ace wraps I line up in perfect little rows.
Jaden doesn’t push. He leans on the counter, tapping the table with two fingers to a rhythm only he knows, and begins one of his glorious monologues like a magician pulling scarves from his sleeve.
“Speaking of stupid things, the taco truck out by the north gate? I could write poetry about their carnitas. And—this is the important part—they have an entire gluten-free menu that doesn’t taste like sadness. ”
“Miracle,” I say, grateful for how quickly he can tip the tent back onto the rails.
“You think I’m joking,” he says. “But I’m not. Utah is like, congratulations, here’s a salad with croutons and a side of bread. And I’m like, I would simply like to be alive, thanks but no thanks.”
I laugh, the sound easing every knot in my shoulders by a degree. “Go on.”
On he goes. He always does when I need it, providing the perfect background noise that is joyful and harmless and entirely about something that isn’t a man with a hat and a mouth I can’t stop thinking about. Jaden waxes poetic about a churro that, he swears, changed his life.
Between stories, my phone buzzes again. I don’t read it right away. I let Jaden talk about freshly made corn tortillas that were better than sex. I nod in all the right places and make faces when he insists I need to branch out beyond my usual roasted chicken and rice bowl.
Buzz.
Finally, I sneak a look when he turns to the cooler to rearrange the ice blocks for the seventy-ninth time.
Do you have ten minutes today? Brick writes.
I stare at the words like they’re a trap and a present at the same time. The answer is yes. The answer is absolutely not. The answer is I don’t trust myself enough to stand near you in daylight and remember how to be sensible.
Maybe, I type. Why?
I want to see if you smile the same when it’s not an accident, he sends.
I press a palm to my sternum like that might keep my ribs from showing how open the door is. I type and erase three different responses before settling on the one that keeps me on my side of the line.
Later, I write. We’re slammed.
He sends back a single thumbs-up. Then, a second later, Be safe.
I lock the phone and put it away like it burned me. It didn’t. It warmed me through. That might be worse.
Thankfully, Jaden talks, and I let him. He is glad, truly glad, that this festival has gluten-free options, and he says it like he’s been waiting his whole life to be included on a menu.
“People act like it’s a fad,” he says, tossing his hands. “Like I woke up and chose wheat-based pain because it’s trendy. It makes me feel like a person instead of a problem.”
“You, Jaden Charles, could never be a problem. You’re the reason we found that sub shop that carries gluten-free sub rolls, which means you’re the reason I have a favorite sub shop, because they do the best version of my favorite sub I have ever had.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s double turkey, American cheese, mayo, lettuce on white. I’m pretty sure every sub shop can accommodate that.”
“But none as good as that one.”
Getting the simple things shouldn’t be hard. Food that doesn’t hurt you, work that doesn’t break you, a person who makes you forget the thick parts of your day. Maybe that’s the shape of this, at least for now.
Something simple, even if it’s complicated everywhere else.
“And I still can’t believe you’re a doctor and your order is so unhealthy.”
“It has vegetables!”
“It has lettuce. That hardly counts.”
I snort a laugh at him and breathe, finally. I let the noise wash over me and hold the secret in my pocket without squeezing it to death. I’m not ready to say his name out loud to anyone but the person who carries it. I’m not ready to tell the whole truth of how fast it’s going.
But I’m ready for more, and that’s the scariest part of all.