One Southern Night Read online

  “Two weeks!?”

  She nods, the tears falling down her cheeks. A moment later, an older man with a white coat and glasses enters the room holding a tablet.

  “Mr. Ellis.” He attempts a smile, which doesn’t really work for him. “Welcome back.”

  “Where the hell did I go?”

  “First, I’m Dr. Saltzman.” He puts his hand out. I lift my arm with some difficulty and we shake. He seems to be assessing my every move. “I performed your surgery and have been monitoring your progress.” He pulls a chair up to the side of my bed and takes a seat. Make yourself at home why don’t you. “Mr. Ellis, you had a brain aneurysm, or cerebral hemorrhage, during the game. I suspect it was always there, but when you were hit, it ruptured, causing a bleed in your brain.”

  All I can do is blink as I process the words aneurysm, cerebral, and hemorrhage.

  “We repaired what needed to be fixed, but you didn’t come out of the coma right away. This is sometimes normal.”

  “Am I okay?”

  “Yes, as far as I can see. We’ll have to do some more scans now that you’re awake, and you’ll have to stay in the hospital for observation for a few weeks, but I think you are going to recover just fine.”

  “So I can still play football?”

  “As long as there are no stemming neurological effects.”

  “Neurological effects?”

  “We don’t know the extent of the damage the hemorrhage caused, if any. We’ll know more as you recuperate. You’ll need physical therapy to reverse the muscle weakness from the coma.”

  “Is that why I can barely lift my arm, Doc?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “How long what, Mr. Ellis?”

  “How long will it take me to recover?”

  “Well, that depends on you, and how your body responds to the therapy. In my opinion, you are in exceptional shape—young, athletic. You should have no issues bouncing back as long as you are committed to therapy.”

  I glance at my mom. She’s been silent the whole time but looks like she’s ready to fall apart.

  “When can I start?” I ask Dr. Saltzman.

  He tries to smile again. His thin lips look like a squiggly line. A happy face really doesn’t work for this man.

  “We’ll get you up and walking in a little while. You’ll start physical therapy here in the hospital while under observation. I’m going to recommend you stay at home for a month or so, so you can solely concentrate on rehab. I think a stress-free environment will aid in the recovery process.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  Dr. Saltzman nods, then stands.

  “Thank you.” I look up at him gratefully.

  “It’s what I’m here for. Now hurry up and get better. The Crimson Tide needs a quarterback next year.”

  I can’t help but snicker. Everyone’s a fan, even straight-edged neurosurgeons with quirky smiles.

  “Mom, you okay?” I ask once Dr. Saltzman leaves. She nods, but the dam breaks.

  “I’m sorry, Kam. I want to be strong.” She wipes her eyes. “But, baby almost losing you …”

  “Mom, stop.” I can’t stand it when she cries. “Just come here and hug me.” I can’t stand it when any girl cries. She darts the two feet separating us and gingerly wraps her arms around me, her tears wetting my cheek. I hold onto her as much as my weak muscles will allow. This really sucks; I feel helpless. “You heard the doctor; I’m going to be okay.” Thank God.

  “I know.” She pulls away from me and smiles with swollen eyes and a red nose.

  “That will be it, baby, I promise. No more tears. Unless they’re of joy. You’re awake and alive, and that’s something to celebrate.”

  “Damn straight.” I try to sound cheerful, but I’m suddenly really, really tired.

  “Dad is picking up Trevor and Luke from school. They should be here in a little bit. He was upset he left right before you woke up.”

  “How’s he doing?” My parents divorced when I was ten and my twin brothers were six. He still plays a very active role in our lives, despite being remarried and living in another town.

  “He’s a mess. His all-star golden boy and first born son? He would be done if he lost you. We both would.”

  “Well, apparently it’s kind of hard to get rid of me.”

  “And we thank our lucky stars for that.” She kisses my head. “Get some rest so your brothers can come and harass you.”

  “Can’t wait.” I yawn, barely able to keep my eyes open.

  Physical therapy is a mind fuck.

