Chapter 11 Presley
PRESLEY
I had the world's worst dream last night.
No, it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.
I dreamed that Jace Hayes kissed me. And then I threw up on him. Even thinking about it makes me want to throw up all over again.
Slowly, I open my eyes, groggy and feeling like I got hit by a bus. Seriously, I don't know what’s the matter with me, but this sucks.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Oh, fuck…
I blink, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes, letting everything come into focus. Only, what comes into focus is Jace Hayes. Making me start to wonder if that wasn't a nightmare, but my actual real life. Making it that much worse.
And now I’m really going to throw up.
“Hi,” I croak, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice.
My stomach cramps, the need to vomit taking over. This time, it’s not just mental either. It’s not a weird side effect to my embarrassment. I truly am going to—
Wretch…
“Oh, that’s a good one…”
A large mixing bowl magically appears in front of me as I roll to the side, making an attempt at avoiding getting sick all over my duvet. I wrap my arms around it, pulling it against my chest as my stomach continues to revolt, tears starting to stream down my cheeks.
This fucking sucks.
“I got you.”
The bowl steadies against me, supported from the bottom, as a heavy hand lands on my back, rubbing in circles a couple of times before gathering my hair.
The movement is gentle, comforting, and so unexpected.
I don’t know how to react, other than be thankful for the cool air hitting the back of my neck and that I won’t have puke-covered hair.
Considering I’ve been awake for all of three minutes, that’s two rather big things to be thankful for.
I take another long moment hovered over the bowl, trying to catch my breath.
This is absolutely going on my list of worst moments of my life.
Probably ranking in the top five. Maybe even top three.
Because this is without question worse than ripping the crotch of my pants doing a cartwheel in the seventh grade and having to walk around school for the rest of the day not only with said rip, but listening to the whispers about it.
And that time I misjudged the distance to the bathroom and I peed myself sophomore year in college.
Might even outrank when I asked Cody to hang up and call me so I could find my phone, that I was clearly talking on.
Although, I do sort of blame pregnancy brain for that last one.
Of all the ways I never—ever—wanted Jace Hayes to see me, it’s like this.
The only question that remains is—is this worse than actually puking on him? Or simply tied with it?
Sitting up, I swipe at my tear-stained cheeks with the back of my hand. It’s a futile move, but I have to do something to make myself look less pathetic.
“Easy does it,” Jace coaches, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face. A corner of his mouth tips upward, and he cups my face in his hand, thumb sweeping against my cheek, wiping away the remnants of my tears. “Guess I don’t need to bother asking how you’re feeling this afternoon.”
His soft brown eyes stare back at me, overwhelming me with what I see. That’s not pity reflecting back at me. Nor is it a calculated inventory of all the ways to use this against me later. Instead, it’s concern. Genuine, caring concern.
Swoon…
No, no swooning over Jace. That is not how this is supposed to work. We hate each other. Bitter rivals for life. That’s who we are.
And rivals do not hold each other’s hair back while they puke. Nor do they hang out until the next morn—
Wait, did he say afternoon?
“A-af-afternoon?” I choke out. My throat is raw, some residual stomach acid still lingering right at the base.
Jace nods. Reaching out and taking the mixing bowl from me, he stands up from the bed, handing me a glass full of ginger ale.
“Sip slow,” he instructs. I nod, doing as I’m told, gently lifting the glass to my lips and letting the crisp, bubbly liquid slide over my tongue. “And yes, it’s just past lunchtime.”
Holy fuck…how long did I sleep?
“How…wha…where’s Otis?”
“Napping on the couch. We’ve been nestled out there for most of the morning having a Curious George marathon.”
A Curious George marathon? This poor man. No adult deserves that, much less one who doesn’t actually have children.
“He’s feeling better,” Jace continues. “Not one hundred percent, but he hasn’t thrown up yet.”
“More than I can say,” I mumble.
Jace chuckles, disappearing into my bathroom.
The sound of running water fills the silence and I scooch back in bed, propping myself up against the headboard.
I focus on sipping my ginger ale, willing my stomach to cooperate.
I have too much to do today—this weekend as a whole—to spend it laid out doing my best Exorcist impression.
A few minutes later, Jace reappears, a freshly rinsed bowl in hand. He places it on my nightstand, parking himself on the edge of my bed again.
