closer.
The stairs up to the Lodge slowed Ben down a little, but he resumed his speed after he wedged open the screen door with his foot, crossing into the main room. We turned down the back hallway past the kitchen and a door marked “Office.” Probably the Pauls’?
“Can you knock?” he whispered when we arrived at what I assumed was the nurse’s office. “My, uh, hands are full.” One side of his mouth raised up, and he slowly met my eyes.
I nodded, heart beating in my throat. I rapped twice on the door. It didn’t sound like anyone was inside. I tried the knob, and it opened, the door swinging into the room.
My eyes swept over a tall, white, two-door cabinet, a sink, mirror, and two army surplus cots. A rolling office chair was pulled up to the desk, which was in reach of a tall filing cabinet. It all looked old. Like it was straight out of Dirty Dancing.
“No one here,” I said.
Ben strode to one of the cots and gently set me down.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he muttered. I scooted back and sat on the end of the cot. “This foot?” he pointed to my left, and I nodded. The toes were bright red, but weren’t swollen or anything. “Let’s get this sandal off.”
Lightning shot up my leg as he loosened the strap of my Chaco and slid it off, palming the arch of my foot. But the lightning wasn’t pain. It was something else entirely. As cold as I had been on the summit of that mountain, I was equally warm now. He ran a finger across the top of my foot. My eyelids fluttered shut. This was—no one had ever touched me like this before.
“Feel okay?” he asked in a low voice.
I nodded, eyes still closed.
“Should we take a look at anything else?”
I pointed to my left elbow and opened my eyes a little.
He unbuttoned the cuff of my flannel and lowered it off my shoulder, gently guiding my arm out. Everywhere he touched me set off fireworks. Gently, he bent my arm back and forth. “Feel okay?”
I nodded.
“Anything else?”
My hip was going to be purple the next morning, I was sure, but there was no need for him to . . . well . . .
I shook my head.
“Good,” he smiled, still holding my forearm. Then, he released it and picked at the sleeve of my flannel. “Ellie, I’m so sorry about what happened this morning. It stops now. I’ll never let anything happen again like what happened today.”
I nodded. “Good. Thank you.”
He met my eyes. “We all talked. After you left. I know I shouldn’t have written that sketch. It just wasn’t funny.”
“. . . And it was mean.”
“Well, comedy isn’t always nice,” he argued.
I gave him a look.
“But that was . . . it was a bad sketch.” He sighed and tucked a curl behind my ear. “You . . . I know I’m extra hard on you.”
He cupped my cheek, and I closed my eyes again. “But it’s just because you’re so talented.”
I scoffed.
He took his hand away, and I opened my eyes.
“It’s true,” he insisted.
Biting my lip, I picked at a thread in the cot. His compliment was nice, but—
“What about the rest of the team?” I asked.
“Best behavior.” He raised his right hand like he was swearing in court. “They’re writing apology letters in the cabin. Come back. Please. We need you.”
This was all turning out much better than I could have hoped for. Still, I had reasons for being skeptical. “Let me think about it,” I said.
In response, I expected him to nod or maybe talk me into saying I’d come back. I did not expect what happened next.
He dropped his head in his hands and began to shake.
My eyes widened. “Are you laughing at me?”
He looked at me straight in the eye. His own eyes were filled with tears.
Instinctively, I reached out to wipe one rolling down his cheek.
He covered my hand with his own and held it there.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, still holding my hand to his face. “This—you—this is all my fault.” His voice shook. “None of this would have happened if Marcus was still here.”
I wasn’t sure how to react to that.
“Now the Pauls told me that Calvin Paige is coming. We started here the same year, and he’s already on a weekly Harold team at UCB and has had supporting roles in two movies.