Round 8

O n Saturday morning, I was bundled on the couch when Patrick arrived holding two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag. He walked in wearing a pair of fitted blue jeans and the whitest, brightest T-shirt I had ever seen—I couldn’t look directly at it without squinting.

He slipped into the kitchen and turned the oven on before making his way to me.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I would hope so,” I replied, searching for the urge to be close to him and coming up empty.

He leaned down and kissed me, pulling away only long enough to mumble his apologies. Over and over. It was something we’d rehearsed before.

I’m sorry , he’d say.

I know , I’d reply.

He walked back to the kitchen and put the croissants in the oven.

“It says to bake them for ten minutes.” He smiled, his eyes glinting as he neared me. “We could do a lot in ten minutes.”

Strange panic built in my core, and I let out a nervous giggle. But there wasn’t enough time to dissect those feelings before his mouth crashed against mine and he nudged me backward, lowering himself onto me.

This is fine. It’s okay. This is what I wanted.

He unwrapped the blanket I held around myself and slid his hand beneath my shirt. I closed my eyes, waiting for euphoria to envelop me, for my skin to tingle, but it didn’t.

I tried focusing on his warm body, on his fresh smell. I focused on the feeling of his skin against mine, but it didn’t help. All I felt was the pain in my ankle.

And he knew.

I pushed my mouth against his, and it didn’t fit. Had the shape of his lips changed in the time away?

“Stop,” I said, before we started.

“Are you okay?” Patrick recoiled, pushing himself up and blowing out a long breath. Before he could say anything else, the smell of burning croissants called his attention, and he rushed to the kitchen, curse words following him.

I scrambled upright, and a pinch whirred up from my ankle to my knee.

“I’ll order some breakfast,” he said from the kitchen, his hands covering his face.

“It’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

Walking back toward the couch, he sat beside me in silence. A silence that used to be comfortable was now tense with unasked questions, holding answers neither of us wanted.

“I’ve ruined this, haven’t I?” His soft green eyes pleaded for reassurance.

“I’m just stressed.” I gestured to my foot. “And in a bit of pain.”

He kissed me again, and I melted into the memories of our kisses—but not this one. This one made it hard to believe my body had ever wanted his touch. This one had me wondering whether my stomach still knew how to flutter.

Maybe there was something wrong with me.

“I’m gonna fix this.” He pulled away from the kiss. “You come first, work is second.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’d be happy with being tied for first place.”

A laugh escaped him. His hand slipped into mine, and he made a promise for each of my fingers. Promises I knew he’d try to keep, one of which included attending game nights—as an observer, of course.

“You’ve already got our entire lives planned out. It’ll be okay,” he said.

“I know,” I replied, but even I didn’t believe me.

As soon as Patrick left, I grabbed my phone and called the only person who might understand. Claire answered on the second attempt and agreed to meet me at the Arcade Café downtown.

By the time the bright neon lights of the café came into view, the painkillers had kicked in and my ankle was barely bothering me. I took the corner table because it had a full view of the five arcade machines they’d become known for: Pac-Man, Snow Bros, Donkey Kong, Space Invaders, and my personal favorite, Puzzle Bobble, which was currently occupied by a couple of kids.

Claire stepped inside and adjusted the pink scarf around her neck. Her beige knitted cardigan swung open, revealing a white blouse. Spotting me, her face burst into a soft smile, and knowing how much I enjoyed her rare hugs, she pulled me in for a tight squeeze.

“This place hasn’t changed in years.” She glanced around before scooching into the corner seat.

“Why fix something that isn’t broken?” Mac, the café owner, said as he approached us to take our orders, even though he already knew what they’d be.

Mac opened this café years ago. He never put a sign on the front door, so it had become known as the Arcade Café with the absolute best croissants and coffee in town.

“Hi,” Claire and I greeted him together.

With Mac’s tan skin, floofy hair, and inviting smile, every person that stepped into this place stared at him, unsure whether they were attracted to him or wanted to be him. And he had the most wonderful personality to complement it.

“What are we here for today, ladies?” he asked.

“Cappuccinos, please,” I said.

As soon as he was out of sight, Claire sighed. “I don’t have much time. Dean’s at work so I called my mom, and she’s watching Hannah while she naps, and that’ll probably last around two hours or so. And the longer I keep my mom at my place, the more she’ll clean and discover the frumpled-up clothing I shoved into the closet before she arrived.” Her face cracked into a smile.