“Need anything?” he asks.
“I need to get up.” I close my eyes for a second, then force them open, throwing the covers off me. I’m still dressed in the same sweatpants I was wearing last night, but a different T-shirt.
Oh, shit. Did Jace have to change me?
“You need to rest,” he corrects me, reaching out to stop me from moving. “There’s nothing so important that it’s worth pushing it.”
Says the man who doesn’t have a three-year-old…
I look him up and down, ready to bite back that he doesn’t understand. Except, all I can focus on is his shirt. His very clean, vomit-free shirt. He catches me looking, a smirk forming.
“I did a load of laundry,” he answers, my silent question still lingering in the air. “Threw it in with Otis’s pj’s that you had in the machine. They’re all folded; I just don’t know where they go.”
Okay, this has to be a dream. Someone pinch me. Either that or aliens came down from the sky and took over this man. He did laundry? Folded Otis’s clothes? I don’t even know how to respond.
“Feeling up to some Saltines? Maybe a little bit of Curious George?”
I scoff. “You have no idea how much I dislike Curious George. All those high-pitched, nonverbal sounds. The Man in the Yellow Hat is more patient and understanding than I will ever be. You, sir, and your ignorance, have very much been taken advantage of this morning.”
Jace shrugs. “It’s not that bad. Although I’m more than happy to switch to Toy Story and introduce Little Man to two of the best cartoon characters of all time. If that’s more palatable for you.”
I squint at him, trying to determine whether he’s serious. “You think Woody and Buzz are two of the best cartoon characters of all time?”
Jace scoffs. “Psssh, puh-lease. Mr. Potato Head and Hamm.”
A laugh erupts from me, the sip of ginger ale I just took spraying into the air.
Oh, crap. That was unladylike. Then again, I don’t know why I’m worried about such a thing given the fact that I have thrown up all over this man, and he potentially changed my vomit-covered shirt. We are well past unladylike.
“Don’t you have better things to do with your Saturday?”
The casual lift of his shoulder doesn’t answer my question, but that’s all I get. That and a smirk that makes my panties all but melt right off. Seriously, it should be illegal to do this to a sick woman.
“Jace?”
My baby’s voice wafts down the hall, a weird electronic echo of it floating through the monitor by my bedside. My mom brain kicks in instantly—even though he didn’t call for me—acting as the catalyst to get me moving. Until my stomach fights back.
“Whoa, careful there, slugger,” Jace warns, reaching out for me.
His hands feel good on my skin—warm, kind, gentle—making me want to curl into him. Wanting to feel more of his touch. Something I have no business wanting. Sick or otherwise.
“I got Little Man, don’t worry. You rest. When…if…you’re feeling up to it, we’ll be on the couch waiting for you. I’ll get Toy Story moving and some lunch going too.”
“Thank you.”
It’s all I can manage, too overcome by his offer. Not only because of who he is and our history, but because I’ve never had anyone who was willing to do anything like this. Other than my parents, no one has ever stepped up to help. Even Cody.
Especially Cody.
Fuck him…
I’ve lost count of all the times I’ve wondered what life would be like if I had a partner who cared.
Someone to share the load with. Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad Cody showed his true colors sooner rather than later.
Although one could argue that eight years together does not qualify as sooner.
Still, deep down I know that finding out when I did was a blessing in disguise.
Even if it left me high and dry and then landed me in court for years.
None of that, however, changes the fact that doing this alone is hard. Really fucking hard. Especially in moments like this one.
Jace nods, then stands up, turning to go. I watch as he saunters out of my room, looking about as comfortable as one can. Like walking out of my bedroom isn’t anything special. An everyday occurrence. Leaving me here halfway giddy that there was a boy in my room.
Because deep down, high school me is giggling uncontrollably that Jace Hayes was sitting on my bed. I can’t imagine what she would do if she knew we kissed him.
And then promptly threw up on him.
Ugggggh…not one of my better moves. I should work on that.
My phone vibrates against my nightstand, and I look over to see a text with my mother’s name on it flash onto the screen. Reaching for it, I try not to move too fast, knowing that the next thing I’ll be reaching for is that mixing bowl if I do.
Mom
Hi honey! We’re on our way back now. We should be home by dinnertime. Do you need us to pick up anything?
Errr, what?