Page 8

EIGHT

KIT

“Paintball? Seriously?” I rolled my eyes at the back of Derek’s head as he rifled through his closet in search of clothes he didn’t mind destroying. “We’re leaving for the rally tomorrow! Bright and early!”

Twelve hours, actually. Our bags were already packed, sitting in the hallway and ready to grab on the way out the door at dawn.

He ducked under his winter clothing hung on cedar hangers, his voice muffled by the layers of wool and down. “You can come.”

I blinked, recoiling from the closet and wondering where the hell my best friend had gone. “Why would I want to go get shot at with Trent and his dumb football buddies? Do you even hear yourself?”

I wasn’t sure which offended me more: that Derek was ditching me the night before the rally, or that he thought I’d want to play paintball.

“One football buddy,” he said like it made a difference as he emerged from the closet holding a tie-dyed shirt from an art class we took years ago. He pulled it on, the purposely stained shirt matching his paint-stained jeans.

“I don’t care if it’s one football buddy or a million. I’m not going out into the woods to get shot by you and your dumb jock friends.”

My eyes flitted back to the hallway, to the checklist resting on my bag and all the unchecked boxes that needed to be addressed before the morning.

Derek’s blue eyes followed mine to the list. He slipped past me, picking up the paper. “We won’t be out late. I’ll even stop for snacks on the way home.”

I sighed, his pleading eyes softening my objections. I should let him go. Or hell, be a good sport and tag along. But getting shot in the woods by a bunch of muscle-bound football mouth breathers wasn’t my idea of a good time. And I couldn’t help but want my best friend to pick me over paintball.

“Or,” I drawled out the word with a fake smile, “you could stay here and watch Beaches with me.”

He frowned. “Not nice.”

“I just want to hang out with my best friend.”

“And you will.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a comforting hug. “For five whole days in a car. But I want to go do something physical tonight. Try to burn off some energy before we stuff ourselves with gas station snacks.”

“Crying burns a lot of calories.”

“You sure I can’t convince you to come?”

I shook my head with a sigh. “Be safe.”

Derek pulled on a faded flannel overshirt and grabbed his wallet, pausing at the door with a sad look. I could convince him to stay. One more pout or objection, and he’d cave. Instead, I waved goodbye, wishing him luck on his evening of male bonding on my way to the kitchen in search of something to eat.

In preparation for our trip, neither of us had gone grocery shopping, and inside the fridge, I found a wrinkly apple, some cheese, and baby carrots. Charcuterie dinner. I fixed a sad plate, slightly regretting that I hadn’t asked Derek about their dinner plans.

Textbooks littered the kitchen table, and I pushed them aside, clearing off enough space for my food and ignoring the small pang of guilt when I pulled out my phone rather than opening a book. Technically, I’d finished the medical laboratory science program. I’d turned in all of my assignments, and all I had left was a graduation I had no intention of attending and a certification test. The five-day road trip would be plenty of time to let everything I’d learned percolate in brain my before I sat down to take the test.

Sure, my job would be the same mix of late nights, weekends, and holidays, but I’d get paid enough to afford my own apartment if Derek left me for a boyfriend. Or one of his new, obnoxious football buddies.

Jealousy had always been one of my worst traits, and I pushed back the feeling for the millionth time since I’d met Trent. Every other season, the kickball team provided relief from Derek’s constant requests for company to bars and shows and clubs. Derek had three nights a week of practice and post-practice drinks. And what did I care who he hung out with after the games?

Until this season. Or, rather, until Trent.

I finished my dinner and curled up on the couch, searching for a period drama that would make Derek roll his eyes and hide in his bedroom. A steamy regency piece with a princess and a samurai caught my eye, and I snuggled under a blanket for the next two hours, transfixed by the show.

My eyes fluttered open from a light sleep at the sound of my phone. The familiar jingle coupled with the vibration scooted the phone off the armrest and onto the floor. My forehead smacked the coffee table as I groggily attempted to scoop it up.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Is this Katherine Holden?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, checking the phone number. A local area code, but not a number stored in my phone. Probably a telemarketer. I shouldn’t have answered. “Who is this?”