  My brain says run, but my body laughs and holds me hostage at a snail’s pace on the treadmill. It’s been three weeks since I woke up from the coma. Two weeks were spent in the hospital and the last week I’ve spent at home, focusing on rehab. I didn’t realize the toll being unconscious for fourteen days took on my body until I tried to stand. It’s like everything just stopped working and has been protesting to start up again ever since.

  “Come on, Kam, two more minutes then you’re done,” my trainer, Dylan, says. He’s been assigned my case. That’s what I’m called, a case. It pisses me off. I’m Kamdyn Fucking Ellis, not a case. Not an invalid or some impaired Joe Schmo, even though that’s how I feel at the moment.

  “Just rev it and give my body a challenge. I’m tired of the leisurely strolls.”

  Dylan laughs, his big brown eyes sparkling. He doesn’t look much older than me, even though he claims to be in his mid-twenties. “Look all-star. I get you’re used to pushing your body. But it’s still recovering. I’m not going to chance an injury just because your inner warrior wants a battle. For now, you just have to grin and bear it. We’ll get there.”

  “Grrrr …” I can’t stand this. “I want to run, I want to punch, kick, shred. I feel like a walking set of stripped bones.”

  “Easy killer.” Dylan laughs mildly. He’s like the most laidback person I have ever met. It’s annoying. The treadmill beeps and turns off. I am beyond frustrated. I hate this. I want to be better. Tomorrow. “I know this is hard on you, seeing as you’ve probably never been held back a day in your life.” So true. “It’s an emotional challenge as much as a physical one. You just have to stay in the zone and keep your eye on the ball.”

  I grimace. Laney’s football references are so much sexier. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. She sent me a card while I was in the hospital. It read:

  I contemplated calling her but decided against it. What would I say? Hey, want to come over and hang out with a cripple who may never play football again? Whose future might be fucked? Yeah. I don’t think so. Who’d want to spend time with a loser like that?

  I step off the treadmill, my body a pathetic sack.

  “Good work today.” Dylan slaps me on the back. I want to growl at him, but I don’t. I’m going to beat this recovery into the ground then run ten miles over it.

  I slip into my mother’s 4Runner and stare mindlessly out the window as she drives away from the rehab center.

  “There’s someone coming from school tonight to start tutoring you while you’re home,” she reminds me.

  “I didn’t forget.” I roll my eyes. I can’t wait to see who the school designated for this. Probably some nerd from the academics team who’s going to put me back in a coma. My life is so great.

  “Good. I’m making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight,” she says, like she’s trying to cheer me up.

  “I’d rather have homemade mac and cheese.”

  She glances over and smiles a surrendering expression. My mother can never say no to me when I’m sick. Even if those times have been few and far between. I think my last devastating illness was freshman year when I had the flu, and all I wanted to eat was watermelon.

  “Fine. I’ll drop you off then go to the store. Spoiled.”

  “You made me that way.”

  She smirks. “Sometimes you deserve it.”

  I hobble up the stairs.
<
br />   My mother stands in the foyer until I make it to the top. “I’m fine,” I gripe.

  “I know,” she responds. “Just playing it safe.”

  “Playing it safe gets you nowhere.”

  I hear her sigh. It’s an amused sound. “I’ll be back in a little bit. The door is open for the tutor.”

  I throw my hand up over my head in acknowledgement. Tutor. Yay.

  I drop down onto my bed. The fun starts soon. I’m going to enjoy my last shred of peace and quiet before I am officially tortured by some scrawny dork quizzing me on Beowulf and International Politics.

  The doorbell rings. Here we go. “Come in!” I yell. It’s not terribly cold outside, so the front door being cracked isn’t a big deal.

  I hear someone walk up the stairs. “Kam?” a girl’s voice carries down the hall. Oh shit.

  “In here.”

  A few seconds later, Darla walks into my room. Double shit.

  “Hey,” she says with a sugary smile.

