Page 37 of Intersect

“Darcy. Never bet her money on this game.” I’m not trying to pump her up—she’s truly unbelievably good at it, and every time she wins I’m swallowing down a lump in my throat. It’s so fucking unfair that I’m dying now that I’ve found Nick. And it’s so much more unfair that she’s dying before she’s experienced anything at all, before she’s gotten a chance to even uncover that amazing potential inside her. I hate that she’s getting worse. Even over the course of our game she’s been falling asleep and then jolting awake a minute later, without seeming to realize she was asleep at all.

Christy smooths a hand over her daughter’s head, where only tiny wisps of light hair remain. “That’s exactly what Darcy’s father says.”

Nick raises a brow at her. “Any progress with that?”

Christy shoots a wary glance at her daughter, who’s dozed off again. “Nothing yet.”

I know, from Nick, that Darcy’s father was stationed in Afghanistan and is recovering from serious injuries there. The hope is he’ll be stable enough to be transported back to the States before Darcy gets too ill. Except, based on how thin she is and those circles under her eyes, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s going to be too late.

“Quinn,” Darcy says, opening her eyes as if nothing’s happened, “what’s Prom?”

My lips press together and I try not to think too hard about why she’s asking me this. “It’s a dance. In high school. Girls wear long dresses and boys wear tuxedos.”

She drops a yellow disc into a row, basically trapping me. No matter what I do, she will win on her next turn. “Who did you go with?” she asks.

Nick’s eyes flicker to mine, waiting for my answer. “Um…his name was Josh. Josh Casey.”

“Did you kiss him?” she asks. “Was he a football player?”

“Darcy,” her mother scolds softly, “that’s a little personal.”

I smile at them both. “It’s okay. Yes, I kissed him. And no, he played hockey. He still does, actually. He plays for Vancouver now.”

“I just won,” she says, dropping in her last yellow disc. Her eyes close for a long moment, but then open again. “Are you still friends?”

I shrug. “I guess. He moved away so we only see each other at Christmas.” When I glance up at Nick, I find his jaw is set. And he looks absolutely miserable. He can’t possibly be jealous of someone I dated a decade ago, but it would certainly appear, to look at him, he is exactly that.

* * *

He says nothing about it as we leave the hospital. We maintain a safe distance between us until we’re outside and have crossed to Reservoir Road. That’s when his fingers twine with mine. “I hate that,” he says quietly. “I hate that there were other guys. It feels like whoever’s changing your life has stolen something from me. I should have taken you to Prom. I should have been your first kiss, your first everything, and I fucking hate that I wasn’t.”

I sigh. I’ve tried not to let myself think about it, but there’s always a small weight in my chest, knowing he’s been with other people. From the sound of it, a lot of other people. “I know. It bothers me too.”

“And with fucking Josh Casey of all people,” he mutters. “You went to Prom with Josh fucking Casey. I can’t believe you never mentioned you used to date a pro athlete.”

I shrug. “I don’t think of him as a pro athlete. I just think of him as a nice kid from the town over who was obsessed with hockey. And I didn’t sleep with him, if that helps. Jeff’s the only person I’ve ever been with.”

“It helps less than you think. No guy wants to picture his girlfriend with the center for the Canucks in any capacity.”

I laugh and lean my head against his arm. “He was a kid, Nick. And actually…this is going to sound crazy, but I think it’ll help both of us: I want to see pictures. I want to see who you took to Prom. I want to see the first girl you ever slept with.”

He stops walking entirely. “Why the fuck would you want to see that?” he asks incredulously.

“Because I think it’ll make me feel less jealous. I’m picturing supermodels, but really, they were just girls. And Josh Casey was an 18-year-old boy who was badly in need of a haircut and had terrible taste in music.”

“I’m taller than he is,” he mutters, unappeased.

I go on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Yes, baby, I know. Now let’s go find some pictures.”

* * *

Because I just unpacked, it doesn’t take long to unearth my childhood photo album, but Nick’s box of memorabilia is a little harder to come by, so it takes a few more days before we finally get around to the big reveal. When I show him the infamous Josh Casey of a decade ago, his shoulders relax. “Okay, you were right. I feel better.”

“Your turn,” I reply, nodding at the box. It will bother me, no matter who the girls are, that I wasn’t his first for anything. But I think it will normalize it a little—as long as they’re all not as attractive as Meg.

He digs into a large box he’s brought up from the basement and stares at the contents in dismay. “I have no idea what half of this crap is,” he says, handing me a pile of papers. “But the yearbooks may be at my parents’ house.”

I begin looking through the stuff he’s handed to me. “Are you hoarding love letters from old girlfriends?”