Page 43 of Lessons in Lemonade

He chuckles and runs his hand through his messy hair. “No. As it is, you’re already making me fat. I need to eat less. Can I help you clean up?”

“No, thanks, I’ve got this.” I smile at him as he stands. “And maybe you should stop blaming the food and get back in the gym.” My tone is teasing, but I’m not fully joking. I think it would be good for him to get back to a regular workout.

“I’m actually meeting an old friend tomorrow. He’s going to help me.” He takes the bowl in front of him, rinses it out, and puts it in the dishwasher.

“Really, that’s great. Where is this friend?”

“The Citadel.” He limps back to the couch and sits down.

“Wow.” I’m surprised, although I shouldn’t be. Of course he’s going to go to the college gym. “You know, I’ve never actually been to the campus. You’ll have to tell me what you think.”

I watch as he reaches down to rub his knee. I don’t think it hurts; it’s just become sort of an involuntary tic.

“I will. I can’t imagine it’s anything less than perfectly adequate. My trainer back home was happy.”

‘Back home’—a flash reminder that here isn’t. He will get better and then leave.

“How do you know him?” I ask, shoving aside the unwelcome feelings and moving into the living room to sit next to him.

“College. We played together then, and he was my first roommate.” He bends over, and I watch as he takes the brace then the bandage off to bend his knee. It’s the first time I’ve seen it since we were at the hospital and they unwrapped it after the flight. Fresh dark pink scars artfully decorate his skin.

“Wow, those are some mighty fine scars you have.” I didn’t expect them to be so large. What happened to microscopic incisions? I thought that was how they performed knee surgeries these days. I frown at the sight and hate that he now has these permanent reminders.

He lets out a deep sigh. “Yeah, just par for the course. I keep reminding myself that finding a football player who doesn’t have a knee scar is rare, so technically I’ve joined the club.” He gives me a lopsided grin, but it doesn’t exactly reach his eyes.

“I have a scar, too,” I blurt out without thinking.

“Let me see it.” He shifts and turns to look at me more directly.

Feeling a little nervous and a lot self-conscious, I stand. I never show people the scar—not that they ask, and certainly never a man; it feels private, like something that’s just for me. Even so, I slowly undo the button on my jeans and pull down the zipper. His face lights up and his brows rise like he’s pleased with the direction of my undressing, and I just roll my eyes. Such a guy. Lowering the front part of my underwear, I reveal the seven-inch scar there between my hip bones. I’ve been told it looks similar to a C-section scar, but whatever, it’s not. It’s a cancer scar.

“It’s bigger than what I was expecting, too,” he says softly.

“That’s what she said,” I murmur, and his eyes snap up to mine just before he laughs.

“I can’t believe you just said that.” He’s grinning, his dimples finally making an appearance, and it reminds me of preinjury Jack.

“Why not?” I take a step back and zip up my pants, trying not to feel awkward.

“I don’t know, you just surprised me.” His face has turned thoughtful as he watches me.

“That’s me—full of surprises.” I flop back down next to him and kick off my heels. I forgot I was wearing them and could have ditched them an hour ago.

“Does it bother you?” There’s concern written across the muscles of his jaw. I know he wants to talk about the cancer—I’ve watched him try to find ways to bring it up before—he’s just not sure how to.

“No. There was a tiny period of time where I wished I had my old body back, but the reality is, I’m not that person anymore. This is my new body, and because of this body I’ve learned a lot about myself and I’m stronger for it. No going back, right?”

“No, no going back.” The tension eases as his gaze drifts over my face. “What did you learn about yourself?” he asks attentively.

“Well, for starters I learned that the body is amazing. As much as I was mentally fighting for me, it was fighting for me physically. Yes, I lost weight. Yes, I lost my sense of taste. Yes, I lost my hair. And yes, I was housing quite a large tumor that it welcomed the departure of by healing quickly. I am so much stronger than I ever thought I was. Even on the hardest days, I know I can push through it, because I already have. It’s given me the confidence to know I can defeat anything.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, not saying anything, just staring at me with those eyes.

A blush deepens my cheeks. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. This wasn’t and isn’t about him. It’s about me.

“I also learned that time is magic. It’s what set the tone to define how I choose to live my life now. You’ve teased me before about always drinking the lemonade and calling me Little Miss Sunshine, but I have to look for the good in every situation. I want to. Things may not always be crystal clear, but I know eventually the sun will come out. I choose the positive, because what’s the point in the alternative?”

His face blanches and he leans back a smidge as if I pushed him. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you in any way. I admire your outlook on life. It’s one of the things I love about you.”