Chapter Twenty-One
Ripley
The first thing I notice is it’s raining again when I blink awake. The very next thing I notice is I’m alone.
I didn’t fall asleep alone. I fell asleep wrapped around a compact, warm blonde after he practically turned me inside out in six different positions last night.
And I know it wasn’t a dream because I’m deliciously sore when I clench my butthole.
Just the ache itself has my cock perking up looking for seconds. Or thirds, if I want to get technical.
My first thought is he bolted out of here because he realized he’s not ready for this, that he doesn’t want me, that I’ll never be his first priority.
But I wrestle that toxic, little voice to the back of my mind and groan instead, knowing he’s most likely already been up for hours going for his run and whatever other boring adult stuff he has planned for the day.
I take my time stretching, cataloging the stiff muscles along my legs and back from this weekend’s hikes to and from the campsite with a huge pack weighing me down.
I add “murder Thea” to my mental to-do list for the day—right after “take a piss,” “brush my teeth,” and “drink coffee”—so she can’t put us through anything like that again.
I chuckle to myself at the thought. I’m making lists—Seth would be proud, it’s practically his favorite hobby.
After pulling on a pair of sweats and taking care of items one and two, I trudge downstairs to the kitchen. But as soon as I walk in, I realize something is wrong. Very, very wrong.
There’s no mouthwatering aroma of coffee in the air, the light on the machine isn’t even on. Maybe I’ve been spoiled over the last few weeks, but I’ve grown accustomed to him prepping the machine in the mornings so it’s ready right on time for when I wake up.
Annoyance, as unjustified as it may be—I’m uncaffeinated, this is the knee-jerk reaction—swells within me. Is that over now? Now that he’s gotten into my pants, he can’t even be bothered to make the morning coffee?
I practically stomp around the kitchen getting the coffee together. I spill grounds on the counter as I measure the appropriate number of scoops and stare at the mess as the coffee brews. I’m going to leave it. Let him clean it up, maybe it’ll serve as a reminder for how he should be treating me.
It’s not until the caffeine hits my bloodstream after the first sip that I sigh heavily and grab some paper towels to wipe the counter down. Ugh. I’m evolving. It’s so gross.
Just as I toss the paper towel in the trash, my phone dings.
4/27 9:44 a.m.
Thea: Morning, babe! Sorry again about the camping. I really thought you guys were going to have fun. **slanty face emoji**
Delivered
4/27 9:45 a.m.
Thea: Can you do me a favor and check on Seth and make sure he’s okay? I feel so bad he got so sick he cancelled on me this morning.
Delivered
Everything screeches to a halt. Seth is sick? Fuck. Here I am throwing a fit about my coffee not being ready, and he could be dying of fucking pneumonia upstairs.
Coffee abandoned, I rush to the door of his room and pause to listen. There are no sounds coming from inside. I debate just leaving him be, but my worry and catastrophizing get the better of me, so I push open the door.
It’s dark and stuffy in the small room, the shades are drawn. Seth is just a lump in the middle of the bed, covers pulled over his head. I creep in a few steps to see if I can get a better look at him.
“Go away,” he groans, but it’s raspy and weak.
“Are you okay? Thea said you’re not feeling well.” I take a few more steps closer to the bed so I’m standing right beside him.
“You shouldn’t see me like this. Just let me die in peace.”
I huff out a laugh. “I must be rubbing off on you; you’re being a bit dramatic.” I pull the covers down to reveal his face. His cheeks are flushed, but the skin underneath is pale. He cracks his eyes open to look at me, and they’re red and glassy with fever.
“Oh, baby,” I coo as I sit next to him, almost overwhelmed with the need to take care of him, make him feel better.
His cheek is burning up against my fingers as I brush my hand down the side of his head before cradling it in my palm.
His eyes close, and he turns into the touch as if looking for comfort before a pathetically small whimper escapes him.
