Almost: a love story Part 25

My heart breaks to look at her. I soften my tone. "Don't tell on me. It's only three more days. I want a chance to say goodbye...to Gray...to the job. To the best summer I've ever had. Gray and I have plans to hang out all afternoon tomorrow. And then, Sat.u.r.day is ThunderLand. I've never been there. Even though it's totally fake, every second with that black haired, green-eyed boy is better than anything I've ever known. You must understand a little why I don't want to let it go. For me, this is all I'll ever get to have. Just go upstairs and put away the laundry. Plant the darn flowers Mom wants you to plant. Play along, Kika, please. Let me have just a couple more days of being in love before I have to go back to square one. Please."

Without a word, she shoots me a tear-filled glare and runs upstairs.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Gray Jess. IK ur reading these. Txt me bk. Txt me bk. Plz.

I click send, and then cut and paste the same message into my phone and send it again. And again. No response.

"d.a.m.n her," I mutter.

"She's still sick? What does she have? Chicken pox? The plague?" Mich.e.l.le leans on the rink snack counter. Her smile tells me she knows there's something bigger connected to Jess's absence.

"Yeah. She's got it bad." I pretend to check my email, unable to meet her eyes.

"Dude, you're major whipped. I think you've checked that phone a total of sixty times in the past two hours." Corey shoves a dripping nacho into his mouth. "Send her some flowers, make up already. I miss the girl bossing me around."

Mich.e.l.le punches Corey's shoulder lightly. "Shut up, would you. They're fine. You guys are not breaking up are you?"

I open a can of cheese sauce to refill the pump, thankful the complex isn't busy tonight. "It's-not what you think. We're not fighting. She's been really run-down. The girl's not used to so much activity. We've had some long days on the tradeshow project, and she's been moved into the s.h.i.+pping department until the tradeshow next Monday. All the new info has overwhelmed her. I'm going to see her tomorrow. We've both been given a half day off for good behavior. We just need to hang out. Reconnect. You know how it is."

"I've never seen you actually moping after a girl," Mich.e.l.le says. "It's so cute."

"Jess won't text you back. She won't pick up your calls, and you are saying things like you need to reconnect?" Corey sticks his finger down his throat and fake-gags. "Smells like trouble in paradise to me. You kiss her, yet?"

I shake my head and open the next can of cheese sauce.

"Porter, you've held back all summer long on that move. Go for it, show her some skills. That should cure her from whatever she's got. You should just mmm....and mmm, and then-ooh, yeah."

I don't have to look behind me to know that Corey's making faces and being a complete a.s.s because Mich.e.l.le's giggling like he's the funniest thing ever.

He goes on, "Plant a big one-right smack on her lips and then-"

"Dude. Shut up. I told you-she's sick."

Mich.e.l.le coughs. And then coughs again. I realize she sounds really odd. Corey coughs too. Something's up. I turn, surprised to find Coach Williams standing at the counter next to my friends.

"Hullo, Coach," Corey stutters, fidgeting with the napkin holder.

I meet Coach Williams' steely, accusing gaze with a small nod. "Can I make you something, Coach?" I ask, pasting on a tight smile, wis.h.i.+ng I could punch Corey.

"Nash. Miss Hopkins. Good to see you both." Coach Williams nods. "Mind if I have a word with Porter, alone?"

"Sure, Coach." Corey shoots me a look as he grabs his nachos. He's all but running to a table with Mich.e.l.le. Traitors.

"Is she really sick, or is it true you're having some sort of fight? "

"It's true that I've never tried to kiss her yet," I offer.

"That's something."

"I had an interesting phone call from Jess's father this week. After what Corey just said, I'm not sure what's going on. I thought maybe you could enlighten me before that man ambushes me again?"

My heart feels it was tossed in a blender. "No. What did he say? Did you out me? Did Jess tell him about our contract?" I ask, wondering if this is one of the reasons Jess won't text me back. "Would have been nice if you'd warned me."

