Chapter Fifteen
I ’ m in a funk. Days . It ’ s been days since I last heard from Jeremy—well, almost. Not since the text updates on Sunday. What ’ s with that? I ’ ve heard from him daily for the better part of three months. It feels weird not to hear from him. Has it really been that long? Are we even on for lunch this week? Seeing he ’ s ignored my last few texts, I figure there ’ s only one way to find out.
“ Miss Vivienne, what a pleasant surprise.” Max ’ s stuffy secretary looks anything but pleased to see me waltz into her office space.
“ I bet,” I mutter under my breath.
“ Mr. Thatcher is out of the office at the moment. Can I take a message?”
“ Actually, I ’ m looking for Jeremy.”
“ Jeremy? ”
“ Yes, the younger, more attractive Thatcher. The son.”
“ I…I, but, he… Jeremy? ” I scoff as she stammers.
“ Yes, Jeremy.”
“ He…he isn ’ t here.”
“ What do you mean , he isn ’ t here?”
“ Mr. Thatcher is homesick .”
“ Sick? ” I call bullshit.
“ Yes, that ’ s what I said.”
That ’ s unlike Jer. “ What ’ s wrong with him? He ’ d have to have the plague not to come to work.”
“ You seem to know him well enough.”
I ignore her haughty tone and lean across the desk, making her shrink back and fidget. “ Well, when is he going to be back?”
“ I…I don ’ t know. He didn ’ t say. He just called this morning and told me to tell his father he won ’ t be in.”
I push back from the desk and head for the elevators. “ Wait, should I tell Mr. Thatcher—Maxwell—that you were here?”
“ No,” I growl out over my shoulder.
Jeremy sick? Let ’ s see about that.
An hour and a quick wardrobe change later find me banging on Jeremy ’ s apartment door. After knocking for a solid two minutes, there ’ s still no answer.
“ Jeremy, I know you ’ re home. Open up.”
I hear some groaning and shuffling on the other side before the lock finally clicks, and the door opens a smidgen.
“ Vivienne, go away,” Jeremy croaks through the crack.
“ Are you avoiding me?”
“ What? It ’ s not always about you, Viv. I ’ m sick. ”
“ Then open the door.”
He groans and pulls the door back. “ Jesus, Viv. You ’ re gonna kill me.” Jeremy ’ s already ghostly face pales further as he takes in my naughty nurse outfit. He wavers, and I lunge forward to catch him before he connects with the floor.
“ Easy, tiger. What ’ s wrong with you? You legitimately look like you have the plague.”
“ You know what that looks like firsthand?” he puffs out, seeming to struggle.
“ No talking.”
“ But you asked me a question.” He starts to laugh but coughs instead. “ Viv, go home. I don ’ t wanna get you sick.”
“ Too late now . You ’ ve breathed all over me.”
“ It ’ s like conversing with a brick wall,” he mutters.
“ I talk back. I just refuse to listen to nonsensical babble.”
“ How ’ bout we both stop talking?”
I smile as I help shuffle him back to bed. He groans in pain, collapsing on top of it, and fights not to cough up a lung.
“ See, you need me.” I fight off Jeremy ’ s shooing hands as I get him back under the covers and tuck him in.
“ I wouldn ’ t have been out of bed if you hadn ’ t been trying to break down my door.” He sighs as if he ’ s just run a marathon and takes a slow, shaky breath. I worry my lip as Jeremy struggles to breathe.
“ Okay, I ’ m good. Go home. Before there ’ s no turning back.”
“ I think it ’ s too late for that.” I say softly. Jeremy frowns, but coughs again before he can speak. “ Well, that ’ s it. I can ’ t leave now.”
I head to his dresser and start rummaging through drawers. Hmm, boxer briefs . I finally find what I need and pull it out.
“ What—”
I slip off my heels and step into the sweatpants, folding them over at the waistband so they stay up. Then I slip on a T-shirt over my dress. God , it smells good, like Jeremy. Clean and woodsy.
“ Did you just smell my shirt?”
