Page 57 of Punchline
We both winced at the same time as they began to fall. “Shit, bad angle,” Carson said.
“I bet that’s a boxer’s fracture.” Boxer’s fractures happened you hit with the far side of the hand instead of the close side, and usually meant a break in one of the bones below the pinkie. It could mean breaking more than one, though. It could mean soft tissue damage, joint damage…
“Fuck.” I ran my hand over my head, wincing in sympathy at the thought of the pain Ethan might be in right now. “That’s not good.”
“It’s not as bad as it could be, though.”
That was Carson, always looking on the bright side. Even after I almost broke him permanently, his first social media posts afterward were all smiles and “feeling better already!” without a hint of the pain he was going through.
I pulled out my phone and texted Ethan.Are you okay?That was a stupid thing to ask, all things considered, but I did it anyway.Can I come see you?Better.
“He might not have his phone right now,” Carson said, eyeing me sidelong like he was worried I was about to throw a fit if I didn’t get a response in two seconds.
I wasn’t. I just… “I know. But he should get to see that I’m thinking about him when hedoesget his phone back.”
Carson grinned. “Oh my God, you’re adorable.”
“Shut up.”
“No! I can’t, it’s so cute. No one would ever look at you and think you were made of marshmallows, but you are.”
“Not for everyone,” I said.
“Yeah, I think we all know that after the show you put on at the tournament, but still. Did you know you trended for that, by the way?”
I scoffed. “Bullshit. Nobody cares about a local tournament.”
“They do when you’re competing, apparently.BJJ Todaymentioned you in their highlights reel, and you got reposted hundreds of times.” I shrugged. “How you don’t even followyourselfon social media is bizarre.”
“I stopped after Abu Dhabi.” I raised my hand to forestall any unnecessary apologies from him. “On my therapist’s advice, and she was right. I feel way better not getting sucked back into what people I don’t know are saying about me.”
“Huh.” He nodded. “Smart. But what if?—”
I was spared any more explanation by the final buzzer sounding. The game was over—Vegas had won 6-2, and the home crowd was on their feet cheering as the players took one last skate around the ice before heading for the locker room. It was hard to stay in my seat, but I did, not the least because I’d have to fight thousands of other people trying to get out of the arena right now. Ethan might not be able to text, but Marek could, and he wouldn’t leave Carson waiting any longer than he had to.
Unless the news was really bad. Or maybe?—
“What colors do you think we should pick for the wedding?”
I blinked right out of my downward spiral at the non-sequitur. “What?”
“Colors,” Carson said, rocking back and forth a little in his seat. “That’s a wedding thing, right? Picking colors?”
“Um… yeah.” I’d listened to my sister agonize over linen versus ecru for long enough to realize that colors were, in fact, something people could stress over at weddings.
“And I want to make sure we have an amazing wedding. Like, it needs to be the wedding to end all weddings.”
“Then you better hope Marek’s brother is ready to pay for it.” I winced as soon as I said it.Fuck.“Sorry, I don’t mean to say you guys don’t make good money or anything like that, but?—”
“Not NAPH-level money,” Carson replied with a nod. “I get it, man, don’t worry. I’m sure he’d help out if we asked, but I’d like to have a plan before we do if it comes to that. Colors are part of the plan.”
I chuckled. I could practically hear the capital letters in there. “Whatever you go with, I suggest steering clear of black and blue.”
“Mm, yeah, that would be like bringing work home. Nothing neon either.”
How had neon even been in the running? “Definitelynotneon.”
“What about cornflower blue?”
