Chapter 4

Bella

With my eyes closed, I can feel the warmth of light streaming into the room. Dry and gritty, my lids scrape across my eyes because I hardly got any sleep last night. Not only was my casted leg in an awkward position, but I shivered the whole night because I refused to use Drew’s sheets.

Don’t get me wrong. I tried. Oh, did I try to sleep in them, but I just couldn’t keep them on.

They smelled too much like him, and I think it penetrated my brain because I started to see and feel him doing things in my dreams that if I admitted them out loud, some people might think I have a crush, and crossing that fine line between love and hate wasn’t going to happen between us. It couldn’t. Not that I wanted it to.

I kicked off his sheets around midnight because there was no way that I was going to be fantas-, I mean dreaming about Drew while desperately needing to pee. Oh, did I forget to mention that I really needed to pee for most of the night? Still do, but I’ve been too afraid to get up and walk over to the bathroom since there’s a very real possibility that I could fall over again and pee my pants. I need Drew’s help, but asking him for it is causing me more anxiety than I can handle.

My feet twitch, and my body wants to stretch, but I don’t move because Drew got up about thirty minutes ago, and when he came to check on me, I pretended to be asleep. An awkward move, I know, but honestly, I didn’t want my morning burrito breath to be the first thing he smelled this morning.

Note to self: make sure the crutches are within reach at all times from now on…And figure out where the bathroom is.

The smell of bacon and eggs drifts into the room, and my stomach growls loud enough for people in Minnesota to hear.

“I know you’re up.” His deep tenor fills the room, and my toes stop dancing. My jaw tenses, and I hold my eyes shut, because I wasn’t expecting him to talk, let alone call me out. “I can hear your discontented breathing.”

Snapping my eyes open, I pop up to find Drew wearing a tight black shirt with an apron that says, ‘Kiss The Cook’ across it. My mouth dries, and I try to gulp down any ounce of spit I have left because….Drew’s biceps. That’s all I need to say. Bulging and corded, I have the urge to squeeze them to see if they’re real. Thank God I’m too far away to do it.

Pushing my rogue thoughts aside, I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about? That’s my normal breathing.”

Holding a pan, he shakes the bacon to stop it sticking and smiles. “Nah, you forgot that I heard you sleeping in the hospital yesterday. That’s not how you sound. Not quite snores, but definitely not the dainty breathing I’m sure you think you do. You looked happy, though. Serene, even. A facial expression I’ve never seen on you.” He raises an eyebrow, watching me fidget. “What made you so bitter this morning?”

“You.” I’m snarling. I can’t help it. Drew brings out the rabid animal in me and makes it so easy to be angry around him. He places the pan back on the stove and places the food on a large plate.

My stomach rumbles, my mouth waters, but I refuse to give Drew the satisfaction of knowing that I might be looking forward to tasting his food.

He places two plates on the table. Bacon, eggs, toast, and hash browns. Man, do I want it.

“Why’s that?”

“Why’s what?”

“Why are you so bitter around me? You’ve always hated me, and I never fully understood what I did to make you so angry.” Strangely, he doesn’t seem bothered by that fact, more intrigued, and as he gets my crutches from across the room, I don’t know how to answer.

His first sin was that he could throw a ball. The rest just naturally followed, leaving me with no option but to hate him.

He offers me a hand to help me stand, and I clamp my lips shut, hoping I smell somewhat pleasant. Begrudgingly, I take it because I know I won’t be able to get off such a comfortable sofa on my own.

“Why are you so nice to me?” I retort once I’m seated at the kitchen bar, and he’s far enough away that he can’t smell my breath.

“I’m nice to everyone.” Drew takes a bite of his eggs and points his fork at me. “You…could probably use some work in that department.”

“There’s being a nice person, and then there’s saving the person you hate the most from a frostbitten death and willingly living with them for at least a week.”

“Do I hate you the most?” He muses while I make myself comfortable. I wasn’t about to tell him I’d also need his help to get off this thing. “I don’t think I hate anyone. Besides, we both know your dad would kill me if I let anything happen to that perfect little ass of yours. So no matter how much disdain I have for you, I’d still have to help you.”

Of course. It’s all about my father. It always is because every wannabe football player is mildly obsessed with him.

I push the eggs around my plate like a petulant child and Drew taps my china with his fork. “You need to eat if you want to maintain your muscles while you can’t run.”

Running. Of course. It’s what I’m known for in this school, and that’s only because everyone talks about the special privileges I got from being Coach Summers’ daughter. Compared to my teammates, I’m a terrible cross-country runner and an even worse sprinter, but I made the team here because my dad is best friends with my coach. I didn’t want to be on the team. I didn’t even want to be in this country, but my dad dragged me out of my London dream to take me along for the ride.

