Wow, I thought. Or I might have said it aloud. I wasn’t sure, because my brain had short-circuited.
He pulled me in to lay tight against his chest. “Damn. So much for going slow,” he panted. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” He kissed my forehead, and I grinned like a maniac.
Under my palm, his rapid heartbeat thudded against my hand. This part was wonderful — our clumsy caresses, the gradual slowing of our breathing. Here was an activity — cuddling after sex — for which my disability presented no problem at all. I grinned into his shoulder.
“What’s so funny?” he whispered.
“I was just thinking that you don’t need two working legs for this. We’re just like two normal people.”
Hartley tipped his forehead against mine, so he could see into my eyes. “We are two normal people, you dope.” He gave me a quick kiss. “Only better-looking. And with higher than average SAT scores.”
“You forgot humble.”
“Right.” His brown eyes shone with love, and it made me feel wistful.
“I just wish I could give you the original me. Not the broken one.”
He closed his eyes and gave his head a shake. “There’s only one Callahan, the one who removed my head from my ass. I have her already.”
“Hartley, you have to wish I could always keep up with you. Skating, running. How could you not want that?”
His arms tightened around me. “I want a lot of things. I want a couple million dollars. I want a father who will say my name, and I want the Bruins to win the Stanley Cup. But I’m pretty damned happy right now without any of those things. There’d be no point in moping.”
I buried my face in his neck, where I’d willingly leave it forever. “I mope anyway, sometimes.”
He smoothed my hair under his hand, and dropped his voice down low. “Don’t get me wrong. If I ever see video of you flying down the ice to score on a breakaway, I’m going to cry like a little girl.” His lips grazed my face. “But then I’ll remove a few pieces of your clothing, and remember that life is good.”
Even though that was just about the sweetest thing Hartley had ever said to me, a doubt nagged the back of my mind. “Hartley?”
“Yeah, beautiful?”
“What if I couldn’t…be with you? And enjoy it.”
His arm came tightened around me. “But you can.”
“But what if I couldn’t?”
“Okay. What if I’d broken my skull instead of my leg? We can lie here and imagine all the shitty possibilities. Or we can lie here and make out some more.”
“I just…” I took a deep breath. “I just love you, Hartley.”
“I know, beautiful.” Then he kissed me again.
Later, I got up and wheeled myself into Hartley’s bathroom to pee, just like the E.R. doctor had told me to do. I borrowed Hartley’s toothbrush, because I didn’t think he’d mind. And then made my way back to his bed.
He was asleep.
I climbed in beside him, pulling the sheet and blanket up over us. Before closing my eyes, I gave Hartley a little kiss on the shoulder. Just because I could.
Chapter Twenty One: Those Old Dudes
— Corey
When I opened my eyes the next morning, Hartley was holding my hand, his thumb slowly stroking my palm. I turned my head to look at his handsome face and found it serene, his eyes closed. Since he wasn’t looking at me, I left the giant, sloppy grin pasted on my face.
“Nothing better than this,” he said sleepily. “Waking up with you in my bed. I must have finally done something right.”
We were quiet and lazy for a while. It was Sunday, too. There was no place else I needed to be, except right there next to him. I brought his hand up to kiss it. “Hartley,” I whispered. “The other night, when I was drunk, you said you had some shit to shovel.”
“Yeah, I shoveled it,” he said.
“What was it?”
He turned his head, opening his eyes to look at me. “I don’t want to talk about her while I’m lying here with you.”
“Her. Really? What does Stacia have to do with it?”
“Plenty,” he said. “And she doesn’t even know.”
What? “Well, now you have to tell me.”
He rolled onto his stomach and put his chin in the crook of his elbow. “Nobody knows, actually. Not a soul.” His long eyelashes flicked up when he looked at me. I moved closer, putting my hand on the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes again. “You probably noticed that there’s no father in the picture for me.”
“Sure,” I breathed, caressing his neck. I could touch him all day long.
“He got my mom pregnant when they were both eighteen. She was a waitress at his country club.” He opened his eyes and looked up at me again. “My mom’s story has made me very, very careful, by the way. The next time you see a doctor, could you ask about…?”