Page 17

NYLAH

Hanging out with Carson is like being on a roller-coaster ride.

One second he’s fighting a grin, the next he’s looking all morose, then he’s scowling, and now he’s leaning back trying to look bored, although I can totally tell he’s listening to my every word.

I can’t decide whether to be confused, amused, or entertained.

Maybe I’m all three, which makes time tick by in fast-forward.

Refusing to be swayed by any of his switching moods, I keep chatting about everything from inane movie facts to the Insta-reels I watched in between classes (people coming home and surprising their families are the best!) to the fact that I used to be a cross-country runner.

He seems fascinated by it all, which is interesting. The guy obviously likes the sound of my voice, and although he doesn’t say much, I can tell by the sharpness of his gaze which topics interest him the most.

I’m just trying to wrap up this long-distance running conversation. I kind of dove into it without really thinking, and now I’m having instant regret because he’s leaning on the table, moving closer and obviously concerned that I’ve had to say goodbye to something I used to love.

“It’s no big deal.” I wave my hand through the air. “I mean, yes, I wanted to complete the Boston Marathon one day, and yes, I?—”

“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 him buddy.

“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!”

“Okay.” His voice is so soft after my loud outburst.

I wince and mumble, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You can be whoever the fuck you want around me.”

“Really?” My frown is skeptical. I can feel it.

He snickers and guides me down to the walkway beside the river. “Look, I came to meet you for pizza, didn’t I? And I even stayed when you started talking about your boring-ass research paper.”

I gasp. “Psychology is not boring.”

He starts to snore and I laugh, lightly slapping his arm.

His lips crack into the briefest grin, and I hold that moonlit image in my mind, reveling in how beautiful it is.

He just smiled.

It was only for a second, but damn… I feel like I’ve just won the lottery.

We walk along in silence for a few minutes, me trying to walk as normally as I can.

My muscles start to ease up and my gait improves as we shuffle along the trail.

It’s paved and well-maintained, a winding path along the river.

The moon is bright and full, lighting the way ahead of us, and there’s a magical quality to the air.

I love the sound of the water, the crisp breeze in my face. Winter’s coming, but the cold doesn’t bother me. As long as the skies are clear, I’m a happy girl.

Looking up, I study the stars I can see and nearly lose my balance.

Carson’s arm shoots out to catch me, and then I’m leaning against him, smelling a mix of his leather and deodorant… and a touch of sweat, feeling his soft breath in my hair and the tension vibing between us.

I gaze up to glimpse his face, wondering if his heart is starting to thrum the same way mine is, but he quickly lets me go, stepping back and patting my shoulder.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” I swallow, frowning at the back of his head when he keeps walking forward.

When I don’t immediately follow him, he turns. “You want to go home?”

I have no idea what the time is, but the world is quiet enough that it must be getting late. I don’t want to look at my watch. That will bring reality back in, and then I’ll have to walk away from this guy, and who knows how or when I’ll be able to see him again.

“Are you ready for this to end?” I ask, my stomach clenching as I wait for him to respond.

He snickers and shakes his head. “Just thought you might be over my company by now.”

I grin. “Not a chance, shithead.”

A smile flashes across his face again, but he quickly irons it out and mumbles, “Lame.”

With a soft laugh, I close the gap between us, and before he can shove his hands into his pockets, I snatch one, curling my fingers between his without a word.

Holding my breath, I wait for him to let me go, but he doesn’t.

Instead, we walk beside the river, holding hands and not saying a thing.

It’s the best non-date I’ve ever been on in my life.

And I want the night to stretch on forever.

But time doesn’t play fair, and neither does my leg. I’ve gone and worn it out now, and my walk back along the river is much slower.

By the time we finally reach Main Street again, the town is shut down for the night, and I have no idea how long an Uber will take to get here or if I can even get one.

Pulling out my phone, I open the app to see, but Carson’s hand is quickly covering the screen.

“You’re not Ubering at this time of night. I’ll give you a ride home.”

My stomach drops, my eyes darting to the Harley parked on the curb behind him. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I’ll be fine. I know it’s expensive, but…”

Getting down in my space, his breath fans across my cheek as he repeats himself. “You’re not driving home with a complete stranger. I’m giving you a ride.”

Pulling back, I look up and hope my voice isn’t shaking too hard. “What if I don’t want to ride your stupid bike?”

His eyes round, his lips parting like I’ve just offended him.

Reaching back, he strokes the seat and whisper-barks, “Don’t talk like that around her.

She’s sensitive.” I give him a droll look, and he pings up straight again, towering over me with that classic Carson smirk.

“My bike is brilliant… and it’s safe. I’m gonna get you back to Nolan in one piece, and you’re gonna love every second of it. ”

Biting my lips together, I cross my arms. My stomach’s trembling now, but I can’t let any of that show. I don’t know how my leg will handle being in that position either.

“Come on, chicken. You can trust me.”

My gaze darts up to his face, narrowing as I hiss, “I’m not chicken.”

“Oh yeah?” Carson holds out his helmet for me. “Prove it.”