“Where is he?” Ellie gasped, as soon as the door swung open. The run from where she had haphazardly parked her neighbor’s borrowed Corolla, up the porch stairs and to the front door hadn’t been particularly taxing, but she’d felt her heart hammering since the second she’d opened the string of disjointed and typo-riddled texts that suggested Ramón had been typing one-handed, and through the whole drive from campus to the house Ramón and Charlie shared with three of their teammates.
The whole drive, her mind had been overcome with images and possibilities, filling in the numerous gaps Ramón’s texts left. She had been able to interpret “fight” “Charlie” “u should get here asap” and a mangled mix of letters she’d understood to be her newly minted asshole ex Kieran (Newly minted ex. He’d always been an asshole, even when she hadn’t wanted to see it.) What she couldn’t figure out was everything else, and confusion and something akin to anger had swirled in equal measure the entire time she had been cursing Newcomb’s huge campus and Astoria’s slow stoplights. What was Kieran even doing there? She was angry at him for showing up and causing trouble, when he’d already given her enough for a lifetime. She was bothered by Charlie letting things get that far, knowing his scholarship and career could be on the line. She was annoyed by Ramón not giving her more information and leaving her to jump to conclusions herself, despite trying not to.
Ramón himself waved her in from inside the door. “He’s in the living room. I made him put some ice on.” He looked grim but determined, and it’s only then that Ellie’s hit with a wave of gratitude that breaks through the worry and the annoyance at both him and Charlie. Ramón really is the perfect alternate captain, always has been. He would have mitigated the damage as much as he could, kept his captain safe above all else. She’s grateful that Ramón had been looking out for Charlie, who had, in turn, likely been looking out for her. She squeezed his arm gently, hoping it will suffice until she can express her thanks more fully.
She saw Charlie as soon as she turns into the living room. It’s hard to miss him—lying flat on his back with a pack of frozen berries over one eye and the other one closed, a beer that he hasn’t made much progress on dangling from the hand hanging off the couch.
“Charlie?” She asked, her voice smaller than she intended. He sat up with a start, the berries falling into his lap and revealing an already-splotchy purple bruise blooming on his cheek and a cut that’s been neatly closed with a butterfly bandage.
“Ellie…I—” He started as she closed the distance between them and sat down next to him. Almost dazed, Ellie took his face in one hand, tilting it to get a better look. He was holding his breath, she was close enough to notice. She might have been too, although she couldn’t be sure. There were too many things to notice at this distance. The split lip that was barely starting to scab. The way his eyelashes fanned down over his cheeks, hazel eyes fixed on her so intently. That bruise will look a lot worse before it gets better, she thought, tracing over the edge near his cheekbone abstractly. He hissed at the contact but didn’t flinch, and the sound is enough to startle her back to more sensible thoughts. After her thorough examination, it’s clear he’s more weary than injured. She feels weary too.
“Charlie, what happened?”