Deleted Scene from The Roommate Route. This chapter is right after Hadley's migraine (Chapter 24)
Chapter 24-- Hadley--Bonus Chapter:
It feels like the tundra, or at least what I imagine the tundra would feel like. My face is frozen, and my muscles are tight from shivering.
“Why isn’t Bea Stadium indoors?” I ask. “Oleander Springs isn’t exactly mild when it comes to weather.” I had no idea when moving here that it rains so much, and even growing up in Vegas didn’t prepare me for the hot and humid days of summer or the conflicting icy days that pepper fall, winter, and even spring.
“Right?” Evelyn asks. She and Mila are sitting with us tonight. I still don’t know Mila well. I find her a bit intimidating if I’m being honest. Maybe because she looks like a model even now, wearing a coat and a beanie cap, or because she isn’t as warm or talkative as Evelyn, but since Evelyn likes her so well, I innately want to like her, too, as though I already trust Evelyn’s vetting process. “Why does no one ever talk about how much it rains here?”
Hannah grins. “I think it feels nice. It finally feels like autumn.” I like that she insists on calling it autumn rather than fall like everyone else.
“You’re from Connecticut. Your sense of cold and hot is broken,” I tell her.
Mila and Evelyn laugh, Hannah rolls her eyes, smiling because she knows I’m right. She’s only wearing a hoodie, while the rest of us are stuffed into down jackets and gloves, trying to keep warm.
“Who are they playing tonight?” Mila asks.
Evelyn straightens, looking down at the field where Camden’s offense is lining up. “Georgia Tech. It’s supposed to be a tough game. Next week is Mercer, though, and Hudson seems pretty confident about the game.”
“Is it bad that I’m kind of relieved Ethan never plays?” Hannah asks. “I have no idea what’s going on half the time. I would be the worst girlfriend.”
We share a collective laugh. “How are things going with you and Ethan?” Evelyn asks.
Hannah sighs wistfully, words unnecessary to validate how smitten she is. “I like him so much.” She admits, closing her eyes. Questions sit at the back of my brain, wanting to know if it changes her opinion on waiting to be in a serious relationship until she’s twenty-five. “Do you know how many guys know how to program, are gamers, and look like Ethan?”
Mila looks at me then, like she might be questioning my vetting process.
I chuckle quietly. “I’m guessing not many.”
“Zero.” Hannah slices a hand through the air. “There are zero.”
Evelyn tinkers out a laugh. “I barely know him, but I’m so glad things are going well.”
In between plays, Evelyn shares her and Hudson’s long history, and Mila tells us about the guy she was briefly dating who was stupid enough to ghost her multiple times before she got tired of it and pulled the plug on the relationship.
“His loss,” Evelyn confirms.
As the game continues, our conversation wanes. The game has been tied at seven for much of the first half, and it’s evident even from here that Nolan and the others are frustrated.
“They’re so mad,” Evelyn voices my thoughts.
“Why?” Hannah asks.
Evelyn swallows, glancing at me as though she’s regretting saying anything.
“Their coach isn’t letting them run the plays they want to,” I explain briefly before my gaze tracks Nolan on the field.
“Doesn’t the coach always call the plays? Isn’t that how sports work?” Hannah asks.
“Usually the offensive coordinator calls plays, but Hudson should get the final word,” Mila says.
Hearing this from Mila and Evelyn confirms it’s not just Nolan who’s frustrated with the team’s dynamics. Maybe they’re all feeling like their wings are clipped. I want to ask Evelyn about it, but one glance around the crowded stadium has me biting my tongue realizing here in the thick of Camden fans is not the place for the conversation.
My attention shifts back to the field, where Nolan is sprinting. It has me thinking about the Cookie Run, realizing he likely would have won had I not injured my ankle.
Evelyn quietly gasps, and my eyes divert from Nolan to see what has her holding her breath. Georgia Tech is big and too strong, knocking over Camden’s offensive linebackers who have been struggling to keep them back all game. Hudson throws the ball, getting it off seconds before he’s tackled. The ball sails straight down the middle of the field. Nolan sprints to catch it as two defenders chase him.
My breath catches in my throat as Nolan jumps, inhumanly high, his hands collecting the ball, making it look so easy. He doesn’t even make it to the ground before the defender slams into him, sending him flying before he lands in a prone position.
I don’t realize I’m moving until I’m standing in front of a security guard at the edge of the field.
“Sorry, you need to get back to your seat,” he tells me.
