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We’d seen him exactly two times.
Once when he was moving in and both Zip and I were in her apartment, and the second time as he disappeared into the parking garage like he was freakin’ Batman.
“He’s probably…” she left before I could say ‘gone.’
Like any other smart person in the world.
Shit.
“You there?” I asked.
“I’m sending firefighters up right now,” he said stiffly. I could also hear him moving in the background, as if he was running.
Shit.
“Don’t come back,” I pleaded. “This is a big day for you.”
A big, big day.
“I’m already gone,” he said.
I closed my eyes with a groan.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
“You have the center opening today,” I said.
Or whined, more like it.
“Fuck the center.”
I gritted my teeth and chose not to argue.
How could I argue? I’d do the same if the situations were reversed.
“Damn,” he said.
I was about to ask what that was supposed to mean when there was a man pushing through our door.
My mouth fell open and I was fairly sure my jaw hit the floor.
Because none other than NASCAR’s Golden Boy himself walked into my apartment looking like a dream.
“Holy shit, your Nash Christopherson!” I cried out.
My gaze didn’t leave Nash, but I knew Zip was freaking out right now.
This explained why Winston didn’t tell us who was living by Zip.
Last month when we’d watched the NASCAR race, Zip and I had gone on and on and on about how hot Nash was, and here he was in the flesh. Winston was just trying to protect Nash.
The poor guy.
“You need a lift?” he asked.
I bit my lip for a few long seconds before saying, “You’d have to carry me down eight thousand flights of stairs.”
“It’s only fifty, and I climb stairs all the damn time,” he said as he walked to me.
Then he stared as he tried to decide the best way to get me up and then carry me.
“I think over the shoulder might be the best,” I admitted. “I bend at the waist.”
Kind of.
Actually, I more stuck out fully straight, like planking. But otherwise, he’d have to carry me like a goddamn board, and who the hell wanted to do that down that many flights of stairs?
He hauled me up, then we were descending the stairs, fast, but not so fast that I was jarred in an uncomfortable way. More of a ‘this is going to suck’ kind of way.
It was on flight twenty-two that I finally worked up the courage to talk to the man carrying me.
“You okay?” I asked casually.
I wasn’t okay. And if I wasn’t okay, he was damn sure not doing okay.
But when he answered, he didn’t sound the least bit winded.
“Fine,” he said through a grimace. “Your cast is digging into my shoulder blade, though.”
I didn’t move, just in case it might hurt him more.
I did, however, pray that the next twenty-five flights of stairs came a lot easier.
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Zip panted from about two rows up. “What the fuck kind of system is this? People who are paralyzed or handicapped in some way should never have to worry about this.”
I agreed.
Until I was hurt, I’d never considered the logistics of anything for handicapped individuals. I’d just blissfully lived my life in absolute ignorance.
Then I’d been shot, shattered my femur and hip bone, and had to wear a cast for the rest of the year.
That, unfortunately, meant I’d learned rather quickly that despite the leaps and bounds we’d made in this world since it’d been civilized, there were still a lot of areas we could improve upon.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Zip said. Then there was a hard clang-clang as what I assumed was my wheelchair making its way down a flight of stairs. “Hopefully that didn’t break anything.”
Oh, boy.
“Your sister is a nut,” Nash said.
“My sister is a nut,” I confirmed.
“I can hear you!” she cried out from how many ever floors above us. “Just because I’m seven fucking flights of stairs above you, doesn’t mean that sound doesn’t carry! I can hear that he’s not even panting, too. Douche.”
I hid the laugh that almost slipped out, and instead said, “I love you, Zipporah.”
“What kind of name is that?” Nash asked.
Zip growled. “The kind given to me by a pedophilic father who thought it would be great to give us exotic names in case he decided he didn’t want to use us in his goddamn circus anymore.”
Shit.
Nash didn’t say anything to that, and I was glad.
Zip, as well as all of us really, had a lot of hostility toward my father after learning the depth of his depravity.
To be completely honest, every last one of my family had changed their last names. All the single ones decided to drop the last name entirely and just have a first and middle name. So now Keene was Keene Day, and Zip was Zip Nancy. Val was now known as Valhalla Drew.
