17 - You Always Be

17

You Always Will Be

" P lease get me Isaiah."

The padded table is cool beneath my back, and a cool towel rests on my forehead. All I can do is stare at the plain, white ceiling above me.

"Ro," Sophia muses gently, hand on my shoulder, "are you sure?"

Kian and the kids are standing by the door, my mom with them. I don't know if dad ever came in the room, but I know he's on the sidelines finishing the game. I tell myself I don't care. Ha.

"Please," I plead, my voice cracking. "Please bring him back here."

Sophia kisses my cheek without a word before retreating. Silence returns, aside from the rummaging of the trainers. I'll need an MRI to confirm anything, but in the meantime, they'll wrap it and ice it as best they can. The silence is pounding in my ears, and all I can hear are my own thoughts. Which are, admittedly, not very positive. I press my palms to my eyes, hoping they'll absorb the wetness.

"Aurora?"

My chest heaves when I hear his voice, and he's by my side before I can inhale. His fingers brush my temple, a gentle swipe under my eye. I blink them open to find his brown ones filled with concern.

"Hey there," he murmurs tenderly.

"Hi."

"How you feeling?"

My knee throbs, but I shrug. "Could be better, I guess." I wrap my fingers around his wrist, keeping his hand on my face.

"You look pretty good from up here."

"Even teary eyed with a fucked-up knee?" My voice trembles.

"Even then, Rora, even then."

The nickname breaks me. For the first time since he's returned, I don't fight it. Tears start pouring out, and Isaiah soothingly pulls me up into a sitting position, cupping his hand in my curls and holding me to his chest. It's not long before my tears are soaking his shirt. My fingers are curled tightly into the fabric, wishing I could melt into him and disappear.

Isaiah whispers calming words, gentle shushes, and just holds me.

"Will you take me home?" I ask when I can breathe again.

Isaiah swipes his thumb under my eyes and pushes my curls away from my face. "Of course."

He walks over to the desk, where the athletic trainers are so kindly acting like they didn't see my break down. They stand, making their way over to me all together.

"Hey there. You ready to go home?" Thomas asks, papers in his hand.

"Yeah. Thanks, Thomas."

"Anytime. So, we've scheduled you to get an MRI tomorrow, alright? We'll get this figured out so we can get you back on the field as soon as we can."

I nod, taking the papers. "Do I need to wait for Coach Teller?"

"No, you've got the clear to head out."

Thank God. If anyone got a look at me right now, I might crawl in front of a car.

Thomas looks to Isaiah. "You're taking her home?" He nods. "Okay, crutches are over here. If you can put pressure, go ahead but lightly. We've got some tape, ice packs, and a knee brace in here for you. It's still swollen, so don't force the brace on it too soon. When the ice melts you can re-ice it or wrap it so you can sleep, and keep it elevated."

Isaiah listens intently, and I'm only half paying attention. I've been injured before, so I file the information away.

"You know how to take care of yourself. Just make sure you give yourself some grace in the meantime. Address for tomorrow is there," Thomas says, finishing up.

"Got it. Thank you." Isaiah looks between us two, looking ready to take on the world of injury.

"Thanks, Thomas."

Isaiah steps in front of me. "You ready?"

Exhaling, I nod, and he hands me the crutches. I adjust to them in a few seconds, and Isaiah is never more than a step behind. In the hallway, everyone else waits with my stuff. They don't even know I was selected today—unless Coach told them, which I doubt. Sure, this is devastating, but they don't know why it's eating me from the inside out.

"Auntie Ro, are you okay?" Joey babbles, her big eyes wide.

My lips tremble. "I'll be okay, baby. Isaiah's gonna take me home and patch me up." She moves toward me and gently hugs the leg that isn't wrapped up, Zaza joining her.

"Careful there." Kian steps up, prying them off.

I shake my head. "It's okay. Love you both, okay?"

They give me sad eyes but step back. Mom steps up and hugs me. "You'll be alright. You'll be back sooner than you know it." Her touch makes me want to collapse, and I choke down sobs. Isaiah's hand lands on my back, rubbing up and down softly, grounding me.

Sophia and Kian say something similar, Sophia holding my hand while we stand, squeezing it, letting me know she's right there. Like she always is. In the tunnel, I hear the whistles and the faintest sounds of my teammates' voices.

I look back at Isaiah, and he exhales, reading me like only he can. "Alright, let's get you out of here." Sophia squeezes once more and lets go of my hand so I can use the crutches properly. They help me into the passenger side of Isaiah's car, placing my bags and the crutches in the back seat.

