The Backpack Bride (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Christian

I wave goodbye to the guys as Roxy steps out of Chantelle’s embrace. “Call me this week, okay? I want to go shopping and spend all this birthday money.”

Roxy smiles and nods. “Will do. See ya.”

I casually wrap my arm around her shoulders and walk her out the door. There’s a slight chill in the atmosphere that wasn’t present on our way here. Or maybe I was too preoccupied with Roxy’s censure to notice. After making her feelings clear about the gift I bought for Axel, she clammed up. But not completely since she still interacted with me in front of our friends at the party, but it was almost as if an invisible steel door slid closed on her innermost self. The unmistakable shift between us tonight was the opposite of what I’ve been trying to accomplish with her.

I want to address it. Badly. But I also understand why she was upset earlier. I made a promise where Axel is concerned, and in her mind, I broke it. I doubt there’s any amount of explaining I could do to make her believe otherwise. Still, knowing that we’ll be riding home in such close proximity again forces me to ask, “Are you okay?”

A shiver passes through her as she wraps her arms around her midsection. “I’m fine, I just...” Another shiver.

I’ve probably asked her if she was cold about a hundred times tonight, so I try a different tactic. “You look like you’re freezing.”

Defeat crosses her face as it falls with exhaustion. “I am f-freezing.”

I suppress a sigh and drag her closer. Her quivering body helplessly curls into mine like she’s desperate for warmth. My lips involuntarily go to her forehead. “Roxy, you’re burning up.”

“Am I?”

I pull away to look down into her face. “Have you been feeling poorly all night?”

“Just since we got to the party.”

Shame barrels through me. “I wish you would’ve said something; we could’ve left hours ago.”

She gives one decisive shake of her head even as her teeth chatter. “I d-didn't want to leave. It’s Chantelle’s b-b-birthday.”

“Aw, Rox.” Fisting the front of her jacket in my hands, I tug her toward me and wrap her in a hug. “Let me call for a ride so you can get warm.” I hold her against me with a firm grip, hoping to impart some of my body heat.

“N-no, please don’t.” She releases me and steps back, determination brimming in the dark depths of her irises. “I promise I’ll be fine until we get home.”

I’m not sure I believe her, but arguing with her is the last thing I want to do when she’s already upset with me. “Fine.” I take her hand. “Let’s hurry home and get you in bed. I’ve got some meds that might help.”

She follows me until we reach my bike, and I take the extra step to put her helmet on and clasp it under her chin for her. Our gazes lock for a silent second. Boldness blooms inside me, enough to gently graze my knuckles under her chin. “You sure you’ll be okay until we get home?” A shaky nod is all she gives me, but it’s enough to know the stubborn woman won’t be changing her mind. She clings to me as we weave through the crowded downtown streets toward home, then startles as a crack of thunder sounds, sending lightning streaking across the sky.

A quick glance at the clouds above us tells me they aren’t going to hold. A few seconds later, we’re caught in a downpour.

On instinct, I rest my hand over the arms she has locked around my midsection. We only have a few blocks left, but catching a chill isn’t going to do anything for the fever that’s already set in.

Roxy’s tremors quake through us both as she presses herself against me, trying to capture what she can of my body heat. Regret pummels me in the chest. I should’ve called a car, should’ve known by the sudden chill in the atmosphere that it was going to rain. Now all I can do is take it slow and steady until we get home; I can’t rush and risk an accident just to get her dry.

After what feels like an eternity of being pelted by unrelenting raindrops, we make it to our building. I hand the keys off to the valet with quick instructions about wiping the bike down once he gets it to the garage, then bustle Roxy through the doors. We’re both a sopping mess as we step into the elevator. As soon as I push the button to our floor, I reach for her. “Come here.” She doesn’t argue, just nestles into my chest. There’s not a dry thread to be found anywhere on my person, but I can at least try to ward off her shivering by holding her steady. Roxy’s body slackens against me as her eyes close. “Try to stay awake, okay? At least until we can get you warm.”

When the elevator dings, I don’t waste a second. Nor do I ask permission when I scoop my wife up into my arms, bridal style.

“Christian,” she whimpers pitifully. Her faint protest isn’t enough to stop me, not when she’s so weak she can barely stand.

“I’ve got you, Rox. I’m going to take care of you.”

Apparently, that was the right thing to say because she buries her face in the crook of my neck with a contented sigh that nearly melts me where I stand. Once inside, I lumber down the hall, through my bedroom, and into the adjoining bathroom. I carefully set her down on the vanity seat that I’ve never had use for until now.

