Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3) (25 page)

BEN

On Saturday morning, I show up for practice as usual. I'm not sure if it's psychosomatic or not, but my knee is hurting more today than it has since my surgery. It affects my pitching and the guys take notice.

"What's going on, Falco? You're playing like a girl," Brian says. They don't know I have cancer.

"I know some girls who play better than you, you fucking prick," Jax says to him in my defense.

Jax doesn't know, but I'm sure he figures something's up.

"You okay?" he asks after Brian shoots expletives back at him and walks away.

"Yeah. Doc says it's normal after surgery."

He nods, but he knows I'm lying.

I grin and bear the pain through the rest of practice, go home, and take a shower, then show up at Rose's door by one in the afternoon...holding a six-pack of refrigerated chocolate pudding in my hands.

"Hi," she says with a smile as bright as her green eyes.

"Hi." I hand her the pudding, which I'd attached a big red bow to before I got out of the car. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Thank you. You're sweet. Happy Valentine's Day back."

I follow her into the kitchen so she can put the pudding in the fridge. "What would you like to do today? I know sometimes you're not up for going out, so...you can decide."

"Whatever you want. I'll go out today. I'm okay with it."

"Really? Well...I know a cute place we can go for lunch if you want."

"Okay."

"C'mon. It's up north. I found it online when I found The Treemont."

We get in my car and head up Route 23. I put the country station on for her, but I keep it low enough so we can talk.

"Are we going toward my house?"

"Pretty much. Why?"

"Would you mind if after lunch we stop there? I'd like to pick up a couple things. We don't have to, though."

"No. It's fine. We can go before or after. Doesn't make a difference."

She runs her hands slowly up and down her thighs. "You must be starving from practice. Let's go to lunch first."

"Lunch first," I repeat. We drive a little while and then I say, "So I've been listening to your country music. It's not bad."

She chuckles. "I'm glad you approve."

"So where does your country music fit in with this musicology class? Or doesn't it?"

She chuckles again. "I like how you call it
my
country music. Like I'm the only one it belongs to."

I glance her way. She's both stunning and adorable when she's mid-laugh.

"As for the musicology thing, I think all music
fits in
, as you say. I think someone's mood lots of times determines what they'll listen to. Like, when I first came home, I don't think I wanted to listen to any music truthfully. The first time I listened to country music after the accident was that day in the car with you. I put on some classical music a couple times, but...that's what was already in my CD player."

"Classical?"

"I was dancing to it."

"Dancing? Was this...after?"

I don't hear her answer, but I quickly look her way and see she's nodding.

"I thought you haven't..." I don't finish the sentence. Don't know if I should go there.

"I've...been trying."

"Really. That's awesome."

"No. It's quite sad actually. I trip all over myself."

She's laughing, so I chuckle along. "At least you're trying."

She shrugs.

"So where does classical music fit in with the mind?" I ask just because.

"Everywhere, I'd imagine. It's so complex. It can be angry. It can be joyful. Sad. Classical music is amazing. That's why I dance to it. It moves me. When I was happy, I'd sometimes practice to "
The
Marriage of Figaro" by Mozart. When I was sad, I might have practiced to Petterson. He's pretty dark. Lately...I've just been practicing to whatever was in the CD from...before."

"Why?"

"Because I can't find my rhythm yet. And it really doesn't even matter anymore."

"So have you been practicing regularly?"

"No. Plus no one knows I've been, so please don't mention it to my family."

I turn to her again. "So I'm the only one who knows?"

"Yup." She smiles.

"Is it difficult?"

"What? Dancing? Now?"

"Yeah."

"Sorta."

I don't say anything, I just wait for her to explain if she wants to.

"I have a special leg. I guess I don't put it on enough and...maybe I'm not giving it a chance."

"Do you want to give it a chance?"

She doesn't respond immediately, but after some silence, she says, "I didn't want to. Not at first. Even after that."

"Sounds like a but's coming on."

"Yeah."

"But now you do? Wanna give it a chance, I mean."

"Maybe."

I nod. Maybe that's as far as the conversation should go today. "Now
this
sounds like a happy song," I say, referring to the wildly upbeat song playing on the radio.

"Ah. "Keep on the Sunny Side." That's Brad Paisley. It was written back before the 1900s. I looked it up once. Ironically...it was inspired by a boy in a wheelchair who always wanted to be pushed on the sunny side of the street. Kinda reminds me of Johnny."

"Mmm."

"I guess...how he used to be...before he...got sad."