“ What? Pfft, no. ”
“ Not that I ’ m not enjoying the visual ,”— c ough —“of you in my clothes, but ,”— cough, cough — “ why are you in them?”
“ Because I ’ m not leaving, and I can ’ t play nurse without killing you in my current state of undress. Well, my previous state.”
“ I see. What is with the outfit? And why is it covered in blood? I ’ m starting to question your skills.”
“ I was a zombie nurse. Brains.” I grin.
Jeremy coughs uncontrollably as he tries to laugh, but instead of easing off, it gets worse, which I didn ’ t think was possible.
“ Jer? ”
“ Can ’ t ”— c ough, cough —“breathe…”
“ Shit.” I rush to the couch in the other room and grab a couple of cushions, running back to put them behind him. “ Easy does it.” I prop him up more, hoping it expands his lungs. “ Better? ”
He shakes his head and continues to cough, gasping between each one.
“ Fuck.”
I freak out as Jeremy breaks out in a sweat, his lips turning purple.
“ Oh, god.”
I can ’ t think. My brain is drowning in panic. I do the only thing that comes to mind; I empty my bag, grab my cell, and start dialing the last person in the world I ever expected to speak to again.
“Don ’ t you dare stop breathing.”
“ Hello —”
“ Yes, I need Dr. Carmichael. It ’ s an emergency.”
“ I ’ m sorry, Dr. Carm—”
“ Tell him it ’ s his daughter.”
The phone goes silent, and I want to scream at her in frustration. “ One moment.”
I sigh in relief, but it ’ s short-lived as my heart races faster. My panic skyrockets, crippling me as I tremble. Fuck, what am I doing?
“ Your…father?” Jeremy manages to wheeze out, his eyes like saucers.
“ Shhh! Don ’ t talk. I ’ m going to fix you, just…keep breathing.” Instead, he continues to cough, his face turning ashen.
“ Vivienne? Is that really you?”
“ Yes. I …” I take a deep breath and steel myself. “ Dad, I need your help. I didn ’ t know who else to call.”
“ Are you in trouble?”
“ No, my…friend, he ’ s…his lips are turning blue, he ’ s struggling to breathe, he ’ s coughing so hard. I don ’ t know what to do.”
“ Where are you, and what triggered it?”
“ His apartment, and he ’ s sick, the flu or something. He just started coughing, and now he can ’ t stop.”
“ Is he coughing up anything?”
“ No. ” I look back at Jeremy and see that ’ s not exactly true. “ Actually, I think he might have ripped something. There ’ s a little blood on his lips.”
“ You need to get him up and into the bathroom. Turn the shower on so it steams up the room.”
“ Okay. Hold on.”
I drop the phone on the bed and run into the adjacent en suite, turning on all the faucets. It only takes a minute before the room begins to steam. I race back to Jeremy and begin hoisting him up. It ’ s nearly impossible with his body racked by a coughing fit.
“ Sor—”
“ Shh.”
We finally manage to stumble into the steaming room, but there isn ’ t anywhere great to put Jeremy. The toilet is backless.Well shit.
“ Damn it. Hold on to the vanity, and don’t fall off. I ’ ll be right back.”
I close the door behind me and head for the kitchen, taking one of the barstools back to the bathroom. I about lose my shit when I open the door and see Jeremy crumpled on the floor.
“ Jeremy!” I fall beside him and roll him over, sagging when I see he ’ s still sort of breathing and coughing, his lips less blue. “ You fucker. Don ’ t do that.”
“ Sorry.” He pants, opening his eyes to look at me. “ I. Just. Wanted. To. Say. Hello. To. The. Tiles. ”
I give him a wan smile and shake my head. “ You ’ re a moron. ”
“ Door. ”
“ What? Oh, crap.” I lean back and kick the door closed with my foot, the room filling back up with steam. I reach for Jeremy, pulling his head into my lap, and stroke his sweat and steam-stuck hair off his face. “ Better? ”
“ Mmm hmm.”
