Chapter Seven #2
"You already have," she pants, her nails scoring down my back.
"I…"
I swallow the words, burying my face in her throat.
"Trent," she moans.
I speed up, chasing my own release, trying like hell to keep myself from saying it here and now, before she's ready to hear it.
I reach between us, rubbing her clit in time with my thrusts, desperate to get her there one more time before I fall.
She whimpers, then cries out, her body tensing before she shatters around me. Her pussy clenches so hard I see stars. The way she moans my name, her nails digging into my back, sends me spiraling over the edge.
I spill into her with a groan that rattles the windows, buried as deep as I can get in her.
We collapse, sweaty and tangled, gasping for breath.
For a long time, I just lie there, her head on my chest, her sweaty hair damp against my skin. I stroke her back, tracing lazy circles, listening to her heartbeat slow.
She looks up at me, her eyes bright. "You didn't say it," she whispers .
"Say what?" I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.
She smiles so sweetly my throat tightens. "Whatever it was you were about to say."
I brush her hair back and kiss her forehead. I want to say it. God, do I ever. But the words stick, heavy and terrifying. Is it too soon? Will she run? I don't know, and that scares the shit out of me.
"I'll say it next time," I murmur, hoping like hell that I find the balls by then. I need her to know how I feel, and I need her to still be right here in my arms after I do it. Otherwise, I may lose it.
She snuggles closer, practically melting against me. "Deal."
We drift off like that, her breath warm against my chest and my arms around her.
If there's a heaven, I think this is it.
I wake up to the sound of someone dying in the next room.
It takes me a second to process that it's not a horror movie, a home invasion, or a nightmare brought on by whatever fuckery Colt spiked the cocoa with last night. Nope—it's Dani, hunched over the toilet, retching like her soul's trying to escape.
"Dani!" I stumble out of bed and into her bathroom, naked, panicked, and so hard I nearly knock myself out on the damn doorframe. My heart jackhammers so goddamn hard my head hurts.
She's on her knees, her hair wild around her face, her skin clammy and pale. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with panic, and then dives back into the bowl for another round. It's brutal.
I drop down behind her, gather her hair, and rub her back. She's shaking all over, trembling like she's going to vibrate apart.
"You okay?" I ask, realizing it's the world's dumbest fucking question as soon as it's out. She's very clearly not okay.
But she manages a thumbs up before immediately throwing up again, so I take that as a good sign.
I keep stroking her back, whispering dumb shit that no one in the history of the universe has ever found comforting. "It's okay. Just breathe. I've got you, baby."
She slumps sideways when she's done, her face buried against her forearm. I hand her a wad of tissues, then wet a washcloth and dab her forehead. She tries to take it from me, but I ignore her, mopping her face gently.
"Sorry," she croaks, her voice hoarse. "I don't know what happened. I never get sick. "
I help her up, guiding her to the edge of the tub. "You're allowed to get sick, Sunshine. It's not a moral failing. I may kill Colt for whatever he put in that goddamn cocoa, though."
"Don't talk about the cocoa," she groans, clutching her stomach.
"Shit. Sorry."
"I don't think this is a hangover. This is the pits of hell."
I think she's right. She feels feverish. Last I checked, hangovers don't cause all of that.
"It's karma," she croaks. "I thought about faking a flu, and now I have one. Baby Jesus hates me."
"Baby Jesus doesn't hate you," I say, chuckling as I fill a glass of water at the sink. Once it's full, I kneel beside her, waiting until she's steady enough to drink.
After a few sips, she glares at me over the rim. "You're supposed to be on the way to see your family now. Go."
I ignore her, opting to wring out the washcloth again. I press it to the back of her neck and watch her melt into the sensation, even though she's doing her best to look pissed off.
"You think I'm leaving you alone like this?" I snort. "Not happening." She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. "You want ginger tea? Sprite? Crackers?"
She shakes her head, then groans, pressing her palm to her forehead. "I want you to go have Christmas with your family. I'll be fine. "
I take her chin in my hand, forcing her to look at me. "Listen, you stubborn little—" I pause, searching for the right word, "—angel. I almost died two days ago, and I've spent the time since falling in love with you. I am not leaving you sick and alone on Christmas now."
She freezes. I freeze. The words just sort of…hang there, echoing off the tile.
Did I really say falling in love? Jesus.
I expect her to yell at me, but she's silent for a full five seconds before she pushes me away, gently but firmly. She doesn't yell. She just completely ignores what I said. "Trent, I mean it. I don't want you to see me like this."
Her bottom lip quivers, and I realize that she did hear me. She's just pretending like hell that she didn't.
"Please."
She sounds so small, so lost. I just want to wrap her up in my arms and never let her go.
I try a different route, desperately trying to avoid backing her into a corner. Desperate to stay right here with her. "You saw me covered in hives, scratching my own ass. You really think a little puke is going to scare me?"
She doesn't smile. She just shakes her head again, panic in her gaze. "I hate being helpless."
I kneel in front of her, one hand on her knee. "You're not helpless. You're sick. It happens to everyone."
"I can take care of myself," she whispers vehemently .
I sigh, realizing this is bigger than just the stomach bug. This is about her—her history, her trauma, all the shit she never says out loud. She doesn't know how to let people care for her because no one ever did. And I just told her that I care a whole helluva lot.
