From Yesterday (8 page)

There is only one person for me to call.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Fuck, Paige! What the hell happened?"

Brady must have been on campus, nearby, because less than five minutes later he is assessing the situation with Alex.

"It's not as bad as it looks," I lie to him.

He shakes his head while Alex feels the need to chime in. "Yes, it is. Brady, right? She needs to go to an ER or urgent care immediately. That's a very nasty, very deep cut that needs antibiotics and stitches. And she will also need a tetanus shot if she isn't up to date."

Brady and Alex have a two minute whispered conversation while I lay there and imagine what kinds of conspiracy theories Alex is telling him. I wish they would stop, I don't need more people thinking that I'm crazy.

Brady shakes Alex's hand. "Thanks for helping, man. I've got it from here."

"No problem. You take care of yourself, Paige."

Alex watches as Brady bends down and uses brute strength to scoop me up from the floor and into his arms like a new bride on her honeymoon. Lovely as his arms might be, there is no chance in hell I'm going anywhere like this. Plus, I didn't like the little exchange that just happened between the two boys. I feel like a piece of property now.

I smack Brady's arm with my good one. "No way, Tarzan. I'll walk."

He lets me down, but won't let go of my uninjured arm as we make our way down the steps. My bag sways on his shoulder and one of the straps comes around to tap me right over the area that hurts. I yelp.

"Damn, I'm sorry."

He shifts the bag to this other side and we make it to my car with relative ease.

"I'll drive your car, Paige. I came here on the bike and you're not going to the ER on that."

For once, we are in complete agreement. "The keys are in that side compartment, next to my phone."

He digs around for a second until he pulls them out and unlocks the passenger door for me. Once he has me settled in with my seatbelt in place, he makes his way around to the driver's side. I have to be a little bit impressed when Brady is able to adjust the seat without fumbling around for the controls like most people. My car has buttons in very illogical places and it can take some getting used to. I can tell he's a bit shocked that my car does not have an automatic transmission; I've found that most Americans, both genders, don't know how to drive stick these days. It's weird to me, but I guess that's because my parents were not raised here. I'm used to the fact that there are many countries in which stick shift is the norm and automatic is a very rare luxury.

The ride to the hospital is relatively quick; it is literally five minutes down from campus on Biscayne Boulevard, but traffic makes it take closer to ten. We don't speak during this time. I am not exactly in the position to be having a meaningful conversation right now, and to my relief it seems as though Brady is as perceptive as he is pushy. The silence is a companionable one; we are both content to simply be in one another's presence. It's nice.

Aventura Hospital is over ten stories high and all chrome and glass, having been updated just a few years ago. This is one of the nicer areas in South Florida. The city is small, but packed with high rises and expensive cars. The traffic backs all the way up to the area I live in, which is only one city away, really. Brady parks my car in the garage, which looks fairly empty. I hope this translates to not having to wait nine hours in the ER since I'm not an urgent case.

We walk inside and the triage nurse assesses me quickly. We are told to have a seat, but that it shouldn't be long before I am called in. There are the usual uncomfortable plastic chairs for us to sit in.

" You know, you don't have to wait," I tell Brady. "You're welcome to take my car home and I can just take a cab home when I'm done."

Brady rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah, sure, Paige. I'll just leave you here. In the emergency room. By yourself."

"It's not a big deal, Brady. I'm perfectly fine. This could take hours and I'd hate for you to give up your Saturday night to hang out with me in the hospital."

He puts his hand on my knee. "Paige, I'm not giving anything up. I was even going to see what your plans were for the evening. So, whether we are here the rest of the night, or somewhere else, I'll be just fine. Now, tell me about what happened in the library."

Before I can figure out a way not to tell him very much, my name is called by the nurse. "I guess I'll have to tell you when I come back out."

Brady stands up. "Oh, I'm coming in with you. We can talk about it later if you want, but we will talk about it."

"Later sounds good."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Three hours, two doctors, some shots, and fourteen stitches later and I am finally home. Brady is hovering over me as I chill out on the couch. I like it.

"Okay, so The Hunger Games or Bridesmaids?"

