Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3) (24 page)

"Then why opt for option one? I would think a lifetime of complications wouldn't land you a spot in the Majors...but maybe life with a prosthetic would."

"Yeah. Like it's allowed you to continue to dance?"

Now I'm mad. "You don't pitch with your freaking leg."

"And you don't know if you can't dance until you've tried."

I narrow my eyes at him.
Who the hell does he think he is?

"Worry about your own problems, Ben, and I'll worry about mine."

I turn around and limp off the field.

He doesn't call for me to come back. And he doesn't follow me either. But I do feel his eyes on me as I walk away.

BEN

"What the fuck have I done?"

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I kick the side wall of the dugout.

"Fuck." I kick it again.

Then I sit down on the bench, rest my elbows on my legs, and cry.

I didn't cry when I found out I had cancer and that I may lose a leg.

I didn't cry when I found out that Johnny lost his will to live.

These things made me angry and sad, but I didn't cry.

Watching Rose walk off this field...

That
makes me cry.

The whole reason I couldn't contact her in the first place was wondering what would happen when I did.

How could I bemoan the possible amputation of my leg to a girl who's already lost hers?

How do I tell her that I'd rather risk infection and a lifetime of surgeries than cut off my own leg?

I can't.

Because it would end in hurt feelings and heartache.

Hers
and
mine.

Just like it did today.

I don't continue to throw pitches. I pick up the balls, grab my glove, and walk home. Calling myself an asshole the whole way home.

"Benito," my mother calls from the kitchen. "That you?"

"Yeah, Ma." I set my stuff in the back hall and climb up the steps to the kitchen.

"Did that pretty girl find you?"

"Yeah. Rose came to the field."

"You tell her?"

"Yeah."

My mother sets a cup of espresso in front of me. "Just made a pot."

"Thanks."

"Did you make decision?" My mother just wants this over with. Wants the cancer gone. I do too, but it's not as easy as that.

"No."

"Please don't take long to decide."

"Ma. I just can't just say...I can't. I'm going back to school tomorrow."

"What? Benny, no."

"Ma. Give me two weeks. Please. He said I have that long. Two more weeks."

"Okay, Benny. Two weeks."

"Thanks."

Going back to school is futile. I can't finish out the semester and I can't start the season, but I can't stay home. Since I haven't withdrawn yet, why not? I spend the rest of the night surfing the Net. Searching Osteosarcoma. Searching its risks. Searching Rose.

***

I skip Wednesday classes since I don't leave home until eleven, but I do go to practice. Coach knows what's going on with me, and I appreciate that he's promised not to say anything. I'm allowed to play until I can't anymore.

"Ben. What the fuck? Where you been?" Jax asked.

"Flu. All better." I hate lying, but I can't tell him.

"Cool. Now get your ass back on the mound. We need you. We're scrimmaging this weekend."

"I heard."

"Season starts in two weeks."

"Yup."

"Coach tell you a couple scouts are gonna be at the first game?"

"No. He didn't."

"Really?" Jax is surprised. "You'd think he'd tell his star player."

"You'd think." But I know the real reason he didn't tell me - because it doesn't matter anymore.

"Hmmm. He probably thinks there's no reason to worry with you. You're ready for the Majors
now
. You don't even need your senior year."

I ignore that and get on the mound. Jax jogs off to first base, and we throw the ball to each other until the rest of the team gets in place.

***

The next day in Musicology, before I even find a place to sit, I explain to the professor my absence from the first few sessions. She nods in understanding and as I go to take a seat, I nearly collide with Rose, whose eyes are on the floor.

"Rose."

"Ben." She draws out my name, a whisper on her lips.

We stare at each other a moment, but she breaks it first to find a seat. I sit down next to her.

"I'm sorry about the other day. I'd like to explain myself...if you'll let me."

She nods.

"Can I see you after class?"

"No. I have to meet with Professor Sherman."

"Oh."

I'll have to wait to talk with her, because class has started. Today's topic is music and the emotional voice - how psychologists are using music to elicit underlying emotions and help therapists unleash unconscious elements of human emotions. It's an interesting subject, one I'm sure will come in handy when I'm sitting across from some professional ball player who doesn't know why he's not playing at his full potential...or something like that, but I don't pay much attention. First of all, now that the possibility of never playing in the Majors has become more of a reality than ever, being a sports psychologist seems satirical. Second, all I can think about is the girl sitting next to me, and how I managed to hurt her, when she's the one person I never wanted to hurt.

After an hour and fifteen minutes of pretending to listen to the professor, I approach Rose at the end of class. I'd love to ask her why she decided to come back to school and what prompted her to take Musicology, but I have to clean up the mess I made first, so I beg for her forgiveness instead.