Sophia palms my cheeks like she used to when we were kids. "I love you so much. Call me if you need anything," she says, directing the second sentence to both Isaiah and myself, and then kisses my forehead.

"Love you."

The door closes, and I watch through the window as they head to their own cars before sinking into the seat. The idea of going back to my apartment alone, left to stew in my own thoughts, makes me sick.

When I turn, Isaiah is already looking at me. "Is now a bad time to tell you that I got selected for the National Team Showcase before the game? And now—" I shake my head, a few tears falling out. "Now, my knee is fucked. And this…. this was everything I ever wanted."

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't hide the way his face falls. "Aurora." He reaches over, his hand cupping my face, fingers finding purchase in my curls. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm so sorry."

I close my eyes, tears leaking like acid down my cheeks. "How am I supposed to—how am I—"

"Hey, hey. Look at me," Isaiah demands. His eyes are sad but firm. "Breathe. In and out." I do as he says, even though I'd rather scream. "Good. Again. In and out." The tears slow. The aching in my chest continues but fades to the background. I focus on Isaiah. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."

There's not a single waver to his voice. He says it like he means it. We sit like that for who knows how long. It's probably minutes, but it feels like hours until I can speak.

"Can I come to your place?" I swallow thickly. "I don't want to be alone."

His brown eyes soften. "Of course. Do you want to stop at yours for anything?"

I shake my head, wishing I could curl up and hide. Isaiah reaches over, intertwining his fingers with mine. Instantaneously, the steady pressure diminishes the loneliness. Without his hand holding mine, it felt like I was lost in the limitlessness of space, destined to float endlessly with no destination. Isaiah is my anchor—holding onto me and holding me here. Even in the darkness, he'll be there to keep me from disappearing. His thumb smooths over the back of my hand in repetitive motions.

"Let's get you home."

Home. It has so many different meanings, can be so many different things. That field is my home—even though it just royally kicked me off. My apartment, Sophia and Kian's house, my mom's, my dad's. They are all homes in their own right.

But Isaiah holding onto me, Isaiah being the one I wanted… Right now, he feels more like home than any of the others. I've been homesick for so long without him, and right now, the only place I want to be is Isaiah's home.

Isaiah is attentive, and dare I say it, close to hovering. To my surprise, I don't mind it. I'm not sure in recent years that anyone has hovered over me when injured or sick. Paid attention to every little movement, every noise, every step. It's nice to be cared for, to have someone there instead of having to pull myself together and take care of myself.

He sets down my stuff, Raven currently weaving her lithe body between his legs.

I lean against the back of the couch. "Can I shower? Do you mind?"

"You're okay to shower?"

"Yeah, but I might need help undoing the ice."

Isaiah approaches me. "Can you stand, or do you want me to run a bath?

With apprehension, I try to bend my knee, only to fail. "Would you hate me if I said bath?"

"I could never hate you."

My head falls forward, finding the firmness of his chest. His arms wrap around me, rubbing my back without hesitation. "Thank you."

"Always. I'll grab some clothes for you. Give me a second, and I'll come get you when it's ready." Isaiah pulls back, placing a kiss on the crown of my curls.

I watch as he moves through his apartment and the sound of running water starts. Raven sits on her haunches a few feet away, green eyes focused on me. Since I can't move, I give her a smile, assuming the cat can recognize facial expressions, and it seems to work. She lets out a soft mewl and rubs her body on the crutch and somehow, around my good leg.

After a moment, she trots down the hallway in search of her dad, and I track carefully behind her. Isaiah is exiting his bedroom with a pile of clothes in his hands when he sees me. "Come on in. It's almost ready."

A few more movements and I settle myself on top of the closed toilet with my leg straight out in front. Isaiah places the folded clothes on the sink next to lotion and athletic tape. He bends down in front of me, fingers reaching for the ice wrapping.

"I'll take this off and then go if you think you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"If you aren't, that's okay, too."

I tuck a curl behind my ear and nod, my eyes focused on where his hands touch my skin. With deft fingers, he starts unraveling the plastic that's keeping the ice on my knee. Round and round the tape goes, cool drops of water traveling down my leg. One hand wraps around the back of my calf, keeping it steady. It has the opposite effect on my heart, which is anything but. Each finger is like a spark on my skin.

I'm saddened by the loss of his touch when he removes the bag of ice and places it in the sink. I barely have time to miss it because his fingers are back, gently roaming the swollen and already bruising knee.

"I can't fucking believe she tackled you like that."

With a shake of my head, I feel my own knee. It throbs under my touch. "I doubt it was that bad."