“ Good, but no more talking. Just focus on breathing.”
He smiles, nodding but still coughing, thankfully not as intensely. It ’ s only when his body sags , his coughing subsiding, that I remember my father on the phone.
“ Shit. I ’ ll be right back.” I raise Jeremy up, and he shifts back against the shower door, waving me out of the room. With a shaky hand, I collect my cell , the earlier panic and adrenaline wearing off , but the anxiety still present. What the hell have I done? “ Dad? Are you still there?”
“Vivienne, is the boy all right?”
“ Yes, he ’ s coughing less and seeming to breathe easier.”
“ That ’ s good to hear.”
“ I…I should go. I need to…”
“ Yes. I ’ m about to go into surgery. I…it was good to hear from you.”
I nod.
“ Vivienne? ”
“ Yes? ”
“ Are…are you all right?”
“ I ’ m good. Um, thank you. For your help.”
“ Of course.”
The line goes silent again, and before either of us can say anything else, I end the call. I ’ m still sitting on the bed staring at my cell in my hand when the bathroom door opens. It takes me a minute to look up and for reality to hit me. I jump to my feet and rush over to Jeremy.
“ You shouldn ’ t be standing.”
“ I ’ m…okay. Are you?”
“ Nope. Come on. ”
I turn Jeremy around, easing him back to the bathroom floor, and we lean up against the shower.
“ Take long, deep breaths.” Jeremy smiles, and I shake my head. “ Don ’ t you dare laugh.”
“ You ’ re. No fun. When you. Worry.”
“ Whatever.” I smile.
For the next twenty-odd minutes we spend in a comfortable silence—Jeremy seemingly focused on breathing in and out, and me listening to the raspy sound until it slowly becomes less pronounced—then Jeremy breaks the silence.
“ You called your dad?”
“ Yeah…that really happened, huh?”
Jeremy nods, frowning. “ You never said he was a doctor.”
I shrug.
“ You were that worried about me?” His ensuing grin lights up his entire face, and for a moment I forget he ’ s so sick.
“ Shut up before I give you an enema.”
“ You ’ d enjoy that too much.”
“ Giving you the shits? Most definitely. How are you feeling, though?”
He shrugs. “ Like I ’ ve been hit by a wrecking ball and been on a ten-day bender without all the worthy memories.”
“ I can ’ t imagine you ’ ve had too many of those.” I grin. “ And your lungs?”
“ Fine, if inhaling razor blades is normal. They ’ re duller now, though.”
“ Let ’ s get you back to bed.”
“ I bet you ’ ve been dying to say that.”
“ You know it. Invalids are my favorite.” I scoff, getting to my feet and dragging Jeremy with me. “ Up and at ’ em. You can sleep this round. I ’ ll wake you up for round two.”
“ Can you wake me up for round three?”
“ How ’ bout I make you some tea or something?”
“ Do you know how to make tea?”
I scoff. “ Yes, smartass. Do you even have tea?”
“ I…don ’ t know.” He wobbles on his feet, and I catch him around the waist, tightening my grip. I frown, noticing the heat radiating out of him.
“ Jer? ”
“ Sorry, I think the steam is getting to me.”
“ You ’ re really hot.”
Jeremy chuckles drunkenly. “ Nice of you to notice.”
“ Yeah, you ’ re real smoking. I ’ m putting you to bed, then cooling you off.”
“ Party pooper.” I ease Jeremy back onto the bed, and he collapses against the pillows, muttering into them. “ You ’ re so soft and billowy.”
I shake my head, chuckling as he gropes the pillow, and begin the hunt for ice, turning off the faucets on my way. I come back a few minutes later with a dish towel and a bag full of ice cubes.
“ It ’ s so hot. I ’ m so hot.”
“ Shh, this will help.” He swats at my hand, pushing the makeshift cold compress away.
“ Naked. We should do that. That ’ ll help.”
I laugh—how can I not ? —then he starts taking off his T-shirt, and I lose all train of thought. Until he grips his slacks, that is.
