Firecracker

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"Hey, no sleeping."

I grumbled.

"Open those eyes."

My lids didn't budge.

"Wake up, beautiful, or I'm pulling over."

Beautiful? Please. I gave a mental scoff.

"Come on, wake up."

Brows furrowed, I wondered why the intensely annoying yet somehow pleasantly deep voice wouldn't just shut up already.

"Okay, you've got three seconds to open your eyes. One…two…I mean it. I'll stop the car, and you'll never get wherever you wanted to go so bad."

With a sigh, giving up on what was looking to be a welcome and much-needed nap, I peered at the interrupter through narrowed eyes.

The guy, Tolliver, slanted me a grin. "Ah, there she is."

I had to look away. He was the pretty one, and no one this irritating should look that good.

Something caught my eye, and I frowned.

"Why do you have a human-sized bag and shovel in your backseat?" I asked.

Tolliver blinked.

"You know, if you're abducting me, I will not go down quietly."

He tossed a look over his shoulder and chuckled. "Oh. That's my gear bag and hockey stick."

"It's bigger than some states."

"Thank you."

"Not a compliment," I grumbled, noting that he'd placed my violin back there too. Something about seeing it sitting next to his athletic equipment was unsettling.

"Still, I'm glad you can joke," he said. "That's a good sign."

"Is it though?"

Tolliver kept glancing at me. It was starting to make me paranoid—though to be fair, I was already kind of there.

Sure, he said it was a gear bag presumably with his hockey stuff inside.

But I didn't know that for sure. He was playing the apologetic bad boy-nice guy jock now, but maybe he was plotting my imminent demise, sizing me up for a shallow grave he dug earlier, taking me to his "spot.

" I'd watched enough crime shows and movies to know better than to get in the car with a stranger.

I probably should stay awake—but I refused to be stared at like some kind of sideshow.

"What?" I mumbled.

"What what?" was his brilliant reply.

"I was trying to nap."

"I know," he said, "but you can't. Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because as previously stated, you may be concussed, and the number one thing you can't do when you have a concussion is sleep."

I frowned. "Had a lot of those, have you?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "A couple. My brother and teammates have had a ton more though, so I know the protocol."

I did too.

Unlike him, I'd learned that little fact through TV.

But I wasn't about to agree.

Lifting my phone, I looked down and…

"Don't," he said.

My eyes snapped to his. "Excuse me?"

"You shouldn't be looking at screens right now."

"Thank you, Dr. Tolliver, I'll keep that in mind," I snarked.

Instead of getting mad, he just shook his head.

I defiantly pulled up Aurora’s name and pressed call.

"Hey, Frey," she said. "Where are you?"

"Hey. I'm glad you picked up."

"Of course, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine." I paused. "Well, fine-ish."

"No idea what that means."

"I need to tell you something, Ror."

Aurora sounded different somehow when she said, "Okay, I have something to tell you too. A big something. Are you almost here? The bus is leaving soon."

"That's why I'm calling," I said. "You go ahead and get on the bus. I'm on my way to—"

Absolute silence.

I looked down at my screen, squinting when the light hit my eyes, making my head throb more. I tried her again, but it went straight to voicemail—which was full.

"Is your cousin okay?" Tolliver asked.

"I don't know. The call dropped," I muttered, lowering the phone. "Ror's phone probably died. She forgets to charge it sometimes."

"That sucks."

It did.

But…it may have also been a blessing in disguise.

My frustration quickly morphed into gratitude.

I was glad I hadn't told her what happened.

I knew my cousin, knew her heart. If she heard I was injured, she'd come running, but I didn't want that.

I could only hope Aurora took my advice and got on the HERS tour bus without me.

My introverted cousin, alone on a bus full of rockstars? I shook my head with a chuckle.

"What's funny?" Tolliver asked.

"Your face," I replied.

Instead of getting mad, he laughed. "Nice."

What was up with this guy?

My insults simply melted off of him. It was baffling.

And why did the sound of his laughter slightly ease my headache?

I was starting to think I really was concussed.

My eyes were drooping again. I knew I shouldn't sleep, but it sounded so nice…

"We're only a few minutes from the hospital," he said. "Think you can make it?"

"Yeah"—I yawned, leaning my head back—"I'm just going to rest my eyes for a second."

"No, don't do that. Stay awake. Okay?"