  “Hey,” I respond flatly. I need this like I need a hole in my head. Ever since I got out of the hospital she has been texting me nonstop. Asking how I am and if I need anything. I tried to be polite and tell her I was fine, and not to worry over me, but that is just not happening. “What are you doing here?”

  Please don’t be my tutor. Dear God, please.

  “I just wanted to see you. Been missing you, that’s all.” She walks into my room warily, like she isn’t sure if she should be here.

  She shouldn’t.

  “Oh yeah? Sorry about that. Been a bit preoccupied recovering and all.”

  “Well, I thought I could make it a little less painful for you.” She saunters toward my bed.

  “Darlin’, the only thing that’s going make it less painful is if I go back in time.”

  Darla frowns. Her blonde hair is in perfect ringlets framing her face. And she dresses exactly like my bitchy ex. Pristine. An image to be had.

  “Well I can’t turn back time, but history can definitely repeat itself if you want.” She crawls onto the bed like a cat stalking a mouse. I just lay there and watch her move, coming closer and closer to my weary body. I contemplate so many things in that moment. Should I let her touch me? Should I send her away? My body is screaming for the release, but my head wants no part of the aftermath. She wants more. It’s evident. And I just don’t, at least not with her. She’s too much of the same, too much of what appalls me.

  Darla reaches me and begins kissing my neck. My body and my mind wage war. I shouldn’t let her do this, but Jesus Christ, I need it so bad. My eyes roll to the back of my head as she works her mouth over my skin. My body responds, but my brain shuts down. “Darla.” I grab her arms, stopping her

  “Kam?” She looks at me confused.

  “Please stop.”

  “What?” Her eyes widen.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what? Fool around? Your part’s broken or something?”

  I glare at her. “No, it works fine. I’m just not that into you anymore.”

  Her green eyes darken with rage. “The tent in your pants says otherwise,” she snaps.

  “Yeah, well that head isn’t in charge at the moment. I’ve tried to be nice, but you’re just not getting the message. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  She rears back with a hurt look on her face. Fuck. This is never easy. Why do they get so attached?! I am always honest up front. Shit, I couldn’t be clearer if I wore a sign. No relationships. Just fun.

  Someone suddenly coughs in the doorway. I look past Darla. “Lemon?” I sit up straighter.

  “Is this a bad time?” Laney herself glances between me and Darla in the very compromising position on my bed.

  “Not at all,” I answer. Darla pins me with her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to study.” She holds up a very full backpack.

  “You’re my tutor?”

  “Uh huh,” she responds. I think I hear angels singing. “I’ll come back though …”

  “No! Darla was just leaving.”

  “You sure about that?” Laney asks snidely. Shit, I missed that smart mouth.

  “Yes.” I look at Darla, hoping that’s all I have to say. She pouts, but there’s fire in her eyes. I don’t like it one bit.

  “Yeah, I was just leaving.” Darla slinks off my bed. She smoothes out her skirt, lifts her chin, and starts for the door. She walks past Laney without so much as a hello, and it pisses me off to no end. Most of the girls in school think it’s okay to brush her off because she isn’t like them. A stepford southern belle with a pole stuck up her ass. “Kam, you know my number. Call me when you feel better,” she says over her shoulder right before she leaves.

  Um, yeah. Darla. Delete.

  After she’s gone, it’s just me and Laney and a whole room of awkward silence. I break the ice.

  “Hi.”

  I never said it was going to be with poetry or anything.

  “Hi,” Laney responds with an entertained smile. I know what she’s thinking. Once a player, always a player. I wish she knew how wrong she was. Laney walks into my room and drops the book bag by my desk, then takes a look around. I love her confidence and comfort in her own skin. She isn’t intimidated by all the trophies or the black and white pictures of me playing hanging on the wall. Captured movements suspended in time. My favorite is the close-up where I’m just about to fire the football into the end zone. It’s a representation of my dream, of my focus, of my life. It’s also a reminder those things might all be gone.

  “It’s sort of just how I pictured it.”

  “And how is that?”

  “All jock.”

  “It’s not all jock. I still have Mr. Wiggles.” I hold up a small brown bear I’ve had as long as I can remember. I never could let go of this stupid stuffed animal.

