The Hardest Fall(64)
Growling, I went after him before he could run away.
*
When I made it back home, it was almost nine o’clock. I’d just made a hundred dollars by taking fifteen Instagram photos for a student who had over three hundred thousand followers. She had heard about me and my services from one of her blogger friends who I had taken photos of before midterms. Any money that added to my savings account was good, so I tried my best to never turn anyone down, but after the fifth outfit change, I thought maybe I should’ve charged more. Considering it took us over two hours to get all the shots she wanted, I thought raising my rate was a great idea.
Even though I was pretty much ready to crawl back to the apartment after being out for over thirteen hours, I still made sure I was as quiet as a mouse when I tiptoed pass Ms. Hilda’s door.
When I got into the apartment and turned on the lights, it took everything in me not to shriek like a banshee when I saw a big figure sitting on the floor in the living room, right under the windows.
“Dylan? You scared the crap out of me. Why are you sitting in the dark?” I dropped my equipment bag right next to the door and walked toward him, hesitating when I got to the couch and he still hadn’t spoken.
He had his elbows propped on his knees, hands dangling between his thighs, and he wasn’t looking at me, didn’t even meet my eyes.
“Dylan? What’s wrong?” I took an involuntary step forward but stopped myself from going farther.
Slowly, his head tilted up and his eyes met mine. Usually, I couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds when he looked straight into my eyes like he was trying to see deep into me, but the way he was looking at me right then…I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
He, on the other hand, had no trouble breaking eye contact. “Nothing, Zoe,” he said quietly then rested his head on the wall behind him. A few seconds later he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.
“Obviously that’s not the case,” I stated softly, thinking something terrible must’ve happened. He didn’t even open his eyes, let alone give me an answer.
Where was the guy who smiled at me left and right and made me feel lightheaded without even knowing what he was doing?
Starting to worry, I went and sat to his left, not within touching distance, but not too far away either. We spent a few minutes sitting side by side in absolute stillness. The only sound that could be heard over the heavy silence was coming from a neighbor’s TV, most likely in the apartment below us.
“You can tell me what’s going on, Dylan. I’m not a bad listener, and I’m supposed to be—”
His eyes didn’t open, but he did finally speak. “If you tell me you’re my buddy, Zoe, so help me…”
My knees were up just like his, but I decided to sit cross-legged instead, which brought me closer to his side. “I won’t say anything, okay? Just tell me what’s going on.”
He rolled his head toward me and finally let me look into his eyes.
Slowly, I released the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. He looked devastated. “What happened?” I whispered, angling my body toward him so I could put my hand on his arm. His gaze followed the movement, and I felt his muscles tighten under my touch. Thinking maybe it wasn’t a good idea, that he didn’t want me to touch him when he looked ready to bring down the building, I attempted to pull my hand back. But, the second I lifted it, he reached out and took his time lacing our fingers together.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his eyes glued to our intertwined hands. “Am I allowed to do this?”
I swallowed, hard. What was I supposed to say when he looked so devastated? No, actually, it’s not okay, Dylan, because my brain seems to short-circuit every time you get this close to me. I didn’t think so.
“Is this what buddies do, Zoe?” he continued, his voice harder.
Is he angry at me?
What the hell did I do?
My brows drew together, but I didn’t try to pull my hand away—like I said, short-circuit in the brain, and holding his hand had helped before, the night I’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. Maybe he was a hand holder; maybe that was his thing.
He studied my face then made some sort of huffing sound and let our hands drop to the hardwood floor. I tried not to wince.
“Dyl—”
“Don’t answer that.”
When his head hit the wall behind him yet again, I couldn’t hold back my wince.
“It’s JP,” he said to the ceiling.
“What about him?”
“He got injured.”
Didn’t college football only happen on the weekends? It was only Thursday.
“When? I didn’t know you had a game today.”
“No game, just practice. He had a little trouble with his foot in the last game, but he said he was fine. Today one of the guys stepped on it wrong and now he has fucking a Lisfranc injury.”
“Lis—what? Is it bad?”
His eyes closed as he released a humorless laugh. “Is it bad? Yeah, it’s bad. He is done for the season. We don’t even know if he needs surgery yet. If he doesn’t, it’ll still take him at least five to six weeks to recover, and that’s me being a fucking optimist.” As an afterthought, he added, “It’s a foot injury.”