Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Ferris
For all that Colton was the obnoxious sort of jock I spent my life avoiding, he was also the kind of guy who never minded when I swayed into him and bumped his shoulder.
We had wildlife bio together and had been paired up in a group on the first day.
And although I couldn’t say he was my best friend, he was one of my better friends.
He was the first one in the house who’d stick up for me whenever people got rude.
Or when people from other fraternities came to party with us.
It was strange being accepted by guys who would have rather pushed me down the stairs or into open lockers in high school than give me the time of day.
But I wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth.
“Dude, what time is it?” Colton asked, gently elbowing me the next time I bumped into him.
I dug my phone out of my pocket and groaned. Shit. We were going to miss curfew. “Late. I was going to get something to eat.”
He shook my arm gently, squeezing down the way I liked to be touched. “Go. I’ll cover for you.”
“I don’t like breaking rules.”
Colton rolled his eyes. “And I don’t like when you get all grumpy as fuck after your blood sugar crashes.
Just hit up Curry and Tea. They’re open late.
Oooh, and bring me a couple chicken paratha rolls.
They’re not as good as your mom’s, but she’s not coming to visit soon…
is she? I haven’t seen her since parents’ weekend. ”
He looked hopeful enough it almost made me laugh. “No. She and my dad won’t be here until graduation.”
He groaned. “That’s like a hundred years from now. I miss her.”
All the guys loved my mom. She had them all calling her auntie, and the moment they heard her car pull up, every single one of them reached for a broom, or a mop, or something to clean with. It was no surprise she could whip them all into shape within a single hour of setting foot inside the house.
But I knew they all did it for the food.
She really did make food that tasted like a hug.
God, I missed her.
“You good?” Colton asked quietly.
“I need food.”
He snorted. “Yeah, go. I’ll make up some random lie. No one will ask anyway. They haven’t done a curfew check since pledge week.”
I still hated breaking the rules, but I could bend them a little to make sure I got something to eat. I hated being off my schedule, and it wasn’t technically curry night, but I couldn’t resist the single Pakistani-run shop within walking distance either. It helped when I missed home.
Colton was right: it was nothing like my mom’s, but it was something.
We parted ways, and he took off at a jog toward Frat Row, and I headed down past the little trolley line toward the row of shops.
Most of the places open this late on a weekday were bars.
And I was willing to wager at least ninety percent of the patrons were there using fake IDs and their parents’ credit cards.
I knew mine were hoping I’d be a little rebellious like that. My dad had been hinting around it since I got accepted to Boston. He and my brothers spent hours talking about all the stuff they got up to during their undergrads.
I didn’t really know why they were expecting that I’d follow in their footsteps. I was nothing like them.
My brothers looked more like my dad than my mom. Most of the time, people assumed I was adopted until they met my mom and saw we shared the same thick, dark hair, deep brown eyes, and golden-brown skin tone.
I didn’t fit in with my brothers in so many ways, but I never wanted to, and that hadn’t changed after growing up and going off to college.
Taking a breath and shoving the thoughts of my family out of my head, I crossed the street and headed to the order window. This late at night, only a couple of girls were working—I recognized them from campus, though I didn’t know their names.
“Um,” I said as they stared at me, blinking. I hated when no one prompted me to order. When the silence continued, I breathed past my discomfort. Just…order, Ferris. Just order. “Two chicken paratha rolls, an order of kachori with extra chutney—”
She continued to blink at me, but her fingers were pushing buttons on her ordering screen, so that was…something, I guess? “Anything else?”
My stomach squirmed harder. I wanted more. I ate a lot, especially now that I was training to take NHL ice. “The large chicken handi. And water. Two bottles of water,” I clarified.
She finished typing in, then turned the screen and stared at me again with those dead eyes and zero expression.
Was she angry? Had I said something wrong? Or rude?
I wished people weren’t like this. I tapped on the tip button, then bumped my card against the screen until it beeped. The receipt printed, and she shoved it at me, then turned her back.
Well. At least I didn’t have to make small talk.
I was worse at that than dealing with awkward silences.
And frankly, I was ready to be inside my head and not in the real world.
