7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Autumn isn't about basketball.

Autumn is about colored leaves, apple crisp, and corn mazes. And for those who like sports, autumn is about football, soccer, and women's volleyball.

Autumn is not about basketball.

So why, instead of frolicking in a pumpkin patch, am I making my way through the Student Activities Building to my own scheduled basketball practice? And why, instead of the adorable sweater that I was wearing earlier today when Joel and I were working on his chemistry assignment at the Coffee Loft, am I now dressed in another one of my old, oversized t-shirts and pairs of baggy shorts?

The answers to my own questions wallop me in the face: I'm here because fifty percent of the fate of the pediatric play area at University Hospital is riding on my shoulders—my non-athletic, non-basketball-playing, I-should-be-studying shoulders.

In addition to working on chemistry at the Coffee Loft earlier this afternoon, Joel and I finally had a chance to debrief about the bizarre meeting we had yesterday with Angela, Elmer, Lindi, the flock of other administrators, and just about every reporter in the Lakewood region. We hadn't been able to chat much after the meeting itself because Joel had practice and I insisted on riding the bus home rather than making him drive me back to my apartment, since doing so would have caused him to arrive late to his practice. Therefore, it wasn't until this afternoon when we had a real opportunity to talk about the meeting. Joel let me know that he had already followed up with Lindi, and this weird event we're calling a fundraiser has been officially scheduled for October thirtieth. In other words, I have only a little over two weeks to prepare to shoot a basketball as skillfully as three college athletes . . . in a hugely publicized event that's being held in the university's main basketball arena . . . all while not causing Angela Cox to ban me from the medical community forever.

Not exactly easy.

When today's tutoring session concluded, Joel had to go to another shoot-around, and I went home and changed into my pathetic excuse for basketball attire. I then came here to meet up with Joel again, this time for our first-ever shooting practice. So this is why I'm now standing outside one of the secured doors that leads into the intercollegiate wing of the building. This is also why I'm mentally flailing to figure out how, in such a short time, my orderly life has flipped upside-down.

I use my phone to text Joel that I've arrived. Soon, the door is pushed open from the inside.

"Hey, Danielle." Joel smiles as he holds open the door for me.

I blink a few times as I stare back at him. He's sweaty. His hair is disheveled. His t-shirt is wrinkled and darkened with perspiration.

Why on earth do I find this attractive?

It makes no sense. I grew up around my extremely athletic brother and all of his athletic friends, and they were perpetually sweaty from their weight lifting sessions, practices, and games. I always thought it was rather disgusting. Yet here in this moment, as I take in the view of post-workout Joel, I'm finding that he most definitely does not strike me as disgusting. Rather, the sight of him is triggering quite a different response within me.

I can't think about how sexy Joel looks, though. I must remain focused. We have a part of the hospital to save.

"Hi." I step through the doorway, undoubtedly causing the gods of intercollegiate athletics to roar with laughter that I've dared to enter the premises.

Joel allows the door to shut, and then we walk down the corridor to the practice gym where I humiliated myself the last time I invaded this place.

"So are you ready for your first practice?" Joel grins as we the gym. "Or, rather, your second practice?"

I groan. "Please don't remind me about the last time I was here."

"Why not?" Joel halts, appearing genuinely perplexed.

I face him, confused by his apparent confusion. "Considering I looked like I had been hit by a freight train, and I humiliated myself, that afternoon certainly wasn't one of my finest moments."

Joel's eyes stay on mine. "That's not how I remember things."

He watches me a beat longer before he strides over to a cart that's filled with basketballs. I remain rooted in place, commanding myself to ignore how his intense gaze just set my heart ablaze. I thankfully snap back to attention when I realize that Joel is about to bounce-pass a ball to me.

"I made sure to get some women's balls for our practice." Joel makes the pass with coordinated, smooth movements.

"Great." I catch the basketball with absolutely no smoothness or coordination whatsoever. "Thank you."

Joel gestures to the basket. "For today, I thought it would be a good idea to practice a couple of fundamental shots from each side of the hoop. This will allow you to brush up on your shooting technique before trying dunks or anything else too fancy." He finishes with another grin.

I snort a laugh. "A slam dunk. Right. I'll definitely be doing those soon." I pause, letting my demeanor grow serious. "Joel, I know we discussed this at the meeting, but I have to ask once more: are you sure that you don't want a real basketball player as your teammate? I won't be offended if you want to change the plan."

Joel steps closer to me. "I'm absolutely sure. You're the most determined woman I know, and you care about this cause. So you're the player―the person―I want at my side for this competition. Besides, as I said before, if anyone deserves credit for trying to save the pediatric play area, it's you. People should know what you're doing for the kids." His brow furrows. "However, if you don't want to do it, I completely understand."