"Yeah." Thinking about Johnny makes me sad. "Before he gave up?"

"Why are you so certain he gave up?"

"Why? You saw him. He was this tirelessly happy kid..."

"Maybe he got tired of pretending to be happy. It doesn't mean he gave up."

"Are you giving up, Rose?"

"Me? What's this got to do with me?"

I glance her way again. "It doesn't. I'm just wondering. This practicing you've been doing...does it mean you're gonna try dancing again or are you going to give it up?"

"Well, giving it up and giving up are two different things."

"Are they?"

"I don't know. You tell me. Is saving your leg but giving up your baseball career giving up?"

I realize when I see signs for Vernon that I passed our exit miles ago, so I continue heading to Rose's house instead. "That's not fair."

"How is it not fair? It's the same thing you're asking me."

"It isn't."

"It is, Ben. Saving your leg means a lifetime of complications, which you know means no Major League Baseball career. But losing your leg, and getting a new state-of-the-art prosthesis, and being back on the field within a few months, means you only put it on hold a year tops. I Googled it. Is your precious human leg that important to you?"

"Is yours? I haven't really seen you embracing the loss of yours."

From my side vision, I see her head dip.

"I'm sorry, Rose."

She just shakes her head.

"I didn't mean to get...fresh."

"I deserved it. I was fresh to you first."

"No, you weren't fresh. Just...honest."

"Yeah, well, call me pot, because I'm no better."

"Hi, Pot. I'm Kettle. Nice to meet you," I joke.

Thank God she laughs.

"How 'bout we make a deal," I suggest.

"No more talking about this? We weren’t supposed to anyway, remember?"

"That's not what I was going to say. I was going to say, how 'bout if
you
put on that fancy dancing leg of yours,
I'll
cut off my leg."

She snaps her head toward me. "Falco, you can't make this decision for
me
...or to get me to dance."

"Yeah, but, I really don't want you to quit dancing."

"Why? You've never even seen me dance. Why is it so important to you?"

"Because
you
are important to me. And I did some Googling myself. There are videos of you online."

"Oh geez."

"You were awesome. Remarkable actually. And you looked like you loved it."

"Probably as much as you love baseball, Falco. So what's your point?"

I have to pull over. I cannot continue to have this conversation while we're driving. So the first convenience store parking lot I see, I pull in. I slam the car in park and turn to face her. "The point is, Rose, I don't want you to fucking quit the one thing that makes your eyes light up. They were lit up so bright while you were dancing that I could see it on a fucking YouTube video. Your face was so radiant, and beaming, and...and all this time I've known you, I've
never
seen you that happy. You cannot give up that happiness, Rose. You just can't."

She closes her eyes. For quite a long time. And she breathes...slowly. She tucks in her lips and then she cries. Not a lot, but one tear follows another until her cheeks glisten. That's when she opens them.

"Then how can
you
?"

ROSE

He just stares at me.

"You can't answer that, can you?"

He looks at me some more, then he says, "Why do you keep throwing my questions back at me? Why can't you just answer them?"

"Why can't
you
?"

"Jesus Christ, Rose. Because I want what's best for you. Don't you get it? I love you. I care more about what the fuck happens to you than I do me. Now that I know how happy you once were, it kills me to see you like this...like some shell of who you used to be." He grabs my left thigh with both his hands and gently lifts it so he's touching right beneath my knee, where it sits inside the socket of my prosthesis. "This. You're letting
this
define you. This leg does not define you. It's a
part
of you. A special part. Just like your hair is the most beautiful color of red I've ever seen. Just like your skin is the color of the white sand on a Jamaican beach. Just like you smell like fucking maple sugar. It's a fuckin' part of who you are. And I fucking love every. Single. Part. I just want to reach in and shake your fears free, you goddamn stubborn woman. I love you."

I lick the tears that fall to my lips. Then I think before I speak. "I think that's why your decision bothers
me
so much."

He signs and closes his eyes.

"No. I mean..." It scares me to say this, because I've never said it before. "I love you too. And that's why your decision to save your leg scares
me
. I read about it. Those risks include more surgeries...and the infections...they can be fatal. And definitely no baseball, and I know baseball makes
you
happy."

"Not as happy as you make me, Rose."

How can he say that?
"How can you say that? It's all you've ever known."

"But now I know
you
." He sets down my leg but keeps his hand on my thigh.

"But that girl who broke up with you...because she couldn't allow baseball into your life..."

