Claire (Hart University Book 2) Read online

  And yet…

  What if he was? Did I want him to?

  No.

  Maybe?

  No.

  But…

  And so my thoughts went, around and around like a hamster in a cage.

  I’d thought that being single this semester would make everything easier. Simpler. And in some ways, it had. But why did my emotions seem more complicated than ever?

  I decided to put it out of my mind for tonight. I needed to head back to my dorm soon anyway, so there was no use in worrying about it right now.

  The sound of popping corn got intense, and in a minute Tony took the canister off the heat and poured the fluffy white kernels into an enormous bowl. He’d melted an entire stick of butter in the microwave, and after drizzling that slowly and evenly over the popcorn he added salt and mixed it all together.

  “Okay,” he said in satisfaction. “Time for the crossover episode. Popcorn and beer in the living room. D, would you grab the six pack from the fridge? Will, call it quits for the night. Your paper’s not due till Friday. Claire, are you staying?”

  “What crossover episode?”

  “Flash and Arrow.”

  That’s why they’d been arguing the merits of the two heroes. “I should be heading back to Bracton. I have an early class tomorrow.”

  “Oh, come on,” Will said, closing his computer again. “You can stay for an hour. You know you love Tony’s popcorn.”

  It was true. I did.

  Plus, my heart beat a little faster when Will coaxed me.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll stay for the show.”

  We settled down in the living room. Del was on the armchair, Tony and Will were on the couch, and I was on the floor in front of Will with my legs stretched out.

  It was a good episode, but after the first five minutes I barely noticed what was going on. That’s because Will had leaned down during the first commercial and said, “You keep rolling your shoulders. Do you have a crick in your neck?”

  “Yes, but it’s fine. I slept funny last night.”

  “Lean back,” he said. “I’ll give you a massage.”

  “That’s all right. I—”

  He didn’t bother to argue the point. He just put his big hands on my shoulders and got to work.

  The next half hour was ecstasy… and torture. Will seemed to know exactly where the knots were, and exactly how to work them out. The feel of his hands—not just touching but kneading, stroking, caressing—sent ripples of pleasure through my body.

  I never wanted him to stop. And yet I was conscious of Del and Tony, fearful that they would guess what I was feeling and exchange the kind of knowing looks that would put air quotes around my “friendship” with Will, as though it were nothing more than foreplay for what every girl really wants.

  A relationship.

  But Del and Tony weren’t paying attention to us at all. They’d gotten into a discussion about the scientific feasibility of time travel in the Marvel and DC universes, and they decided they needed to refer to Del’s extensive comic book collection for information. They headed upstairs, arguing all the way, and suddenly Will and I were alone.

  I was leaning back against the sofa in front of him. His long legs were on either side of me, which meant if I leaned my head back I’d touch his—

  Shit.

  I stayed frozen in place, not sure what to do. The lights were off, and the only illumination in the room came from the big TV.

  I stared at the screen as though I were fascinated, even though I couldn’t have told you what was going on to save my life.

  Behind me, all around me, I could feel Will’s warmth and strength. And running underneath that melody was a deeper, darker beat of sexual energy that enveloped me like a mist.

  I closed my eyes, trying to get a handle on myself. And then:

  “How does that feel?”

  I could feel his breath against the back of my neck, and I shivered. He must be leaning forward. How easy it would be to turn my head and kiss him. To fall into his arms. To take him by the hand and drag him upstairs to his bedroom.

  Somehow, some way, I found the strength to scoot away from those incredible hands and scramble to my feet.

  “That was awesome,” I said, trying to sound normal and cheerful and not like a woman whose panties, I just now noticed, were wet.

  Oh, God.

  “Thank you so much,” I went on, going over to the table where I’d left my backpack and turning on a lamp for good measure. “I feel a million times better.”

  “You’re going?”

  I glanced back at him. He looked good enough to eat sprawled out on the couch, his auburn hair tousled and his green eyes hooded.

  “Yep, I think I should. I’ve got an early class tomorrow. Like I said.”

  “You can stay over if you want.” One side of his mouth went up. “We know we can share a bed without anything happening.”

  I remembered the morning I’d woken up in Will’s arms, and I knew if that ever happened again there was no way, NO WAY, I wouldn’t tear his clothes off and have my way with him.

  “I think I should spend the night in my own bed. But thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  My heart was in knots and my body was aching, overheated, restless.

  “I’ve got a lot of work this week and a gig to practice for. You guys are leaving for Ohio on Friday, right? So I probably won’t see you till you get back on Sunday.”

  Will nodded, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Are you going to watch the game?”

  “Is it on television?”

  “There’s a live stream thing happening at the campus center.”

  “Oh. Then yes, I’ll be watching.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  I made it to the front door without giving into my urge to launch myself onto the sofa, and I only turned back when my hand was safely on the knob.

  “Good luck at the game, Will.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you on Sunday, Claire.”

  There was an undercurrent to his words that made my heart pound. A kind of… purpose.

  What was he planning to do or say on Sunday?

  I had no idea. But I’d better be ready for anything.

