Marcus: I’m Not That Easy to Forget

The next time I saw Jordan was a week after the accident. I was in the lobby of St. James, waiting for another of my friends, Anna, when he sauntered out of a hallway with Heather in his arms.

She seemed oddly vibrant for someone who claimed to have been in an accident. And there I was, still in my clutches, and unable to go get a new pair of glasses.

Anger bobbled in my chest. I needed it to simmer.

They had already walked past me, Heather giggling and clinging to Jordan, who had a blank, almost bored expression on. But he halted suddenly, turning around to face me. 

“It’s you,” he murmured, angling his head. “The guy from the parking lot.”

Jordan took me in, from the clutches, to my feeble hands holding on to them. I'd never wished to be in a different situation more than now. I felt the heat creep up my face as I tried to look away sharply. 

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, trying to avert his gaze. 

“How’s your leg?”

I blinked, bringing my eyes sharply to his. He stared at me with deep pools of blue, and suddenly, strangely, I found myself nervous. My tongue felt attached to the roof of my mouth, and even if it wasn't, I doubted I could trust it. 

He peered at me. “Can’t you talk?”

“Babe,” Heather whined, holding on to his arm tighter. “I think I can feel a light ache in my ankle. Can we go check that out?”

Jordan cast her a glance before looking at me again. “Do you have to go check that out?” he asked, nodding at my leg. “We could go to the hospital together.”

I knew that I wasn’t due for another check-up until the following day. And I knew my friend, Anna, would be looking for me. 

Yet, I nodded to Jordan, surprising even myself. “Yeah,” I breathed. “We could do that.”

The ride to the hospital was painfully quiet. Not in an awkward way. But worse. The kind that made me super aware of every little thing. The low purr of the engine, the rain tapping lightly against the windshield. Jordan’s hands wrapped loosely around the wheel. 

I tried not to stare at it. 

But I failed.

His fingers were long, with veins running beneath the pale skin. He flexed his wrist every time he took a turn, and he drove with one hand, relaxed into the leather seat, like someone who’d done this a million times.

Heather wasn't with us. She had a last-minute appointment with the girls and had to leave. I couldn't tell which was better. Riding with or without her. 

“You can relax, you know?” Jordan muttered suddenly, his baritone piercing through the quiet. 

Heat danced up my neck. I swallowed, folding my fists by my side. "I am relaxed."

From the corner of his eyes, Jordan glanced at me briefly before snorting. That was the first real sound he'd made since we left Heather. He thrummed a finger against the wheel, and I stared too long at it. 

Fucking hell!

Beside me, Jordan’s phone beeped for the fifth time. 

Heather.

I knew because her name popped up brightly across the screen on the dashboard.

Jordan ignored it, just like he'd done the first four times. The screen went dead, and silence returned to the car. 

“You know,” Jordan said, his eyes still on the road. “Most people would have said no.”

“To what?”

"To get into a car with me, especially if I'd treated them badly a while ago. I tend to treat people really badly."

A frown graced my features. "Why do you treat people badly?"

Jordan looked up at me, and something crossed in his eyes. Something indecipherable. But was it weird that it felt like he was trying to figure something out? In a slow second, one corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smirk. 

“You really don’t pay attention to rumors, huh? I've heard that's a thing with nerds. Heads and eyes on your books and nothing else."

"I'm not a nerd," I pushed back, even though I knew I was. For fuck's sake, I used a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and everyone in my class came to me when they had issues interpreting something Shakespeare said. It was a textbook nerd attitude.

I’d never had an issue with anyone calling me that.

But for some reason…

Jordan barked out a laugh next to me. He'd been watching the discomfort flicker through my features. His laugh sounded gritty, like it came from his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed and I found myself swallowing too. 

“Damn,” he breathed. “You really are weird.”

I hated the sound of that, too.

A few minutes later, the hospital came into view. Jordan parked in the underground lot reserved for staff only. He killed the engine and unlocked the doors, but for a second, neither of us moved. 

Then his phone rang again. 

Jordan stared at the screen, declined the call, and got out of the car. 

***

“Are you sure you don’t need a wheelchair?” Jordan asked casually, reducing his pace to match mine.

I shot him a glare as we sauntered into the hospital lobby. Or more like he sauntered, and I hopped on the crutches. How did anyone use this?

Laughter ghosted his lips as he raised his hands innocently. “Just asking,” he murmured. “The car hit you pretty bad. I just thought….”

“I’m on crutches, not dying.”

“I mean….Heather acted like she was dying. We’re yet to confirm that you aren’t.”

I stared at him, noting the smirk on his lips as he shrugged his hands into his pockets. He was teasing me. And just like that, something shifted. It was small. Unnoticeable, but present. For the first time since knowing Jordan, he didn't feel untouchable. 

Today, he just felt like Jordan. Any Jordan. And the realization made me nervous all over again. 

We got further into the building, and the smile on his lips dropped a little. I realized that people kept throwing stares his way. Of course, they were. Jordan Arthur was a popular name and face, and he existed as if he knew the world belonged to him. 

The students near the reception desk whispered breathily the minute we arrived, but Jordan ignored them completely. “You can sit,” he said to me instead. 

“I’m fine.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I’m not.”

Jordan angled his head and narrowed his gaze. And then, he reached forward suddenly. My breath hitched in my throat. I dared not breathe. 

Or move.

Or fucking do anything.

His fingers brushed lightly against my forehead, his cool fingers against my warm skin. “So stubborn,” he murmured quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

But I caught it.

The touch lasted for all but two seconds. Maybe less. Yet, my heart thumped so hard, so achingly, that I almost doubled over. It was stupid.

Jordan pulled away first, his expression blank as he buried his hands in his pocket again. "Sit down before you collapse dramatically and ruin my carefully planned evening."

I sat without thinking about it, the crutches by my side. He was staring at me again, this time with amusement in his eyes. 

God.

I hated him. 

Maybe. 

A nurse approached a few minutes later, a clipboard beneath her arm. “Marcus?”

I tried getting up immediately, reaching for my crutches at the same time. But they slipped from my reach suddenly, skidding against the polished floor. Everything happened too fast. I was falling towards the crutches, my injured leg buckling underneath me. 

But in that abrupt second….

The scent in the air changed. It was darker now, more leather than antiseptic as Jordan pushed towards me. He wrapped a firm hand around my waist, using his body as my anchor. His chest. 

Air knocked out of my lungs as one of his hands gripped my side while the other held my shoulders, impossibly close. Neither of us moved. I could hear his breathing, hard, hot. I could feel it. 

But it was all gone in a second, as his eyes widened softly, as if he’d only just realized how close we were standing. 

“Careful,” he said softly, stepping away from me. 

The nurse cleared her throat. Our heads jerked towards her. We’d forgotten she was there. 

“Can your boyfriend help you into the room?”