"The guy called me, and he has no idea about the contract. In fact, the guy sounds happier and more hopeful than I've heard him since...since...you know." He looks away.

"Still afraid? I'll say it for you. Almost raped. Since his daughter was almost raped by your star player."

Coach clears his throat and leans over the counter so only I can see his face. "Jess's dad told me you were going to their house for a BBQ day after tomorrow. Only there seems to be a bit of confusion on the invite. He told me Jess is bringing a kid named Corey Nash to the party He asked me what I thought about him." Coach flips a glance at Corey and Mich.e.l.le who are currently holding hands and pretending, very badly, not to watch us.

"s.h.i.+t. I'd forgotten about that barbecue. What did you say to that?" I hold my breath and try not to blink.

"I told him Corey is a great kid. A bit goofy, but nice enough. Thankfully, that's all the man asked. Had his questions gone any deeper, I don't know if I could've lied to him. You attending a BBQ at the Jordan house this Sunday, or is that dumb-a.s.s standing in for you?" He shoots Corey a doubtful glance.

"Jess and I already have a plan in place. No one is going...thanks to some future food poisoning. At least, I think that's the plan."

"Jesus, Porter. Maybe I'll call her dad back and tell him what I know."

"Don't. Please." I run a hand through my hair. "I need to handle this carefully. I've fallen for her. Seriously."

"Why are you telling me this? It only makes me want to kick your a.s.s from here to Kansas."

"I don't know. I guess I'm asking for your blessing, or help. I want to tell her the truth. About me, about that night. And I'm scared to death I'm going to mess it all up. Mess her all up. You know?"

"Are you out of your mind!" Coach Williams roars, causing everyone in the room to stare. He lowers his voice and leans in. His fists clench on the snack counter and his eyes are spitting fire. "h.e.l.l yes you could mess her up! You could put the girl over the edge. You have no idea what you're doing. She's going to need a therapist standing by or something more serious than some misguided, love sick Boy Scout opening a can of worms all over her head."

I don't even flinch. "I've already witnessed her flipping out after a nightmare. It can't be worse than what I saw her go through the other night. I've never known anyone as strong or as brave as Jess. Don't you think she should know the truth?"

"I can't let you do it. Why do you think you have the right?"

"Because I have everything to lose if it goes badly! I'm the one who's in love with her. Because I was in love with her freshman year when it all went down. If the truth about me trickles down into her head from the mouths of her over-protective parents, or even from you, I'm sure it will be twisted forever. You'll ruin all the good stuff between us. And believe me, it's there. It's fragile as h.e.l.l, but it's completely real. She hasn't said anything, but I think she feels the same."

"I don't know, son."

"Please. Either way, when she finds out she's going to flip out some, right?"

"Probably." He swallows.

"Wouldn't you want her to flip in my arms where I can catch her? If she has to go through finding out what happened that night alone, it will hurt her even more. I'll do everything in my power to not let her fall. If she does, then I'm going with her. All the way."

Coach sighs. "When are you planning to tell her? And where?"

"Tomorrow. We have a lunch date."

He grabs a pen and scrawls two phone numbers onto a napkin and shoves it at me. "You call me and her Dad if anything goes wrong. And, would you please call me when everything goes right so I don't have to worry? I'll be pulling for you...and I'll add in a prayer or two. Or three. Deal?" Coach Williams starts away.

"Coach?" He turns back. His brow has furrowed, giving his face the look of a crumpled piece of sandpaper. He nods once for me to continue, as though he can't talk. As though the guy is choked up and about to cry!

"Thanks," I say. My heart is slamming into my chest with relief and with something that feels like respect. "Just, thanks."

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Jess I can hardly wait to have lunch with Gray this afternoon. I'm starving...but more for him than for the sandwiches he's promised. I hadn't seen his car in the parking lot when I'd pulled up this morning. I figure that's because he's trying to give me the s.p.a.ce I'd requested.