  “Oh, well that makes it much less masculine then.” Laney sits down in the chair at the desk. Somehow she fits. “Ready to get started?”

  “Meh.”

  “Senioritis kicking in?” She pulls out a few thick, hardcover books.

  “I guess.”

  “I promise I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

  With you here, I feel no pain at all.

  “Sounds like a plan. How did you get slated for the job anyway?” I take the notebook she hands me.

  “I was in the office when Principal Adams was talking to Julius Maxwell. He was your original tutor.”

  “Orange Julius?” I curl my lip. Biggest brain at school. We call him Orange Julius because of his crazy ginger hair and freckles. He also talks like he’s whining. My skin crawls just thinking about it.

  “Yup. He looked like he wanted to throw up. I don’t think he liked the idea of being your tutor.”

  “That’s probably because I used to give him wedgies and shove him in his locker freshman year. I’ve grown up since then, but he still avoids me like the plague.”

  “Geez, I don’t blame him.” Laney grimaces at me.

  “I’m not that guy anymore,” I argue petulantly.

  “You sure?” she toys with me.

  “Yesss,” I cross my arms. “How did you end up my tutor anyway?”

  Laney looks guilty as she fiddles with the pen she’s holding. “I sort of stepped in.”

  “Stepped in how?”

  “I felt bad for Julius. He looked so uncomfortable. So, I told Principal Adams that I was your chem partner and worried about my grade. And maybe it would be better if I was your tutor so we could stay on the same page.”

  “And he bought that?”

  “Yeah, Julius couldn’t bow out fast enough.”

  “So now you have to put up with me?”

  Laney shrugs. “As long as you don’t try to give me a wedgie, things should be fine.”

  I laugh. I may not give her a wedgie, but I will definitely try to get as close to her underwear as possible. Ideally, pulling them off with my teeth.

 
“I’m not making any promises,” I joke.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. I know your M.O.”

  Ouch.

  “Let’s just get to studying,” I suggest.

  “It’s what I’m here for. Start with history?” She sits back down in the chair at my desk and folds her feet under her legs Indian style. She looks so cute sitting there, in my room, even though I wish she was in my bed. I shake the thought off—I can keep dreaming. If Laney wanted no part of me before, it couldn’t help that she found Darla pawing all over me earlier.

  “Let’s read the chapter and do the review questions at the end. That’s the request from most of your teachers. I’m supposed to bring tests to you on Friday. But according to the notes, they can be open book. You have the life,” she quips.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask defensively.

  “Nothing. You’re big man on campus and definitely treated as such.” Laney flips open her history book.

  “It’s not my fault I’m good at football.”

  “I never said there was anything wrong with being a good athlete. But you can’t deny you get the royal treatment.”

  I shrug. “I can’t change that. It is what it is.” Unless I never play football again. And then my future, and my life, is fucked. “There weren’t people in your old high school who were popular? Who got to slide on things?”

  “Sure there were.” She smirks, still looking down at her book.

  “And it didn’t bother you?”

  Laney’s smile gets bigger.

  “What am I missing, Lemon?”

  She looks up at me with just her eyes. “It was me. I was treated just like you.”

  “You?”

  “My father is a celebrity chef. In New York that’s a big deal.”

  “You’re a total hypocrite.”

  “I know. But you’re fun to play with.”

  “You have no idea how much fun I can be.”

  “You’re right, I’m deprived. I guess I’m a masochist.”

  I shake my head. She drives me nuts. And I love it. “Let’s just get to studying.”

  “Way ahead of you.” She flips a page.

  Laney and I read in silence. It’s a chapter on the Korean War, but I’m barely retaining a word. All my attention is focused on the hot brunette sitting across from me. She’s wearing faded jeans that hug her body and a top that resembles a baseball player’s warm-up jersey. I wonder if she wore it on purpose. The shirt’s grey and black with the number fourteen stamped on her chest. I keep glancing at it, wishing it was the number seven. My number.