I couldn’t help but mimic her. “Your mom reminds me of Rinnia,” I said, referring to the busybody mother in the Haunted Thrones series we were both obsessed with. Claire was to blame for the five never-ending fantasy series I was hooked on.

She burst out laughing, much as I’d hoped.

“Have you finished reading the latest one?” Her brown eyes were wide, and her fingers drummed excitedly on the table.

I shook my head and slammed my ears shut. “Don’t say a word!”

Our cappuccinos arrived, and Claire pursed her lips up on one side, her brown eyes soft. “So, would you rather have coffee or tell me what’s going on?”

I lifted my mug to my lips, attempting to stall what was going to come next.

“You don’t have to,” she added, blowing over her own cup. “We could enjoy our drinks, order dessert, and I’ll watch you play Puzzle Bobble.”

The tension across my shoulders lifted with her words, and for the next few minutes, that was what we did with a series of silly Would You Rather questions. When the two people at the table next to us left, they dragged their kids along with them, and my game was free. I sprinted toward the Puzzle Bobble machine with Claire on my heels.

I dropped a coin into the slot, and with my attention on the colorful balls, a moment of confidence surfaced. “The other day you mentioned going through a, uhm… dry spell.”

“Mm-hmm,” was all she said.

“How did you, uhh… fix it?” I swallowed hard, releasing a blue ball against another. “You don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry. I’ve been going through… something.” Everything that had happened—and hadn’t—spilled out of my mouth, all while I progressed four rounds.

When I finally stopped talking, Claire pulled me in for a side hug, her head only a few inches higher than mine. “I hate that you’re going through this.”

I blew out a long breath and turned my attention back to the game. “I don’t know what to do. He kissed me but I felt… I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.”

“Speaking from experience here… you can’t force it.”

The heartache in her voice tore through me. When our friendship began, Dean was everywhere she was, but over the last couple years I had barely seen him.

“Oh,” I breathed, aware that it took a lot out of her to open up. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“I guarantee it’s worse than you think. Between having Hannah in our bed and the hospital needing him all the time, it’s almost impossible.” She blew out a long breath. “But it’s not that strange. I’ve spoken to other people. Unfortunately for you, Shaun and Neema are terrible examples. They’re like rabbits.”

This got a loud squawk of laughter out of me, and a few people turned to look at us. I covered my mouth with my hand.

“I know for a fact that Lincoln hasn’t been with anyone in forever,” she whispered.

“What about the girl he games with online?” I said, turning my focus back to the screen.

“They haven’t met.”

“It’s been years!” I said, my jaw dropping.

Claire only shrugged. “You know Lincoln. He’s… shy.” A small smile crept onto her face. “He let you call him Link for four months before you found out that wasn’t his name.”

“He should have corrected me,” I said, mortified at how I’d misheard him when we’d first met. Between the volume and depth of his voice, it was sometimes hard to hear him.

“It’s nice to be able to talk about this,” Claire said, looking up at the exposed trusses. “Marriage isn’t always easy, and I didn’t want to be a bummer when Neema and Shaun are so excited about their wedding.” She fiddled with the gold band on her ring finger.

“Do you still love him?” I asked, thinking about how my mother always asked me.

Claire nodded before I could get the words out, a sparkle returning to her eyes.

The scoreboard lit up the screen, and Claire giggled.

W.A. still topped the chart, with R.J. in second place. I’d had the best score for months until I bragged about it to William. After that, he came here and topped me. I’d been trying to beat him ever since. I wasn’t even getting close.

The mere thought of William made my stomach twist, or flutter, or clench.

“Uhm…” I faced my friend. “Would you rather I tell you a secret and you can’t tell anyone, or would you rather I keep it to myself?”

She quirked a brow. “Not even Neema?”

“Neema will tell Shaun, and Shaun will freak out even though he shouldn’t… I mean, he’ll hit on anything that moves. We know that so it’s not even a big deal,” I rambled.

“‘He’ as in William?” Her eyes went so wide that the whites were visible all around the irises. “ William hit on you?”

My heart stilled at hearing it out loud.

“No. He just… ugh.” I groaned, my cheeks heating like a flame. “There was a moment… I guess? I don’t know.”

“I want details. I’ve always wanted to know what it is about him that has women following him around. Immerse me in this moment. Okay? Start at the beginning.”

I slammed restart on the screen. I would need another game for this.