Things had been a lot since stepping out of Quinn’s car five weeks ago without my virginity.
Leaving that behind in his hands, in that hotel room, was still a little surreal.
It had been the best and worst night of my life.
The best because he had made me feel cherished, wanted, and adored. I’d felt like I belonged in his arms, and for the first time in so long, I could be myself and not have to overthink and worry that I was too much.
It was the worst because when I got home and settled into my bed, I knew it was over. Even before I’d seen that he’d left the chat, I knew I wasn’t going to hear from him again.
I was tempted to send him a text, but I didn’t think my heart could take knowing he’d blocked me. I couldn’t sleep, so I spent all night making a little burrito for him and convinced Matty to drive me by his hotel so I could leave it on his doorstep at ass o’clock in the morning.
I’d almost given the burrito a sad face, but the truth was, I wasn’t sad.
He’d given me exactly what I asked for.
Quinn took what I offered and gave me a single night where I felt absolutely respected. He’d made my first time something most people fantasized about. There had been nerves and a little fear, both soothed by the passion in his kisses.
God, I would have loved to find a way to keep that. To keep him. Not that he would have been interested in an anxious little weirdo who spent his nights rocking on his bed and making strangely shaped yarn animals, but a guy could dream.
“Order number seven!”
I jolted, almost dropping my phone before shoving it back into my pocket and fumbling with the bags the girl was offering out. The water bottles were cold as they bumped my leg, and I wished in that moment I wasn’t wearing shorts.
Whatever. I just needed to get home. I just…
BZZT BZZT!
I had a sudden, wild thought as I stepped into the street. It was Quinn. It had to be. I yanked my phone out of my pocket and glanced down at the screen.
Colton: Hey dude, are you…
A sudden bright flashing light blinded me, and then the sound of an alert horn. The trolley, which was now running just to the left of where the old trolley tracks were, was whipping toward me. I leapt backward as fast as I could, and it missed me by a second.
Relief flooded through my body a nanosecond before I heard the screeching tires. And there was someone screaming. Oh…was that me?
When the car slammed into my body, I felt no pain. There was just an odd sense of I guess this is happening.
And before my body hit the street, everything around me went black.
“How long?”
“After his surgery, I’d say about six months.”
“Six months! And you swear he’ll be able to play again?”
“Ma’am, is that really your biggest concern right now? Your son was hit by a car!”
“My biggest concern is that my son doesn’t lose the one thing he’s worked his entire life to achieve. He can do anything, but this means everything. I don’t expect you to understand. Doctors never understand anything. Men never pay attention.”
“Ma’am, please—”
“Stop calling me ma’am. It’s ugly!”
Attempting to groan against a ragged throat, I turned my head and forced one eye open. Everything felt heavy. And hot. And itchy.
I hurt, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the pain was coming from.
“M’m.”
I could barely see the outline of my mom. She was wearing a very bright blue kameez over jeans and a matching scarf that had fallen behind her head. That told me she was stressed and had been pulling on it the way she did when she was anxious.
And if she was here—if she was at my bedside—I must have been out for a long, long time.
“Oh, beta. Oh, my baby,” she said, turning away from the doctor and grabbing my arm. The movement made me hyperaware that I had an IV in the top of my hand. She lifted it and kissed my wrist to the left of the tube. “Are you okay? Are you thirsty? You can’t have food until your surgery.”
I blinked my second eye open, and everything looked a bit less wobbly. When I tried to shift my legs, my right one moved, but my left felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I glanced down to see that it was in some sort of…device straight out of a horror movie.
“What is this?” I rasped.
The doctor stepped into my view. “It’s called skin traction. It’s keeping your leg stable. It’s not permanent.”
That was good. I guess. “What happened? How long was I out?” My throat was aching.
She frowned. “Do you have a concussion? That doctor said you didn’t. I’m going to have his job, just you watch! Excuse me—”
“Mama.”
She froze and looked back at me.
“Do I have a concussion?”
She gave my hair a gentle pet, and I realized then nothing in my head hurt. It was just everything else that was agony. “The doctor said you don’t.”
“And I was right.” The doctor reappeared in my sightline and looked down at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Confused.”