“ You ’ re determined to give me gray hair, aren ’ t you? Enough with the stripping.”
“ You should have come to dinner with my family,” he huffs, falling back on the bed, and I try not to ogle his bare chest any more than I already have. It ’ s carved to perfection, just as I ’ ve imagined.
“ What?”
“ I spent the whole time thinking you should be here. Or there?”
I smile, remembering the two-hour conversation about his eventful evening with his sister and father after Thanksgiving. He neglected to mention that tidbit.
“ Even though it would have been weird.”
“ Weirder than it already was?”
“ Mmm hmm.” Closing his eyes, he mumbles, and I take the lapse in concentration to press the dish towel to his forehead. “ You ’ ve slept with my father.”
“ Jer—”
“ But it doesn ’ t matter. Well, it does. It did. It should…I forget . What was I saying?”
“ Shh, you don ’ t know what you ’ re saying.”
“ No, no. I know I still like you. My sister would like you too. You ’ re both…stubborn and…funny.”
“ I prefer willful.”
“ And have…have gooey centers.”
I laugh, readjusting the ice. “ I don ’ t have a center, Jer. Gooey or otherwise.”
Opening his eyes, he takes my hand, pulling the compress from his forehead, and pierces me with such lucidity.
“ Then why are you here?”
“ Like I said, I ’ m a sucker for invalids. And I need my running crony.”
“ I do like to watch your ass when you run.” His smile is impish as his eyes drift closed again. “ It ’ s hypnotic.”
A snort slips out at that. “ Trust you to be all adulatory when half delirious.”
“ Mmm.”
“ Sleep.”
Jeremy ’ s eyes remain closed, so I use the moment to put the compress back and move away from the bed, but I stop when a hand latches onto my wrist.
“ Stay. Please. I like having you close.”
“ I ’ m not going anywhere.”
Since I dumped the contents of my bag onto the bed, I quickly shove it all back in before walking around to the other side and settling down. Jeremy finally passes out, and I spend an unprecedented amount of time watching him sleep. He tosses and turns, mumbling incoherently as his forehead furrows, perspiration covering his body. I replace the compress three times before I finally realize that sleep and ice won ’ t be enough. His fever isn ’ t breaking, and his breathing still wheezes in and out with each labored breath.
A few finger taps , and a few knuckles knocking later, everything but the kitchen sink is delivered. I ’ m in the kitchen unpacking all the goodies when sleeping beauty stirs.
“ Vivienne … ? ” he croaks.
“ Hey,” I croon, coming to lean against the bedroom door.
“ You ’ re really here. You stayed?”
“ Well, you did beg, so…”
Jeremy groans, his head falling back to the pillow , and his eyes closing.
“ Jer? ” I gasp, rushing to his aid.
“ I thought it was a dream.”
“ You asshole.” I whack him in the arm.
“ Ow! Invalid, here.”
“ Yeah, sorry. But you deserved it.”
“ For… ? ” Jeremy ’ s cheeks pinken, and I wonder what thoughts are running through his head. “ What else did I say?”
“ Nothing that made any sense.”
“ Oh. Good, I guess. Then what did you hit me for?”
“ For giving me wrinkles and possibly gray hair. I don ’ t do worry or stress. So quit making me do both.” He grins like…like a boy who ’ s seen his first pair of breasts. “ What?”
“ Nothin ’ .” He smiles brighter.
“ Jeremy.”
“ Even when I feel like I ’ m dying, you can still manage to make me smile. You worrying about me, it ’ s cute.” I roll my eyes, and he chuckles, but it ’ s lethargic.
“ You need to eat something and take some pills. I made chicken soup.”
“ And by made you mean… ? ”
“ I ordered pho from the Vietnamese place around the corner.”
He scoffs or coughs. The two sound a lot the same. “ What time is it? Wait, what day is it?”
“ It ’ s still Wednesday. Just. You ’ ve only been sleeping for about three or four hours.”
“ Three or four hours? How long have you been here?”
