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“Why can’t you?” He looks at me like he means it.
I frown. “Uh, because of my leg.”
“But you can still walk.” His shoulder hitches. “Can you run at all?”
“I’m working my way up to a hobbling jog,” I murmur, my good mood dying quickly. “I hate physical therapy.”
“Yeah, it can be brutal.” He nods. “I mean, I’m guessing. I’ve never gone through anything like you have. Only you know the intensity of whatever you had to overcome, but even PT after a tough match can be nasty. Your shit must have hurt like hell.”
“It did,” I admit. “But I was determined to walk again. There’s no way I was limping around with a cane for the rest of my life. I mean, I’m still supposed to use it, but I just hate it, you know? So, you can understand why the Boston Marathon feels impossible.”
“Yeah.” He tips his head. “But it’s not. Maybe if you tried to pull it off tomorrow it would be, but…” His lips twitch. “If you want to walk or run or hobble that thing, you will. I’ll do it with ya.”
The suggestion is so left field that I actually laugh.
He looks instantly offended.
“Wait, are you serious?” I reach across the table and touch his hand. “You’d do a marathon with me?”
He clears his throat, staring down at my fingers resting on his hand, and then nods. “If it helps you get what you want, then yeah. It’s just a marathon, Nylah. It’s not like you’re wanting to fly to the moon.”
I brush my teeth along my bottom lip, and his eyes dart to my mouth before quickly looking away. Sliding his hand out from under mine, he shifts in his chair, and I watch his mood morph yet again. He’s pulling away, protecting himself, trying to hide the fact that he’s a nice guy who cares about people.
I see you, Carson McAvoy.
Not wanting to scare him off, I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms and going for casual. “Well, if I ever decide to give it a try, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that.” He sniffs and starts looking around the restaurant like it’s time to go. But it doesn’t close for another hour, and I’m making him stay until the last minute. I don’t give a shit what he wants. I’m having too much fun to let him walk out that door.
He may think he wants to leave, but deep down, he’s having a good time, and that probably scares the shit out of him.
So, I ease him into a conversation about music, because I figure that’s a pretty safe topic. Then we jump back to movies, because that’s obviously our common ground. When the waitress finally tells us they’re closing up, I stand from the table and limp toward the counter.
“You okay?” He rests his hand lightly on my back.
“Yeah, my leg’s just stiff from being in the same position too long. I’m gonna need to walk before getting in a car to go home.”
“’Kay.” He gets out his wallet to pay, and I insist we go Dutch. It was my idea, after all, and this isn’t like a formal date or anything. We’re just two friends meeting up for dinner. And when my parents drill me on Wednesday night about what I’ve been up to this week, I can just tell them that I went out for pizza with a buddy.
A superhot, super intriguing,I can’t stop thinking about himbuddy.
“Let’s go down by the river.” Carson heads across the street, slowing his pace to match mine.
My leg really is aching, stiff and annoying. I should have gotten up a few times during the meal, but I hate drawing attention to the fact that I’m lame.
Gritting my teeth, I ignore the throbbing ache and force my muscles to behave.
“You ever gonna tell me what happened?” He steadies me by the elbow when I step up to the opposite curve.
“I already have,” I mutter. “It’s an old injury.”
“It looks like more than that. We’re not just talking torn ligaments here. You’ve had surgery, haven’t you?”
I huff, hating that he’s drawing this out of me. I don’t want to talk about that shitty year of my life. I want to move the fuck on!
So tell him that!
Biting my lips together, I let out another huff and blurt, “I did have surgery. A few, actually, and it was painful and horrible, and I really hate talking about it. This year is my fresh start, and I don’t want people looking at me like some kind of victim. I don’t even want to be thought of as a survivor. I just want to be!”