I nod absently, knowing that’s exactly what I should be doing, but my feet remain glued in place, watching as the game comes to a full stop and Camden’s bench rises. I recognize Holbrook as he races onto the field.
Something behind me redirects the guard’s attention, and I use his distraction to run onto the field. My heart is in my throat, beating too fast and strong.
“Dammit,” I hear the security guard growl, the jingle of his keys warning me he’s close behind.
Palmer jogs over to meet me and lifts a palm to the guard. “It’s okay,” Palmer says., “She’s okay.”
“You can’t be on the field,” the guard tells me, shaking his head feverishly.
I swing my attention to Nolan and then Palmer, silently pleading because the words—the right words—won’t come as my vision grows blurry from tears.
“He’s okay,” Palmer says. “He’s talking and moving his fingers and his feet. Hudson’s with him. The staff just wants to take a look because of the angle and height he was hit.”
I remain rooted to the field, too hot and too cold as my breaths remain too heavy and too shallow. Palmer drops to one knee beside me, facing Nolan, and a cursory glance tells me everyone else is as well. However, I remain standing, refusing to pray or hope because I’m refusing a possible injury.
Nolan slowly sits up, and the audience reacts with a chorus of cheers. Holbrook extends a hand for him to take, and someone else in a matching polo matches him. They pull Nolan to his feet slowly. The crowd and the players on the field get to their feet, cheering so loud I can’t hear whatever Holbrook yells as he points in the direction of the tunnel, his hand still gripping Nolan as he shakes his head.
A golf cart comes to them, stopping in front of Nolan and Holbrook. Nolan says something that has Holbrook shaking his head and pointing at the cart and I know he’s trying to refuse. I want to push him onto the cart and call him a hypocrite and remind him of my sprained ankle—yet, seeing him refuse feels like the greatest sign of relief I could’ve imagined.
Palmer takes a step closer to me. “If you run now, sprint, you’ll make it.”
I don’t hesitate for even a second, sprinting so hard my feet and legs burn. The guard behind me swears, his heavy breaths at my back.
“Cutlass,” Nolan says as I stop in front of him.
I inspect him a dozen times, my eyes still blurry, causing me to blink several times, trying to see what’s under his jersey.
I’m Cutlass when we’re friends.
Hadley when we’re more.
I don’t know why I’m here. Why I just ran across the field for the entire campus to see, for every streaming network, my roommates, Katie—him—to see.
“Let’s take the cart,” Holbrook says. “Make room for Hadley. She’s riding with us,” he instructs the driver who moves a bag off the seat beside him.
I don’t ask Nolan to get on, I don’t have to because as soon as I move, he steps to the cart and sits on the back next to Holbrook.
The fifty feet it takes to get into the tunnel feels like a million, every set of eyes on me as we pass.
When we get into the facility, we’re in an area I’ve never seen, my chest tight enough that I question if I’m having a panic attack. As we come to a stop, Nolan’s the first to stand. He grimaces, his actions not the smooth, predatory actions I’m used to.
“Is he okay?” I ask, looking at Holbrook. “Why are you standing? Sit down.”
Nolan chuckles, his moves still broken, forced, and too slow as he turns to face me. “I hope they got you on tape.”
“She was fast,” the driver says. “She might put you out of a job.”
Nolan laughs again, the action causing him to wince and then cough, which only deepens his wince.
“We need some X-rays. I want to see his ribs, hips, and full spine,” Holbrook orders, pointing at the cart. “Sit.”
The request has me circling to the back of the cart, staring at Nolan again as though I can see beneath his jersey, pads, skin, and muscle straight to his bones.
Nolan waves a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. They just have to do their due diligence so I can’t sue the university.”
I look at Holbrook for clarification.
Holbrook’s expression lacks humor. “We have a radiologist on his way. He’ll read have results within twenty minutes.”
More people join us, discussing the hit and their concerns, asking Nolan a dozen questions that has me realizing once again the severity of the hit and feeling like the worst kind of friend for worrying about backlash for my reputation. I know he would have run across that field if it had been me who was hurt.
“Let’s get these off,” someone says, pulling out a pair of scissors.
“Easy, Edward Scissor Hands,” Nolan objects, raising both hands. “I can do it.” He tugs off his jersey, a pinch between his brow that isn’t normally there when he moves. He sets the discarded jersey down beside him and then removes his shoulder pads and a navy-blue compression shirt, leaving his chest bare. A bruise is already forming at the base of his ribs.
“Payne,” Holbrook says, his voice sympathetic.
“I’m fine,” Nolan says with a level of finality that doesn’t leave Holbrook room to say another word.