I laugh. "Do you really want to watch a chick flick? You don't seem like the type. The Hunger Games is good."

Brady frowns at me. "I'll have you know that I have watched plenty of chick flicks. Especially if I was trying to get laid."

I toss a throw pillow at him. "Nice. Well, just so
you
know, that is not happening. So don't get your hopes up."

"Relax, Paige. I was teasing. Mostly. Why don't we just watch both? It's only 9 o' clock. The sushi won't be here for at least a half hour so we can start a movie, or you can tell me how you really hurt yourself today."

I hold out my hand and wait for Brady to grab it. When he does, I squeeze his hand and look at him. "Brady, I'm still not feeling great and I'd be lying if I said that I'm not still a little freaked out over the whole thing. All I really want to do is spend a few hours with my friend, watching movies and forgetting about today. I promise I will tell you, I just want to try and salvage what is left of this evening, okay?"

He nods and continues to hold my gaze. "Just as long as I'm this friend you are talking about."

He winks.

I drop his hand. "Take a look around, Brady. Do you see anyone else here? Let's watch The Hunger Games first. I have a girl crush on Jennifer Lawrence, just like half of the rest of the female population."

You can almost see the cartoon light bulb flash above his head. He raises one eyebrow, a trick that is not easy. "Oh, really? That has numerous possibilities, Paige. I like it"

"Sure you do, perv. What possibilities would those be, exactly? I'm never going to meet her and even if I did, we are both straight. And who's to say I'm
her
type?"

He seems undeterred. "Still, it's hot to imagine..."

I don't let him finish his thought because I beam him with another throw pillow. I'm going to run out of pillows soon. I suppose we could make popcorn. Plenty of that to throw.

Brady puts the movie in the blu-ray player and then settles on the couch next to me. He hits play on the remote, and then moves himself closer and examines my arm. He turns it to the side to get a better look.

"The bandage needs to be changed soon, Paige. There's still some bleeding. Do you want to take some of the meds they gave you?"

"No, not really. It's just naproxen 500 so it won't help that much. I'd rather tough it out. I can change the bandage later."

Brady takes hold of my wrist. "Let me change the bandage now so that you don't worry about staining your couch. I promise to be gentle. And I really think you should take one of the pills, they will help with the inflammation."

I shrug. "Fine, but pause the movie first, please? I don't want to miss the scene when Katniss volunteers for her sister."

Brady grins. He pauses the disc, even though we are still on previews, and goes to get the bag of bandages they gave me at the hospital. It is going to be really interesting trying to shower later. I hurt my right arm and I am right handed. The doctor told me not to get it wet for a few days which means a plastic covering and awkward movements while trying to wash my hair.

Brady comes back with supplies; there is gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape in the cellophane bag with care instructions on the side. He reads that for a minute, then sets everything down on the coffee table and sits back down next to me.

"Okay, give me your arm."

I lift it, realizing that the anesthetic is starting to wear off. Maybe the naproxen is a good idea after all. "I changed my mind. I do want to take one pill."

He looks pleased. "Good. I'll do this quickly and then grab some water for you."

I grab the bottle of pills and toss one into my mouth. I dry swallow a pill the size of a horse tranquilizer in no time. "No need."

Brady's eyes are the size of saucers. "That was disturbing. And, uh, kind of hot all at the same time. Anyway, I'm just going to slowly pull this bandage off, clean the wound very gently, and re-bandage it, okay?"

I hold my arm out. "Sure."

With extreme care and gentleness, Brady pulls the bandage off of my arm bit by bit. The skin underneath is rust-colored from the iodine and it looks grotesque where the stitches have pulled the skin together like ruched fabric. Bits of dried blood have flaked off and they fall on to the towel that Brady thoughtfully placed on the couch before starting. He throws the ruined bandage into a plastic bag and picks up the antiseptic. "This is probably going to sting."

I nod. "I'm sure."

It takes less than thirty seconds for Brady to uncap the solution, spread it on some gauze, and press down gingerly on my arm. The pain is quick, like a short, intense burst of sensations that dissipate soon after. Reminds me of the first time I got my bikini line waxed. Before I know it, he has replaced the old bandage with a new one and it's over.

