The Beautiful Game

Chapter Twenty Six - Carter

    I hated Snickers bars when I was a kid.

    So much so that I used to trade them every Halloween, I took it seriously too; I was like the Pablo Escobar of candy. I couldn't explain it. I liked chocolate, peanuts, and caramel; it didn't make much sense, I concluded it was something to do with the nuts getting stuck in my teeth.

    But, as I stand underneath the unforgiving fluorescent lights of a depressing hospital canteen, all I want is a snickers bar. Could be the appealing glow of the vending machine, brightening a corner of the grey room, making some of the most mundane snacks look like you've hit the trifecta. I insert a five dollar bill and punch three numbers in for the snickers and wait.

    "You shouldn't be here."

    They were the first words out my father's mouth to me after we'd hauled our asses around the emergency room looking for him. Isobel had shouted my father's name at the front desk like a banshee; the wide-eyed clerk pointed us in the right direction as if she was held by gunpoint.

    Isobel and I finally found him, sat up in a small cubicle, looking disgruntled as usual; Mom beside herself, unable to sit still on the small red plastic chair, fishing through her purse for God only knows what. Anything to keep her hands busy I guess.

    Isobel walked straight toward him, rested a shaking hand on the arm that wasn't attached to any of the wires, purely moving on instinct, a worried daughter to her father. Whereas I lingered by the ugly hospital curtain feeling like an imposter. He merely confirmed it when he looked right at me and simply rolled his eyes. Not because he didn't want me to worry, or because he didn't want the fuss; but because he simply did not want me there.

    There's a bizarre noise coming from the machine in front of me; a whirring sound that rattles as the snickers bar is stuck on one of the metallic spirals. It remains on a drunken tilt, hanging on by a thread but just not quite enough to fall. The irony isn't lost on me as my gaze meets my reflection in the glass, looking fucking exhausted and more pissed off by the minute, hanging on my own paper thin thread.

    I notice someone approaching in my peripheral vision, I wonder whether they'd report me if I punched a fucking hole through this thing.

    "Carter?" It's like I've touched an exposed livewire the moment I hear her husky voice. I didn't even need to look to know who it was, I'd know her voice anywhere. I take a break from glaring at the pathetic chocolate bar, to meet Lou's quizzical gaze.

    My God. The shitty lighting is no match against her. She's glowing, who the fuck looks like that in hospital scrubs?

    Whether it's that short gold dress I first saw her in or those baggy green scrubs, she's beautiful.

    "Hi. You look good." Shit, did I say that out loud?

    A quiet moment passes between us and Lou nibbles on her bottom lip, weighing up what to say next. I try to not watch her mouth for too long, unfiltered memories fire back from when I tasted her, drawing her against me. How hot and soft her lips had been, perfectly moulded against my own mouth.

    "I look tired."

    Unaware of my sordid thoughts, she alternates her weight from either side, clearly uncomfortable and likely regretting approaching me in the first place; and I'd do just about anything to take that look from her face.

    "So, this is where you have your work placement?"

    "Carter." She's not buying my idle conversation.

    "My snickers bar is stuck." Lou's eyebrows pinch slightly as she looks into the vending machine.

   "Why are you here?"

    "I often visit different hospitals in search of a midnight snack." Despite everything I smirk down at Lou, she doesn't rise to it, instead she just waits for me to explain the real reason.

    "My dad came in about an hour or so ago." Lou looks away from the vending machine, she stares at me as concern floods her blue eyes, making my own chest tight.

    "Oh my God, is he alright?"

    "He's fine. They said he'd had a heart attack, but they're running more tests."

    "Is there anything I can do?" It's unwarranted, especially after everything I'd said to her, but Lou's concern is so genuine that I feel a fraud.

     "You know what's upsetting me the most right now?" I turn to face the vending machine, unable to look Lou in the eye. "This." I tap twice on the glass. 

     "Oh, and that I know I'm missing my eight hours of sleep, so practise is going to be an absolute bitch in the morning." My own dark eyes stare back at me in the reflection as I loosen a small humourless laugh. "My dad's lying on a hospital bed a few doors away, hooked up to all kinds of monitors and I'm more upset about this heap of shit holding my chocolate bar hostage. Seriously how fucked up is that?" I claw back a deep breath, resting my forehead against the glass and closing my eyes.

    My breath hitches in my throat and goose bumps scatter across my body as warmth spreads from where Lou's hand is touching my arm, so softly, I think I'm imagining it.

    "Everyone deals with shock differently." She takes a breath as she means to continue but stops when she sees me shaking my head slowly.

   "Honestly Blondie, you're the last person I'd expect to go easy on me. It's fucked up."

    "Do you want me to find someone who's looking after him? You must have questions." Her hand squeezes, trying to comfort me. I lean back from the glass and look at her again, I regret moving the moment her hand falls away from my arm.

    "Why are you trying to help anyway? Shouldn't you be shouting at me, calling me names?" She shakes her head slightly.

   "Douchebag or not, what's happened tonight is a shocking event, you're reeling and that's totally normal Carter."

   "Douchebag? That the best you can do? How about hypocrite?" One of her eyebrows raises as my words soak in. "I've got some pretty award winning daddy issues myself Blondie." Lou startles at my words, and I curse myself for even bringing it up.

    Who the fuck am I to make comparisons between the two of us? Her dad died. She loved him and he was taken from her.

    My father and I just can't stomach the sight of one another, God, I'm such a fucking idiot.

    I press my forehead up against the glass again, closing my eyes and wishing I'd never opened my big god damn mouth.