“What are you doing?”

I can’t tell if the tremor in her voice is from nervousness, her body’s reaction to the chilling rain, or the fever. “I’m going to draw you a bath. You need to get warm, and I think this will be the quickest way.” I flip on the water and check the temperature. “Besides, you’re already soaked.”

She returns my smile as she takes in the clothes that are dripping and plastered to her body. “Guess you’re right.”

Diverting my attention back to the water, I make sure it’s just right before grabbing some liquid soap, a washcloth, and towels. I set them on the seat beside her and kneel to meet her eyes. “Do you think you can get into the tub on your own?”

She seems strong enough, but her heavy-lidded gaze speaks to how drained she is. I want to kick myself for not noticing how run-down she was at the party.

“Yeah, I can.” Before I even make it to my feet, she’s unwinding her long, dark hair from its tie.

“All right,” I say, turning toward the door. “I’m going to get you some medicine. I’ll be back in a second.”

She hums in response, then something wet hits the tiled floor behind me. I swallow and shut the door, leaving her to undress.

I hurry and grab the meds and a cup of water. I also brew a cup of chamomile, hoping that might warm her too. There’s so little I’ve been able to do for Roxy since she’s been here that it feels nice to finally be able to care for her for once. I just wish it wasn’t because she’s sick.

When I make it back to the bathroom door, I lean close and listen. Once I’m positive I hear light splashes from the tub, I knock on the door. “Rox? I’ve got your medicine.”

“You can come in.”

Swallowing a sudden surge of nerves, I carefully rearrange both mugs into one hand and twist the knob. I’m careful to keep my eyes trained on the floor as I ease my way toward her. “I made you some tea,” I say, holding the water out toward her. “But first, meds.”

Another one of those mewling sighs sounds from her. “Yes, sir.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste metal when her slippery, wet hands graze mine to take the first mug, along with the pills.

“I think I’ll take that tea now.”

I obediently hand over the second mug, exchanging it with the first, then give her my back. It’s easier to avoid accidentally looking when I literally can’t. Except there’s now a mirror in front of me with the hint of a reflection that once again has me forcing my gaze to the floor.

“Mm,” she hums. “That’s good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I awkwardly start toward the door when her voice stops me.

“Chris, wait.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and pray for strength; a man can only take so much. And seeing my tantalizingly beautiful wife—who I’ve recently developed feelings for but have sworn not to touch in private—in the bathtub is just about too much.

“Would you...stay with me? Just for a little bit?”

“Sure,” I say, my voice coming out like I filled my throat with sand.

“You can turn around. I’m covered.”

I want to argue that I saw her reflection in the mirror, so while most of her is covered, her slick, bare shoulders are not. But I’m a respectable gentleman. I can control my impulses and sit with my wife because she asked me to. I turn and meet her eyes, slowly coming to sit down beside the edge of the tub. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, sinking deeper into the water. “I just don’t like to be alone when I’m sick.”

I lean back against the tub, resting my forearms on my knees. “I can understand that. I’m the same way. In fact—” I chuckle before continuing. “The last time I got the flu, I drove to my mom’s house and begged her to let me stay in my old room. All because I knew she’d take care of me.”

Roxy releases a husky giggle. “Really? I can’t picture you doing that.”

“No? Well, then you’ve yet to see how big of a baby I am when I’m sick.”

Water sloshes as she lifts her wet hands through the bubbles. “Clearly, I’m a baby too. But I blame Eddy. He used to baby me anytime I’d have so much as a stomachache.” She grows quiet for a few moments until she adds, “I think he knew that Dad wouldn’t do it, so he overcompensated.”

A sharp sliver of anger works its way into my ribs, winding bitterness tightly around my heart. “I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think of to say, though I know it’s not enough to make up for her lack of a good father figure growing up.

“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s not like he didn’t love me; he just...gave up. When Mom died, his grief was all he could ever see. Eddy and I became invisible.”

I want to tell her that she could never be invisible to anyone, least of all me, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “You were lucky to have such a good big brother.”

A faint smile touches her lips. “Yeah. I was.”

“Would it hurt to tell me more about him?”

Her dark green gaze flits to mine. “I...no. It wouldn’t hurt.” Without any further prompting, Roxy begins to paint a picture of Eddy in vivid details, starting with when they were kids. I learn about how fun he was, his penchant for ice cream, and even how, as he got older, there didn’t seem to be a girl he couldn’t charm. Roxy’s tone sobers when she goes into how he met Axel’s mom, Denise.

