Sophia's P.O.V.
I consumed a hardy breakfast that consisted of cinnamon oatmeal and a slice of toast. I washed it down with coffee. I had this strange habit – a habit that dated back to my adolescence –where I would wait until I finished my meal before taking a sip of whatever was in my cup. I couldn't trace-back where that habit originated from, but it stuck with me throughout the years.
Conner, Bryce, and I left the apartment ten minutes after noon. I quickened my step and reached the passenger door to Bryce's car first. "I hope you don't mind," I said after seeing Conner glower at me.
Conner grinded his teeth, shoving his hands in his pocket, and threw the door to the backseat open. "We're late and behind schedule to begin with."
That didn't answer my question.
"Conner, if you—"
"Take the damn seat, Sophia," he grunted. "Like I said, we're late."
"I only asked you a question. You don't have to be rude."
"Okay, fine, would you like for me to say it again in a slower voice so you can fucking understand it?"
"Conner," Bryce said in an authoritative tone. "I talked to you about this. Get in the car and kindly shut the hell up."
Suddenly feeling out of place as they both glared at one another, I ducked my head into the car and sat down. To my relief, the intimidating stare-off ended without any fists being thrown.
Bryce and Conner took their seats and buckled up. After pealing out of our parking spot, we were off to the hospital. When we got there, I could've sworn Conner was half-ready to tumble and roll out of the car at the sight of the front entrance.
"Let me find parking first," Bryce told him. "It won't be long."
"I'll wait for you in the waiting room," Conner said, clicking off his seat belt.
"Okay, go then." Bryce came to a gradual stop and allowed Conner to exit out of the vehicle.
Whilst driving in and out of different parking lot levels, I tried decoding the indescribable anger drenched in Conner's attitude. The higher we went, the more it bothered me–inside and out. Had I done something to him?
"Bryce," I muttered, keeping my voice low for some unknown reason. It was just us in the car.
"Hmm," he hummed, scanning his green eyes across the parking lot for a vacancy. "What is it?"
"Never mind." I shut down.
Bringing up Conner was a bad idea. Kelsey was in the hospital. He was probably acting like this because of the case his girlfriend was in.
"No, what is it, Sophia? What were you going to say?" Bryce located a spot on the third level, squeezing us between a white van and a rusty brown hooptie that made me think of my shitty car.
I'd have to pick it up from the shop this week. I made a mental note to remember to drive by there when I had time.
I unclicked my seatbelt. "Is there some kind of underlining anger Conner has towards me or is that just...how he always is? I was going to say he's been acting like that lately because of what happened with Kelsey but -"
"He's always like this." Bryce didn't let me finish my sentence. "I get where you're going with this, but no. I know Conner."
"I've known him for a long time, too."
"You knew him when he was a kid. That doesn't mean you know the kind of person he is today." Bryce turned the key, pulling it out, letting the car's engine die. "People change. If you knew me when I was younger, there's no doubt in my mind that you'd hate me. I guarantee it. You're lucky you didn't know me in High School."
We were out of the car now, strolling to the elevator that led to the first level in the parking garage. "You think I wouldn't like you? Why not?"
"I was far worse then. I got kicked out of four different schools and practically lived in detention during my Junior year. I started fights for no reason; I was a mess."
"Was a mess? As in past tense?"
Bryce rolled his eyes while the corner of his lips raised. He gently hooked me with his arm and drew me in. "You may be joking now, but I'm not trying to underestimate my formative years in high school. Do you remember those commercials growing up where they say: It's 11pm, do you know where your children are?"
"Oh, yeah I do. But in that creepy low voice," I recalled. "It said 10pm here."
"The curfew for minors are different for New York than it is for California," Bryce explained. "Anyway, I swear whenever that ad came on, I'd get a page from either my mom or dad. I didn't listen to them though. My parents tried to calm me down by getting me distracted with sports. And I did join a basketball team at some point, but I could never maintain a spot because of the amount of drama I got myself caught up in." He sighed. "Besides, had we gone to school together you would've found me obnoxious. You should be glad you didn't see me then."
