Page 17 of Play With Me
That’s what I deserve after the way we left things.
“Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke.”
It’s what I do when I’m nervous, which isn’t often. I played pro sports without so much as a flutter of nerves, at least by the end.
Not at the beginning.
As I sit there praying for Nora to wake up, I hear my old coach’s voice. The one who nearly broke me.
Your brain can’t handle more than one thing at a time, Jude, do you hear me? Focus. That’s the only fucking way!
But he was right. When I don’t focus on what’s most important, I lose. I do things like kissing my best friend. I need to hold that focus so tight, nothing gets in at the seams.
My hand wrapped around the racket.
My son.
Nora throws that all out of whack.
“Nora,” I whisper. “I need to know you’re okay.”
I’m not focusing. But I’m scared shitless I’ve done some kind of permanent damage to our Nora. I bend down, ostensibly to whisper in her ear, like that’ll make her register my words. But for a moment I’m stuck—her shampoo smells different. Something floral and spicy. But she still smells like her underneath that, and it makes my whole chest hurt. And instead of asking her to please wake up, I say, “This has been one of the worst years of my life, Nora, and I vowed I wouldn’t have bad years after the accident. I miss you.”
Then I kiss her on the cheek.
When I pull away, her eyes are open.
“Nora!” Relief floods through me like a goddamned firehose.
“Jude?” she croaks.
“Yeah, Nor. It’s me. Thank Christ.” I cup her face. “How’s our Anne of Green Gables?”
“I’m not wearing the braids, Jude,” she whispers.
Her hair is spread out behind her like orange fire.
“Yeah. Well. You made me watch the show, so now you’re stuck with it.” Without meaning to, I brush her hair back from her face once more, feeling the silky strands slide through my fingers.
“Two different versions,” she whispers.
“You know I’m still mad the latest one was cancelled.”
I’ve missed her so much I tried reading the Anne of Green Gables books last summer when Farrah was around, needing to remind myself of what it was like to spend time with a woman I actually wanted to be around. Who wasn’t one of my sisters.
But it hurt too much to read more than a few pages. All I could think about was Nor.
She smiles. Her eyes are wet.
“Let’s get you up,” I say. “Unless you’re hurt?”
She stretches, and I try not to look at the way her back arches off the floor, how it sends this hot little tingle down low like Nora’s movements sometimes do.
“I think I’m okay.”
I help her to sitting. I’ve got long fingers, and they span nearly her whole back. Has she always been this little? She used to complain about being scrawny, but to me, she’s perfect.
“Where’s Cap?” she asks, making me snap quickly out of wherever my brain had wandered off to. It does that a lot, especially around Nora.
