Page 46 of Near Miss

He reaches across to grab the plaque; the setting sun streaming through the windows hits it just so, illuminating her name.

Bright and impossible to miss, kind of like the girl.

“Oh.” I swallow, palming my jaw, before offering him a noncommittal shrug. “She forgot it in my truck the other night after the gala.”

I don’t bother telling my brother she said I could keep it, or why.

Great legs, great tongue. Who knew?

He eyes the award before looking back up at me. “Are you with her or something?”

“No.” I turn around, pulling open the fridge and rolling my shoulders back. “She doesn’t date.”

I’m making a show of pulling open all the crispers, like I’m on the hunt for the perfect fucking bell pepper instead of thinking about my head between Greer’s legs, when my brother asks, “If she did—would you ... want to?”

“Just friends.” I grab the first thing I notice—an apple that looks like it’s seen better days. I turn back to Nathaniel, grin, and toss the apple in the air a few times. “Hardly even friends, actually. Business acquaintances is probably a better term.”

His lips pull down. Nathaniel appraises me, and I raise my eyebrows at him, tossing the apple to catch again before taking a bite.

“You know she really didn’t know who you were when you stopped by the hospital that first day, right? That must be nice for you ... someone with no preconceived notions. No expectations. No interest in your yearly salary.” He shakes his head, setting the award down. “What are you doing for the rest of the night? I know you’re probably back at the stadium for meetings and practice this week, but we could go grab some food? Catch a movie?”

I glance down at the award, the sun’s rays barely touching it now as they slowly slink back across the granite.

No expectations. No preconceived notions. Just her saying my name.

Beckett.

Real her and real me.

“You know what?” My eyes cut from the award to my brother. “I actually have something I need to do. Make yourself comfortable, stay if you want. But, uh, I have to go.”

I toss the apple into the garbage and grab my keys off the counter before I can change my mind.

Greer

I fiddle with the edge of the Band-Aid on my shoulder before ripping it off.

There’s no blood, and I can hardly see the injection site.

I glance at my shoulder in the bathroom mirror, rotating it twice before tossing the Band-Aid. It’s a bit stiff, but nothing out of the ordinary.

I dragged my father and sister to the clinic at the hospital this morning so he could get the high-dose flu shot he needed, and I took the opportunity to force my sister to sit still for three seconds so she could get one, too.

A nice, wholesome family outing.

Or it would have been if maybe they seemed to care and I didn’t have to drag them.

It hurt me, when I had to remind them that he needed to take care—that we all needed to.

Stella had looked back at me with an exasperated sigh before slamming my car door and parroting my earlier words, “We know, livers don’t grow on trees. We need to take care of them.”

They don’t grow on trees.

But one grew in me, and I gave it away, and sometimes I think I didn’t want to.

I blink in the mirror, and my eyes travel down to the right side of my rib cage, the scar that sits there just under my T-shirt, slightly raised and pink, even after all these years.

I look back up, tipping up my chin, and I notice the things in me I see in my sister and my father: the cheekbones, the eyes, even though they’re different shades of green, and all the things that sit just below the surface.

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