"Mmhm," I murmured, half-way to sleep already.

And then, someone started singing.

It was off-key.

Slightly familiar.

And a lot distracting.

My eyes popped open again, and I stared to my left.

"Are you…singing Chappell Roan?" I asked in disbelief.

Tolliver nodded, pausing only to say, "My sister loves her."

Then he jumped right back into his rendition of Pink Pony Club.

It was surreal, hearing this big guy sitting in his big SUV, belting out the pop rock anthem, crooning about being a pink pony girl, dancing at the club in his heels.

I blinked as Tolliver smiled back at me.

He even had nice teeth. Weren't hockey players supposed to be missing a few of those?

"Is this keeping you awake?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Really?"

"I'm strangely riveted," I said. "Please continue."

"Okay, but full disclosure," Tolliver said, "my sister only sings the first verse and chorus, so I only know the words to those."

By the time we got to the hospital, he'd sung the first half of the song five times.

I didn't sleep a wink, couldn't because he was so spectacularly distracting.

Was it irritating? It should've been. But honestly, I couldn't remember a time I had been more entertained.

I even almost forgot the reason I was in his car, where we were headed, and what I was missing—until we pulled up to the hospital.

Tolliver jumped out of the SUV, and by the time I got my seatbelt off, he was already there opening the door.

He helped me out, and I let him because it was a big step down.

Even though I now knew he had an embarrassingly bad singing voice, I did not want to fall (again) in front of Tolliver.

He held me until I was steady then moved away, putting his hands in his pockets.

I could still feel the warmth of his strong grip on my waist. My skin was humming from his closeness.

Gesturing with his chin, he said, "After you. "

Trying to play down the odd effect his touch was having on me, I rolled my eyes. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes."

"But I'm fine."

"We don't know that yet, Freya."

"You can't make me go in there."

His eyes flared with something. "Wanna bet?"

"No, that's okay," I said quickly, remembering how easily he picked me up in the parking lot. I had no doubt he would do the same now. That look in his eyes said as much. Opening the back door, I leaned in and retrieved my violin. No way was I leaving it behind.

"Good call."

"Yeah well"—I sniffed, moving past him with all the dignity I could muster—"you already threw a ball at my head. I don't want to add insult to injury by losing money to you too."

"Again, I'm really sorry about that," he said, following right behind me. As we walked through the automatic doors, I saw the look on his face. He did look contrite, as he should. "I'll do anything to make it up to you."

I waved that off. "No need."

"But—"

"This should only take a second. The doctor will examine me, agree with my assessment that I'm fine, and send me on my merry way," I said. "I'll meet up with HERS at their first show, join the tour, meet Ryker Cordova—my future husband—become famous, and live happily-ever-after."

"Ryker, huh?"

"Yep."

Tolliver was quiet a beat, then he met my eyes. "But what if you're not fine?"

I didn't even want to think about that.

"I will be," I said.

Tolliver left to talk to a nurse. She was young, maybe in her older twenties, and seemed to know him if the hug they shared said anything. They spoke in hushed voices for a few moments, and as she looked at me with concern, I wondered again who she was.

Tolliver came back and nodded. "You can go back now."

"Already?" I asked, scanning the waiting room. It wasn't overly crowded, but it wasn't empty either. We definitely weren't the first to arrive. "How'd you manage that?"

"They know me here," he said.

"Because you get injured a lot and like hanging out in hospital lobbies?"

"Something like that. My mom's an RN."

I tilted my head, studying him. "I bet you're a favorite of all the pretty, young nurses."

He opened his mouth, but before he could respond, another brunette who looked close to our age threw him a bright smile.

"Tolliver!" she called out. "Didn't know you were coming in today."

"Hey, Shayla," he said. "I'm just helping a friend."

"Cool. See you later!"

As she disappeared, I arched a brow at him.

"You bring all your friends to the emergency room?" I repeated.

Tolliver's lips twitched. "Only the ones I like best."

Frowning, I said, "I'm going back now."

"Okay, I'll wait here."

"You don't have to."

"I know," he said. "Good luck. I hope it goes well."

"It will," I replied.

Turned out I was wrong.

The doctor determined I had not only a concussion but a sprained wrist. A moderate to bad sprain.

One that could take weeks to heal. They called my parents right away—who then called me (at separate times) to say I would not be going on tour.

Mom and Dad both agreed, which was rare.

