For All You Have Left (10 page)

I wave at Kevin, but I keep a suspicious
eye on him as he walks away.

“I’ll see ya,” Jorgen says t
o him before turning back to me. “You ready?”

My stare quickly breaks from Kevin. “Uh, yeah.”

I unlock the car, and Jorgen opens my door for me. Instantly, my eyes go to his, and I flash him that silly, bashful smile again. I’m learning I really can’t help it.

“Thanks,” I say and slide into the driver’s seat.

He gently closes the door and then makes his way over to the passenger’s side, while I steal another quick glance back at Kevin. He’s talking to someone else now across the parking lot. His back is to me, so he can’t see me. I keep my stare on him for several moments before Jorgen at last falls into the seat next to mine.

“Where’s Kevin from?” I ask, sticking the key into the ignition.

“Uh, Moberly,” Jorgen replies.

“Hmm.” I mumble the word out loud but mostly to myself. “Does he really remember every face?”

I turn and catch Jorgen’s blue, blue eyes.

“I know it’s weird, but for the most part, he does,” he says.

I feel my eyebrows starting to collide into each other again as another thought grazes the tip of my mind, but Jorgen’s lips edging up his handsome face stops the thought cold.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,
Ada.”

I
feel my features soften.

“It was fun,” I say and mean it.
 

***
 

“Well, this is me.” I stop at my door.

Jorgen is holding the two helmets—one in each hand. We’re both staring at each other when I finish my sentence. I don’t know what to do next.

“Good-night,
Ada,” he says, before I can think of something else to do.

I let go of a thankful breath.

“Good-night,” I say, slowly spinning toward my door.

I stick the key into the lock and turn it. My heart is racing. Adrenaline is sprinting through my veins. I don’t want the night to end, but I know it has to, and I know that this is its ending.

I turn back one last time and all at once feel a rebellious smile cross my face. He’s just standing there with his perfect, muscle-laced body and his bright blue eyes, piercing my skin, and a crooked grin hanging on his lips. He’s kind of exhilarating. I had forgotten what something like this feels like. It’s kind of addicting. I kind of want more, but instead, I turn the knob, push through the door and close it gently behind me.

Once inside my little, dark apartment, I take a deep, excited breath and then hold back a sound that comes from somewhere deep inside my chest. In this moment, I don’t feel guilty; I don’t
feel sad; I just feel...happy.

Chapter Thirteen

Patron Saint

“O
kay, it’s just about ready.”

I turn off the light to the oven and search for a pot
holder.

“Hey, you have Saint Michael.”

I can hear his voice trailing off in the other room.

“What?” I ask.

“Saint Michael,” Jorgen says. “Where did you get this?”

His question sounds purely curious, even though I don’t have the slightest idea of what he’s talking about yet.

I find the pot holder and pull it over my hand.

“Hmm?” I mumble.

I look up from the counter and notice him examining the pin that has sat on my bookshelf since I moved in. Instantly, I feel my heart sink a little deeper inside my chest.

“My sister,” I say flatly, allowing my eyes to fall to the glove on my hand.

I’m not sure why I say I got it from Hannah. It just kind of comes out.

“Do you know who this is?” he asks.

I look up again. He’s still examining the pin.

“Uh...Saint Michael?” I say, unsure, merely repeating his words.

I really don’t know. It’s a silver pin with a guy on it, and the guy has big wings, and I think he’s carrying a sword. But that’s all I know. I open the oven door and pull out a baking sheet.

“Come on,” I say, “everything is almost ready.”

“It’s the patron saint of emergency technicians,” he says, turning the pin over in his hand.

I laugh because I don’t know what else to do, but it comes out sounding nothing like a laugh, as I feel my heart slam hard against the wall of my chest.

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound unfazed.

I say the little word so softly I almost don’t even hear it myself.

He’s quiet for a minute. I fight back the warm tears welling up behind my eyelids before I even attempt to look up. But when I eventually do, his eyes fall into mine instantly—as if he’s searching me. It feels as if he can read my soul. I quickly drop my gaze.

“Dinner is served,” I say.

I feel him watching me for another moment before I look up and catch him setting the pin back down onto the shelf.

“I used to have one of those.” He walks to the table, finds a chair and falls into it.

I continue to battle back the tears from the thoughts that shouldn’t be there anymore. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I hope it’s okay,” I say, looking down at the two plates. “It’s the only thing I really know how to make.”

Jorgen looks down at his plate and back up at me.

“If it tastes as great as it looks, I’m in heaven.”

“Okay, but just remember, I’m not the one who ever entertained the idea of becoming a chef.”

“Hey,” he says, “I entertained the idea. That’s about as far as I got.”

I laugh and take a seat next to him.
 

***
 

“Dinner was great. Way better than what I could have done.”

I lower my eyes. “Thanks.”

A silent moment passes between us. I really do hate silent, awkward moments, and my first instinct is to fill them as quickly as possible with the first thought that comes to my mind. “Do you have to go?”

He sets his eyes on mine but still offers no words.

“Or do you want to hang out and watch something?” I ask, hesitantly.

“Go?” His voice sounds surprised.

I hold my breath. I really don’t want to scare him off by sounding desperate, but I do want him to stay. I’m learning that when he’s around, I only think about him—about finding out who he is—and not about who I was or still am.

“There’s nothing happening over there,” he says, gesturing toward the door. “I’d much rather hang out here with you, if that’s okay.”