“They never married,” she says, leaning toward my side of the tub. “He wanted to, but when she got deep into prescription pain meds, he knew he couldn’t fully commit to her until she got clean.”

“Did she ever?”

Roxy shakes her head. “No. She completed rehab, though. We all thought she might get better, but then...three months later, she overdosed.”

I wince. “I’m sorry, that’s awful.”

“It was. Axel was only eight.”

“So he’s been with his dad from then until...recently?”

“He was, yeah.” She sighs and drops her head back, dunking her hair under the water.

Boldened by our conversation, our proximity, the closeness we’ve managed to find, I reach out and touch her hair. “May I wash it for you?”

Her head swivels my way. “You want to wash my hair ?”

“That way you don’t strain your neck.”

There’s a war behind her eyes for a split second until she responds “Yeah. Okay.” Leaning forward, she allows me to gather her hair. I lather in the soap, focusing on the roots first, then the ends. “What was their relationship like?” I ask, trying to cling to the vestiges of our conversation so my mind doesn’t wander to places it shouldn’t.

“Whose?”

It takes effort to keep my smile in check. Maybe she’s enjoying this as much as I am. “Eddy and Axel’s.”

“Fine, for the most part. As Axel became more independent, though, Eddy started tightening the reins. Maybe a bit too much.”

“How so?”

She drags in a long, slow breath. Releases it. “I think he was afraid Axel would turn out like his mom or our dad. The grief was still fresh, you know? He had a no-tolerance policy, so when he caught Axel with his first cigarette, he yanked him out of basketball and forced him into a behavioral treatment program for teens. Axel bucked in response. Instead of getting better, he got worse.” Her voice trails off, and I take the opportunity to use the mug of water I handed her earlier to carefully drench her soap-soaked locks.

“I think it was the combination of losing his mom and losing the one sport he loved that made him turn bitter,” she adds quietly. “I don’t know. But that’s how I try to make sense of it.”

“How long ago was this?”

She straightens a little, and I take care to keep my eyes focused on her hair. “Three years ago. Since then, it’s been a downward spiral of rebellion. There were times he just...wouldn’t come home for days.” Emotion warbles her voice, and I can’t keep my hands from reaching out to grasp her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug me off or move away. I gently knead the muscles near her neck.

“Has he done that since being with you?”

“Once.” She quickly swipes at what I know are tears. “I was livid when I found him at a friend’s house, playing video games during school hours. But then I met his eyes, and...I couldn’t even lay into him. I just hugged him and cried.” With a sniffly sigh, she thoughtfully adds, “I think that was the first time he realized how his actions affect those who love him. It was almost like he didn’t even consider the worry we’d gone through each time he left without a word.”

I continue to massage her shoulders, giving her space to continue.

“And anyway, when Eddy died, he got angry. At the world, at God. He started to act out at school. Got into more trouble. Marcus, his mom’s half-brother, got wind of it, and decided to try and step in.”

All the dots seem to connect. “Even after he found out Axel was with you?”

“Yeah,” she rasps.

“Have you spoken to Marcus?”

“No,” she says with a sigh. “I’m afraid to.”

As much as I want to suggest contacting him and explaining her stance, I don’t. It's not my place to offer advice on such a tenuous situation. Especially since I don’t know all the parties involved. Maybe Marcus is unreasonable. Seems she’d know better than me.

“Thank you for listening to me ramble on,” she murmurs, “and for taking care of me. You're a great friend, Christian.”

Like a jagged knife, her words cut painfully deep, straight through to my heart. Is that the only way she’ll ever see me? Only as a friend?

“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, keeping my hands firmly on her shoulders. “I’m your husband .” I drop my voice on the last word, letting my meaning float through the air between us like a promise I intend to keep. If she thinks I’ll let her forget who I am to her, she’s wrong. I won’t, not until she says we’re done. And by God, I hope we’re never done. All at once, the muddled feelings I’ve tried to sort through come into greater focus. I don’t just admire Roxy as a person or like her as a friend.

I love her as my wife .

A confession lays on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. I doubt she’s ready to hear how deep my feelings run, especially after a night like tonight where we spent the majority of it fighting.

When the tension between us grows too taut to ignore, I stand. “I’ll get you some more water and let you finish up.” Without looking back, I leave the room and pray my declaration settles deep into her soul. Deep enough to make her second-guess the way she sees me.