  * * *

  I ended up watching the game in Dyshell’s room with Tamsin. Dyshell had a huge computer monitor, so it was like watching the live stream on TV. Dyshell and I were on the bed while Tamsin was curled up on Dyshell’s bean bag chair.

  At the end of the first quarter the game was tied 7-7. During the commercial break before the second quarter I asked Tamsin,

  “So. How are you doing with the, uh, pledge?”

  She looked at me with her eyebrows up. “Are you implying I’ve fallen off the wagon?”

  “No, not at all! But if you have it’s okay,” I added quickly.

  Dyshell grinned at me. “How are you doing on the pledge? I hear you and Will are getting awfully… cozy.”

  I forgot sometimes that Dyshell had a spy on the inside—her brother Andre.

  Tamsin sat up straight. “Wait a sec. You and Will?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Definitely not.” I paused. “But let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I’m tempted.”

  Tamsin put her elbows on the bed and rested her chin in her hands. “Go on.”

  I cleared my throat. “I asked you first,” I said primly. “I mean… have you been tempted this semester?”

  “You want to know the truth?”

  I nodded.

  “I haven’t.”

  Dyshell and I both stared at her.

  “Seriously? Not once?” Dyshell asked. “You haven’t gotten drunk at a party and wanted to make out with some guy?”

  Tamsin spread out her hands. “Hey, I’m as shocked as you are. I think part of it is that I haven’t been partying as much this semester. I mean, that was on purpose. I figured it would be easier to resist temptation if I didn’t deliberately put myself in situatio
ns where my willpower would be compromised, you know?”

  I thought guiltily of all the time I spent with Will. “I know.”

  “I’m actually really happy so far. I’m not planning to join a convent or anything, but I think a semester… or even a year… of celibacy will be good for me. It’s kind of good to think about other things, you know? I’m going to audition to play Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. I’ve never tried Shakespeare before.”

  “That’s great, Tamsin,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. In my heart of hearts, I’d been hoping she’d admit to wanting to end the pledge… so that I could think about ending it, too.

  Of course Tamsin’s not an idiot.

  “Claire, you don’t need my permission to fall off the wagon if you want to. It was nice to have company at first, but it’s something I’m doing for myself now. The whole point of it was to be stronger and happier, right? If being with Will would make you happy, then that’s what you should do.”

  My shoulders slumped. “But that’s the problem,” I said. “I don’t know if it would make me happy. I mean, I’m enjoying being single, too. But then I think, what if he meets someone else and I miss my chance? And then I think, what if we get together and it’s terrible? Or what if it’s awesome first and then turns terrible, like with Ted? If we break up we won’t be friends anymore. Are you guys friends with anyone you’ve broken up with?”

  They both shook their heads, and Dyshell put her arm around my shoulders. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  I interrupted her. “And what if we have a real chance for something special? If we get together too soon we’ll screw things up.”

  “You broke up with Ted two months ago,” Tamsin pointed out. “Isn’t that a long enough mourning period or whatever? Aren’t you past the rebound danger zone?”

  I thought about that. And then something else came to the surface, something I’d been thinking about for a while.

  “I don’t want to set a time frame before I can be with someone else,” I said slowly. “I mean, I don’t want it to be like being in a couple is the default setting and the time between relationships is just a placeholder.” I paused. “Being single can be its own setting. Can’t it? Jenna is totally happy with my dad, but she loved being on her own, too. She says she learned things about herself she wouldn’t have any other way.”

  I took a breath. “I want to know who I am without setting my clock by a guy. Do you know what I mean? With a guy, getting over a guy, about to be with a guy.”

  “I get that,” Tamsin said.

  I was on a roll now. “I’ve been writing a ton of new songs. The band is sounding really tight. My grades are up, and I know it’s because I’m not spending all my time on the phone with Ted or thinking about Ted or crying about Ted or sexting with Ted. We were together for four years. Being his girlfriend was a huge part of my identity for a really long time. I’m just thinking it would be easy to drift into that again, you know? And I don’t want to.”

  Dyshell nodded. “That makes a lot of sense. But not all relationships are the same, are they? Isn’t it possible that being with the right person could, I don’t know, affirm you instead of erase you?”

  Tamsin rolled her eyes at that. “Not any relationship I’ve ever been in.”

  “Well, but isn’t that—”

  She didn’t have a chance to finish. The commercial break ended, and Dyshell and I both forgot everything else as our beloved Panthers lined up for the first snap of the second quarter. Tamsin would probably have preferred to continue the conversation, but she knew it would be hopeless until the next commercial.

  “Will looks good today,” Dyshell murmured as he cocked his arm back to throw a pass, cool and confident as he scanned the field.

  “I know. The team brought in a new quarterback coach who really—”

  Then, out of nowhere, a linebacker broke through the offensive line and laid Will out flat.

  The world stopped spinning.

  My breath stopped. My heart stopped. I waited in frozen terror for Will to get up from the brutal hit… only he didn’t.

  “He’s unconscious,” I gasped. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  I grabbed Dyshell’s arm. Tamsin came to sit on the bed with us, her face drawn and tense.

  Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake—

  There was a crowd around him now, so thick I couldn’t see him clearly. The team doctor, coaches and trainers, and of course the players. The announcer was saying the obvious—the Panthers quarterback appears to be unconscious—and I gripped Dyshell so hard it must have hurt her.

  I remembered the first episode of Friday Night Lights, when the quarterback of the—oh my God, the Dillon Panthers, was that a sign?—made a tackle after an interception and ended up paralyzed.

  How long would it take me to get to Ohio if I started driving right now? Could I afford to fly?

  But no, I was being crazy. I’d been thinking of Will as far away, but actually he was only an hour from his hometown. His parents were in the stands. He didn’t need me.

  Then they brought a stretcher onto the field, and I felt sick.

  “What’s happening? Oh God, what’s happening?”

  But nobody could answer me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ten days later, Will came back to Hart.

  I hadn’t talked to him at all. Not even once. I’d texted him, emailed him, and left voice mails, but he hadn’t texted or emailed or called me back.

  After a few days I stopped reaching out, figuring he’d get in touch with me when he was ready. It was hard, though. I didn’t want to bother him when he was recovering from a concussion, but I was desperate to hear his voice.

  I was getting news from Andre and from Holly, although I tried not to ask for updates too often. I didn’t want to bug them, and I didn’t want to seem pathetic… especially since Will obviously didn’t feel a burning need to communicate with me.

  I was having trouble sleeping. Lying awake at night, I found myself wishing I’d given in to my longing for Will before he’d gotten hurt. If I were his girlfriend, I’d have some kind of standing, wouldn’t I? He’d have to talk to me.

  His family had standing. His teammates had standing. His coaches and doctors had standing. Maybe some of his non-football friends had standing, but if so, I wasn’t one of them.

  It hurt more than I could bear, and on so many different levels. Will was in pain—physically and emotionally—and I couldn’t do anything to help.

  I’d heard a few days before, from Andre, that Hart’s athletic department had barred Will from playing football again. Apparently this was his third serious concussion—I remembered him telling me about the one he’d had in high school—and the second time he’d lost consciousness.

  As the days went by with no word from Will, I started to research concussions. What I learned terrified me. Repeated head trauma could lead to something called CTE—Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy—which was, essentially, irreversible brain damage. Professional athletes—football players and boxers, mostly—who suffered from this kind of trauma developed symptoms that resembled early onset Alzheimer’s along with chronic head pain, troubles with balance, vision, and cognition, and severe depression.

  These athletes also committed suicide at alarming rates.

  Will wasn’t an NFL player who’d endured tens of thousands of blows to the head over a long career. But he’d been playing football since he was a little boy, and he’d had three serious concussions already. In addition to that, according to one medical journal article I read, it was likely he’d suffered hundreds of subconcussive events—blows to the head that weren’t diagnosed as concussions but which, over time, contributed to long-term damage.

  After I read all that, I was grateful that the Panthers had barred Will from continuing to play football. But I doubted very much that Will was feeling the same way.

  I was sure his mother had told him his health was a million times more important than foo
tball. But I wanted to add my voice to hers, and to the voices of the doctors and others who were telling Will it wouldn’t be safe to risk more head trauma. I wanted him to know that his friends cared about his life and health more than anything else.

  That they cared about him.

  It was Andre who told me Will was back at Hart, and that he’d be going back to class in a few days. I sent a short text—So glad you’re back, please call when you can—and then waited exactly forty-eight hours to see if he’d get in touch with me.

  Crazy scenarios started running through my head. What if he’d actually forgotten who I was? Amnesia could sometimes result from head trauma. But surely if he had something as serious as amnesia, the doctors wouldn’t clear him to return to class?

  Unless it was partial amnesia, which—

  Which was the stupidest idea I’d ever had. Selective amnesia? Will could remember everything in his life except for me?

  Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. No longer caring if I seemed pathetic—or even if I was pathetic—I texted Andre.

  Has Will mentioned me at all?

  The response came within a minute.

  Not yet. But he’s coping with a lot right now.

  I knew that, of course. But that was the point. I wanted to help. I needed to help.

  The next afternoon, after my last class, I headed to Will’s house.

  I’d chosen this time of day deliberately. His housemates would be at football practice, which meant that Will, if he was home, would be there alone. Sure enough, when I pulled up in front of his place, Will’s car was the only one in the driveway.

  The front door wasn’t locked. I opened it as quietly as I could, and saw right away that the living room was empty.

  So was the kitchen. If Will was here, he was up in his room.

  Halfway up the stairs, I heard his voice. I could hear Holly’s voice, too, so she was either on speaker or they were Skyping.

  Will’s bedroom door was ajar. I stopped in the hallway and waited for their conversation to end.

  “But why?” Will was saying. “Three concussions and out isn’t some kind of rule. Not every college does that. The NCAA doesn’t have any guidelines on how many concussions you’re allowed to have. I’ve been talking to people at other schools, and if I get a second opinion from another doctor I can transfer and play somewhere else. Maybe even at a higher-profile program. Scouts have been watching me play, mom. I’ve been having the season of a lifetime, in case you didn’t know. Do you really want me to throw that away?”