I feel half excited and half scared that we're going to have this talk. I'm even hopeful that he might be right. That we can be friends after this is all over. Despite my secret crush on him, of course. But he doesn't need to know about that. Even when-if-we do become real friends.

I've dashed to the bathroom after my s.h.i.+ft to apply some make-up so I won't look pasty when he shows up. Now, like a vain weirdo I can't stop myself from trying to decide if I should wear my hair up, or down, or back for the rest of the day.

For him.

My heart flutters because I've imagined his face. I watch in the mirror as red heats my cheeks. He'd been so happy that I'd agreed to talk to him. I frown at my reflection and undo the tenth ponytail. I shake it all out and settle on wearing my hair down with a small clip holding back the front layers. In case I'm tempted to primp even more, I run out, making it into our tiny office at exactly 12:00PM.

Then like a dork, I sit there, staring at the back of Gray's computer monitor, and drawing in a little breath of excitement each time I hear a footstep in the hallway.

After an entire half hour has pa.s.sed and still no sign of Gray, I break my own rules and text him: YGTS-OW? I wait sixty seconds and try again: That means: You Going To Show - Or What? Where RU?

My tummy's rumbling. Sitting in this office chair is getting dangerous. To stay awake, I head on to Google and randomly type: Where in the h.e.l.l is Gray Porter?

I slam the return key, enjoying the satisfying *click' the keyboard makes. While the results load, I grab my iPhone and check the battery. It's green. Gray simply isn't responding. I figure he's giving me a dose of my own medicine for ignoring his texts all week.

I know I deserve it. But heck, the land of *No Text Back' is truly a cruel and lonely place. Turning back to my monitor, I'm surprised by the search results.

There are tons of pages featuring Gray Porters!

One appears to be a back issue of our high school's news journal. It's actually got the t.i.tle: Where is Gray Porter? Weird. And WTF!

I click the link and stare at the photo in the article. The kid in the shot is so scrawny and hidden in gear that it could have been anyone. But, because of the pictures I'd seen at Gran's house, I know it has to be Gray. The puny, freshman him, anyhow. The text under the photo reads: Star red line winger, Gray Porter, chooses club inline over varsity ice leaving our team in the lurch.

Before I can delve into the article, someone enters the room.

"Finally," I say, popping my head out from behind the monitor. It's not him. It's Mich.e.l.le? "What are you doing here?"

"This place is a maze. Took me eons to find you." She pauses with a smile and looks around our tiny office. "So, this is where the magic went down?" Mich.e.l.le plops into Gray's chair and gives it a half spin. "Nice, and cozy. No wonder you two got so close, so quickly."

"Not even. We've been down in the loading warehouses. That's where they keep us caged most of the time. What are you doing here?"

"Gray sent me. The guy was a tragic bundle of nerves. He was literally freaking out and then freaking out again."

"And that means, what? Where is he? What happened?"

"Gran had some sort of episode this morning. Severe muscle cramps and tremors. Enough to make them both think she was dying-having a stroke, heart attack or something worse. Gray rushed her into the hospital. He's been there ever since."

I leap out of my seat, eyes already searching for my bag. "What hospital? Is she okay? Poor Gray, he must be out of his mind. I should go help."

"Hold the fire, woman. That's why I'm here. She's good. He's good. After a slew of tests, they realized it was simply a strange vitamin problem. She'll be released tonight after she gets some sort of drip put into her. Pota.s.sium, I think Gray said. She'll be right as rain by tomorrow, but you know how hospitals are. It's going to take forever."

"Why didn't he call me himself?" I wonder if he'd changed his mind and sent Mich.e.l.le here as a smokescreen. But Gray wouldn't lie about his gran-about anything. Not his style.

"The hospital is a black hole. Zero service. The nurses took pity on him and let him have one phone call, prison style."

"So he chose to call you over me?" I look away.