"She's not you, Rose. I didn't love her. You're more important to me than baseball...than...my education...than the goddamn air I breathe. Shit, Rose, to make you happy, I'll cut off my leg. To have you in my life forever, I'd..."

"Ben. The only reason getting your leg amputated would make me happy is because it would mean a possible career for you in the Majors. And...there are no real physical complications. I don't want you to have it
cut off
, as you say, just so I don't feel alone...or so you look like me. I hope you know that."

His hand reaches my face and he runs his fingertips down my scar. "Of course I know that." His fingertips glide down my arm until his hand reaches mine. He takes it in his and says, "After you came all the way down to Cherry Hill and showed up at the field that day...when I was so angry...I got to thinking. I did some research. I found out more about my options." He pauses. "You know, I never meant to make you feel bad about yourself that day."

"I know that. I was being...I was thinking about myself. I told you that. It's hard to look past...past my flaws. And I was thinking about you afterwards, and you're right. I'm sure it's easier having the decision made for you than having to make it yourself."

He smiles, and I just want to lean in to him.

"If I were conscious and they asked me to decide if I wanted to keep my leg or risk...death. I have to be honest...I may have chosen death."

His face suddenly looks pained. "Then thank God you were unconscious."

"Small miracles, right?" I joke.

"It's a huge miracle, Rose. If you had died, I'd have never fallen in love."

Ben leans across the gearshift and kisses my lips. When we part, I can't help but say, "You make me happy to be alive."

And then he kisses me again. And for the first time since knowing Ben, I want to do more than just kiss him. I'm not sure how I'll feel about him seeing my body, but I know I feel less self-conscious around him. That thought makes me smile, and he's still kissing me.

"What?" he asks mid-kiss.

"What?"

"You're smiling. What's up?" His lips are still a breath away, but they're not on mine.

I want them on mine. "Nothing," I say, bringing my lips back to his.

After another few heated minutes, Ben breaks our kiss and says, "I'm sure we can find a more romantic place to do this." He pecks my lips one last time, then pulls out of the lot. While butterflies have a field day fluttering around in my stomach as if they were high on caffeine.

"So we missed the turn off to the restaurant a while back," Ben tells me once we're back on the road. "But we'll go to your house first and then get a late lunch...or early dinner."

I laugh. "Either's good."

The car ride up to my house goes fast, since the whole rest of the drive, I'm stuck in my head replaying our kiss. At one point, I stop just to thank God that He put Ben in my life. I hadn't
thanked
Him in a long time, but tonight, I feel like He is finally on my side.

Hand in hand, we walk up to my house. I turn the doorknob, but it's locked. "Oh geez, I hope I have my key."

Ben just laughs.

I let go of his hand to check my purse, but it's the small bag that I throw across my shoulder and chest. I can't remember if I transferred my keys when I switched from my normal purse. "Oh thank goodness," I say, slipping my finger into the key ring.

Inside the house, all the lights are off, and only the afternoon sunlight is filtering in through the curtains.

"No one's home?" Ben asks.

"Guess not."

"Were they expecting you?"

"No, no. I wasn't planning on coming up until you said we were driving up 23."

"Oh."

"It's fine. It's better they're not home. My mom would ask all kinds of questions as to what I needed." I take off my thick cardigan and throw it over the banister. Ben does the same with his leather coat. Then I motion for him to follow me up the stairs. "If you want, or you can just stay down here, I'll be right back."

"You going to your room?"

"Yeah."

"I'll come," he says, smirking, trailing behind me up the stairs.

Luckily I'm in front of him, so he doesn't see me blushing.

I enter my room and go straight to my closet. I hear Ben plop down on my bed.

"Nice room. Coral's a pretty color."

I turn around to look at him.

"You look good in it."

I want to play it cool, but my flush face may give me away. I try anyway. "Falco, are you coming on to me?" I'm half joking. Of course he's coming on to me, but I'm nervous at the moment.

He stands from my bed, comes toward me, places his hands on my waist, and pulls me forward, where he sits on the edge of the bed again. Next thing I know, I'm sideways, sitting on his lap.

He says nothing when he slides one hand up my back and the other down to my right thigh, his eyes intent as they penetrate mine.

"I don't want to put our relationship on hold, Rose," he says after several moments of intense eye contact. "We got enough bad things to think about...You are the only good in my life right now. Ever since I found out about my cancer and then Johnny, I've been drowning...in the dark...and you...you're like the lighthouse shining on the shore. And I just need to get to shore. Don't let me drown, Rose." His eyes close. I think he's trying to keep from crying.