"I don't want to hold you up," I say while she slides her books into her bag, "but I really am sorry. I spoke wrong. How my words came out is not how I meant them. You have to forgive me. You just have to."

"Ben," she interrupts my third plea, "it's okay. I forgive you."

Whew
. I feel myself starting to breathe easier. "Thank you. Then can we just...get back to where we were. There's so much to talk about."

"Ben." She shakes her head. "I don't want to get back to where we were. I'm sorry." She moves to head toward the front of the room.

"What? Wait. Please."

She turns toward me.

"Why?"

She shakes her head. "I just can't." I receive a sad smile before she walks away.

"Fuck," I whisper so she can't hear me.

***

I go to practice at three, but I suck. Every single pitch is angry and off mark. I throw my glove across the field and walk off. Twenty minutes into practice.

ROSE

"Come with us, Rose," Holly begs.

"Nah. You two go. I'll be fine."

"I'd love to get to know you, Rose," Mick says. "Holly talks about you all the time. I'd love to hang with my girlfriend's best friend."

I smile. "Thanks, Mick. Maybe another time. I'm not really up to it tonight. Thanks, though."

"You want me to stay home?" Holly asks.

"No. Go. Really. I have some research to do anyway."

"All right. Have it your way. I'll be home in the morning. I'm staying at Mick's tonight."

"Have fun."

Since no one is home tonight, I bring my laptop into the living room instead of staying in my room like I do most nights. Professor Sherman asked me to do a special assignment on
healing the mind through dance.
Her asking was not coincidental. Evidently, she'd heard of me and learned of my accident and has been asking my previous professors about me. Originally, I was disappointed that she'd gone through the trouble - it's just another form of staring if you ask me. But she said I'd get extra credit for the class, and she also hoped I'd get something out of it. Professor Sherman was a competitive dancer herself and had heard of me through the dance world. Since my accident, she'd researched dancers with disabilities to learn more. There are tons of us. It's not like I hadn't researched them myself, but it seems such a small percentage make it to competition level...or Broadway. In any event, I agreed to the assignment and thanked her for her concern. I still feel violated in a way, because why does every person who meets me think they can fix me? And why do they assume I need fixing at all?

All the while searching the Internet, my mind keeps returning to Ben. I feel bad that I told him I can't see him like we had been. He's sick right now. And he's struggling. Plus, he's mourning. He needs a friend. I want to be his friend, but I like him more than that, and though he may like me now, I know his real feelings toward someone with a prosthetic leg - he pities me. He may not have told me in so many words, but I read between the lines yesterday. I can't be with someone who pities me and finds me needy and unattractive.

I guess, though, I can put my issues aside for the time being, if only to comfort a friend. He is my friend after all. So I begin by researching Osteosarcoma...and its options.

***

I stop at the food store on my way to my Friday Musicology class. I have two classes: World Literature on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Musicology on Thursdays and Fridays. Not a real challenging schedule, but perfect for me right now.

When I walk into class, Ben is already sitting in the same seat as yesterday. The one next to it is empty, so I sit there again. We both nod to one another, but I can tell he's sad. In an effort to make him smile, I reach inside the small grocery bag I got at the food store, pull out the small container, and slide it across his desk.

Goosebumps run up my arms when a smile pulls on his face. "Chocolate pudding."

"Peace offering."

He laughs silently. "Thank you."

"Are you busy after class?"

His eyes pop. "No. Not at all. This is my only class today. Except for practice at three. Can we go talk somewhere?"

"Sure."

Class starts, so I stop talking with Ben, but throughout class, I can't keep from glancing at him. Each time I do, he's looking at me too.

After class, while Ben waits for me to pack up my stuff, Professor Sherman calls me to see her before I leave.

"It'll probably just take a minute," I tell Ben.

"I'll wait for you in the hall."

Up at Professor Sherman's desk, she says, "Rose. I was talking to the fitness director yesterday. The group fitness room is open from ten to five if you're interested. It has a ballet barre and no one will bother you."

"What?"

She chuckles. "To practice."

"Oh. Thank you, but...I haven't...I don't."

"You should, Rose. They have prosthetic legs specifically for dance, but I'm sure with what you have, you can dance a bit."

I nod. "Yes. I have a dance prosthesis, but..."

"Rose. Then you must use the studio," she says excitedly. "I'd love to practice with you."

"Really? Why?"

"Because you're good. Even before your accident I'd heard of you. You're amazing."

"Thanks, but...I don't...you still compete?" I ask, to get her off the subject of me. Plus, I can't remember if she told me it was something she did now or in the past. She doesn't look too old to still be in competition.