Sighing, I look down at the eggs and bacon. “What’s the point? My year of running is pretty much dead in the water. I doubt my rehab will be done for next either, so I might as well wallow in my own misery for a while.”

Drew blows out a breath. “Wow. I didn’t realize Coach Summers raised a quitter. I’ve known you forever at this point, and I always thought of you as strong and determined as your dad. Guess I was wrong.”

He’s trying to rile me up; I know that, but motivation is hard to muster when you have a snot-green cast literally holding you down. “I can be as determined as I want, but when you’ve got a boot, the size of California stuck on your foot, you sometimes have to face reality. There’s no way my rehab will be done in time to compete. Not that I ever win, anyway.”

Silence fills the room, and when I look at Drew, he’s staring at me in surprise. “So, that’s all it took to break you? A giant neon green boot? It’s not like you’ll have it on forever. Six weeks tops, and you’re acting like your life has ended.”

He’s right. My father didn’t raise me to be someone who quits or wallows in victimhood. He taught me to be strong and independent, which is why I’m having so much trouble admitting that Drew has been pretty much right on everything.

I stuff some scrambled eggs in my mouth, stopping myself from complimenting him, and he watches me eat with a raised brow.

Drew’s chair screeches as he pushes out the barstool and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “So, uh, there’s something we need to discuss, and I’m not sure how to bring this up.”

My eyes widen. He’s going to mention my breath, isn’t he? He’s going to humiliate me, like he always does.

My face burns and I sweat because I have no comeback. What are you supposed to say when someone tells you that your teeth need brushing?

Am I developing hives? It sure feels like it.

Clearing his throat, he drops the napkin and looks at me seriously. “I’m, uh, guessing that you’ll need some help in the shower today?”

My head shoots up so quickly that I wouldn’t be surprised if egg is dripping from my mouth. That was unexpected.

“I won’t need help from you.” I bristle with an automatic response.

His lips curve like they always do when I bite back.

“Always so aggressive, B. It’s fine if you can do it yourself. Don’t worry; I wasn’t offering to wipe your ass or anything. I was just offering you my bathroom since I have a walk-in shower, and it might be easier than the main one down here with your boot.” His knee knocks mine under the counter in a friendly gesture, one that I have a hard time accepting.

“I’ll be fine with the main shower. I’d rather not go into your room, thanks. Knowing you, you’ll probably lock me in there and steam me to death or something.”

Drew smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t give me ideas, B. But that’s not a problem. Good luck with showering in the tub.”

“Don’t need it. I’ll be fine.”

I can do this.

I can do this.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and blow out a long, exasperated breath. Sitting on the edge of the bath, I let the cool tub calm my heated skin. After spending thirty minutes and exerting a bucket's worth of sweat to get this baggy over my cast, I’m almost too tired to actually take this shower, but I need one, and the idea of the hot water flowing over my aching muscles sounds nice.

After a few more breaths, I hop onto my good foot and stare at the bathtub. The lip of the bath comes up to my knees, and I’m deeply regretting rejecting Drew’s offer. I’m just too stubborn for my own good sometimes.

“Come on, Bella,” I whisper to myself. “You’re athletic and young. You can get into this damn tub.” Shaking my hands and neck, I hold on to the towel rail at the back of the bathtub cubicle and swing my broken foot over the tub, hoping for the best.

“Fuck,” I scream, grabbing onto the shower curtain because I didn’t consider the weight of the cast, and lose my balance. Ring by ring, the curtain fails to hold me up, and I fall to my slow and painful demise.

My head bangs against the faucet, and a searing, sharp pain shoots through my brain. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

The shower pole comes along with the curtain, falling right between my legs, so close to my vagina that I’m lucky it’s still there.

With my breath caught in my throat, a sprinkling of water from the shower head hits my face, and even though there is a very real possibility that I could drown, I don’t move. Mainly because I can’t. The weight of the cast is too heavy, and I’m afraid I might be suffering from a mild concussion.

With all the strength I can muster, I throw the shower pole out of the bath, leaving my non-broken leg dangling out of the tub while my casted one is still stuck inside.

I look from the cast to the bath ledge, mentally calculating how much strength I need to get out of here.

One breath. Two breaths and three internal pep talks later, I’m ready to try to get out of this mess.

Just as I lift my leg, the cool whoosh of the door draws my attention.

“Are you okay?”

No. No. No.

My blood turns cold.

This can’t be happening.

The door bangs open, and I hear his feet stop on the tile. I know he’s here and looking, without having to open my eyes.

“I’M NAKED, DREW!” I scream, trying to cover myself with the shower curtain, but failing miserably because it’s see-through. So despite covering myself, he can see everything – it’s just smushed against the plastic fabric.

