Gage (Pittsburgh Titans 3)

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” I murmur low.

“Well, the good thing was I was unconscious, so I didn’t feel the treatment… sloughing off burned skin, applying cadaver skin for a temporary fix, growing new skin and transplanting it, cutting off grafts from other parts of my body for transplant. Grossed out yet?”

Her eyes bore into mine, giving me the escape she thinks I need. “No, I’m not grossed out,” I admonish. “I’m incredibly sad for what you went through. I imagine what you’ve told me so far was just the beginning of the journey.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, trying to tug her hand away, but I don’t release it. Her eyes drop, and I see a waiter approaching, but I give him a curt shake of my head to detour and he veers appropriately. “I just… some people in my life didn’t handle it very well.” I frown and she clarifies. “Not Emory or my parents. They were there constantly, rotating in and out of the hospital and rehab facilities with me.”

I don’t ask her to elucidate further what she means. “Some people” could be anyone from friends to coworkers or maybe her boyfriend. She’s obviously single now, but I won’t jump to conclusions. She can tell me that at some point in the future if she wants, but for right now, I’ve heard enough.

Or rather, she’s recounted enough.

“All I know is I see an incredibly strong, courageous woman sitting before me. You risked your life to save a little girl, and you battled death and what sounds like an arduous journey to recovery. I’m in awe of you, Jenna, because you are absolutely irrepressible. Just look at you now.”

She tips her head, brows drawn in slightly.

As if she can’t fathom what that means.

“You don’t get many people pointing out your strengths, do you?” I ask, taking her silence to mean I’ve confounded her.

A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips. “Actually, my parents and sister tell me all the time. But they’re family… they’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“Yeah,” I agree, thinking of my own siblings and parents and how I could be the worst player in the league and they’d still think I was the best.

Jenna looks tired, and our date has just started. I’m not about to let her go down a dark hole because of the horrific memories she just dredged up.

Releasing her hand, I lift my wineglass and hold it aloft again, indicating for her to do the same. “Let’s play Twenty Questions. I bet we can really get to know each other well by the salad course.”

Jenna laughs, and I’m relieved. She taps her glass against mine. “What are the rules?”

“No rules. Just twenty probing questions designed to learn about each other. Bonus points if they make the other person laugh.”

“Filling up buckets,” she says, and I incline my head at her in surprise.

“Yes,” I agree. “Let’s put in a rule that says our subject matter has to be designed to fill up each other’s buckets.”

“I like that,” she agrees and sips her wine. Her face relaxes into a pleased smile, and I’m relieved.

?

Dinner lasted two and a half hours, and I could’ve stayed in the restaurant and continued talking. It was a yawn from Jenna, though, that got me calling for the check. I learned through the course of our conversation that she’s been putting in long hours the last few weeks and has to be up early.

We have a home game tomorrow, and that usually means an early morning for me as well.

Despite the fact she’s tired and we’re both mellow from wine and an incredible meal, the conversation rolls easily on the drive home. Our Twenty Questions evolved into a hundred questions, each of us volleying queries in an easygoing manner, both of us sponges, soaking up information about the other.

I’m lucky to find a spot not too far from the front door of her building, and I walk her up because that’s what I was raised to do (along with opening doors).

At her apartment, I take the keys she’d pulled from her purse and slip the designated one into the lock. I release the dead bolt and push open the door, but I stand my ground as she turns to look up at me.

“I had a really great time, Gage. Thank you.”

I want to tell her the same. Even hearing about the fire and all the pain she endured, the evening as a whole was the best time I’ve had in forever. I certainly can’t remember a dinner exchange with a woman being so fluid. I’m flattered that Jenna trusted me enough to let me in on her dark history.

But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I slide my left hand up and along the right side of her neck. Jenna flinches as my fingers graze over the scars before wrapping around to the back. Her eyes widen as I pull her upward, and she goes to her tiptoes as I bend down.