17. Kayla
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KAYLA
I wake to a rhythmic beeping noise. My head throbs, pounds, as I pull myself up to sit. Turning toward a curtain-covered window, I make out a form dozing in the chair opposite the bed. I blink the bleariness from my eyes and clear my throat, looking for my phone and wincing when I turn my head.
“Hey, girl.” Ashlie sits up, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth.
“Where’s my phone? I should call my mom…” I croak. The dry, metallic taste in my mouth has me searching for water.
“Claire already called her. She had to finish her overnight shift, but she’s on her way back now.” She hands me a water-filled paper cup from the table by my hospital bed, and I drain it quickly.
“What time is it? What day is it?”
She grabs her phone from the chair. “Eight-thirty a.m. and Saturday,” she says, laughing and shaking her head at something on her phone.
“Care to share with the class?” I quirk the wrong eyebrow and wince again. Holding her phone out to me, she walks toward the bed. The notifications show five missed texts from Chase, with a sixth one chiming in while I hold the phone.
Chase
Thanks for staying with her.
Is she sleeping okay?
Can you give me her number?
Wait, no, give her my number.
Is she awake yet?
What kind of flowers does she like?
“You got that boy stressed ,” Ashlie blurts with a giggle. “It’s pretty cute.”
Staring at the phone, I recall everything I can from the last twenty-four hours. I don’t remember the fall, but I remember Chase in the infirmary, concern etched across his face as I opened my eyes. The way he laced his fingers around mine to keep me alert during the drive here. Waiting with me until Ashlie got off work. Letting me squeeze his hand in response to the numbing needle, and staying while the doctor sewed me up. I remember him calling me sweetheart, and that thought gets my heart pounding in time to the pulsing in my head, making a nice rhythm for the gymnastics routine happening in my belly.
“Well, you should probably answer him then,” I say, nodding at the phone.
The nurse comes in with breakfast and a painkiller for my head. No sooner than I finish the limp microwaved bacon and scrambled eggs, there’s a knock at the door.
Chase stands in the doorway, carrying a bouquet of pink lilies, wearing a smile. Without the energy to find restraint, I allow myself to fully take him in for the first time since the day we met. The hair falling over his forehead, his crooked grin, the way his eyes glint when they meet mine, it’s enough to set my heart pounding.
Again.
“That was quick,” I say .
“I may or may not have been up and at ?em by six-thirty this morning…”
Ashlie shifts in the chair, grabbing her phone before standing. “And that’s my cue.” She shakes her head, laughing. “I’ll be back in a bit. You two have fun.” I watch her go, waiting for the door to click before looking back at Chase.
“How are you feeling?” His tentative steps match the nervous grin on his face. When he sits in the chair beside my bed, the thought crosses my mind that it’s not close enough.
“Like I hit my head on a log,” I tease. His smile falls, replaced with a look of concern. “Sorry. It’s probably too soon to joke about it.” The words stumble out of my mouth as I register the vulnerability flashing across his face.
Hesitating for the briefest moment, he reaches for my hand. The buzz of a billion atoms flows into our touch, and warmth spreads through my body as his thumb trails over my skin. “I was so worried about you… I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you in time.”
My breath hitches at the look in his eyes, and I’m lost to the deep blues staring back at me. “I…I’m okay. You don’t have to apologize.” I know he saw everything happen in real time, but his haunted look makes me question just how much I’ve underestimated his feelings for me. The look in his eyes shouts more than flirting and attraction. He looks at me like he cares about me, like he cares for me. And I have to admit, it’s not the worst feeling, being cared for. “So…are those for me?” I nod toward the flowers.
“Yeah. Yep… Yesss .” He nods and puts the bouquet on the desk next to me. Thumb hooking under my palm, he shifts his fingers over mine, his voice taking on a husky tone as he says, “Kayla, I?—”
The door swings open and in comes Mom, still wearing her scrubs from her travel nursing night shift. The concern in her eyes changes to surprise and then confusion as she looks between Chase and me.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, my voice increasing an octave as I move my hand from under his.