I draw in and release a breath. "I won't deny that I'm terrified, yet I also want to be out on the court more than anything, as long as you're truly okay with the plan. I swear that I'll do everything I can not to let you down."

"There's no way you could possibly let me down." Joel reaches out and brushes my cheek with his hand. "You're the one who inspired me. You've inspired all of this."

Joel's touch unleashes exhilarating shockwaves in my body. Immediately, my brain screams that I'm not supposed to feel this way—just like I'm not supposed to think about how smart, funny, handsome, humble, and caring he is. The problem, however, is that my heart isn't listening to what my brain is saying, which is precisely why things for me are becoming more complicated by the moment.

Another second passes as we gaze into each other's eyes. Joel then clears his throat and strolls toward the hoop while stating in a frank, matter-of-fact tone:

"Let's begin with layups from the left and right side."

I exhale a breath. Basketball. I'm here for basketball.

I unglue my feet from the ground and join Joel near the hoop. Under his guidance, I shoot several layups from the right side and then from the left. I'm catastrophically ungraceful, yet with Joel's patient coaching—and with the muscle memory from all the years of shooting with my brother reawakening inside of me—the number of shots I'm making steadily increases. It's a tiny boost to my confidence, yet I'm painfully aware that shooting an uncontested, no-pressure layup is a far cry from competing against college basketball stars while the world is watching and the wellbeing of pediatric inpatients is on the line.

"You've really got the hang of it." Joel catches the ball after my last shot falls through the net. "How are you feeling?"

"Is it bad to admit that my arms are sore?" I roll my shoulders to loosen the muscles.

"It's not bad at all." Joel casually dribbles the ball to the left elbow of the key, radiating spell-binding athleticism as he does so. "Since you're doing great with layups, I suggest that the other shots we work on today be from the elbows. Getting comfortable with shooting from here will really come in handy for the competition."

"Sounds good. I need all the handy shots I can get." I whip my arms around in large circles before heading to Joel's side.

Joel gives me the ball. Once again, he shows no signs of judgment, mockery, or frustration as I shoot . . . and shoot . . . and shoot. My arms are burning. My wrists are sore. I'm only making about half of my attempts. Yet empowerment is flowing through me, and I feel bold and alive in a way that I've never felt before. This is me doing something brave and a little bit odd. This is me daring to take a risk for once in my life. It's incredible.

"You're doing great. Seriously, you're a natural." Joel motions to the right elbow of the key. "Let's do the same shot from the other side, and then we'll call it a day."

I hesitate and stay where I am.

Joel's brows pinch together as he studies me. "Would it be better if we wrapped up now and practiced from the right elbow next time?"

"No . . . not exactly." I sigh. "It's just that . . . well, as you saw the other day, I can't make a basket from the right elbow. I've never been able to make that shot. I―"

"Well, well, who do we have here?" a man behind me asks with mockery thick in his voice. "Lambert, are you practicing for the fundraiser already?"

I groan inwardly, and my stomach knots up. I remember that voice. It's Kaden's voice.

Joel's eyes shift over my shoulder. His jaw muscles tense before he adopts a laid-back smile and replies to Kaden with:

"It's for an important cause, so why not?"

"Important. Sure. Whatever." Kaden is still striding up behind me. "And is this your teammate for the competition? I've been interested in meeting her. I read in the news that . . ." he trails off when he reaches my side and his eyes land on my face. He breaks into a huge grin. "Are you serious? You, the gorgeous coffee shop girl, are the same Danielle who's Joel's teammate for the fundraiser?" He laughs. "It's great to see you again. I've been hoping I would run into you."

In the periphery of my vision, I see Joel take a step nearer to Kaden and me.

Kaden gives me another once-over with his eyes. "So in addition to being beautiful and smart, you're also athletic, huh? No wonder my mom was talking about you so much when she informed me about the competition." He slides closer and lowers his voice. "Look, even though I'm going to wreck Joel on the court at the fundraiser, let's not allow that to come between us, all right? I still hope you're going to let me take you out some time."

"Kaden." Joel inserts himself between Kaden and me just enough to force Kaden to back up. "Danielle and I are trying to practice."

"Fine, fine. I'll leave you to it." Kaden laughs again. "By the way, Lambert, I do appreciate you scheduling this fundraiser for right around when our regular basketball season kicks off. Our coaches will be watching, and it'll be another opportunity for me to prove that I should be our team's starting point guard." He smirks at Joel before facing me once more. "In the meantime, I look forward to seeing you soon."

Kaden starts whistling as he strolls out of the gym. Once he's gone, I drop my eyes to the floor. My budding confidence has vanished. No matter how much I want to try to help Joel win at the fundraiser, I shouldn't compete. I'm not good enough. Not only will I potentially cause a loss at the fundraiser, Joel may lose his starting position on the men's basketball team because I make him look bad.

