She meets my eyes for a beat and then looks back down before continuing on with her story. "As we got older, Mom slowly added details to the story. She'd been engaged to a boy back home. A boy who was quickly becoming a man. A good man who made her smile and kept her safe. She said he was the steady, reliable warmth of the sun, and my father was the flash and heat and passion of the fire."
My gut knots because I think I know where she's going with this and I don't like it.
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. This time when she lifts her gaze to mine, she holds it. "Mom didn't leave a good marriage. Dad was moody and jealous. Their life was never half the things he promised her it would be. I knew that any fire they'd had between them had burned out years ago. The day she left, she told me she'd been greedy. She'd been content with her boy back home, her steady warmth, but she'd met my father and was seduced by the excitement of the fire. She said the best thing I could do for my life was choose the steady warmth. The sun isn't going anywhere, but eventually the fire runs out of fuel. I'm not saying that Brogan is perfect, but no one is."
"That's a nice metaphor," I say softly, "but you're not your mother, and Brogan isn't some sweet kid you left behind in Mexico. Does he make you happy, Mia? It's not a hard question."
"It's not his job to make me happy. It's my job."
"But are you?"
"Why are you pushing this?"
Because I'm in love with you, and I need to know I'm not making a mistake by keeping that to myself. "I'm pissed at him," I say. I'm a fucking coward. "I told him as much myself when I found out he canceled on you this weekend. And don't stand there and tell me it doesn't matter when you and I both know it does. I was there last spring when his grandma died, remember? I remember how it made you feel when his mom didn't want you at the hospital."
She pushes away from the tree and wraps her arms around her middle. "I want to go home now."
Fuck. I pushed her too much. Too far.
We walk back in silence, and she doesn't look at me until we reach the door to her apartment. She turns to me and leans against it. Her hair falls over one shoulder, and her cheeks are pink from the wind. I want so badly to step closer and kiss her that my stomach aches with it.
"Thanks for coming over, Arrow. I do appreciate your concern for me. You're a good friend."
A good friend. "Just . . ." I have to look away. How am I supposed to look into those deep brown eyes and not fall harder? "I'll always be here for you. If you need a friend."
The door clicks as the deadbolt releases. Mia steps forward, and the door cracks open. Bailey peeks out at us, her hair tousled, her eyes squinting against the light in the corridor. "What the hell are you two doing out here?"
"Arrow just stopped by to give me a birthday present," Mia says.
Bailey raises a brow and opens the door the rest of the way. "Is that so?"
Mia steps inside and grabs the gift bag, lifting it up for Bailey's inspection.
Bailey looks at me then Mia. "What is it?"
"I haven't opened it yet," Mia says. She opens the bag and pulls out the tissue paper.
I flinch. I didn't really want her to do this with an audience. "You don't have to-"
She pulls the small canvas from the bag, and her jaw goes slack and her eyes soften.
"Oh," Bailey says. "It's a painting. It's-"
"Dancing fairies," Mia says, skimming her fingers across the words in the bottom corner of the canvas. "Where did you find this?"
One of my mom's best friends is an artist, and after the night last spring when I lay under that tree with Mia, I got the idea to commission her to paint this.
"It's like the stories your mom would tell us when we were kids," Bailey says, studying the painting of the stars peeking through the moonlit tree branches. "Wow."
"This is the most thoughtful gift anyone-" Mia bites her lip, as if she won't allow herself to finish that thought. I want to revel in the moment and enjoy Mia's reaction, but I can't with Bailey standing there, scowling at me, seeing too much.
She doesn't like that I gave this gift to Mia. She doesn't like that I showed up here in the middle of the night when Mia was having a rough day. Maybe she thinks I'm encroaching on Brogan's territory.
Maybe she's right.
"I don't know what to say, Arrow," Mia says. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." I shift awkwardly under Bailey's scrutiny. "I should go."
Bailey nods. "Night, Arrow."
I can't take my eyes off Mia and the way she holds my gift. As if it's the most precious thing she's ever received.
Bailey clears her throat and gives me a hard look. "Drive safely."
"Happy birthday, Mia."
When I get back to the dorm, Chris is awake and sitting in the common area between our rooms. "You okay?" he asks me. His voice is low, but with Mason with Bailey and Brogan out of town, there isn't anyone to overhear.
I frown. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because." He tosses his magazine on the end table before turning back to me. "I see how you look at her."
I shake my head. "No. She's just a friend."
He gives a sad smile. "And yet out of all the girls in the bar tonight, you didn't even have to ask which I was talking about."
Fuck. I study my shoes and shrug. "It doesn't matter."
"Just be careful."
I'm not prepared to see Brogan again, but here I am.
I'm not sure what made me decide to come. Maybe it was busting the shit out of my hand and breaking a couple of bones. Maybe it was hearing Mia tell me she doesn't regret the night we spent together in October when I thought I was nothing more to her than a regret. Maybe it was my dad's endless lecture on the way to the ER-how foolish I am, how this could screw up my football career. I wanted to tell him there are things that matter more than football. I thought of Brogan.
Whatever the reason, this morning, with a fresh cast and a bottle of painkillers I won't take, I came here.
I told myself not to expect any change, braced myself to see him looking as bad as he did months ago, shortly after his parents had taken him home. But I wasn't prepared for him to look worse. Smaller. A shadow of the man he used to be.
"Thank you again for coming," Mrs. Barrett says behind me. "I'll leave you two alone."
I don't know what to do with myself. Brogan sits in his wheelchair, strapped in so his body doesn't fall forward. His eyes are open, his jaw slack.
My stomach suddenly feels completely empty of anything, and acid crawls up my throat. And my eyes-I blink-I'm not going to fucking cry right now.
For a while, I was grateful Brogan didn't die that night, grateful he had a chance to fight. But seeing him like this, I know he got the worse fate.
He was a proud man, and I hate to think how he'd feel about Mia seeing him like this every time she visits.
When Mrs. Barrett opened the door, she asked if I've prayed for a miracle today. Every time I see him this way, I say a little prayer that God will have mercy on this proud man. After more than four months as a vegetable, I pray he'll be allowed to die. Before, the prayer was blanketed with shame, guilt that I'd wish for such a thing. But not today. Mia believes Brogan is conscious and aware of his world, but I don't. I think he's gone. Nothing but a brainstem keeping Brogan's body alive with the assistance of a feeding tube. But I'm here anyway. In case I'm wrong.
"I'm supposed to talk to you," I say quietly. "It's supposed to bring me closure."
He doesn't respond. Of course. He can't. God, wouldn't it be nice if Mia were right? If Brogan could have the same fate as the guy who woke up after being in a persistent vegetative state for twelve years? If Brogan could be the miracle Mrs. Barrett asks everyone to pray for?
I could say, "Hey, remember that fight?" and he could say, "Yeah, I was a fucking idiot. And so were you." Then we could hug it out like a couple of teenage girls.
What would that be like for him? Waking up and finding himself in this body? Learning to walk all over again? He had so many broken bones and torn-up ligaments and tendons that even before they were sure about the state of his brain, they said he'd never play football again.
I hang my head. "I won't be playing ball next year. I got out of it the only way I knew how. Wouldn't have been right to be on the field without you." I sigh. "But you know Dad. He's already pulling strings right and left to try to get me back in the game as soon as possible."
A robin lands on the bird feeder outside the window, and I watch it peck at the food.