accent.” His words are spoken softly, but he keeps his gaze steadily on mine as though to prove he’s not giving me a line. I feel my cheeks start to flush again. “What about math engineering? Where did that come from?”
“My dad said I needed a fallback in case theater didn’t pan out. I’m double-majoring.”
“And the plot thickens.”
“I have his analytical mind when it comes to numbers. They just make sense—they’re easy. Theater is a challenge for me. It makes me uncomfortable and anxious and never comes easily to me—but I love it.” I wince at the strange pull at my side that isn’t exactly painful but isn’t comfortable either. Arlo brings his other hand up, clasping it over my hand that he’s already holding.
“Who was the girl?” I ask him. “The ex?”
He blinks a couple of times, like trying to understand my words and then gives a slight shake of his head. “What?”
“The girl at the party, there at the end.”
He lifts his chin, his lips parting as his gaze drops, and his hands loosen. It’s a quick series of fractional differences that all add up to feel significant. “What is it you’re always telling me? It’s complicated?”
I scoff. “I don’t always say that.”
He grins. “That’s her. Her name’s Jade.”
“Sorry if I made things more complicated.”
He lifts his chin but not his eyes. “You didn’t.”
Another tug at my waist. A new picture of a gruesome cut.
His gaze flashes to mine, making me question if I made a sound. “Three favorite foods.”
“Mashed potatoes, cheese enchiladas.” I wince again, feeling the stab of the needle this time. “And marshmallows.”
“Marshmallows?”
“They’re so good.”
His smile is warm, accompanied by an even warmer laugh. “What’s this mean?” he runs his thumb over the gold band on my middle finger of my right hand, his thumb skimming the two stones that sit nested together.
“Alexandrite and Peridot. My birthstone and my mom’s.”
He nods as he examines it a bit closer.
“Why’d you choose sports medicine?” I ask him.
He cocks his head. “You’re surprised?”
I shrug. “I just picture you becoming like a lawyer or something.”
His eyebrows jump. “Me?”
I nod. “You’re good at talking to people, and I’m fairly certain you could win an argument against anyone. I don’t know. I just picture you dressed in a suit in a corner office, doing something with a fancy title after you retire from the NFL.”
He shakes his head. “No. No. Ties feel like a noose, and an office would feel like a prison cell. I couldn’t do it.”
“Track pants and hoodies for you?”
He laughs again.
The doctor clears his throat. “This isn’t bad. You’re lucky. This could have been a different story had the piece been an inch longer. But we got it all out, and you’re stitched up. You’ll need to get these removed in about ten days. You can go to your GP, or if you don’t have one, you can come back here, and we’ll do it. It will only take a moment. We’re just going to get you cleaned up and put a clean dressing on it, and then we’ll send you home with a pack of stuff to change it every day.”
“I have to change it every day?”
He nods. “It’s important that you keep it clean and moist, and then uncover it during the night while you sleep.”
My attention flashes to Arlo. I can’t breathe again. There’s no way I’m going to be able to play nurse to this wound at home. I’ll fail. It will get infected.
Rose.
I breathe.
Rose will help.
I’m still trying to breathe when Arlo swipes his thumb over my hand again, this time using more pressure. “Does it hurt?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s good.”
He nods in response. “Luck,” he tosses the word into the silence, his voice stable, and his face stoic.
On the way back to my apartment, Arlo stops at one of the small twenty-four-hour pharmacies so I can get additional gauze, tape, and medicine. “You can wait here if you want. I’ll be right back.”
Arlo looks around. “It’s late. Why don’t you stay in the car and I run in?”
“Because you just drove me to the ER. I’ve already put you out. Plus, I barely feel anything.”
“That’s the shots.”
“You keep making excuses. Maybe I’m just really tough.”
I’ll give him credit as he tries to hide his smirk as he gets out of the car.
“Someone lost their wallet,” Arlo says, as he rounds the vehicle to my side, a small clutch in his hand.
“Their whole purse,” I clarify.
“That’s a purse?”
I nod.
“My mom’s