Why did I think that I could do this?

My chest squeezes. My breathing gets stilted as my stomach churns.

"Danielle."

Joel's voice is firm and clear in my ear. I lift my head and realize that he's at my side.

"You look pale." Joel puts his arm across my shoulders. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Thanks, but I'm okay." I wet my lips and fake a smile. "It has just been a long day, and I'm a little worn out. I'll go outside and get some fresh air, and I'll be fine."

Joel's forehead creases. "I'll walk with you."

"It's really kind of you to offer, but you don't need to stay with me. I know you have other things to do."

"Danielle, I don't mind at all. Besides, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be by yourself right now."

"I promise that I'm all right." I fight to keep my voice steady. "Again, I appreciate your help very much, but . . . I would actually prefer to be alone."

I don't wait for him to protest before I slip his arm off my shoulders and walk away. I pick up my bag, leave the gym, and speed outside. Struck by the early evening chill, I yank my hooded sweatshirt out of my bag and throw it on. I next find my phone and put it on silent ; I need to shut out the world for a while.

I drop my phone back into my bag and resume walking fast. Am I overreacting to what happened back there in the gym? I don't know. All I know is that my life has been flung into the air, and I don't know where I'm going to land. Before I met Joel, my world was predictable, structured, and on-track. Now everything is in chaos. I'm willingly risking my future career. I'm starting to question if ignoring my heart is really what I want to do―yet if I manage to not get expelled from the medical community, I'll have no choice but to keep romance on the shelf. Most importantly, I'm falling for a man who would never be interested in me and whose path is incompatible with mine.

Seriously, what is happening to my world?

I emerge from my swirling thoughts and realize that I'm standing in front of the Student Academic Center. Seeing this favorite building of mine actually grounds me a little. It represents all that's familiar and predictable in my life. This is a building where, when I'm within its walls, I know who I am and what I should do. In this building, I'm confident. I'm successful. I'm certain. And this building is precisely where I can get my thoughts and emotions under control.

Since it's early evening, the building is closed. Only the outside lights and a few indoor auxiliary lights are illuminating the place against the darkening sky. Thankfully, however, since I'm an employee, I have after-hours badge access. I shove my hand into my bag, locate my badge, climb the stairs, unlock the front door, and go inside.

All is still. Because only a few lights are on, strange shadows fill the corners. The quiet in here feels mysterious and like it has a life of its own. In the dimness, I let my eyes trace over the soaring ceiling and the grand staircase at my right. I then look left at the wide hallway that leads to the tutoring center. Another wave of much-needed calmness washes over me. Spending time studying at one of the computers in there will be the perfect antidote to my unrest.

I head down the hall and use my badge to unlock the door that leads into the tutoring center. Propping open the door with my foot, I slip my badge into the kangaroo pocket of my sweatshirt and flip on the nearest lights. Blinking in the brightness, I use a doorstop to keep the door open, and then I sit down at a workstation. I turn on the computer while inhaling the aroma of the old books that fill the shelves. I―

A noise outside the room nearly causes me to jump out of my chair. I freeze, my ears on high alert. What was that?

A few seconds pass, and then I hear the noise again. It sounds like . . . a kitten.

A kitten?

I spring to my feet and scurry out of the room. I pause in the hallway. It isn't long before the meow-like sound hits my ears once more. Following the noise, I take a sharp left and go down another corridor, which is lit only by a dim auxiliary light. I'm about halfway down the hall when I hear the sound another time; it's coming from behind a closed door at my right.

I try to open the door, but I discover that it's locked. I pull my ID card from the pocket of my sweatshirt and scan it across the electronic reader that's beside the door. I hear the lock release. I open the door slowly; I don't want to frighten the sweet little creature that's trapped on the other side. A rush of cold, musty air hits me. I can't see anything but blackness.

"Here, kitty, kitty." I take a step forward into the dark. "Here, kitty, kitty. Come here. I . . . ARG!"

The ground drops out from under me. My stomach leaps into my throat. I reflexively fling out my arms, causing my ID badge to fly from my hand. The next thing I know, I'm crashing down a steep staircase, banging around like a feral bowling ball in the wild. I can't see anything. The potent smells of dust and mildew are flooding my nostrils. My body is smashing against the stairs as I keep toppling downward with a momentum I can't stop. My left foot gets caught on a banister. There's a sharp twisting sensation in my knee. I cry out again. The dizzying freefall continues until I finally come to an abrupt crash-landing at the bottom of the staircase.