As they lead Nolan into the room to get X-rayed, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I have sixteen texts that have my already anxious thoughts spiking again as I think of more worst-case scenarios, worrying about Lanie and the baby.
Geoff: Are you on TV?
Lanie: Geoff says you’re on TV. Did you really run out on the football field?
Lanie: Roommate my ass.
Lanie: You are a fibber. A giant, dirty fibber.
Lanie: He’s CUTE.
Lanie: No, he’s HOTT! Hadley, yes! I’d be running, too.
Lanie: Is he okay?
Her texts continue with single thoughts and questions in each message. Then, I see one from both of my roommates.
Hannah: Is he okay?
Katie: What’s going on? Have they said anything? Is Nolan okay?
I reply to Katie first.
Me: He seems fine, and he’s working to convince everyone else that he’s fine. They’re doing X-rays now.
Then I scroll to Lanie.
Me: We’re friends. Good friends.
Lanie sends me a GIF of Pinocchio.
I don’t respond though because Nolan appears, a tee in his fist. I shove my phone in my pocket and step away from the wall, forgetting about the myriad of people who have appeared that make me feel like I’ve broken all norms and protocols with each glance.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
Nolan’s blue-green eyes dance across my face as the edges of his sinful lips curl with the hint of a smile. “Lenny’s going to give me hell for this.”
Annoyance is a growl in my chest, that has Nolan’s lips tipping a little higher as he stops in front of me, a predator’s stare focused on me, despite his injury. It’s the look he makes before he orders my clothes off. He sets a hand on the back of my head, his thumb pressing gently against my temple where my migraine had played havoc just a few nights ago. He bends, capturing my mouth with his. His lips are so soft and familiar, a caress and an assurance. His tongue parts my lips, silencing the world and my fears. I slide a hand against his waist, absorbing his warmth and strength.
He groans softly against my lips and then kisses me again before leaning his forehead against mine. “On second thought, I might need to be nursed back to health.”
My hand on his hip flexes, feeling his solidness. “Good thing I know the drill. Lots of ice, rest, and wraps.”
He kisses me again, a smile staining his lips as he leans back. “That’s only for sprained ankles. Rib injuries require daily orgasms and lots of naked cuddling.”
I want to make a joke, but my relief and emotions are still tangled, the image of him getting hit replaying every time I close my eyes.
The door behind us opens and Holbrook strides out followed by a man in dress slacks and a blue Camden polo.
Nolan moves to my side, sliding his hand under my jacket to rest on my hip, curling his fingers around my side and holding me close.
Holbrook shakes his head. “If you were a cat, you’d have used three lives today,” he says. Nolan’s hand constricts as he loses a breath that reveals his relief.
“I don’t know how you don’t have at least some cracked ribs,” the man wearing the polo says, offering Nolan several printed images of Nolan’s X-rays. “I was expecting breaks, but it looks like you’re just going to be bruised.”
Holbrook nods. “Thanks, Cam.”
The man wearing the polo nods, and heads toward an office in the facility.
“You’re on the bench tonight, and I don’t want to hear a damn word about it,” Holbrook says, pointing a finger at Nolan.
“Does he need to be taped or anything?” I ask.
Holbrook’s lips thin as he shakes his head. “There’s nothing we can do for bruised ribs but painkillers, rest, and ice.”
“And a caring nurse,” Nolan adds.
My cheeks warm, certain Holbrook has no idea what Nolan’s insinuating but embarrassed just the same.
Holbrook hitches a brow, his expression warming as he looks at Nolan with a fatherly expression, revealing how much he cares for Nolan. “That, too.”
Nolan gives me a pointed look and winks as his hand constricts again.
“I’ll grab an ice pack and some painkillers. Take a moment before we get you back out there,” Holbrook says. He gives me a subtle nod, then heads for another office.
Nolan takes a step back and slides the Navy Camden long-sleeved tee on, his wince less visible as he reaches for my jacket, pulling me closer to him, his eyes grazing across my face. They’re filled with affection and silent words that make my heart gallop and squeeze.
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” he says, brushing his thumb under the thermal shirt I’m wearing, sending a cascade of goose bumps and heat to reign over my skin as the desire to hear everything he’s not saying.
“I’ll take you back to your seat,” a woman, wearing a track jacket tells me.
Nolan heaves a shallow sigh, and slowly pulls away, appearing as reluctant for me to go as I am.
I nod and take a final pass over him before turning around and following her back through the tunnel, regretting every step that takes me away from him.
