Break a leg
Everyone in the house has developed an opinion about my injuries.
DJ believes I should stay downstairs because the staircase is an unnecessary risk.
Lizzie believes I should go upstairs because the sofa is terrible for spinal alignment.
Nate has offered to carry me in either direction, despite the fact that he is the same height as me and currently eating noodles with one hand.
I believe everyone should leave me alone.
“I can walk,” I tell Nate for the third time.
“You almost fell into the kitchen island.” Lizzie ignores everyone and tells me for the third time.
Nate looks towards DJ. “He’s concussed.”
“My head is fine.”
“Then this is his natural personality,” DJ shrugs.
I groan loudly from the sofa with my right ankle elevated beneath two cushions, another ice pack wrapped around it. The painkillers have begun working, but not enough to make the situation pleasant or my housemates tolerable.
We have won an important game. Can everyone at least focus on that?
Instead, Nate keeps asking whether I need assistance urinating.
I do not.
I would rather die than letting him near my pants off.
The front door opens, Maddy flies in carrying a laptop bag, a pharmacy bag and a tub of ice cream balanced against her chest.
Every person in the living room turns towards her.
But she looks at me first.
The bright expression she wore when she walked through the door changes before she can prevent it. Her eyes go to the ankle, then the ice pressed against my ribs, and something tightens in her forehead.
She has changed out of the oversized Princeton sweatshirt she wore to the game and into tiny sleep shorts with an old football jersey hanging almost to their hem.
Then she raises the pharmacy bag. “Great! Everyone’s here. I have come to practise medicine.”
Nate points his fork at her. “You’re studying psychology.”
“The brain controls the body.”
“You cannot think his ankle back into place.” Nate is already snorting through his noodle.
Maddy kicks the door shut behind her and crosses the room.
She drops everything onto the coffee table. “Clearly you don’t understand the power of the mind. Your body has stronger painkillers than anything on the shelves if your mind commands to release it. Will will be walking tomorrow.”
Oh. That sounds personal. And I am already smiling.
Maddy’s hair is pulled into a loose knot, several pieces already escaping around her face.
No bra. I clock that sight as soon as she’s close enough.
Either the painkillers are causing visual hallucinations or her nipples are deliberately attempting to prolong my recovery.
DJ makes a sound from the kitchen while Lizzie matches open to inspect the content of her little sister’s pharmacy bag.
Bandages. Pain patches. Electrolyte tablets. Three different chocolate bars. A thermometer. Antiseptic cream.
“You bought a thermometer?” Lizzie holds it up. Her face cannot be more confused.
Maddy nods confidently. “The night is long. We need to know if he develops a fever.”
“From a bruised rib?” DJ asks, raising his brows.
Maddy only shrugs lightly.
Lizzie apparently supports her sister’s stand. “She’s right. The body is mysterious.”
Bold for her to say that, in front of three actual athletes who have years of bruises.
“He’s not playing Friday. I already spoke with Coach.” Nate informs everyone, and that includes me.
My head snaps up. “It’s still under discussion.”
DJ turns to look at me again. His voice is calm, which usually means no discussion. “Will. We won’t die without you. But you will die if you step on court.”
“The trainer has a medical degree. Just sit still and be a grumpy baby,” Lizzie taps my shoulder, which then confirms everyone’s decision because my face betrays me into another wince.
Maddy places both hands on her hips and studies me. “I also asked the trainer in the hallway earlier. He said maybe because you were complaining like a baby but he told me definitely.”
I turn to Maddy now. “You interrogated the trainer?”
“I asked a normal question.” She gives me the sweetest smile. That is always signs of something bad.
“What did you ask?”
“How many legs would I need to break before they physically stopped you from entering the court?”
That is not a fucking normal question.
“And what did he say?” Nate chirps in, warmed up to this entire conversation.
“He didn’t say anything. Just laughed and told me I’m funny….” Maddy arches one eyebrow at Nate. “Which sounds like, we’re keeping him here, or we’ll have to break a leg.”
Nate laughs hard enough to choke on a noodle. Even DJ and Lizzie giggle a little. Great. I’m stuck on the couch while my roommates gang up on me.
I point towards the hallway. “All of you can go.”
Nate already finishes his noodles and is now busy making faux protest with his face. “I told you I live here.”
“So does everybody else.” Maddy flips her hair sassily.
