Dream of You (40 page)

             
“I’m fantastic, Miss Abby.” Paige, in her pink and black monstrosity of a dress that looked like a ballerina costume, bent to give Abigail the most gentle of hugs and pressed a kiss to her cheek just below her oxygen tube.

             
Knitting forgotten in her lap, Abigail reached for Ellie, and she rested her face against her grandmother’s hair as she gathered her up in a careful hug, a lump forming in her throat.

             
“You managed with the family?” Abigail asked in her ear, and the lump got stuck when she tried to swallow.

             
“Barely.” Ellie pulled back and sank down into one of the two vinyl chairs catty-corner from Abigail’s, Paige flopping into the other. She offered a half-hearted smile. “It’s always interesting.”

             
Abigail made a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat. “My son is a lot of things,” she said of Stephen, “but ‘interesting’ isn’t one of them.”

             
No argument here
.

             
“It’s just you girls?” she asked, and that was when Ellie remembered, like she’d been kicked in the stomach, that she’d promised to bring Jordan. “I thought I was supposed to meet this new boyfriend of yours.”

             
When Ellie could, she inhaled, and the breath came down into shaking lungs. She pressed her lips together and batted her lashes and tried not to think about the cords standing out in Jordan’s neck when he’d exploded right in the middle of the street. “He didn’t come,” she said when she could, exhaling in a rush. Wanting to think of anything besides the implosion of all her newborn hopes and dreams that were centered around her track star, she reached into the deep pocket of her coat and came out with the tin of Belgian chocolate she’d brought. “Here.” She passed it to Abigail with a sad attempt at a smile. “I know they don’t serve real chocolate here.”

             
“Oh, wonderful. Oh, thank you, sweetheart.” Abigail tucked it under her sweater as if it were contraband. She beamed at both of them. “So tell me about what you’ve been up to. How’s the house? Is it serving you well?”

             
“Absolutely it is,” Paige said. “That house is
amazing
. You should see what we’ve been cooking in your kitchen.” Her phone, and all her cake photos, came out to be
oohed
and
ahhed
over.

             
Ellie sat fiddling with the hem of her dress, staring at the pattern of yellow dots on the industrial carpet under her boots. The more she tried not to think about Jordan, the more destructive he became: crashing through her brain, taking all his
fuck
s and snarls and breaking apart her fragile composure.

             
“Ellie,” Abigail said, her voice a gentle, grandmotherly stroke against her cheek. “What’s the matter, honey? You look so upset.”

             
Busted, she glanced to Paige, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a fingertip. Paige gave her a nod and slid out of her chair.

             
“I think I’m gonna go see if that Coke machine down the hall still works,” she said, and left them alone together.

             
Relatively alone
, because there were almost a dozen elderly residents talking and coughing and dozing around them. Ellie didn’t want to break apart in front of them, anyone really, but when she picked up her head and met her grandmother’s timelessly understanding gaze, her eyes clouded over and her voice caught. “Grammy, it was awful,” she admitted and felt the tears slip loose and start down her cheeks. She dashed at them with the back of her hand. “I took Jordan to dinner and Mom and Dad and Nikki and Kyle…they were
horrible
to him.” She closed her eyes and saw the wind pulling the short ends of his hair across his forehead, saw how completely wounded his sea foam eyes had been under the building gray clouds. “Now he hates me,” she said, and knew it was true. “Things were so good…” Before Kyle had gone to Coach Vaughn; before she’d whispered
yes
at Jordan’s urging and gone to her knees in front of him. “And now he hates me.”

             
“Oh, sweetheart,” Abigail clucked. “No one could hate you. That’s not possible.”

             
She shook her head. “You didn’t hear them…didn’t see them…”

             
“Ellie, if he cares for you, then he won’t care what your family says to him.”

             
“Maybe that’s the problem though. Maybe he doesn’t care about me at all.”
And never did
, she thought miserably. “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “I didn’t want to bring my problems to you.”

             
Abigail tilted her head, her wrinkled face puckered up with worry. “I’m so sorry they did that to you,” she said in earnest. “I’m afraid I raised my little boy...well…and then your mother…” She clucked against the inside of her cheek.