The cool breeze hits my center, and I try to close my legs, but it’s futile. They’re wide open, and I’m on display like I’m a piece of meat at the butchers.

Drew throws a fluffy white towel in my direction, which lands directly on my face. “I’m sorry,” he grits while I get waterboarded for my crimes against football. “It sounded like you were trying to commit suicide in here, and if I’m being honest, I’m still not sure if you are.”

Grunting, I remove the wet towel from my face and push the shower curtain aside. Death might be a good option right now. It would save me the embarrassment of speaking to Drew after this. In all his haste, he seems to have at least turned around to offer me some privacy. “If I were going to kill myself, I would have done it in a better place than your guest bathroom.”

Drew peeks over his shoulder. “Are you decent yet?”

“As decent as I’ll ever be.” With a wet towel draped over my body, I’ve come to the pitiful conclusion that the only way I’m getting out of this bath alive is if Drew gets me out of it.

“Let me help.” When he turns, he turns the shower off, looking anywhere but at me. His cheeks are a little flushed, so at least I’m not the only one who’s embarrassed about his little intrusion.

I open my arms to him, eagerly awaiting his help to end this whole thing. Drew places his hands on my bare back and legs, and I feel a little queasy, thinking about everything he just saw, but he continues to act as though nothing happened. Something I’ll be forever thankful for, even if I never tell him.

Instead of dropping me on the bathroom floor, Drew walks to his bedroom and places me on his bed. Still dripping, my teeth chatter as he grabs a few more towels from his bathroom to cover me. Adding layer upon layer, I’m starting to think he’s trying to ensure he’ll never accidentally see my naked body again.

Drew raises a hand to my face and gently rubs his thumb against my forehead.

“Looks like you’re going to get another bruise.” His voice is delicate as he inspects the skin, and I hate that, yet again, I need his help. “Are you okay, otherwise? You’re only seeing one of me, right?” His brown eyes dip to connect with mine while his thumb gently rubs against my wet skin.

“Yeah,” I husk out, still feeling shivery from the water.

“Good.” He drops some clothes next to me in a haphazard pile because he wants to get out of the room as fast as possible. “Here, you can put these on. I’ll wait just outside for you.”

Without another word, he walks out of the room, leaving me looking like a drowned rat with enough towels to soak up a swimming pool.

The gray walls of Drew’s room cave in on me. I’ve never been in his room before, and I certainly didn’t expect my first encounter to be sitting on his bed, soaking wet, while I put his clothes on. This whole scenario feels like a low-rent porno, and I should laugh at how ridiculous it is, but I can’t, because I’m still in here. This is my reality, and I have to accept that I just flashed my arch-nemesis and am now sitting in his room. A room that feels too personal. Too much like I’m reading his diary and discovering every little secret about him.

Photos from high school litter his desk, and a few newspaper articles from his time here are pinned to the wall. Standing, I try to focus on changing because I want to get out of here as fast as I can, but as I drop the wet towel and wrap myself in a dry one, a couple of pictures glare at me, making me bite down on my tongue.

Clear as day, there are two sickeningly sweet pictures of Drew and Brianna nestled among the photos.

“Not dating, my ass,” I mumble, taking a closer look. She’s kissing his cheek in one and he’s got his arm draped over her chair in the other. My stomach rolls because they remind me of the stupid campus brochure that I see all too often. Retching a little, I flick the photos hard enough for them to fall to the floor.

“Woops,” I whisper, turning away with a satisfied smirk.

As I turn to grab another towel, a framed photo by the side of Drew’s bed catches my eye because it’s the only one there. I can’t help it. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pick up the black frame, instantly feeling warm just looking at the photo. Drew can’t be more than eight years old in this photo as he beams at the camera, proudly showcasing a fish he caught. There’s no doubt that his father is next to him with his arm slung around his shoulder, looking just as proud. With the same dimples and eyes, Drew’s a spitting image of him.

All I know is that Drew’s dad isn’t in the picture. He never came to any of the dinners I was forced to attend, so I have no idea what happened, and I wasn’t exactly close enough to him to ask. Drew paces outside, making me immediately put the frame down, turning to get ready.

I curse myself when I put his large hoodie on, annoyed that his scent brings me a sense of calm.

Why does he have to smell so good?

Pulling the sweatshirt down and poking my head through, I gasp when I open my eyes.

“No.” I hobble closer to the mirror, catching sight of myself for the first time. My blonde tresses spill in every direction, and there are small, curtain-ring-shaped bruises scattered across my face. I look like I’ve fallen out of a hedge backward and then decided to swim in a desecrated lake. My hair is such a mess, I can almost feel it clumping together with every head shake.