Isaiah turns his eyes up at me, and I'm surprised by the anger there. "She instantly got red carded. It was a dirty tackle, and everyone knows it."

It's nice. To have someone else be mad for you. To be upset with you. It's nice to not have to be feeling all of these things alone. Which is why I almost smile. "I'll be okay, Isaiah."

He turns his attention to my knee again, his big hands still covering most of my skin. "I know you will be." At that, he reaches over, touching the bath water to check the temperature.

"Thanks for the bubbles."

Isaiah exhales, some tension finally leaving his shoulders. "You're welcome."

Our eyes meet, and there's an abundance of things that pass between us. In the warm light of his bathroom, his eyes twinkle like a million little shining stars. Isaiah looks at me in a way that no one else ever has. With him here, I can breathe deep. I can inhale and exhale, and it doesn't feel like my world is falling apart.

Still, when he shuts the door behind him and I carefully make my way into the tub, that doesn't stop the sobs from racking my chest. I muffle them as best I can, and my tears melt into the water, but that doesn't stop Isaiah from sitting outside the bathroom door.

I needed the door shut so I could let it out without being more of a burden.

Isaiah knew and still decided to be close enough if I needed him, too.

His clothes smell like him.

Obvious, I know, but it's overwhelming. Clean and warm. An undertone of musk. It's all him, and it's everywhere. The shorts are huge but allow my leg room to breathe, and the long sleeve goes well past my fingertips, but it's cozy.

When I hobbled my way out of the bathroom, he had pushed the leather ottoman closer to the couch, placing pillows for elevation. A candle was lit and the TV on. But what I really paid attention to was the way he studied me from head to toe. His eyes took a leisurely path over my body, lingering on the way his clothes hung on me, the shape of my legs, leaving behind a wake of heat over my skin. As if he was touching every single part of me with his eyes.

Now, almost an hour later with my leg elevated, I still feel it—the heat left over from his gaze. Add that to the fact that he made me dinner again and has been generally doting, I'm unsure I'll ever cool down again.

Isaiah is finishing up the dishes in the kitchen, and the sink stops. "You want dessert?"

"Of course."

He chuckles, and the sound finds every weak spot I have and burrows. Raven is nestled on my right between the arm of the couch and my body, her tiny paw that has a streak of white resting on my leg. Isaiah returns with two plates and forks, large servings of chocolate cake on each, and takes up his spot on my left.

"Is this the frozen chocolate cake?" I ask, digging in my fork.

"Well, it's thawed now." He takes a bite, and I blink at him. "Yes, that's the one."

I poke at it. "Not sure there's anything to celebrate, Isaiah." My knee is tightly wrapped, disguising the bruises that have already bloomed. It's swollen, but the pain is kept at bay by the ibuprofen Isaiah gave me.

"We can still celebrate your selection for the National Team," he murmurs, giving me a searing look. "But it also serves as an anti-celebration cake." His tongue swipes at a crumb. "When something bad happens—cake."

I can't help but smile. "Anti-celebration cake. I like that."

"Is this a bad night to start with one of my air-hockey win questions?"

This time, I can't help but laugh. Maybe my first since the injury. It feels light and airy. Nice. Isaiah's face lights up at it. "No, I think this is a perfect night."

"Why'd you ask for me tonight?"

"I see we're starting off easy," I say, taking another bite, buying some time. "Come on, Isaiah, you know why." My throat feels tight at the idea of being vulnerable when I'm already physically weakened. I can't run away; I can't avoid it.

"I need you to say it, Rora." His eyes are pleading. He needs to hear it.

I lick my lips. "I needed you. I didn't want anyone else near me, not even Sophia. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, and all I could think about was how much I needed you to be next to me. To tell me it would be okay. To hold my hand." The room is so quiet, I'm scared he'll hear my heart racing. "More than that, I wanted you there. You always knew how to make something awful feel better. You always understood exactly what I needed, and you still do. You probably always will."

Isaiah is staring at me. He's so still that I'm half-sure he's not breathing.

"Isaiah?" I whisper, and he exhales. In the space between us, his free hand reaches for mine.

"Yeah, just need a second."

I intertwine our fingers this time, threading them together. Today has been a whirlwind of emotions. Up and down and fucking flipped around. But holding his hand might be the best part of it all.

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, opening his eyes.

"I should've kept my mouth shut, huh?"

Isaiah chuckles but gives a firm shake of his head. "No. It's nice to know you still need me."

Still. Even when I was telling myself I didn't, I did.

"I always have, Isaiah."