             
“It’s not your fault,” Ellie assured. “I just disappoint them is all.”

             
“Noelle.” Abigail’s tone become more stern than she looked capable. “Look at me.”

             
She did.

             
“You are not a disappointment to anyone, young lady. You are the only one of the bunch worth being proud of.”

             
Ellie wanted to smile, but another tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away instead.

             
“If that boy doesn’t know what kind of gem you are, then he’s
stupid
. Pardon me saying so, but he is. You can tell him I said it, too.”

             
The corners of her mouth lifted just the slightest – her whole face felt stiff. “Thanks, Grammy.”

**

              The text came in just after eleven. Tanked-up, showered, fuzzy-headed and mourning his twice in a lifetime misjudgment of women, Jordan had his head shoved under his pillow, floating in an alcohol induced fever dream, when he heard his phone chime over on his nightstand.

             
He knew it was Ellie, just like he knew he didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit explanation she had to feed him. He propped up on his elbows and stared at the glowing screen of his iPhone from beneath his pillow for a long, wavering second. Finally, he snatched it up and pulled it beneath his makeshift cave, the pocket of sheet and pillowcase turning phosphorescent blue as he opened up the message and started to read.

             
The girl had a way with words, which was why he’d bought her innocent routine as long as he had. She’d used four texts to hash out her latest bit of fiction.

             
Jordan. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for my family’s behavior. They are emotionally and behaviorally challenged in every sense of the word. I don’t understand how they could mistreat someone I love. Please call me or come by. Please. I want to talk to you. I’m so sorry about Kyle endangering your job. I’ll help in any way I can. Please. Love, Ellie.

             
Love. There it was again. Praise Jesus he didn’t love her. Thank God he wasn’t permanently attached. It was the biggest relief in the world that he didn’t keep seeing her - her hair fanning out behind her - as she cried on the curb where he’d left her. How lucky he was to have only soaked his brain in vodka for the fun of it.

             
Yeah.

             
He jacked up on his arms, pillow sliding off his head, and chucked his phone across the room. It landed on the carpet with a soft
thump
and somehow, that made him feel better.

32

             
F
irst thing Monday morning, all three of Jordan’s runners were waiting for him outside his office door, loitering in the hall with the sort of restless, nail-chewing nervous energy that instantly annoyed him. “What’s up, guys?” he asked without interest as he fished his keys out of the pocket of his shorts.

             
“You’re about to go viral on Facebook, that’s what’s up,” Anton supplied, a grim non-smile tugging at his mouth.

             
Jordan paused, key hovering in front of the lock, dread like cold water pouring over him. “What are you talking about?” he asked, even though he already knew.

             
“We’ll show you.”

             
Lane got on the computer and Jordan folded his arms over his chest as he stood behind the chair, mentally cursing social media. He hadn’t been active on any such site for years, but other people used it. More importantly, Kyle used it.

             
The picture was not damaging in and of itself; at the Graysons’ dining room table, bathed in Thanksgiving’s gloomy light, Jordan stared at his plate, and Ellie had her lips pressed together, looking very much like she was trying not to cry. They weren’t touching. No heat, no spark, no happiness…nothing shimmered between them, no unseen energy that leapt off the photograph. But the simple act of existing together in the same picture was suspect. And then there was Kyle’s caption.

             
My ex gettin some from her prof. way 2 B a slut yo!

             
“And Kyle said he sent a friend request to Coach Vaughn, so he’ll probably see this,” Jonathan said.

             
Jordan sighed and raked a hand back through his hair. “I’m so fired.”

             
All three of them turned to face him, the chair creaking as Lane swiveled, all of their faces glum. Anton thumped Lane in the arm and earned a scowl. “This is your fault, douche. Kyle’s your friend.”

             
“How was I supposed to know all this was gonna happen? It’s not like we’re best friends – we just met this semester.”

             
“You didn’t know Ellie was his ex?” Jordan asked, and watched him squirm.