My stomach drops and I find it a little harder to breathe.

Drew saw me like this.

I look worse than ever, and he saw me looking like this while my cooch was out?

I swallow down the humiliation, and turn away. Looking at myself isn’t helping anything.

But then I try to shrug it off, because I shouldn’t care about what Drew thinks. I already know he only dates perfection, so why am I worried that he walked in on me looking like I’ve lived in a forest for most of my life?

Groaning, I desperately try to finger-brush my hair, but it’s no use. The knots are getting worse, and the only way I’m going to get rid of them is with some heavy conditioning. I need to get to my bag, but it’s outside by the couch, and Drew’s out there waiting to address my nakedness.

Maybe dying in the shower wouldn’t have been that bad. It would have at least saved me from the awkward conversation that awaits me on the other side of the door.

After ten minutes of stalling, I slowly stumble into the hall, looking like a newborn giraffe as I balance on one leg and try to keep the pressure off the other. I could curse Drew for leaving my crutches in the bathroom, but it really wasn’t his fault. We were both dazed and confused.

I barely make it two steps outside before seeing Drew sitting against the opposite door, holding both sides of his baseball cap and staring at the blank wall. His face is pale, and his pupils are dilated. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he just found out Brianna’s pregnant, and he’s the father.

“Drew?” I barely whisper, but that noise alone jolts him out of his thoughts, and he stands, giving me a small, placid smile. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he drawls out as he stands. He coughs before wiping his hands off on the back of his jeans. “Are you okay?” he asks as though we’ve just had brunch and he didn’t just see everything my body had to offer. His eyes are blank, and he’s staring at me like I’m nothing. Admittedly, I look worse than a soggy paper bag, but I didn’t think it was so bad that he couldn’t even acknowledge my existence.

“Everything’s fine,” I sing sarcastically. I need some space, which is hard to find in this house. Using the hallway walls to hold me up, I make my way to the living room. However, that doesn’t last long in Drew’s company. Ever the gentleman, he steps in front of me, bends his knees, and opens his arms in an offering.

Reluctantly, I fall into them, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and tilting my head in the opposite direction because I still haven’t brushed my teeth. He doesn't complain that he essentially has to drag me to the sofa like a sack of potatoes, and once he drops me on the familiar cushion, he continues to avoid eye contact.

“I checked the weather, and there’s a break in the blizzard this afternoon, so I’m going out to see if any of the stores are open and get a few things. Do you need anything?”

Looking out the window, my brows crease in confusion. He’s not serious, is he? Yeah, the snow has stopped for now, but it looks like there’s at least six inches of new ice out there.

“Are you sure you should be going out in this? The roads don’t look great.”

His brown eyes finally connect with mine, and a small smile curves on his lips. “Careful, Sunshine. You might be mistaken for someone who cares.”

“Sunshine? That’s not it,” I sass back. “And although I may be vengeful, I don’t wish death upon you.” I leave out that the main reason for my concern is that I need someone to help me, and he’s all I’ve got.

“How kind. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be fine. Have you seen the size of the wheels on my car?” he jokes, trying to rid the room of the awkward tension that now fills it. He’s going to make me beg him to stay, isn’t he?

“Still. It’s bad out there.”

Not taking my concern seriously, he shoves on a pair of snow boots and a jacket. “Which is exactly why I need to go now. Otherwise, I won’t be able to get back. Is there anything you want in particular?”

“You back in one piece.”

“I’m flattered, Sunshine.”

“Only because I might need you to rescue me from the shower again.” I bring it up, hoping we can have some kind of conversation about it just to clear the air, but he doesn’t flinch. He just zips his jacket up, letting the sound do all the talking.

Zip it.

“Sure,” he drawls out, heading to the door. “Feel free to play some video games if you’re bored with all the sports. We’ve got a lot of different games to choose from, but you might want to stay away from World of Warcraft .” He winks, grabbing his keys as he walks to the door without another glance. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay.” I draw my lips into my mouth because even though I’m sitting here wearing Drew’s clothes, sitting in his house, eating his food, and he’s risking his life for me now, I’m still too stubborn to say thank you.

Drew gives me one final look over his shoulder and nods. When he shuts the door, all I’m left with is a deafening silence and knotted hair.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Drew’s left me confused and embarrassed, choosing almost certain death over talking to me about my vagina and smushy boobs. That little fact should make me feel relieved because it’s not exactly something I wanted to talk about, but it almost feels worse now that the option’s been taken away.

Rummaging through my bag, I find all my toiletries and crawl to the guest bathroom, aka the scene of the crime. At least with him gone, I can pretend that nothing weird happened between us. Oh, and fix my hair.