I don't move, stunned and sprawled out on the chilly cement floor in a pretzel-like position. I hear nothing at first except for my rapid breathing, but then I hear the kitten again. The noise is loud and clear this time . . . and that's when I realize it's not a kitten at all. It's a squeak coming from what sounds like an ancient furnace that's in dire need of maintenance.

I must have plummeted down into the building's basement.

Fabulous.

I blink a few times, but I still can't see much of anything; the eerie darkness is broken up only by the faint glow that's coming from the light in the hallway at the top of the stairs. The musty odor is so strong that it's making me nauseated. I'm beginning to shiver from the bone-chilling dampness. The only sound is coming from the kitten-that's-actually-a-furnace.

I groan and push myself up into a seated position. My whole body is sore from my unceremonious fall down the stairs. With a sigh, I attempt to stand, but a stab of pain in my left knee forces me back down. I moan again and push my loose hair from my face. I'm going to have to crawl up Staircase Everest to get out of this place, which is becoming colder and creepier by the moment.

A loud creaking noise from the hallway causes me to snap my eyes back to the top of the stairs. By the faint light that's up there, I see the door slowly swinging shut as though it's under a ghostly power. I don't even have a chance to cry out in dismay before the door finishes shutting with a definitive slam, casting me into total blackness. I then hear the ominous sound of the door locking.

A shudder ripples through me. Am I locked in here?! Who on earth would design a door to lock from the inside?!

The ghosts who haunt this basement, apparently, that's who.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I sense my respirations growing shallow, but I force myself to exhale slowly. I can't freak out. I need to keep my wits about me. I have to discover a way out of this cold-and-haunted-and-undoubtedly-rat-filled basement before I'm either taken away by ghouls or I turn into a popsicle.

The cutting chill is soaking into me more with every passing second, and my knee is throbbing, but I tell myself to ignore all of it. Gritting my teeth, I slide-crawl to the base of the stairs and start using my hands to search the darkness. I need to find my badge. If I don't have that, unless I can miraculously and blindly locate an emergency release for the locked door, I'm not going to be able to escape.

I lean on one hip and use my arms to pull myself to the left of the staircase, and I resume feeling around for where my badge may have landed when it flew out of my hand as I fell. Time passes in a blur. Every movement exacerbates the pain in my knee, and I'm forced to stop frequently to rest. Gradually, the smells in here begin making my nausea almost unbearable. I'm shivering to the point that my teeth are clattering. Between the shock, the pain, the cold, and the dread that evil spirits are going to whisk me away to their gloomy underworld, I detect myself growing lightheaded. A sound like a waterfall fills my ears.

What if I touch a mouse? Or a dead body? Or . . .

I sense the rest of the color drain from my cheeks. On instinct, I lie down on the cold, disgusting floor.

I think . . . I might . . . pass out . . .

***

Why do I smell mildew?

Why do I feel like I'm inside a refrigerator?

Why can't I see anything?

I experience a split-second of petrified confusion, and then the ache in my knee jars me back to awareness, and I remember everything: I'm trapped in an eerie old basement with ghosts, rats, spiders, and a furnace that sounds like a small feline.

I grimace from the pain as I sit up. I'm numb. I want to throw up. I can't think straight.

My badge. Where is my badge?

"Danielle!"

A man's voice cuts through the blackness. I nearly scream. This is it. The ghosts are coming for me. It's the end. I . . .

Wait. I know that voice.

"Danielle!"

Joel's call―which is louder this time―echoes through the air as I hear the door at the top of the stairs get torn open. The overhead lights are thrown on, causing me to put up a hand to shield my eyes.

"Danielle!"

"I'm . . . down here." My words come out oddly scratchy.

There's a sound like thunder as Joel sprints down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Blinking away the spots from my vision, I lower my arm just as he gets to the bottom of the staircase. He's wearing team-issue sweats. My ID badge is in his grip. He has my bag slung across his body by its strap. He turns fast in my direction, and when his gaze lands upon me, his eyes get wide. He jams my badge into my bag and lunges toward me, dropping to his knees at my side.

"Do you need an ambulance?" Joel puts one arm around my waist, holding me against him.

"No." I wince as my leg throbs. "I sprained my left knee, but it's nothing serious."

"You're freezing." Joel still has me braced against him as he rests his free hand upon my cheek.

"Yes, I . . ." I trail off, flinching again when my lightheadedness worsens.

Joel keeps his left arm behind my back while quickly putting his right arm under my legs. He stands, lifting me off the floor with ease. Immersed in the warmth of his body, I drop my head against his chest as he carries me up the stairs and into the hallway.

"My car is in the faculty lot just outside," Joel states in barely more than a growl. "I'll get you home."

My eyes close. "Thank you, Joel."

"You don't need to thank me," he says. "You're my teammate, Danielle. I'm not losing you."