Chapter Eight
“So, how is that one song coming along?”
Brady paused his unwrapping of the First Aid kit he just bought, lifting his eyes to meet mine. The smile that spread on his face reminded me of the times he’d wake me up in the middle of the night to play me a tune or read me three lines of lyrics he was really proud of. He wore this same smile then.
“Really great. I’m recording the last of it tomorrow, and my manager is going to have a copy for me by Monday. You guys are going to love it,” he insisted.
I smiled too, despite the pain in my knee that seemed to be getting worse with each passing second, because I liked when he was this happy. Moments like this one reminded me of how much I actually missed my brother and how much I wish life was still normal and he had never become famous. As horrible and selfish as that is, I couldn’t help it.
“Is it the single everyone’s been waiting for?” I asked as he returned to unwrapping the First Aid kit.
“No. I can show you that one when we get home.”
“So how’s the rest of the album going? What’s it called?”
My brother rummaged through the kit’s contents. The gas station clerk had generously offered to let us use a back room instead of the bathroom, and Brady had thanked her with an autograph. She swooned, I gagged. The whole thing was very weird to me.
The gash on my knee suddenly began to ooze blood again, so Brady quickly grabbed the damp cleaning cloth the clerk had given us before to stop the flow from dripping onto the ground. I reached for the cloth so that he could continue searching for whatever he was looking for in the kit.
“It’s called Our Song after one of the tracks. It’s going to be hugely based on connecting with relationships and friendships. It’s a lot more acoustic, but a lot more…cute. Get what I’m saying?” he smirked, feeling awkward about using the word “cute.”
My lips spread into a grin. “Yeah, I get it. Sounds like something I could get into.”
He rolled his eyes. “You best be always into my music.”
“I was at first. Then your second album became really pop-oriented and radio friendly, and that’s not a bad thing,” I tried explaining. “I really liked, um..” I snapped my fingers until I finally remembered the titles. “You’ll Never Know and Playing With Fire from that album.”
“Not Absolutely?” he asked, clearly surprised.
I pursed my lips. “Mm, no. That one got overplayed. Your third album was better, though. Much more like the first. I liked that one.”
“Well, I think you’ll like this one,” Brady decided. “Besides, I dedicated it to you.”
“To me? The whole album?”
“Yeah.” He must have found what he was looking for in the kit, because he set it down to meet my gaze again. “I mean, obviously not the love songs, but the album in general. On my birthday, I was going to come home to see you guys. And then, I don’t know, something didn’t work out and I couldn’t. I started to think about other years and I remembered that surprise birthday party you threw me.” He smirked. “And you invited Mandy Jansen because you thought I liked her and I really I couldn’t stand her.”
I chuckled along with him, remembering.
“And I realized that like, all of my birthdays stand out because you always did something stupid for them. Remember when you wanted to make my cake yourself after taking that Foreign Foods class in middle school? And it was like – “
“Mush,” I nodded, closing my eyes and pressing a hand to my forehead. “Don’t remind me.”
“And that one time you called the local news so they’d announce my birthday in the morning with my picture, and they added like twenty years to my actual age.”
“Yeah, I get it, Brady. I made your birthdays pretty interesting.”
“Hah, yeah,” he nodded. “Anyway, so when I couldn’t come home for my birthday, I thought of you and then Our Song just sort of happened. After that, I had this idea to just write songs based on relationships I’ve had or want to have. Friendships and stuff. And then the album just fell together, all because of you,” he finished explaining.
“Indirectly,” I added.
“Yes, indirectly. But still because of you all the same.”
A sharp sting shot through my knee, and I winced, looking down at it in horror. How can a stupid cut hurt so bad? Why am I so incapable of not doing something idiotic daily?
“Yeah, let’s get you cleaned up,” Brady mumbled then, his attention returning to the First Aid kit. “I can’t find any freaking tape…”
A knock sounded on the door of the back room we were in. Both of our heads snapped up to the noise.
“Come in,” Brady said, his brows tilting inwards, confused.
The clerk poked her head inside. “Um, excuse me,” she began, her face flushing. “Harry Styles is, um – “
“Oh, let him in,” Brady waved her off, saving her from stumbling through her flustered words.
I felt my stomach drop slightly. Why can’t I just be rid of him?
Seconds later, the famous member of a crazy famous boy band joined my brother and I in this little back room. He had a hand in one of the pockets of his shorts, and before he spoke, he pulled something out.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” Brady greeted him, still distracted with finding the tape he was looking for in the kit.
“Hey,” Harry responded, nodding to me as well. I gave him a tightlipped smile, dropping my eyes as soon as it wouldn’t be considered impolite to. “So you left your phone at the field. It was ringing before.”
“Who was it?” Brady asked, finally just dumping the kit’s contents onto the floor.
“Um, Delia?” Harry told him, sounding unsure.
I wasn’t sure who Delia was, but apparently – and understandably – Brady did. And whoever it was, he should not have missed her call. His hands froze in the midst of moving different little first aid things around, his eyes widening. He quickly stood and retrieved his phone from Harry.
Meanwhile, my knee began to bleed again.
“Shit,” Brady muttered, assumingly checking his missed calls to confirm what Harry had just told him.
“Who’s Delia?” I finally asked.
“Shit,” Brady just said again, suddenly stalking towards the door. With one hand on the door handle, he turned back towards Harry and I. “I just have to go call her back. I’ll be quick.”