“This is Natalie, a nurse at the Norwalk Regional Medical Center.” My breath caught in my throat, and nausea gripped my stomach. “You’re listed as the emergency contact for Derek Clark.”

My Vans squeaked on the linoleum tile as I pitched around an incoming wheelchair. Derek had been hurt.

How hurt? The nurse hadn’t said anything other than he was in MedSurg, so he wasn’t critical, but that room assignment could mean anything from needing overnight observation to waiting for surgery.

“Sorry!” I called back at the visibly annoyed-looking older man wheeling himself across the hallway. His blue hospital gown flapped as he pushed out of the hallway with a huff.

I screeched to a halt at the nurse’s desk. “Derek Clark?”

The elderly woman behind the desk sighed, not bothering to look up as she searched the computer in front of her. She made two careful keystrokes before she slid her glasses off her nose and deigned to look at me. “And your relation?”

“Best friend,” tumbled out. I shook my head. “Emergency contact. Medical whatever. A nurse called me. Natalie.”

She hummed under her breath, eyes crawling back toward the computer. Her wrinkled fingers pushed her glasses back onto her nose. Milky gray eyes ran back and forth over the screen. “Umm-hm.”

I pressed a balled fist to my chest. My heart rattled underneath, and if this lady didn’t move faster, I’d need a room of my own. “If you could hurry.”

“Your name?”

“Kit Holden,” I answered. “Katherine. Katherine Holden.”

She blinked once, twice before her eyes traveled back to the computer. “Room 1145.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, already running down the hall.

I counted the numbers on the doors and, halfway down the hallway, spotted the room. Door ajar, I stopped at the entrance, rubbing my sweaty palms onto my pants before I rapped on the door.

“Come in,” Derek answered.

I released a shuddered breath at the sound of his voice as I pushed aside a light curtain. At least he was conscious.

Derek laid on a hospital bed, an IV hung beside him. He looked wan, normally tan skin faded into a sickly yellow. He had the same hospital gown as the man in a wheelchair and a thin white blanket over his waist. His right leg was bound in a sling, attached to a hoist.

“What happened?” I walked to his side, unable to peel my eyes off the crane-looking thing holding up my best friend’s leg.

“Paintball,” Derek said with a shake of his head.

A snort of laughter drew my attention to the recliner beside the bed.

Trent.

He wore a pair of paint-splattered jeans and a faded sweater that hugged his body a bit too closely. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned, roped muscles. I hated myself for noticing that detail.

“Don’t laugh. This was your dumb idea.” My sharp tone wiped the smile off his face, and I turned back to Derek. “What specifically happened?”

“Kids,” Derek muttered. He braced his hands next to his lap and attempted to push himself up. The movement jostled his leg, and he collapsed back into the bed with a faint mewl of pain.

“The bed moves, man.” Trent leaned forward and fished out the remote from the edge of the bed. He pressed a button until Derek sat upright and then reclined back in his seat.

My panic gave way to anger. Not at Derek, of course. I couldn’t be mad at Derek. Trent on the other hand…

“I can’t believe you let this happen!” I directed all the anxiety building over the last twenty minutes straight at the wide receiver.

“It’s not his fault.” Derek gripped my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles. “I’m a big boy. I knew what I was signing up for.”

“Did you know what you signed up for when you fell out of that tree house?” Trent snorted.

“You fell out of a tree house?” I asked, rearing around on Derek. “What were you doing in a tree house?”

Even sickly pale, his cheeks turned faintly pink. “We were playing capture the flag with some kids. I was just defending our flag.”

“And you fell?” I blinked, shaking my head.

“I leaned out to get a better angle to shoot at them. They were wily.”

“I told you we should have played with that corporate retreat group.” Trent shook his head and stood up from the chair, rounding to the foot of the bed.

“So, it’s just a broken leg?” I asked, eyeing the sling. “They’re just going to throw it in a cast and let you go?”