             
“No.” He shook his blonde, pretty head. “I just thought, well…”

             
“That you had some gossip for you girls to talk about.”

             
“Yeah.” He blushed. “I had no idea he knew Ellie till it was too late. I swear, Coach.”

             
“You can not get fired,” Jonathan said in earnest. “Dude, we go to Illinois
next week
. You’ve got to be there.”

             
Under all his simmering layers of
oh shit
, Jordan found an internal smile somewhere. “I guess that’s flattering.”

             
“Flattering?” Anton said with a snort. “You can outrun all of us and you hooked it up with a hot freshman. That’s
badass
.”

             
“Vaughn isn’t the one who got our times up,” Lane said. “We don’t want you to leave, Coach.”

             
The love was good to hear…even if it was waaay too late. Jordan shrugged. “Well, let this be a lesson to you: if you ever get into coaching, don’t date your students. Because right now, I’ve got no options.”

             
They shared questioning glances with one another, some silent communication passing through nods and eyebrow lifts.

             
“What?” Jordan asked.

             
“Maybe we can do something,” Lane said.

             
“Maybe?”

             
“We could - ” Anton started, and was cut off by a knock against the partially open office door.

             
Jordan felt his mood go from sour to rancid when he saw Paige, as pink and black as always, in his doorway, her expression absolutely black with anger.

             
“Guys - ” he said, and they were all on their feet at once.

             
“We’ll figure it out,” Anton said in an undertone as he passed.

             
Paige stood rooted in place, the guys having to dodge around her. When they were gone, only then did she step into the office, heeling the door shut with one of her biker boots. The click of the latch sounded ominous, if such a thing could be true.

             
“Did she send you to beat me up?” he asked, and couldn’t find a trace of kindness to put into his voice.

             
Paige braced her feet apart on the floor, folded her scrawny arms, and made a comical attempt at puffing herself up. If she’d been six feet tall, and a man, the flinty sheen in her blue eyes would have been something to get nervous about. But as it was, she just looked a touch, well, touched. “Are you the biggest idiot alive?” she asked. “I mean,
are you
? Do you not remember that conversation we had?”

             
“Sorry,” he deadpanned. “Guess I never felt confident in your ability to ‘hurt’ me.”

             
Her eyes narrowed to indignant slits. She leaned forward at the waist, doing her best to loom. “Did you or did you not get a message from Ellie?” She bit off each word, teeth clicking.

             
He shrugged.

             
“Did you respond to it? Or did you ignore her?”

             
“I - ”

             
“I’m pretty sure you ignored her,” she went on, scowling, “because I know my very best friend didn’t cry all weekend because you were
sweet
to her.”

             
In a back corner of his mind, he saw Ellie curled up on top of her bed, tear-stained and heartbroken. At least, that was the Ellie he’d known. He couldn’t say how the
real
Ellie had handled things, only that this My Little Pony bitch was turning a shit day even shittier.

             
“Look, I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he said, “and I’m about ten minutes away from getting fired. So show yourself out.” He sat down behind his desk, dismissing her; but of course, she wouldn’t be dismissed.

             
Paige charged up to his desk, hands on her hips, and glared at him over the top of his computer screen. “I’m pretty sure I hate you.”

             
“It’s mutual.”

             
“But you don’t get to hate El,” she said fiercely. “The things she didn’t tell you – the things you
need
to know – are not dirty secrets. She was afraid she’d scare you off. And even though she’s
way
too damn good for you, she didn’t want you to think she was some kind of freakshow.”

             
“She’s only trying to get knocked up and get me canned. Nothing freakshow about that,” he challenged, and watched Paige bow up like a spitting cobra.

             
“She’s not trying to get knocked up, you idiot!”

             
“I’m gonna remind you that I’m your professor.”

             
“And I’m gonna remind you that you’re a stupid asshole!” she nearly shouted. “How could you even
think
that about her? Like, what, she’s trying to trap you or something? You don’t know
anything
!”

             
“She - ”

             
“She’s sick,” Paige said, and the rest of Jordan’s words got stuck in his throat.

             
He swallowed. “What?”