And then he was gone, and I was sitting on a flipped mop bucket holding a cleaning cloth over my bloody knee with the contents of a First Aid kid scattered on the floor in front of me while Harry Styles of One Direction, who had been the unfortunate victim of the smoothie I’d accidentally let fly, stood and watched the door long after it had swung shut behind my brother. Eventually, his gaze fell on me.
“Hello, again,” he said, smiling for the first time since before I took one for the team. “How’s your knee?”
I swallowed my aversion to him. “Bleeding.”
My sense of humor amazes me.
“But no, I’m alright,” I amended.
“Want some help cleaning that up?”
I couldn’t help but think that that was probably the exact thing I should have asked him right after dumping my smoothie on him. Quickly, I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. Brady will be right back. Thanks.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, already coming towards me, taking Brady’s spot on the floor in front of me. “It’s no problem. That way you guys can get going. Brady’s got somewhere to be after this, right?”
I watched him, wondering what would possess him to want to clean my bloody knee. Wondering why he hasn’t asked me yet about the smoothie thing. Wondering why he was so nice.
“Uh, yeah. Some kind of meeting I think,” I answered.
Harry picked up the tape my brother must have been looking for, and then some type of spray. He read its label, his brows tilting inwards as he focused on it. I watched as he licked his lips unknowingly before meeting my gaze again.
“I’m not sure if this will sting or not, but I think it’s supposed to help prevent infection,” he said, glancing at the bottle again. “Good?”
I nodded, closing my eyes and looking away just in case. When I felt the cool liquid mist against my skin, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the lack of a stinging sensation. In fact, it felt really good.
Harry took the cloth from my hand, wiped up what was left of the blood, and then dabbed gently at the gash itself. Which hurt. A lot. I gripped the edges of the bucket and gritted my teeth together, trying not to react too much but failing miserably.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, quickly removing the cloth. “I think I got it all.”
I shook my head and waved a hand. “No, it’s okay. Just do whatever.”
It was hard to really focus on the fact that Harry Styles of One Direction was cleaning my wound right now, because the only thing my head had room for was the amount of pain I was in. This is why I should just never be allowed to play sports. Ever.
I felt something press over the gash softly, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that Harry was ripping off pieces of tape now to hold down the pad he’d placed on the cut. His lips were pursed now, his curls falling over his forehead, past his brow. He must be due for a haircut soon. Possibly.
“Better?” he asked once he was finished. He sat back, admiring his handy work with a confident and hopeful expression.
Though it still hurt, it did feel better. And suddenly I realized that I was fervently glad I’d thought of shaving this morning and wearing lotion. I don’t even want to think about how embarrassing this would have been if I hadn’t done those things.
“Yeah, definitely,” I told him. “Thank you.”
He smiled, pushing himself off the ground and brushing his back off. “Not a problem.”
And then he was holding his hand out to help me up, and I stared at it far too long to be considered normal. Coughing awkwardly, I forced myself to take it and let him help me up. But when I tried to take a step, it was clear that putting pressure on my knee was a no-go still.
“Here, let me just…” he trailed off, draping my arm over his shoulder and sliding his own arm around my waist.
I could feel my face blushing from the contact, but more so because I realized that he smelled really nice. Even after playing a hardcore football game. And I tried to think of the last time I was this close to a guy aside from my brother and my dad, but the most recent time I could remember would have been my freshman year with my then boyfriend, Sam.
As we started towards the door this way, I blurted, “You smell good.” Because apparently my brain and my tongue do not associate.
I shouldn’t have looked, but I couldn’t help but want to see his reaction to that. He grinned widely down at me as he pulled open the door. “Thanks. It’s Bleu de Chanel.”
I just nodded, awkwardly smiling, as I’ve already said far too much.
Walking through doorways was difficult, we realized, first with the doorway to that back room, and then with the doorway to the parking lot where Brady had taken his phone call. The clerk held the door open for us, but it was still hard squeezing through, and eventually we just separated from each other, Harry went out first, sort of lifted me over the threshold, and then we returned to our previous position to hobble over to my brother.
He was still on the phone, though he obviously didn’t want to be. Harry and I watched him silently get rid of whoever he was talking to, and then after what felt like ages, we watched him hang up.
“Oh, you’re done?” my brother asked, pointing at my bandaged knee, confused. “I was just – “
“He took care of it,” I assured him, gesturing to the boy beside me. “I’m good now. We can go.”
This clearly was a relief to him. “Thank God. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” He stuck his phone into his pocket and quickly stepped forward to retrieve me. “We need to go.”
“Go where?” I frowned.
“Well, you’re going home. I have to go meet with my manager and the rest of the team and…” he trailed off, sighing. “It’s going to be a long night.”
As long as I don’t have to be a part of it, I’m alright with that. Brady got a grip on me the way Harry had, and I spotted our SUV coming down the road. Brady must have called the driver at some point. I turned to give Harry one more smile, maybe another thanks, but he was tapping away on his phone, probably fetching his own ride. So I left him be.
When the driver pulled up next to us, he quickly got out, rounded the vehicle, and opened the back door for us, glancing at my knee. Brady helped me inside, and I winced when bending my knee tugged at the tape and ultimately stung a bit.
“Thanks again,” I could hear my brother telling Harry, rounding the back of the vehicle behind the driver. “And we’ll have to do this again soon. The game, I mean.”
“Sure thing,” Harry nodded, throwing Brady a quick smile.
The driver pulled Brady’s door open, and after one last wave, my brother slid inside. I watched Harry through my almost completely tinted window, but I wonder if he still could see me, because he gave me a smile as well and waved.
So I smiled in return, and though I’m still not sure if he can see me or not, I waved, too.