“I warned you.”
“Still better than hospital food.” He set the half-eaten cupcake aside. “Why aren't you out with your friends or at a party, or doing literally anything else on a Friday night?”
I shrugged. “Because I remember what it was like right after my surgery. Everyone either avoided me because they didn't know what to say, or they hovered and treated me like I was made of glass. Both sucked.”
“So you're here to... what? Not treat me like I'm made of glass?”
“I'm here to eat mediocre cupcakes with you and acknowledge that this whole situation is shit.” I leaned back in the chair. “No inspirational speeches. No 'everything happens for a reason' bullshit. Just... this sucks, and I'm sorry it happened to you.”
Derek's jaw worked, and for a second I thought he might cry. But he just nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed hard.
“It does suck,” he said roughly. “It really fucking sucks.”
“I know.”
We sat there until the cupcakes were gone and visiting hours were over. We didn't talk much more; we didn't need to. Sometimes just having someone who understood was enough.
As I stood to leave, Derek caught my wrist.
“Rosalie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For the cupcakes. For... this.” He released me quickly, like he'd realized the touch might be too much. “Will you come back?”
My heart did a stupid little flip. “If you want me to.”
“I do.” He looked surprised by his own words. “I mean, if you're not busy or whatever.”
“I'm never that busy.” I smiled. “Same time next week?”
“Yeah. Same time.”
I left the hospital feeling lighter than I had in months, not knowing that weekly visits would turn into twice-weekly, then almost daily. Not knowing that Derek would become the person I talked to more than anyone else. Not knowing that somewhere between the terrible cupcakes and honest conversations, I'd start falling for him.
But maybe some part of me already knew.
Maybe that's why I'd shown up in the first place.
6 months ago – March
“You're cheating.”
“I'm not cheating,” Derek protested, but the grin on his face said otherwise. “I'm strategically bending the rules.”
“That's literally the definition of cheating.” I snatched the Uno cards from his hand. “You can't put down three Draw Fours in a row. That's not even a real move.”
“Says who?”
“Says the actual rules of Uno!”
We were sprawled across the couch in the soccer house living room, a mess of cards, empty soda cans, and the remnants of the cookies I'd baked earlier scattered across the coffee table. Derek had been discharged from the hospital two weeks ago and was supposed to be “taking it easy” which apparently meant destroying me at every card game known to mankind.
“Fine.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I'll play by your boring, rule-following version of Uno.”
“It's not my version. It's the only version.”
“Whatever you say, Thorn.”