             
Paige inhaled and exhaled in an exaggerated rush, eyes rolling. “Okay, she’s not
sick
sick, not yet anyway, but she doesn’t have, like, infinite time if she wants to have kids.”

             
He swallowed again, suddenly wishing he had something to drink. “What’s wrong with her?”

             
“You won’t
catch it
, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said, nose wrinkled in disgust. “El’s had abnormal pap smears since she was sixteen. I don’t know all the science-y stuff, but she’s got, like, pre-cancerous cell growth, or something.”

             
His pulse was a slow, sluggish thump through the veins of his ears. “She has
cancer
?”

             
“No. God, did you not just listen to me? She doesn’t have it. Not yet. But the doctor thinks she could end up with cervical cancer. I don’t even know how they can say something like that, but he did. Told her that shit in high school. And you know what her super-great boyfriend did to her?” she sneered. “Kyle cheated on her – with every damn girl in school – and with her
little sister
. That douchebag shows up at her family Christmas every year with Nikki and her psycho parents
love
him. They blame Ellie for what went wrong with her and Kyle.”

             
She shook her head, pink ponytail flipping over her shoulder. “Nikki is a sadistic bitch. Her mother is full-blown, off-the-rails
insane
, and her Dad’s a stupid old asshole. They’ve got El thinking she’s not good enough – not for anything. She’s got her sick grandmother and she’s got me, and that’s it.”

             
“I’m good to the people who are good to me. That’s a short list most the time.”
That’s what Ellie had said the first morning he’d awakened in her bed.

             
“Oh, wait,” Paige said, sugary sweet fake smile cutting across her face. “Poor El, she was starting to think she had you too, but of course, typical asshole, you just wanted some tits and ass.”

             
“Hey,” he started, scowling, “I went in there - ”

             
“And what, her mommy was mean to you? Boo fucking hoo! They’re that terrible to her every day of her life. She didn’t take you so they’d attack you,” she hissed, leaning low over his computer screen. “She took you ‘cause for some crazy reason, she loves you, and she thought you might hold her hand and tell her it was okay when the whole insane bunch of them came down on her.”

             
Her hand, clammy and quivering, fumbling back, reaching for his.
“Jordie,”
she’d said on the front porch.

             
“Ellie doesn’t do one night stands,” Paige said, and gathered a breath like she was winding up to something. “I have tried and tried to get her to date more, but she’s so afraid of not being enough for somebody…and then
you
come along and she’s so into you she’s afraid to tell you about her almost-cancer and her shitty family because, get this, she doesn’t want to look clingy and scare you off.

             
“And stupid me,” she went on, “I actually thought that,
maybe
, you weren’t just some skeevy prof looking to get his dick wet with a student.”

             
“I - ”

             
“I don’t care what you have to say!” she snapped. “You hurt
my friend
. She’s the
only
reason I finished high school, the
only
reason I’m in college, the
only
reason I’m getting my bakery off the ground.” Her eyes were shiny as if, maybe, if she kept at it like this, tears would come. “And you screamed at her in the middle of the street! I hate you for that, you jackass. Burn in hell!”

             
And with a dramatic sweep of pink hair and pink skirt, she stomped out, the buckles on her biker boots rattling, and slammed the door behind her.

**

              Jordan thought he’d never been more engaging during his lectures that day. Knowing it was his final chance to teach, feeling the bittersweet weight, for the first time, of what his affair had cost him, left him more appreciative of the classroom, the overhead projector and the desks full of dozing students than ever before. No, he didn’t have Olympic medals and crowning achievements, but he had a job, a good salary, more money than he’d ever hoped to make…and it was already gone. Thrown away on a girl who was destined to have cancer.

             
Cancer
. The word was eating holes through his brain that he refused to label as guilt and refused to dwell on.

             
Vaughn came at ten till four, when he was done for the day and scrolling through his grade books on the computer in his office, kissing his paycheck goodbye. The head track coach propped a shoulder in the open threshold (Jordan was really starting to hate his open door policy) and rapped his knuckles against the jamb. “Can I have a second, Coach Walker?”