"No. I stopped when I started studying for my PhD. Too much. But I'd love to put on my pointe shoes or tap.”

I find myself smiling. I haven't put on a pair of tap shoes in so long.

"You like tap. I can tell by your smile. Dance with me, Rose."

"I don't have my shoes...or...or my leg." I say, embarrassed.

"Oh. Well, next time you go home..." She shrugs. "Maybe you can get them."

I feel bad, because she looks disappointed. "Thank you, Professor Sherman, I appreciate it."

"Please...call me Lindsay. I'm only twenty-six. I hate Professor Sherman. Or worse, Dr. Sherman. In class, I guess it's okay, but when we're not in class, please, call me Lindsay. And think about my offer. You'd be doing me a favor. I hardly dance anymore. And I'm not one of those dancers who enjoys solos. My adrenaline rushes when I dance with other dancers. Love it." She smiles, and I see the young girl she probably is when she's not teaching psych courses.

"Thanks, Lindsay. I'll think about it."

"Great."

Out in the hall, Ben is standing against the wall. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Thanks for waiting."

He holds up the container of chocolate pudding. "Thanks for this."

"Yeah, I guess you should eat it soon or...get it in a refrigerator."

"So...do you wanna go somewhere to sit?"

"Uh. Yeah. The courtyard?"

"Sure. Or I can buy you coffee?"

"Um, no. It'll...it'll be too busy. The courtyard's fine."

As we walk down the hall, from my peripheral vision, I see his hand reach out a little, but then he pulls it back and sticks it in the pocket of his leather coat.

"Are you sure you accepted my apology the other day?" he asks when we sit down. "Because it didn't seem like you did."

He holds up the pudding again. "Unless...this means you did."

"I did."

"Good. 'Cause I am sorry."

"You don't have to apologize.
I'm
sorry. You just found out bad news and I made it about me. That's what I do these days. I'm sorry."

"Shit. I get it. I'm always thinking about myself now too. Mostly pity parties." He shakes his head and turns so that he's fully facing me on the bench. He puts the pudding down in the triangular space between his legs. "I think you're great just the way you are. What I said the other day, that was because of
my
fears, Rose. But I can understand how you'd think if I didn't want this for me, I wouldn't like it for you. Which, well, I wish things were different for you, but it doesn't bother me either way. Geez, Rose, I'm rambling. No matter how I put it, it sounds wrong. I hope you..."

"Ben. It's okay. I understand."

He sighs. "So can we start again?"

After a moment's hesitation, I say, "Let's just deal with what's going on now. You have a lot in front of you. I'm here for you...like you are for me. Can that be enough for now?"

His smile is sad - his usual lately. "As much as I'd like to return to kissing you, I guess this is gonna have to be enough...you're right. I need the distraction though, Rose. You are the only good thing in my life right now." He takes me in both his arms and holds me, right here on the bench.

I feel like I should be holding him.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" he asks, still keeping his arms snug around me, the position of his legs making it awkward.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. It's Valentine's Day." He lets go and sits back.

"Oh."

"Rose Duncan, will you be my Valentine?"

"Uh. Well. Wouldn't that negate the whole let's-put-our-relationship-on-hold thing we
just
talked about?"

"
You
talked about?" He lifts his brow and smirks.

"
I
talked about. Okay. But..."

"Rose. What's
really
going on? It's not for my benefit that you're holding back. What is it?"

I slide a little away from him and sit back against the bench. "It's...I can't...it's hard for me to express it...I just...you...your decision not to lose your leg." I look at him. I want to see his reaction to what I'm saying. "It made me realize that you...may find me...needy or pathetic or...unattractive...
less
than normal, I guess."

"Oh, Rose. Rose." He reaches for my hands and turns toward me. "You are not less than
any
thing. You are more
every
thing than anyone I know. You gotta believe me." Ben runs his thumb up my wrist then slides his whole hand up and down my lower arm. "I told you...you missing a portion of your leg has no bearing on how I feel about you. The decision whether or not to have mine cut off in no way reflects how I feel about you." He nods and closes his eyes. "But it is a terribly difficult decision to make."

"I'm sure it is. I'm sorry. I don't think I could make that decision either...even knowing what was ahead for me if I didn't...have it amputated."

"Listen...let's forget it. Tomorrow...if you'll let me take you out...no talk of me...and the cancer. 'Kay? I don't want to think about it for a day. I have two weeks to decide. Tomorrow doesn't have to count." Both my hands are in his again. "So how 'bout it, Rose? Be my Valentine. Please?"

I smile.

I nod.

"Sure."