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As usual, I’ve got it set to the local classic rock station. The Police pump out of the speakers, “Message in a Bottle” filling the car.
She sings along when the song reaches the chorus. Her voice is sweet, and it combines with the lyrics to give me a solid punch in the gut.
Ever since I found out my kidneys were failing and that I’d need to get a donation if I hoped to live into my thirties, I’ve been silently panicking. When I’m around my parents and my friends, I smile and joke, but there’s always a clock in my head, counting down. Only I don’t know when it’s going to run out. There are times the ticking gets so loud that I want to scream for help. Send out my own SOS, just like the song.
But all that panic fades away around Holly. She’s a perfect match for me in more ways than I could have imagined. My cure and my inspiration. The future glows bright with her in it.
We come to a stop at a red light, and she beams over at me. My chest swells and aches in the best way.
“I think I know where you’re taking me.”
“What? No way. This is a secret little gem no one else knows about.” I cover my onslaught of emotions with sarcasm, and she sticks her tongue out at me.
That’s a move I can’t ignore. The moment her tongue retreats, I dive in, firmly pressing a kiss on her mouth.
A car behind us honks.
Holly laughs and shoves me back to my side of the car. “Stop distracting me!” She accelerates through the now-green light.
I go back to admiring her, enjoying being with the girl who’s saving my life and making every moment worth living.
HOLLY
My cheeks tingle from the cold and also because I haven’t stopped smiling for the last hour.
“Come on, Holly! Catch up!” Ben taunts me as he skates backward around the rink.
Seems someone’s dialysis treatment yesterday gave him an extra boost of energy.
“Well, aren’t you fancy, Mr. Show-Off?” Laughter colors my words.
His grin grows, enticing me to move faster, so I can get a clearer view of his delicious mouth. But he keeps in front of me, just out of reach, with steady, sure movements. Nothing like my imitation of a drunken penguin trying to fly—aka lots of useless arm-flapping.
For years, I planned to go ice-skating during Winterfest. The outside ice-skating rink right next to the Delaware River with a beautiful view of the Ben Franklin Bridge always seemed magical. But, each year, I’d let the season pass without a visit, making excuses about other things I should be doing.
It’s like I’ve been traveling at high speed, and Ben is a set of brakes. He insists I slow down and enjoy the view.
Even after an hour, I’m still wobbly, seeing as how the last time I went ice-skating was at a birthday party when I was eleven. But I’m determined to catch up to him and wipe that smirk off his face. Preferably by biting his smug lower lip.
Using the temptation of tasting him to drive me forward, I dig into the ice and pump my legs and arms harder.
Likely taking pity on me, Ben doesn’t increase his pace. Instead, he opens his arms to wrap me in a hug when I reach him.
My momentum sets us off-balance, and Ben goes down first with me landing hard on top of him.
Worry rocks me, and I immediately turn into a mother hen. “Oh gosh. Oh, Ben. Are you okay? I’m so sorry. Crud! That must have hurt. Are you hurt? Do we need to go? You’re not bleeding, are you?” My rambling spills out while I run my hands over him to check for any broken bones.
His legs seem fine, same for his arms and chest. But he doesn’t respond to any of my questions, making me worry he hit his head.
When I reach my hands up to examine his skull, I find him staring at me with a strange intensity. There’s humor in his eyes, but there’s also something else, something not so lighthearted. Then, the mystery emotion is gone, and he leans forward for a swift kiss.
“You hungry?” His breath warms my chilled face.
I nod in response, wondering what I just missed.
He kisses me again and then leans back. “Let’s grab something to eat.”
We work our way up, one of us more graceful than the other. This time, Ben keeps my hand in his as we weave through the other skaters to exit the rink. After turning in our rented gear, he leaves me in the Chickie’s & Pete’s line because I’m fixated on the idea of getting some of their famous crab fries.