Mich.e.l.le laughs. "Hiss hiss, jealous. It was well thought out. He called me because I'm an unemployed, late sleeper. A sure thing. You're much more difficult to track down. He begged, seriously, begged me to meet him at the hospital to pick something up for you. I've been ordered to hand deliver this." She waves a large white envelope as she roll-scoots Gray's desk chair around to my side. "This must be seriously mushy stuff. He ordered me not to open it so many times my fingers are still itching to break my word. Another five minutes in my purse and I wouldn't have been able to resist."

I smile and take the envelope, trying to play it cool like I don't care what's inside.

My name is written across the front in Gray's scrawling print. "Thanks. I missed you last week," I cover, trying to steer her focus away from the envelope.

"Back-atch-ya." Mich.e.l.le smiles and points to the envelope. "Gray said you two had a date. He didn't want you to think you'd been stood up. He said if you thought that, then you'd never speak to him again. I suspected you two were in some sort of tiff, but four days of not talking sounds like break up to me. Did you? Are you? What's going on? Open the envelope."

I flip the envelope over and suck in a breath. The back had been sealed with some strange, medical tape. Gray had written: "Whatever you do, don't open this in front of Mich.e.l.le."

I look at her and Mich.e.l.le quirks a brow, holding back a laugh. "I know, right?! I think he wrote that to torture and tempt me. I should get a freaking medal for not breaking into it, right? Who does that to the most curious person on earth? He's such an a.s.s." She laughs. "It's probably some disgusting love poem. Gray knows if I see any romantic drivel I'll ridicule him for life. And I will. It's my sworn duty to mock him. It has been since we were five. But okay. Fine. If you want to open it, right now in front of me, I'll try not to vomit." Her eyes are glittering with mirth and curiosity.

I grin but shake my head. "I'll wait...if you don't mind." I trail my fingers over where he's written my name.

Mich.e.l.le leans in and stares at my computer. "What are you looking at? Holy, no way! That's from freshman year." She laughs. "Look at the guy. I'd forgotten what a little peep he was. That helmet honestly looks like it swallowed his whole head."

"Yeah. And the scarecrow body-wow." We both laugh.

"But he was good. Really fast," Mich.e.l.le says. "He was supposed to be varsity's ticket to state. They called him Bullet. He was so speedy that no one could touch him. His shots always scored. Still do. He's still amazing at ice. But he only skates alone at the complex, or to teach the little guys." She pauses and scans the article. "This is about when he quit the team. The entire senior cla.s.s had a death warrant on him. The princ.i.p.al caught some senior players beating the c.r.a.p out of him just before he quit. Shoved him into lockers, pulverized his face just before Halloween. Do you remember all that? People talked about it for weeks."

"I came in after Christmas that year so I would have missed that." I swallow and flip the subject back to Gray. "Do you know why he quit?"

"He never talked to me about it. Far as I know, he's never talked to anyone. Even Corey. He was one angry, messed up little dude in those days. Corey and I almost dumped him. It was like hanging out with the Grim Reaper. I asked him about what happened often enough. But after awhile, his double black eyes disappeared. We gave up trying to get the story out of him. He chilled out by soph.o.m.ore year."

She leans back in her chair and smiles. "Our hockey team managed to keep the state t.i.tle without him. That's what probably saved his life. After the season ended, everyone forgot about it. Except for Coach Williams and Gray, of course."

"Wow. He told me he and Coach had a fight, but I didn't know about the other stuff."

"Gray's never been very good at sharing his feelings. He also hates gossip. He's such a guy about keeping silent. He and Coach Williams were really close before that year. Kind of a b.u.mmer. Coach was sort of a father figure to Gray, and then-they became enemies." She shrugs. "They were going at it all over again last night at the rink. You should have seen them. Just like old times. Shouting, flexing biceps. Staring each other down."

"Really?" I shake my head.

"So, let's talk about you." Mich.e.l.le brings her knees up and spins her chair. "What takes a freshman a whole semester to get back to school? Were you sick? Are you still sick? Is that why you're always so tired? Why Gray treats you like you're made of gla.s.s? Did you go through chemotherapy or have bad kidneys or a heart transplant or something extreme like that?" She blinks, waiting.