Of course, she's freaking the fuck out. She's sick, and I hit her with the big L-bomb on top of it.
The need to run like hell is probably beating at her right now because that's what she knows.
That's what she does. She runs. She hides.
She's a frightened little lamb, afraid to let herself believe she deserves good things in life.
My chest aches at the realization, but I don't push her. I'm afraid if I do, I'll push her right out of my life. And I can't risk that. It'll fucking kill me.
Instead, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then kiss her forehead. "Fine," I say quietly. "I'll give you a little space."
It's only a little lie. There's not a chance in hell that I'm letting her spend Christmas alone.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice shaking.
I help her back to bed, tucking her in with three extra blankets and leaving a trash can by the side, just in case. She won't look at me, but I sit on the edge of the mattress until she settles.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," I promise once I'm dressed. "If you need anything, text me. I don't care if you're half-dead, I' m coming back."
She nods, and when I lean in to kiss her forehead again, she actually melts beneath me. But she doesn't say anything.
And when I close the bedroom door behind me, I can hear her crying through the wall.
It fucking breaks me.
I make it back a little over an hour later, with a trunk full of groceries and a small box of fudge sweating through my jacket pocket.
Dani is bundled up on the couch, her face buried in a pillow, looking like she went three rounds with Krampus and lost. She peeks up when she hears the door, her eyes rimmed red and her hair stuck to her cheek.
She's beautiful. Even now.
I set the grocery bags on the counter and strip off my gloves, which are still damp from the six-block hike through slush. I almost trip over a fuzzy blanket in the middle of the floor.
"Hey," I say, trying for casual and failing.
She blinks at me, as if she didn't expect to see me again. "You're here. "
"Obviously." I unload the bags one by one: crackers, soup cans, Gatorade in every color, a whole chicken, and two boxes of ginger tea. I save the fudge for last, setting it in front of her on the coffee table like it's the Hope Diamond.
She stares at it. Then stares at me. "You're insane," she finally whispers.
"I'm persistent," I correct, kicking off my shoes and joining her on the couch. She's buried under four blankets, but I wedge in next to her, letting her absorb my body heat.
She leans her head on my shoulder. "I thought you were going to spend Christmas with your family."
I nudge her cheek with my nose. "I texted my mom. Told her my girlfriend was dying, and I had to save her." I pause. "She told me to bring you over as soon as you're human again."
Dani makes a face. "I don't think that's happening today."
"Then we'll have our own Christmas," I say, pulling her closer. "You, me, and this entire rotisserie chicken."
She laughs, weak but real. "I'm not sure I'll be able to hold it down."
"Then you'll eat broth," I say, already mentally prepping the chicken. "And when you can stomach more, I'll make you soup. And when you can stomach even more, we'll eat the fudge. I tested it on the way home. No honey."
She's quiet for a second, staring at the little container of fudge, then at me.
"You're kind of a sap," she says, voice hoarse.
"Yeah, but I'm your sap." She turns, burrowing her face in my neck. I hold her there, rubbing her back, waiting for the part where she tells me I'm suffocating her or being an idiot. It never comes.
"You really don't have to stay," she whispers instead.
"I want to."
"Why?" She pulls back, searching my face like there's some secret code I haven't given her yet.
I don't hesitate. Not this time.
"Because I love you," I say, my voice clear and firm. "And I'm not letting the woman I love spend Christmas alone. I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else."
She's frozen, mouth open, eyes wide.
I keep going, because fuck it, she needs to hear it.
"I realized, on that godforsaken grocery run, that I'm never going to regret saying it too soon, Sunshine.
The only thing I'll regret is not saying it often enough because you deserve to hear it every goddamn day.
You deserve to have someone to run to, someone who doesn't let you down, and I plan to be that guy.
I love you. I don't care if it's crazy, if you're not ready, or if you freak the fuck out about it. I love you ."
She's silent for a long time, and then she blinks. "You're not supposed to say that when I'm this gross. "
I laugh, the sound raw and a little desperate. "I don't give a fuck. You could turn into a swamp monster, and I'd still love you, Dani. Hell, I'd probably still want to fuck you."
She snorts, then coughs, then winces. "I can't believe you bought me fudge."
I reach for the box, pop it open, and break off a chunk. "You tried to kill me with it. I figured I might as well try to cure you with it."
She snorts again, her eyes bright with something dangerously close to tears. She takes the fudge from me, nibbling at the edge, then hands it back to me.
"I had time to think while you were gone too," she whispers. "I thought you wouldn't come back, and it made me sad, Trent. Because I never told you…" She swallows. "I love you."
"Jesus."
"I panicked when you said you were fell in love with me, and then I regretted not saying it back." She blinks up at me, shy and sweet. "I'm glad you came back."
"I'll always come back to you, Sunshine. Always. "
"If you tell anyone that you watched me throw up, I'll murder you."
"Noted," I say, grinning so hard my face hurts.
We eat soup and then share a tiny piece of fudge before curling up on the couch together.
I wrap my arms around her, tucking her under my chin. She clings to me, still feverish but feeling a little less like death. Within minutes, she's asleep, drooling into my shirt and snoring like a baby.
It's perfect, the best Christmas I've ever had.