She eyes him before asking, “Who’s your friend…?”
“I’m Chase,” he answers for me, standing to shake her hand. “I’m one of the counselors at Camp Bender.”
“Yeah, he’s the one that saw what happened. He carried me back to camp and drove me here.”
“Well, I guess I owe you a thank you,” Mom says politely, taking his outstretched hand.
“Oh, no thank you needed.” Chase waves a hand in the air. “I’m just glad I was there to help.” Mom tips her head, looking at him while we all fall into an awkward silence. “Well, I should probably let you rest. I just wanted to check on you.” He smiles over at me, says another “Nice to meet you” to my mom, and walks out the door.
Mom turns around, arching her eyebrow as she comes to stand next to my bed.. “He’s cute…”
“He’s just a friend.” I shake my head, biting my cheek to keep from smiling. I don’t even believe myself when I hear the words slip out of my mouth.
“Uh-huh, and I was born last night…”
It’s Tuesday evening, and I’m already crawling out of my skin. My head hurts occasionally, usually when I try to do too much, but I’m itching to be productive. Mom is doing everything in her power to keep that from happening, including hiding my car keys and locking the vacuum in her bedroom. She wants me rotting on the couch, and I’m trying to do everything but.
A knock on the door has me jumping from my spot on the sofa. Mom comes rushing from the kitchen, giving me a look of warning when she says, “Sit down, Kayla Marie.” I roll my eyes at her back as she opens the door. She’d keep me lying on this couch until I get my stitches out on Friday if she could.
“Hey, Ms. Harris,” Ashlie says as she walks through the door, carrying her hair box in one hand and a box of sushi in the other. “Hey, girl.” She turns toward me on the couch. “How you feelin’?”
“Bored,” I say, shifting a side-eyed look over to Mom who throws her hands up in the air, shaking her head like she’s exasperated. She walks back into the kitchen without another word.
“Well, let’s get into this hair,” Ashlie says, standing behind the couch and handing me the food. She’s been doing my hair for as long as I’ve known her, and she’s the one who encouraged me to get locs back in high school. I maintain my hair on my own when I’m away at school, but Ashlie helps me retighten my locs whenever we’re both back home. Since we don’t have many essentials for Black hair care here in Fort Bender, it’s been nice having someone to share the load with.
I turn toward the TV as she sections off the bottom row of my locs. She begins weaving the strands until they’re tight against my scalp.
“So…” I say. “How are the guys?”
“ Chase is fine. He keeps asking about you.” Her hands loosen the silk scrunchie at the top of my head long enough for her to pull down the next row of hair.
“And what do you tell him?”
“Do you want me to give him your number so you two can talk and leave me out of it?”
Do I? That remains unclear. Everything after my fall has been different, and I’ve been trying to reconcile the friendship we cultivated at camp with the something more I’ve felt since waking up in the infirmary. I still feel the warmth that spread through me as he laced his fingers around mine in the car. Flutters surged through my core each time he called me sweetheart, and I liked watching him walk through the door of my hospital room with a smile and flowers, just for me. But it’s been a few days, and having some distance from him has given time for doubts to slip in. Something in me wants to leave that experience, and all the warm fuzzies that accompanied it, under lock and key in my memory so nothing can taint it. “I-I’m not sure. I don’t know.” I shrug.
Ashlie sighs, dropping her hands from my hair, prompting me to turn and look at her. “Do you like him?” She watches my face for any nuance. I can’t even admit it to myself right now, and saying the words out loud will cement them into canon in a way that feels detrimental to my carefully crafted dignity.
“We’re just friends,” I answer with finality. She squints at me, quietly calling my bluff, before shaking her head and leaving it alone. I turn back around, digging into the sushi and pretending I’m fully invested in the show on TV. My mind, however, is trying to sort out feelings I’ve been avoiding for weeks.