The sheer weight of his gaze is enough to make my heart thump. Whoever came up with the opinion that brown eyes were inferior had obviously never looked at someone with brown eyes. Never cared for them. Because there is no way that the warmth, the softness, the endlessness of them could be anything close to inferior.

"For a minute, I thought you'd never forgive me. Never look at me like that again. I thought I might've really lost you."

It's funny because, at one point, I thought the same. All that anger, all the pain—I wasn't sure I'd be able to let it go. How stupid I was acting like I could've ever held onto that. How stupid I was for thinking I could ever look at him and not forgive him.

"I never could hold a grudge against you," I murmur.

The grip on my hand tightens. "You tried." He gives me a cheeky grin.

"I failed."

"Not to celebrate a failure, but I am grateful for that one." His voice is filled with humor and also the utmost sincerity. "I'm not sure I would've known what to do if you succeeded."

I turn to look at him, unable to adjust how I'd like because of my fucking knee, but I try my best. My eyes notice that the space between us is incrementally smaller. Like he's not aware of it but has to be closer to me. "I'm not sure either."

His lips turn up in a closed mouth smile that is just as enticing as all his other ones. I rub my thumb against his hand. "My turn."

"Choose wisely. You've only got four."

"You're such a sore winner."

"But I am a winner."

"Jesus Christ." I run my free hand over my face, a gentle laugh escaping past my lips. "You're insufferable."

"Just like you when you lose—" he starts, and I cut him off by placing the hand that was holding his over his lips. They curve into a smile on my palm, setting the sensitive skin of my hand and the rest of my body on fire. The brief touch has turned his eyes molten. Warm enough to send tingles over my skin.

"Are you done?" I ask, and he nods. I remove my hand. "So…why now? Why'd you come back now?"

Isaiah doesn't look surprised by the question. Instead, he looks contemplative. He stretches his arms up and behind him on the couch, the ink stretching over the lean muscle, his t-shirt riding up, exposing the smooth plane of his stomach.

He fixes me with a heady stare. "Six years was as long as I could go without you. And it was six years too long. I know that now. The first two years, I was lost, and I couldn't stand to show up. I was struggling to stand on my own two feet. The third and fourth were better in a way. I graduated early and was writing. Then, I got the publishing deal. All I wanted was to call you; I was just so ashamed. And so anxious that there was no fixing what I broke." Isaiah turns his head up to the ceiling, taking a deep breath. "And since I couldn't get out of my own way to call you, I wrote about you. Almost every day. I would try not to, and every day, you'd end up on the pages anyway. The last year, I just couldn't do it anymore."

I'm not sure I've ever seen his eyes look so firm. Unwavering.

"I couldn't fucking handle not being able to call you and tell you things. Bad, good, whatever. All of it. At that point, I didn't care about my own fears, whether you'd let me back in your life or not. Whether we could ever repair it all. Because if I didn't try, I was never going to know. And that was unfathomable to me. So, I started looking for jobs immediately. Took a while but I got here, and that's all that matters."

"Can you help me up?"

Isaiah looks momentarily confused, but he does as I ask. I make sure to keep my foot only lightly on the ground, using his arms for balance. Once I feel stable enough, I throw my arms around his neck. There were no words forming in my brain, no coherent thoughts, just…Isaiah.

I feel like a fucking teenager with a brain-eating bacteria called a crush.

His arms wrap around my back, holding me up and holding me steady. His hands spread over his t-shirt, as if he needs to touch as much of me as possible.

"You asked for my help getting up to give me a hug?" Isaiah asks, his breath hitting my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine.

"Yes." I swallow. Vulnerable words are begging to escape, and there's fear in my chest, wanting me to hold them back, but I have to stop that. "You never stopped being my best friend. Even when I tried to hate you, you still were. You always will be."

One hand crawls up my back and wraps around the back of my neck, tangling in my curls. I'm fairly certain he can feel the rapid beating of my heart, but I don't care. We stand like that until my knee starts aching again, but when we sit down, the space between us on the couch is almost non-existent. My leg is a hair's breadth away from his.

It's so much easier letting him back in. And doing so makes my life better. Even on a day like today, where everything else has unraveled before me, Isaiah is doing the opposite.

When he left, while he was gone, I said it was like missing one half of a whole. There were all these empty spaces in the shape of him, where only he could fit. Like a puzzle with missing pieces. Those spaces were like ghosts, phantoms in my life that would pop up when something reminded me of him.

Isaiah is slowly taking back those empty spaces that once belonged to him. So effortlessly.

It feels like coming back to myself after being lost. Like taking a deep breath after being underwater.

It feels like coming home.