Page 28

Fuck. The elevator in my building isn’t working. Getting around with a brace and a walking aid for the last week has been a nightmare. It’s bad enough Adam and Paige have been hovering since I got home from the hospital.

I all but kicked them out yesterday. I’m hurt, not on my deathbed. And I am capable of doing things, as evidenced when I went out on my own yesterday and got food. However, I can’t get up to my apartment.

Calling the super was no help at all. He said he’s had many complaints today and the elevator is down for the foreseeable future. The only option is to sit in the lobby, eat my food, and try to figure out what to do next.

The reasonable thing to do would be to call Adam or Paige. I know they’d be here in a heartbeat, offering for the thousandth time to let me stay with them. I don’t like being that far out of the city.

Instead, I do the most irrational thing I can think of.

“Julien,” Leah answers on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”

Right, I’ve never called her before .

“Uh, n-nothing.”

Silence.

There’s too much silence and it feels charged. I haven’t heard from her since I got out of the hospital. And even when she was there, there was distance. I hate it. Is it because she thinks I’m weak?

“N-Never mind, I’m sorry.” I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. Calling? Getting hurt? I don’t know. She speaks before I can hang up.

“Do you need help?”

“It’s okay, I’ll figure it out.”

“Julien, what do you need?” She sounds so exasperated with me, I smile.

“My elevator is broken.”

“Text me your address.”

And then she hangs up. I know exactly why as the protest dies on my tongue. She didn’t give me a chance to decline. Left with no other choice, I text her my address.

Leah Harrison

Be there in fifteen

Four words and my heart is in my throat, temporarily distracting me from the ache in my hip and the pit of fear I plunged into after waking up in the hospital. I’ve taken some hits over my career—it’s not uncommon, though it is majorly frowned upon.

Don’t touch the goalie .

I’ve watched the video of the Toronto player losing all control and skating right into me after I saved his shot. I didn’t have time to get out of the way. I felt it. Every agonizing second.

The shock quickly led to the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Worse than when I tried baseball in the sixth grade and got hit in the forehead with a broken bat. Trying to get up was no use—I couldn’t move. I was frozen on the ice and the pain damn near made me pass out.

Finding Leah in the stands, seeing her face, was the one thing keeping me conscious. Though it was a blur through the glass and the sheen in my eyes, I could see her watching me. She kept me grounded.

But when I woke up at the hospital and she was there, her eyes were guarded. My knack for one-word answers and lack of conversational skills might have rubbed off on her.

Something was wrong, but when I asked what, she told me to shut up. So I did.

I don’t have to wait long. Leah rushes into the lobby, greeting my doorman briefly. She’s not what I expected. I always picture her in her running clothes, or more recently, nothing but my jersey. I’ve never seen her in jeans.

They fit her like a glove, accentuating her hips and clinging to her strong legs. My mouth waters. Her cropped knit sweater barely hits the top of her high-waisted pants and when she moves, I catch a sliver of skin. The cream fabric hangs off one bare shoulder and I want to run my fingers over it to relive the smoothness of her skin.

She scans me from head to toe, taking in my brace and crutches.

“Give me your keys,” she demands by way of greeting .

“Why?”

She looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “So I can get some of your stuff,” she says, like it should be obvious. Her hand is out, waiting for me to relinquish my keys.

“I don’t want to go to Adam’s, I just need help up the stairs.”

She snorts. “What floor are you on?”

“Ten,” I mumble.

Her brows shoot up. “And you thought I was the best person to help you up the stairs?” She gestures at her small frame as if I need the reminder. “If you go up there, you won’t be able to get down.”

For a full minute, we glare at each other. But I can see it in her eyes—she’ll leave if I don’t do what she says. I carefully brace myself on my good leg, though that still puts pressure on my sore hip, and try to dig out my keys. Except the pain is so bad I nearly fall over.

“God, you’re a mess,” Leah says while steadying me. Her hands brace my shoulders. “Your keys are in this pocket?” She points to the right side of my sweats.

“What are you—” I start to say, but she’s already there, her hand plunging into my pockets.

“No wonder you couldn’t get them. How deep are these fucking pockets?” she mumbles. But I can’t breathe because her hand is sliding across my sore hip and dangerously close to the inside of my thigh.

I am standing at attention. All of me. She fishes the keys out with a triumphant gleam in her eyes and a smirk telling me she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Go sit down, I’ll be back. ”

“Wait,” I say as she turns to head for the stairs. “You don’t know where everything is.”

“I have a sister, I’m excellent at snooping,” she says with a wink.

“There’s a duffle bag in the front closet!” I call after her. She gives me a wave of her hand to show me she heard and then disappears through the door.

Shit, I forgot to tell her what apartment number.

Leah Harrison

Julien: apt. 1010, end of the hall to your left

you think I made it up ten flights of stairs already?

you won’t have to wait when you get there

no one asked you to do this

you’re welcome

now stop texting me, I have to focus on not dying while I climb these ridiculous stairs

are there like 10ft ceilings in this place?

holy shit, I thought I was getting in better shape

these stairs are kicking my ass

how dare you not prepare me for this

stop distracting me

I bark out a laugh, the feeling foreign in my throat. I imagine her flushed and cursing as she climbs the stairs. Even though the elevator has been in tip-top shape until today, I did the stairs daily. I used to time myself, but I’m fairly certain my legs are twice as long as Leah’s. I’m not sure how long it’ll take her to get up there.

My phone doesn’t buzz, even though I’m staring at it, wishing for more. My thoughts will it to happen.

Fuck you

that was the worst

your apartment is absurdly bare, when did you move in?

wait, let me guess, six years ago when you moved here

She’s not wrong. I’ve never felt the need to add anything to my place. It’s just me and I don’t care. I try to picture her face as she roots around in my drawers, finding everything neatly folded and meticulously arranged.

I don’t mind messes, I simply never make them.

Maybe I should respond, but I’m enjoying the stream of texts she’s sending. She’d already be done if she wasn’t, but I don’t mind.

you’re a serial killer, it’s the only explanation

omg you have a plant

was it a gift? Did you buy it?

where are all your ratty clothes, ones you wear around the house?

it doesn’t look like you have any

you know what, I’m going to pack your most uncomfortable clothes, this conversation is so one sided

fine, walk around naked for all I care

I’m sure I can borrow some of Adam’s stuff

The texts stop for what feels like an eternity. But twenty minutes later, the doorway to the stairwell slams open and Leah stumbles out, my giant duffle bag stuffed with god knows what slung over her shoulder, my small plant held safely in one hand.

“Alright, Mr. Chatty, out to my car,” she says, already headed out the building.

“Leah, I can—”

“Don’t you dare, you can barely hold yourself up. I can haul a duffle bag around, I’m not weak.” She turns and glares, challenging me. There’s no way in hell I’d ever call her weak.

When she’s satisfied I’m not going to argue, she turns, marches out to her car, and pops the trunk, throwing my stuff in the back. Hopefully she didn’t pack anything breakable because she threw my duffle bag like she had some kind of vendetta. I’m sure she was pretending it was me.

I try to open the front door, but I’m so fucking useless right now. She doesn’t seem bothered by my lack of ability to do anything for myself, opening the door and bending down. I get a perfect view of her shapely ass as she moves the seat back as far as it will go.

“Do you think that will be okay?”

The seat went back farther than I expected. “Yeah, I think so.”

She takes my crutches and I use the top of the car for balance as I climb in. I barely fit. Leah puts the crutches in the back seat and then before I’m even settled, she’s buckled up, car started.

“I’m not taking you to Adam’s. You’re coming home with me.”