I bring my hand to his face and run a thumb across his cheek. "I won't let you drown, Ben."

His eyes squeeze tighter before he opens them. "So you'll be my girlfriend? Now? No waiting to get past all this?"

I shake my head. "No waiting. I want to go through this with you."

Both his arms wrap around me, and he squeezes me so hard it feels like all the butterflies in my stomach are going to pop right out and flutter around us.

"I love you, Rose Duncan," he says over my shoulder.

"I love you too, Falco," I say into his neck.

This time, I break the embrace first. And when I look at him, he's trying to blink away tears. "It's okay to cry, you know. Kids with cancer are allowed to cry."

He smiles despite the tears. "Who you calling a kid? Just 'cause you're, what? A year, not even, older than me?"

"You're just a baby, Falco."

"I'll show you who's a baby, Duncan."

He flips me onto the bed and starts tickling me around my waist. On my stomach. Under the armpits. I'm thrashing so much that my legs and feet are flailing about, and without realizing, I kick Ben behind the leg with my prosthetic heel.

"Ow," he mutters unintentionally, and I know he didn't mean to utter it out loud. "I mean ooh, girl, you're..." He fails at finishing his sentence.

"I'm so sorry," I say, scooting out from underneath him.

"No, Rose, stop. It didn't hurt, I was just..."

"Was it your bad leg? I'm so sorry."

"No, no. It wasn't. It was the other one." He laughs. "Really. I was teasing." He drops the smile, sits up, and pulls me next to him. Then he lifts my bad leg and lays it over his lap. "Can I see it?"

I cringe.

His hand slides over my legging-covered artificial limb. "When you're ready."

"Promise you won't get grossed out?"

"You're asking for promises now? I thought you didn't believe in making promises." He's laughing, and I know he's joking, but he's right. Promises suck.

"I meant to say,
please
don't get grossed out."

"Sure, sure," he teases. "Seriously though,
nothing
that is a part of you could ever gross me out. But if you're not ready, I understand."

I don't know. Maybe I am ready. It would certainly be better for him to see me little bits at a time than all at once. So I slowly start rolling up the hem of my leggings.

As I do, his fingertips follow, lightly grazing the hard plastic and stopping where my knee is inserted. "Does it still hurt?" he asks, circling my knee.

"Sometimes."

"Do you still get...phantom pain? I read about that."

"Yes, actually. Not as frequently as I did in the beginning, but...I don't let anyone know. I think they'd think I was crazy. After all these months, I still think my leg is there."

"That's not crazy at all. I read it's normal."

"After eight months?"

He shrugs. "I read it can last for some for years."

"God, I hope not."

"It's winter. Maybe the cold bothers it."

"Maybe. In the middle of the night or early in the morning, sometimes I feel like it's being crushed, but usually it's 'cause I'm dreaming about the accident all over again."

"So you remember the accident?"

I've never talked about this with anyone. Even in counseling. So I'm a little apprehensive now, but I think I want to talk about it with Ben.

"I'm sorry, Rose," he says, taking my silence for ignoring the question. "You don't have to answer."

"I don't remember anything. Except that I'd just left my friend Jordan and was going to..." My chest starts hurting and my breathing picks up.

Ben pulls me close and kisses my temple. "Rose, stop. You don't have to."

"I was going to practice. I was one of the background dancers for
Truckin
'...It was a new Broadway show."

"Broadway?" His eyebrows rise. He seems impressed.

I nod. "It was a summer gig."

"Wow."

"I was three weeks away from the opening show."

"Oh, Rose. I'm sorry."

"Wasn't meant to be, I guess." I plaster a smile on my face. As much as I'm learning to trust in Ben, I'm still not ready to reveal how much it hurts to know my dreams have been crushed forever.

He brings his thumb to the corner of my lip. "Don't hide your feelings on my account, Rose."

My smile drops. I shake my head. "I'm not."

"You've never talked about this, have you?"

Again, I shake my head.

"You haven't really accepted it yet."

"No."

"I think I understand."

I look at Ben. Again I'm being selfish. "I'm sorry. We're talking about me, and you have this huge decision to make. Plus, you're facing chemo and all. I'm so sorry."

"No, Rose, don't be. I want to learn all about you. What scares you is part of that. You're my girlfriend now," he winks. "That means you
have
to tell me how you feel. Always."

"Well then the same goes for you, boyfriend."

He squeezes me again then cups his hand around my left knee. "I'm happy, Rose. Now that I have
you
, I can face this."

"You're not gonna give up the Majors, are you?"