I say a thankful prayer and then fall into his blue eyes. I think it’s the blue that helps me to feel at ease again.

“Food Network?” I ask, in an upbeat, but still shy, kind of voice.

“Just what I was thinking,” he says.

Happy he wants to stay, I make my way to the couch and sit down on the far end of it. Jorgen follows me. I can tell he thinks about it before choosing a place near the middle.

I send him a playful, sideways grin after he sits down. He just smiles back at me. It’s not what I was expecting, and it makes me nervous and giddy all at the same time.

I reach for the remote and punch in a few numbers. A reality cooking show is on. It’s one of my favorites, but I just can’t seem to shake the fact that this guy who was only a stranger a few weeks ago is now sitting just a couple feet from me on my couch. Every once in a while, I sneak a quick peek at him, and so far I’ve noticed that his dark hair has a natural wave to it, like it’s almost curly; he has a strong five-o’clock shadow; he’s got eyelashes a girl would kill to have; and a set a lips a girl would kill to kiss. And with all his dark features, his eyes look even bluer. I feel as if I’m not supposed to be noticing these things, but I just can’t bring myself to stop.

“Do you want something to drink?”

I act as if I’m ungluing my eyes from a pure, uninterrupted stint of television watching and meet his gaze. “Uh, sure.”

He gets up and makes his way into the kitchen.
He seems curiously eager, so instead of offering to do the job myself, I just let him do it.

“There’s tea in the fridge,” I say.

I watch him stare at a set of cabinets, open them and then stare at another set.

“Next to the sink.”

“Oh,” he says, spinning around. “Got it.”

He pulls out two glasses and pours some tea into each one. Then, he walks back into the living room.

“Thanks,” I say, as he hands me a glass.

He takes a drink and then casually eyes up the couch again and eventually falls into a spot a foot closer to me than he had been before he ventured into the kitchen.

I narrow one eye, but he just simply returns my curious stare with a confident grin. It makes me laugh.

The show comes back on from a commercial break, and both our attentions go to the screen, until I hear his voice.

“You and Hannah are close?”

I look up at him. His eyes are planted on the photo of Hannah and me.

“Yeah, she’s my best friend. She has her moments, but I decided a long time ago to keep her around regardless.”

His eyes catch mine.

“That’s nice,” he says. “She’s older, right?”

“Mm hmm.” I nod my head. “Two years.”

“Married?”

I nod my head again. “She married her college sweetheart.”

There’s a thoughtful look on his face now.

“What is the rest of your family like?”

“Well,” I start, “they’re all fairly sane, for the most part.”

He
studies me for a few seconds before a defiant smile pushes its way past my lips and he lowers his head and chuckles to himself.

“That’s good,” he says.

He looks back up a moment later, and I notice his eyes fall to a spot on my leg.

“That’s one pretty crazy scar you’ve got there.”

I follow his slow gaze to my shin. I know what he’s talking about; I don’t need to see it, so I don’t know why I even bother looking. Maybe I had just hoped it would buy me some time.

My eyes eventually wander to his again. I can tell he’s waiting for my response.

“Mm hmm,” I say, nodding my head. “It’s pretty crazy all right.”

He tilts his head a little to one side. “I’m sure that one’s got a story.”

I take in a deep breath, then focus on one breath at a time.

“It does,” I admit. “And it has a moral too: Don’t do something stupid.”

His face harbors a sober expression for a few long moments before he lowers his head.

I, meanwhile, let out a soft, uneasy exhale, happy that he seems to have chosen to leave it alone, at least for now.

“ACL surgery,” he says.

I follow his fingers to the front of his knee.

“It’s not as impressive as yours, but it’s the biggest one I’ve got.”

“How?” I ask.

“Playing football. Well, practicing,” he adds. “I had a scholarship to a small school in Iowa, and I was doing a drill the summer before I was supposed to start.”

“Gosh, that’s awful. Did you lose your scholarship?”

“No. But I did lose my interest in playing football. By the time I was ready to go back, I had already decided I wanted to be a paramedic, and I had been taking classes on the side. Plus, my knee really wasn’t the same after that.”

I lower my eyes before I lock gazes with him again.

“You don’t ever wish you would have stayed?” I ask. “Tried to play, I mean.”

He shakes his head.

“No.” He seems to think about it for no more than a second. “I made the right decision at the time because at the time, I wanted it. I wanted to be a paramedic. I didn’t want to risk my knee again. I didn’t want to play scared—scared it’d tear again.”

He pauses before he continues.

“I figure we’ve only got the present in front of us—that’s all we’ve got to base a decision on. So, how can we go around faultin’ ourselves for making a decision that’s not based on what we want tomorrow? I can’t tell you what I’ll want tomorrow, and for all I know, I’ve only got today.”

His blue eyes are
fixed on mine when his lips stop moving, but I have no words. I don’t know what to say.

My stare falls to the scar on my leg, and I can’t help but think of the day I got it.

“Ada,” I hear him say a moment later.

I force my attention back to him.

“You okay?”

I notice I’m all but frozen.

“I’m fine,” I say.

His eyes burn into mine before he scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulder. It doesn’t feel weird because a hug seems like the best thing in the world right now. And he seems to know that—even though he can’t possibly know just how breakable I really feel.

“The good news is that you win,” he says, squeezing my body tighter into the muscles in his chest. His scent fills my lungs. It’s almost intoxicating.