“ Let me get you some food, all right? I ’ ll be right back.”
He sighs and nods, rubbing at his chest. I come back a few minutes later with a bowl of pho and every over-the-counter drug known to man to find Jeremy asleep again.
“ Stop staring. I can feel you watching me.”
“ You were drooling.”
“ Nice try.” Jeremy opens his eyes in time to catch my eye roll but frowns shortly after, seeing the armful of bottles and packets. “ What the hell?”
“ Your doctor is in. I ’ ve got Tylenol Cold, Nyquil, and Robitussin cough syrup, Chloraseptic throat spray, cough drops—a few kinds, and uh…oh, Vicks VapoRub. There are some vitamins, too.”
“ Where did you get all that crap?”
“ A little search engine and a boy on a bike.”
“ Impressive, but I ’ m not taking it, any of it.”
“ Uh, yeah you are.”
He tightens his mouth, thinning his lips, and shakes his head.
“ God, why are men such babies? Next I ’ ll be having to spoon-feed you soup.”
“ Well, if you ’ re offering.” He grins, sitting up.
“ Typical.”
I ignore Jeremy ’ s complaints and pop out a few of the pills and vitamins, shoving them at him with the glass of water from beside his bed.
“ Now, be a good boy and swallow. Not words I ’ m used to saying.”
“ Used to hearing, though?” Jeremy ’ s eyes widen, and I snort. “ I… fine, I ’ ll take the pills,” he mutters, tossing them into his mouth and downing half the water.
“ Now, take your socks off. Apparently, Vicks on the soles of your feet helps.”
“ Helps with what?”
“ Um, sickness? It helps with sickness.”
“ Nope, pass. Soup? ”
“ You ’ re not going to make me spoon-feed you, are you?”
“ You ’ re going to draw the line there?”
“ You know I don ’ t have a line.”
Jeremy cough-chuckles. “ Pull up some bed. I won ’ t take the risk of you spilling hot soup all down my…chest. Why am I naked?”
It ’ s my turn to chuckle. “ Be thankful you ’ re only half naked.” Jeremy blushes as I settle on the edge of the bed, handing him the bowl of soup. “ Go slow.”
He nods, slowly spooning pho. “ I don ’ t remember when I last ate. This is good. Thank you. Wait, it ’ s Wednesday? You came home early?”
“ Oh. Yeah.”
“ Why?”
“ I had stuff to do.”
“ Stuff? ”
“ Mmm.”
“ You left a job because you had ‘ stuff ’ to do? ”
I scoff. “ No. Like I ’ d get away with that.”
“ Then?”
“ I…uh, decided not to stick around in LA once the job was done.”
“ So it had nothing to do with me?”
“ You? ”
“ That you hadn ’ t heard from me? You did think I was ignoring you when I answered the door. That happened, right? And the conversation with your dad?”
“ I don ’ t know what you ’ re talking about.”
“ Hmm.” He doesn ’ t sound like he believes me but doesn ’ t push further, instead going back to his pho, shrouding the room in silence.
“ I may have been somewhat concerned…” I admit a few minutes later , but trail off as I turn to Jeremy, finding his head lolling on his shoulder and his eyes closed. “ Sleeping beauty strikes again.”
A soft smile teases the corners of my mouth, and I chuckle lightly, taking the bowl precariously balanced in his lap before the last remnants spill. I place it on his bedside table and gently remove one of the pillows propping him up. Jeremy groans as his head flops back to a more sustainable angle. I watch his chest rise and fall for a while, the movement less jagged than earlier; only occasionally does the bare skin ripple with a stuttered breath. Pulling the sheet across, I ’ m relieved when my fingers graze his chest and find the fever has finally broken.
“Sleep,” I whisper against his forehead, lightly brushing my lips across his taut skin. He sighs, and I smile.
I take one last look, content he ’ ll be okay, and walk out of his room, sending a text message to his phone telling him I ’ ll check in later before letting myself out of his apartment. I have daddy issues to deal with.
Fuck . What was I thinking?