Derek shared a look with Trent. A worried, secretive look.

Trent held up both hands. “I’m not getting involved in this.”

I closed my eyes with a groan. “What is it?”

“I broke my femur,” Derek said.

“Which means?”

“Don’t you work in a hospital?” Trent asked with a hint of levity that grated on my last nerve.

“I work in the lab. Why would I know what happens when you break your femur?” I turned back to Derek. “This is fine, actually. Are they going to keep you here overnight? Because I can head back to our place and grab your bag. The passenger seat in the Cougar pushes back pretty far and if that doesn’t work, you can just ride the rally from the backseat.”

Derek scrubbed his face. “I need surgery.”

My stomach dropped. “Surgery?”

“I fucked up my leg pretty bad.”

“Didn’t the surgeon use the word ‘shattered?’” Trent asked.

Derek closed his eyes with a sigh. “They need to fuse it back together, and then I’ll need to do some therapy. I can’t come on the rally, Kit.”

For the second time that night, a wave of nausea passed over me, and the room faded black. The next second, Trent was at my side, his arm wrapped around my waist in a surprisingly vise-like grip. I jerked away, shaking off the nausea with a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

Trent raised an eyebrow, keeping his hand extended towards me, but he didn’t reach for me again.

“No rally.” I raked a hand through my hair. “That’s fine. Do you want me to stay the night? I can go grab your bag and some clothes?—”

“You’re running the rally, Kit.” Derek’s voice was firm, his pallor shifting to a somewhat normal hue. “You’ve worked too hard.”

I shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. You’re hurt. Shit happens. It’s not like I can run it alone.”

Hell, most of the teams had three people, some even more. I couldn’t simultaneously drive and navigate. I’d need a second person, and I certainly didn’t know anyone capable of dropping everything to travel with me for the next five days.

Only I did. And judging by the encouraging smile on Derek’s face, he had already come to the same conclusion.

I winced, taking Derek’s hand and dropping my head onto his shoulder. “No.”

“Do you have another choice?” he murmured into my hair.

I inhaled cedar mixed with antiseptic. “Yeah. I don’t go. I stay and help you recover. It’s five days. What happens if they send you home? Who’s going to take care of you if I’m not around?”

Derek’s shoulder tensed underneath my forehead. I picked my head up to look him in the eye.

“I already thought of that. Gavin is going to help me out while you’re gone.”

“Gavin?” My nose wrinkled as I pulled away.

I had nothing against Gavin. He’d worked at the bakery for three years and been on the team just as long. He was…fine.

“Why Gavin?” Trent’s face furrowed into a confusion that matched my own. “I can help you out while Kit’s out of town.”

I raised an eyebrow. Apparently, Derek was hoisting this plan on both of us.

“Well, if you two are going on a car rally, I needed to come up with a backup plan on the fly.”

“Kit, you can’t compete in the rally alone. Trent, you’re bored as hell. There’s no kickball this week, and I won’t be much fun, so why don’t you get out of town for a couple of days? Compete with Kit?”

“Because we hate each other.” I folded my arms over my chest.

“You don’t mean that,” Derek and Trent said simultaneously.

“I hate how alike you both are,” I amended.

“Which is why this’ll work.” Derek’s voice pitched up optimistically.

“I actually wouldn’t mind tagging along,” Trent said with a shrug.

I blew out a breath and turned away from the bed, pacing a few steps to the door before raking my hand through my hair.

“You want to go,” Derek prodded. “You’ve been looking forward to it for a year. Don’t tell me you want to cancel so you can sit at the hospital with me.”

He had a point. “I would do it.”

“I know you would.” Derek’s voice sounded bone tired. “I know, but I don’t want you to. This trip was for you, Kit. And whether I’m in the passenger seat or Trent or some rando you find off the Internet, you need to go.”

“I’m really not a bad co-pilot,” Trent offered.

I stared down at the closed hospital door, eyes tracing the fire exit map and then tilting my head back with a sigh. “Can you even drive a manual?”

“I can learn.”