"There. All set. How bad was it?"

I hold his hand for the second time today. "Thank you. For everything."

He doesn't need clarification. Brady knows there is much more meaning in my words than simply thanking him for changing the dressing on my arm. I feel very lucky to have found a friend like him, regardless of whether or not I wanted one.

"You may be thanking me now, but it'll be me who is giving thanks later."

I watch the evil grin form on his face. "Oh? Why is that?"

He winks. "Because you've injured your right arm and you are right-handed. So, I'll have to change that dressing for you for the next few days because it has to stay clean. And if you think you'll be able to shower without my help, you are so very wrong."

An once again, I am rendered speechless. There is simply no good comeback for that. He is right.

I grab the remote from the table and press play. Brady laughs quietly to himself. We watch until just after my favorite scene when the phone rings. It is the front desk, calling to have me authorize the delivery man inside the building. I tell him yes, and then I go to find my purse to get cash ready.

"Don't worry about it, Paige. I've got it."

"Like hell. You paid for dinner the other night, and you dragged my injured butt to the emergency room today. The least I can do is buy dinner."

I locate my wallet and give a triumphant yell as I pull it from my bag just as the delivery man knocks on the door. Brady comes over to me, takes my wallet, and shoves it into his back pocket. "You're never going to pay when I'm around. Ever. Better start getting used to it now."

I watch, open-mouthed, as he goes to the door, opens it, and pays the man. When he finishes, he takes the huge box of take-out into the living room and sets it down on the coffee table. We both work quietly, setting up a little picnic of sorts, while I ponder why I'm slightly turned on by having Brady order me around.

"I am perfectly capable of paying for stuff, Brady."

He gestures with his hands around the room. I take a minute to follow where his fingers go as he points to my rather expensive furnishings and the detail that went into the finishes in the condo. All modern furniture, mostly dark wood with clean lines. I have very few decorations, not being one for clutter, but the items I do have were not cheap. And sitting on the end table is a genuine Swarovski crystal vase.

"Take a look around you, Paige. I know you can afford it, as could anyone that lives in this building. Which, if you recall, includes me. So just deal with it."

I glare at him, determined not to let him think I'm okay with his macho attitude, but the truth is I am very attracted to this side of him. There is definitely something wrong with me.

We return to the movie and dig into our dinner. The next hour or so is spent with us watching and stuffing our mouths. At one point, Brady opens a box with dynamite rolls and after taking a bite of one, he reaches towards my mouth with his chopsticks. "Here," he says. "You have to try this."

I don't blink an eye at the fact that a guy who is not my boyfriend is feeding me a piece of half-eaten sushi. I just take the piece from his chopsticks with my mouth, keeping eye contact between us. It is good. I even make a very audible, involuntary groan as we continue to stare at one another. Before I even have a chance to be embarrassed by it, I see Brady close his eyes for a moment, as if he's pained by something. When he brings one finger to my mouth and runs it over the corner of my lips, I shiver.

The nights I've spent between the day we met and now tossing and turning in my sleep. The extra steps I am taking these days which put me directly in his path, knowing or unknowingly, just to see him for a moment. The lies I let fall off my lips when I deny the most basic human desire there is.

I could say something right now. My voice could break the barrier that is more than just sound between our bodies.

His fingers on my face, his elbow resting gently near my breastbone, our knees gently intertwined. My hands, limp at my sides, ache to reach for him and slide down each one of his arms. A few inches to my right and I could taste him; even a chaste, close-mouthed kiss would wake me up. I don't notice that Brady has been closing the gap between us, ever so slowly, until a fraction of an inch is all that is left to cross.

"Don't."

A stranger's voice escapes from the very treacherous vocal cords I call my own. Eons stretch between the time I was last comfortable in my skin, before I folded everything that made me a person into a neat little box and taped it shut, to this new person that lets her guard down once in a while. That one word should have stayed stuffed down deep; instead the languidness of the moment shifts into a rigid resignation.