One Good Man

He chuckled again.

We made it to the street and I wondered what to do next. This close, even with a cloth covering half his face, Adrien was beautiful. His hair was soft under my hand cradling his head. His hands came up and gently removed my handkerchief. He held my hand in his.

“I’m fine, Janey. Really.” His gravelly voice lowered. “But your concern for me…It’s nice.”

My throat went dry. A voice in my mind wondered if it had been a long time since anyone had taken care of him.

The silence thickened and warmed under the sun, as Adrien gazed down at me. But a small drop of blood seeped from his nose and my panic flared all over again.

“Merde! We have to be sure you’re okay. Come on.”

We took a train back to the student infirmary at the Sorbonne, where one of Adrien’s friends and a fellow medical student—a third year—examined his nose.

“Not broken,” Marcel said. “Aspirin for pain, ice for swelling. You might have some bruising under your eyes, but the ruination of your exquisite face is only temporary.”

“Go to hell,” Adrien said with a grin. He tipped his head back and winced as he pinched his nose.

Marcel chuckled, but not one bit of this was funny to me. The thought I might have jeopardized Adrien’s next soccer match made me ill.

“He has a game next week,” I said, my foot tapping the floor. “Can he still play?”

“I’d advise against headers,” Marcel said. “But yes, he can play.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Adrien did not.

Marcel glanced at me. “So what happened? Did he get fresh with you?”

Adrien grinned. “I keep telling her, Janey doesn’t know her own strength.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but didn’t have to reply anyway. Marcel rummaged around his desk.

“Before I forget…” He came up with a pamphlet. “Did you see this? Dr. Max Recamiér is speaking at the Panthéon Sorbonne about his humanitarian work in Nigeria. He and another doc, Bernard Kouchner, are trying to establish something big. A global emergency-medicine foundation with doctors and journalists. They want to practice in countries that need it and help spread awareness of atrocities that are ignored by the Western world.” He handed the paper to Adrien. “I immediately thought of you.”

Adrien’s eyes lit up as he took the brochure for the symposium. I saw it happen—a kindling of his passion at the exact moment it found its purpose.

“When…?” he asked softly, his eyes scanning the page.

“Saturday afternoon, two weeks from now,” Marcel said.

“The same day as PC’s final match of the season,” Adrien murmured. He smiled tightly and handed the flyer back to Marcel. “Let me know how it went.”

Without another word, he got up and left the clinic.

I stared after him, then hurriedly rose to my feet.

“Can I take this?” I asked. I snatched the pamphlet out of Marcel’s hand and left without waiting for answer.

Adrien

“Adrien, wait!”

I stopped at the street corner, bracing myself for what I knew was coming.

Janey ran to stand before me, looking impossibly beautiful with her cheeks flushed pink and her blue eyes meeting mine with an understanding I’d never seen in anyone else before.

“You have to go to this,” she said, pressing Dr. Recamier’s speech pamphlet in my hand. “This is just what you want, isn’t it? To help on the world’s stage? This could be the start of something…big.”

“I can’t, Janey,” I said. “The final match is that day. There will be other speeches. Other chances…”