Lizzie takes pity on me first. “Come on,” she grabs DJ’s arm. “He becomes meaner when he’s injured.”
“It’s not just the injury. It’s the whole lack of sex that makes him all tensed and stressed.” Nate nods while washing his noodle bowl.
“I’m right here.” I growl and that does nothing to stop Maddy from giggling.
Lizzie kisses the top of Maddy’s head then disappears upstairs with DJ and Nate following her.
I has expected Maddy to gather her things, but she simply sits down crossed-legged beside my elevated leg and opens her tub of ice cream then offer me a spoon. Cookies and cream.
I glance at the spoonful then back at her. “You’re not going to your room?”
She nudges the spoon closer to my mouth. “Nope. I’ll keep you company.” Then she reaches the remote and starts playing some rom-com on Netflix.
Maddy notices the glass I was reaching and hands it to me without comment. I drink. Then when I finish, she takes the glass from me and places it within easier reach.
She feeds herself another spoonful of the softened ice cream before holding out another spoon for me to take. I take it with hesitation.
Cookies and cream is my favourite but not many people know that.
Did I hallucinate and tell her in my sleep?
I stare at Maddy.
What sleep? I don’t fucking sleep with Maddy.
Jesus Christ.
I have gone fucking insane. I’m making up shit about this girl in my head now. The girl whom I kissed.
I’ve kissed plenty of girls. None ever made my brain casually invent a shared bed.
Fuck me.
And fuck my dick which has decided this revelation is excellent news.
Now I’ve got a semi, watching a rom-com movie in silence, with the tub between us and Maddy playing nurse with sugar until it almost liquified into straw consumption.
She stands up to put the tub in the freezer then returns to the couch at once and opens her laptop.
“You brought work?” I ask, but of course I know the answer.
“I told Jenny I would finish the athlete pairings tonight.”
Apparently keeping me company doesn't require conversation. She just settles beside me and starts working like this is where she was planning to spend the night anyway.
A campaign board fills the screen: four male athletes in neutral training clothes, sample layouts, audience statistics and several columns Maddy has colour-coded so aggressively that the document resembles an explosion in a stationery shop.
She checks the time on her watch. “You haven’t eaten anything yet. Have you?”
I think that question was decorative, so I give her a shrug. I’m not really in the mood to digest anything tonight. “I had something at the arena.”
Her eyes lift from the watch and narrow. “What?”
“A protein bar.”
Her whole face rejects my answer without hiding. “That’s not food. That’s sadness.”
She picks up the phone instantly and begins typing aggressively. “Chicken and rice? Do you eat Japanese? I can do the teriyaki one with beans. Actually no, salmon is better for recovery. It makes you less sad.”
I stare at her. “Do I have a choice?”
She simply shakes her head and pushes the phone away. Order completed. I’m actually a little happy to have a surprise dinner. I haven’t had Japanese in ages.
Then Maddy turns back to her presentation on her laptop. “I need your brain.”
I glance back at her, a little surprised. “What’s wrong with yours?”
“Mine is excellent. But it’s lacking specialised industry knowledge. Who looks comfortable together without appearing as though they have been ordered to stand near another human being.”
She turns the screen towards me. “The client wants four athletes. Different sports, same campaign. Jenny thinks we should choose the largest combined audience. I think that could look like four boys waiting for separate buses.”
I study the names.
One basketball player. Two football players. A swimmer. A runner. Engagement rates and audience demographics sit beneath each profile.
“Don’t pair Mason with Beckett.”
“Why?”
“They hate each other.”
Her eyes widen. “How do you know that? They follow each other on socials.”
“We’re at the bar sometimes and they always insult each other or threaten to throw fists.”
Maddy leans a little closer to me so I don’t have to reach forward with my opinionated ribs.
She smells like cold air, vanilla and the chocolate she has apparently already eaten despite claiming everything in the bag was medical.
“I really want Mason for the shoot though. He’s got great shoulders and once we work on the smile, it’s not super fake.”
“Mike and Mason are competitive in the same way. If you give them something physical instead of making them stand still, they won’t be awkward. Put a ball between them, make them race or something.”
Her eyes beam. “You’re suggesting I’m making the boys compete in a photoshoot? They’d look red and ugly.”
“They’ll forget the camera. And you have your natural shots. You want that, right?”
The sound of her laughter spreads warmly through the room.
For the next twenty minutes, she shows me the campaign deck.