"I think we would've gotten along. Even then."
"That's debatable," he said, extending his hand out to press the button for the elevator with the other hand on me. "Let me take a wild guess and say you hung out with all of the drama geeks and theater fanatics in high school, hanging out in the library or in some teacher's classroom for lunch."
He hit the nail on the head. To go against his depiction of me, I said something that was only true by a fraction. "I used to be a cheerleader."
I was on the team for a small number of weeks during my high school career. I tried out because I lost a bet created by a friend of mine.
I was astonished that I made the cut for the cheer squad. On the first day of practice, I made up a fake injury, coming to school in a wrist brace with a fabricated story to match. I made every excuse imaginable until the coach removed me from the team for missing so many practices.
"You were a cheerleader," Bryce batted his lashes in wonderment. When the elevator doors opened, we entered and he pushed the circular button that controlled which level we went to next.
We were alone.
Bryce glided his palm from my hip to the back, lowing his head till his lips were to my ear. His warm, tantalizing breath fanned my cheek and sparked my interest on what he'd exactly say.
Bryce brought his bottom lip between his teeth, teasing it, and loomed over me with a suggestive gleam that pierced right into me. "Do you think you still have the cheerleading outfit?"
"What if I did have it? Why do you care?"
"Because it would be really hot if you were in it and model it for me." Bryce whispered huskily into my ear. "Maybe even do a couple of cheers."
"I'm not doing all of that," I huffed, biting my lip to stop from smiling. "I didn't think you'd be interested in seeing it though. I figured you'd find it boring."
He reeled back. "You said you used to be a cheerleader and your first assumptions was that I'd find it boring? I don't believe you. You're lying."
I met my index finger with my thumb. "A little white lie."
I rose to my tippy-toe and pecked his stubbly cheek. Bryce's hand was making its way downward, past my belt loops, and I didn't see a reason to protest as the temperature in the tight space went up. "So, do you still have it?"
"I do." I shielded my oncoming grin. "The real question is: can I still fit it?"
"It couldn't have been that long ago."
"I haven't put it on for over three years."
"I have socks older than that." He noted. "That's actually not true. I take that back. I lose my socks faster than anyone else. I genuinely don't know where they go; it's like the socks play an endless game of hide and go seek every time I take them out of the packaging and wear them once."
"Yeah, I know that. I've seen your drawer of mix matched socks. It's quite the collection." I muffled a laugh.
The elevator doors separated and an elderly couple entered as we left, holding each other's hands in same way my hand was placed into Bryce's.
I was beaming, from ear to ear, when we got to the automatic doors. The shine from the bright sun over the doors made it hard to look inward. Feeling the soothing cool air, bursting from the A/C, I searched for the back of Conner's head.
"No, I came here yesterday. You know who the fuck I am," someone shouted. "What the hell do you mean I can't see her?!"
Found him. That wasn't too hard. All I had to do was look for the only one screaming in the hospital lobby.
"Sir, please use a calm tone and be respectful of the others around you," a male nurse in blue scrubs was hovering at the receptionist desk. "She's only allowed to have family visits right now. No outside visitors are allowed. You can come back later this week."
"Bullshit. The guy before said I could come back."
"I'm not sure who you talked to, but what I'm telling you now is that only family members can go in. Only if you're a blood relative or legally through marriage. You're neither of those two things from what you've told us."
"Sophia? You're here, too?" Someone from the sitting room stood up, approaching me.
I squinted at them; my eyes were still adjusting from coming inside. Bryce blocked my path, stopping whoever was walking up to us. "Why are you here, Remy?"
I craned my neck to the left and snuck a curious look. It most definitely was my ex-boyfriend Remy Annenberg. It took my a second to realize who he was. The swollen black eye, scratched up face, and busted lip made him nearly unrecognizable.
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