Prologue #2
“Thanks. For the cupcakes. For... this.” He released me quickly, like he'd realized the touch might be too much. “Will you come back?”
My heart did a stupid little flip. “If you want me to.”
“I do.” He looked surprised by his own words. “I mean, if you're not busy or whatever.”
“I'm never that busy.” I smiled. “Same time next week?”
“Yeah. Same time.”
I left the hospital feeling lighter than I had in months, not knowing that weekly visits would turn into twice-weekly, then almost daily.
Not knowing that Derek would become the person I talked to more than anyone else.
Not knowing that somewhere between the terrible cupcakes and honest conversations, I'd start falling for him.
But maybe some part of me already knew.
Maybe that's why I'd shown up in the first place.
6 months ago – March
“You're cheating.”
“I'm not cheating,” Derek protested, but the grin on his face said otherwise. “I'm strategically bending the rules.”
“That's literally the definition of cheating.” I snatched the Uno cards from his hand. “You can't put down three Draw Fours in a row. That's not even a real move.”
“Says who?”
“Says the actual rules of Uno!”
We were sprawled across the couch in the soccer house living room, a mess of cards, empty soda cans, and the remnants of the cookies I'd baked earlier scattered across the coffee table.
Derek had been discharged from the hospital two weeks ago and was supposed to be “taking it easy” which apparently meant destroying me at every card game known to mankind.
“Fine.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I'll play by your boring, rule-following version of Uno.”
“It's not my version. It's the only version.”
“Whatever you say, Thorn.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the smile.
These afternoon hangouts had become routine.
I'd show up after my morning classes, we'd eat whatever I'd baked, and then spend hours playing games, watching movies, or just talking.
Aaron thought I was being a good friend, helping his injured teammate.
He had no idea how much I looked forward to these visits.
“Your turn.” Derek nudged the pile of cards toward me.
I drew a card, studied my hand, then played a Wild. “Blue.”
“Of course, blue. It's always blue with you.”
“It's a good color.”
“It's a boring color,” he teased, playing a blue seven. “You should branch out. Live dangerously. Play red sometimes.”
“I like blue.” I played a blue Skip. “It's calming.”
“You're calming,” Derek said, then seemed to realize what he'd said. His ears turned slightly pink. “I mean, hanging out with you is calming. You know what I mean.”
I did know. Because hanging out with him was the same for me, easy in a way nothing else had been since my injury. With Derek, I didn't have to pretend I was fine. I didn't have to put on the brave face I wore for everyone else.
“How's the knee?” I asked, nodding toward his elevated leg.
“Itchy. Annoying. Basically, the same as yesterday and the day before.” He played a Draw Two with entirely too much satisfaction. “Draw, sucker.”
“Rude.” I drew two cards, groaning when I saw what they were. “Physical therapy going okay?”
“It's fine. Boring. Stephanie keeps telling me I'm doing great, but it doesn't feel like it.” He shrugged. “Everything takes forever.”
“Recovery isn't linear,” I said, echoing what my own physical therapist had told me a hundred times. “Some days you'll feel amazing, some days you'll feel like you're moving backward. That's normal.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“I had a lot of therapy.” I played a Reverse, sending the game back to him. “Physical and regular. After my surgery, I was a mess.”
Derek studied me for a moment. “You don't seem like a mess now.”
“I'm very good at faking it.” I grinned. “It's a dancer thing. We smile through everything.”
“Even terrible injuries and shattered dreams?”
“Especially those.” I kept my tone light, joking. “Can't let the audience see you sweat.”
“Well, for what it's worth,” Derek said, playing his second-to-last card with a triumphant shout. “Uno! I think you're pretty amazing. Injury or not.”
My cheeks warmed. “You're only saying that because I bring you cookies.”
“I'm saying it because it's true. The cookies are just a bonus.” He winked. “A delicious, slightly burned bonus.”
“They weren't burned!”
“The edges were definitely crispy.”
“That's called caramelization, you idiot.”
Derek threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling the living room. It was so different from the broken, hollow version of him I'd met in the hospital. This Derek was coming back to himself, piece by piece.
“I'm glad you're here,” he said once his laughter subsided. “Like, really glad. I know I was kind of an ass at first…”
“Kind of?”
“Okay, a huge ass. But you kept showing up anyway. I don't know why, but I'm grateful.”
“I kept showing up because you needed someone who got it.” I shrugged. “And because you make me laugh. And because your terrible taste in movies is entertaining.”
“The Fast and Furious franchise is cinema.”
“The Fast and Furious franchise is car commercials with a plot.”
“You're just mad because you cried during the sixth one.”
“I did not cry.”
“You absolutely did. I saw the tears.”
“That was allergies,” I lied, and Derek grinned, clearly not believing me for a second.
We played in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Outside, I could hear some of the other guys in the backyard, probably kicking a ball around. Derek's eyes drifted toward the window, a flash of longing crossing his face before he looked back at his cards.
“You'll get back there,” I said softly. “I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you will.”
“Yeah.” He didn't sound convinced, but he smiled anyway. “Thanks, Rosie.”
“That's what friends are for.”
“Friends who bring subpar baked goods?”
I threw a card at him. “Take it back.”
“Never!” He was laughing again, and I was laughing too, and for just a moment, everything felt normal. Easy. Right.
Like maybe we were both going to be okay.
Three months ago – June
The texts had slowed. At first, it was understandable. Finals week, then summer break. Derek went home to his parents' mansion, and I went home, training harder than before and clinging to the delusion that I could catch up to the lost year in dance.
Derek
How's the hip?
Good! Just finished a great session. How's home?
Derek
Fine. Same as always.
Simple exchanges. Friendly but distant. Nothing like the hours we'd spent together during his recovery. I told myself it was normal. We'd been forced together by circumstance: his injury, my need to help. Now that he was better, maybe that's all it had been.
But then mid-July happened. I pushed too hard in the studio, heard that sickening snap, and watched my hip swell and bruise for days.
Limps returned to my walk, and it became hard to hide them from my parents and Aaron.
I stared at my phone a dozen times, wanting to text him, wanting to hear him tell me it would be okay.
But I couldn't.
Because if I told him, I'd have to admit I'd failed again. That I'd re-injured myself through my own stupidity. That I was still broken. So, I didn't text. And he stopped texting too.
By August, our daily conversations had become nothing at all.