They forbid me from going anywhere until I was better.

I was too stunned to argue. In a daze, the first thing I did was text Aurora.

I told her what happened, my parents' decision, and typed some words of encouragement.

But honestly, several minutes later, as my parents spoke to the doctor, it felt like my world was falling apart.

All that preparation, all the planning, all those dreams I'd never get to fulfill. My heart was breaking as we left the sterile examine room.

"Hey, how'd it go?"

I looked up into the prettiest blue eyes I'd ever seen.

Tolliver took one look at my face, and his face fell.

"That bad, huh," he said quietly.

My dad asked, "He a friend of yours?"

"No," I said sadly, "we just met."

"How?"

"Playing basketball."

There was a pause. "But you don't play basketball."

I swallowed back my tears. "Neither does he."

"Freya, I'm sorry," Tolliver repeated. "I'll find a way to make this up to you."

I just shook my head, unable to speak as the first tear fell.

"Hey, no crying," Mom said. "It was just a little music thing. There will be others, Frey. Let's get you home."

A little music thing. I couldn't believe she called it that.

I was about to go on tour with a band that had more followers than some of the biggest celebrities.

They'd asked for me—and yeah, maybe that was because my cousins and I played at Ryker Cordova's younger sister's birthday party (where my obsession began) and knocked it out of the park which was how we came to HERS's attention.

Oh, and my other cousin, Scarlett, was now dating Sam who just happened to be the lead guitarist's cousin.

But whatever. I was good. Better than good.

I was an amazing violinist. Music came as naturally as breathing to me.

I felt like I needed it to breathe. When I was five, my teacher had called me a virtuoso.

Playing lead violin on a big tour like this was my dream.

Mom just didn't understand. Despite her saying the chance would come again, I knew, deep in my heart, that it probably wouldn't.

"Your mom's right." Dad's words hurt, and seeing the look on my face, he added, "About getting you home. Not about it being 'little.' I know how much this meant to you, kid. But you'll have other opportunities. You're too talented not to."

He addressed his next words to Tolliver.

"If our daughter wants to talk to you, she can do it later, after she's had some rest."

"But I just…"

"Later," Dad said firmly, staring at my cheeks. I could feel the wetness there, knew my tears were flowing freely, but it was like I was outside my body. This couldn't possibly be real. One rogue basketball couldn't derail my greatest hopes. Right?

When I looked at Tolliver and saw the guilt mixed with sadness staring back at me, I knew that it could and had.

"Bye, Tolliver," I mumbled as we began to walk past. "Nice meeting you, I guess."

"I have some family obligations, but I'll come check on you tomorrow," he said.

I nodded but didn't really believe it.

"I will, Freya. I promise. And I never break my promises."

It wasn't until much later that I processed what he'd said.

Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe it was the grief bombarding me from all sides, sorrow for a dream that was lost before it even began. But when I went to bed later that night, it finally sunk in.

It was a small, seemingly insignificant detail.

But it was something.

Tolliver called me Freya.

He knew my name.

Even though I hadn't told him and didn't know his name before today.

After talking with Aurora—she'd done it!

She got on the bus, and despite my sadness, I was still able to be happy for her, celebrate her courage, while being so depressed for myself—the wave of sadness didn't hit me again until the sky was pitch black, and only the moon and stars lit the night.

My pillow was soaked with tears, and as tiredness pulled my eyes shut, I remembered the look on Tolliver's face, the sound of his deep voice as he said…

Freya, I'm sorry.

I'll find a way to make this up to you.

I'll come check on you tomorrow.

I promise.

And I never break my promises.

I smiled sadly. Despite knowing practically nothing about him—besides the facts that he sucked at basketball, couldn't really carry a tune, and was not too terrible of a driver, I wanted to believe him.

Then I remembered Lesson 2. Never expect anything of anyone, and you'll never be disappointed.

I'd already broken Lesson 1 and gotten my hopes up about the tour and HERS.

I couldn't afford to do that again.

Even if Tolliver seemed sincere.

I gave a mental scoff just before falling sleep.

Family obligations? Yeah, right.

He was a hockey player.

A teenage boy about to be on summer break.

A handsome one, and everyone knows you can't trust them.

His promise was obviously meant to appease some need he had to assuage his guilt.

I'd probably never see him again.

For some reason, even in my sleep, the thought depressed me.