Page 23 of Here We Go Again

“Can I see your scar?” Garrison asks, reclaiming my attention. I drop my phone into my pocket and look at Theo, gauging his reaction.

He hesitates, but only for a moment before pushing up his sleeve and opening his hand to reveal the scar across his palm. He talks about his injury, about that night, then reminds Garrison to never, ever play without wearing all his protective gear.

Finally, Theo pulls out all the swag he brought, including a jersey signed by all the Jaguars defensemen.

“I had Holly sign it too,” Theo says, pointing to a signature near the top. “He was there when I asked the rest of the guys, so I didn’t want him to feel bad.”

Garrison’s dad lets out a good-natured chuckle. “Your mom’s favorite player.”

“You stop that,” his mom says, swatting at her husband as a blush climbs up her cheeks. “I never said he was my favorite.”

“It’s all right,” Theo teases. “I get it. Most of us have crushes on him too.”

They all laugh, and I can’t help but smile. There’s the Theo I knew in high school. Teasing, charmingly cocky, but also self-deprecating. Putting everyone at ease in just the right way.

Garrison clutches the jersey to his chest. “Thanks, Theo. This is awesome.”

“No problem.” He pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to Garrison’s dad. “When he’s home and feeling better, text this number and mention me. They’ll get you tickets to a game with VIP passes to tour the locker room.”

Garrison sits up a little taller. “For real?” He looks over at his parents. “Can we?”

“It may be a few months before you can handle the crowds,” his mom says. “But as soon as you’re healthy, we absolutely can.”

Garrison nods. “Maybe that’ll give my hair time to grow back in.” He reaches his hands up and rubs them across his bald head. He really is a cute kid.

Theo’s expression softens, then he reaches forward and rubs Garrison’s head in the same way. “It looks good on you, man.”

I lift a hand to my chest, pressing it against my heart. I could almost cry for how happy this is making Garrison, but there’s something else happening too. Maybe it’s muscle memory, my body responding because it already knows how. Back then, watching Theo do something like this would have made my ovaries melt in some sort of nuclear event. I would have been a puddle at his feet, lovesick and starry-eyed.

I’m not quite so desperate now, but I’m definitely feeling something. At a minimum, Theo is making a solid case for why it was so easy to love him.

They all chat for a few more minutes, then take some photos together before saying their goodbyes. As soon as we step into the hallway, Lexie thanks Theo again, holding onto his hand a little longer than I think necessary, then she leaves us to head back to the nurses’ station.

Theo lets out a deep breath and leans against the wall.

“You did great,” I say, thinking of his earlier uncertainty. “That clearly meant a lot to him.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything, his expression shifting into something I recognize. The awareness that life is fleeting. That it’s often unfair. That kids like Garrison shouldn’t ever have to deal with something like cancer.

He flexes his left hand once, twice, then lifts his right to rub at the pad of his thumb directly under his scar. Then he huffs out a laugh. “It’s funny. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself this week. Rehab is slow. Nerve pain is … persistent.” He tilts his head back toward Garrison’s room. “Kind of knocks everything into perspective, you know?”

I bite my lip. “Yeah, I get it.”

He blows out a breath. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”

We turn and slowly make our way toward the bank of elevators. “You get used to it. Though it might be slightly easier for me in the OR. Patients are only awake for a moment or two while they’re with me. So I don’t usually know a lot about them personally.”

He shoots me a knowing look. “Until your ex shows up on the operating table.”

“Ha. Yeah. That definitely threw me for a loop.” We stop at the bank of elevators, and Theo pushes his hands into his pockets. “You probably have to get back to work, but if you have time, I’d love to buy you some coffee.”

I bite my lip. Coffee, not dinner.

Somehow that doesn’t feel as scary. Or maybe I’m just more willing after spending an hour watching him dote on a sick kid. “I’m not on shift,” I say. “I was here for a surgery this morning, but right now I’m just on call.”

“Great,” he says. “So … coffee? How’s the shop in the lobby? Any good?”

“Surprisingly good.” I reach forward and press the down button for the elevator. “And they have cozy seating. You almost forget you’re inside a hospital.”