“I’m so sorry you don’t feel well. Can I get you anything? ”
He shakes his head, but the movement is so small I’m not sure if it’s anything more than a tremor from the fever.
“Alright, you rest. I’m going to… figure this out, okay?
” I pet him for another minute, remembering how much I loved it when my mom ran her fingers through my hair when I was sick as a kid.
The thought makes my chest ache in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
I’d almost forgotten I had parents who took care of me once.
Feeling unmoored, I make my way to the bathroom and dial the only person I know who can walk me through this.
I rarely get sick, and I’ve never had anyone I had to take care of, so I’m feeling in over my head and a touch overwhelmed.
I hear Seth cough roughly in the other room and consider hanging up and dialing 9-1-1 instead.
“Hi, Ripley! How’s it going?” Margot’s sweet voice filters through on speakerphone as I rummage around in the medicine cabinet, shoving aside my face creams and colognes to get to the bottle of ibuprofen in the back.
“Margie, thank God. I have an emergency.”
“What’s wrong? Where are you?” It’s amazing how the woman can turn on her no-nonsense nurse voice at the drop of a hat.
“Okay, it’s not a real emergency. Seth’s sick. I think he caught a cold or something out in the woods. What do I do?” My voice sounds a little panicked, even to me.
“Oh, poor Seth. Brooks mentioned you guys all got drenched hiking back yesterday.”
“Yeah, we were not prepared. But please help me. How do I make him feel better?” I turn the bottle of pills around and around looking for the expiration date. I squint at the small letters, wishing I hadn’t forgotten my glasses in my room. What the fuck?! Why do they make the writing so small?
“All you have to do is let him rest and make sure he gets plenty of fluids. If he has a fever or any body aches, give him some over-the-counter painkillers. He should be fine in a day or two.” She sounds so sure, but I’m not convinced.
“That’s it?” I exhale a sigh when I make out the date and see I still have six months of use out of these bad boys.
“Yes,” she says, a smile in her voice. “He’s going to be fine. Do you want me to stop by and check on him?”
I know she’s just being nice, and I’m overreacting, but I consider her offer for a few seconds. “No, no. I’ll take care of him,” I say before adding, “But keep your phone close.”
“Sure, I’ll talk to you later. Good luck!”
She hangs up as I shake a few pills into my palm before rushing down to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He’s still buried under the covers when I come back to his room.
“Hey,” I say, gently shaking what I think is his shoulder.
He groans in response, and my heart breaks a little at the weak sound.
“Can you sit up? You just have to take these pills and a little water, and you can go back to sleep. Can you do that for me?” I keep my voice soft as I pull down the covers a little.
“No,” he whines, sounding like a toddler. “I don’t wanna.”
Okay, tough love it is.
“I know it seemed like I was asking, but you don’t really have a choice. Up you go.” I maneuver him to a sitting position, propping him on the headboard. He turns to look at me and—is that a pouty lip? Oh, that’s adorable. I like seeing this version of him.
Who am I kidding? I like seeing every version of him.
I’m so fucked.
“Now open wide, and swallow this down,” I say as I drop the pills into his mouth and lift the glass of water for him to sip. “Good boy.” I can’t help but smirk as his face transforms into the signature scowl I know and love. “Alright, go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t fight me, just slides back down and turns on his side, covers pulled over his head.
I cooked, or at least I did something that really resembled cooking. I can’t remember the last time I actually made anything requiring me to chop, let alone mince and sauté. Thank the good Lord for YouTube.
Seth had stocked the fridge with all sorts of vegetables and lean meats, so finding everything I needed for a basic chicken noodle soup was easy. I may have had to call Cary to ask exactly how big a medium onion is, but that’s neither here nor there.
My knuckles are white as I grip the tray carrying the bowl of soup as I make my way up the stairs and into Seth’s room.
Watching the pot simmer for an hour once I finally got all of the ingredients in there was excruciating.
I wanted to run up and check on him every two minutes, but I knew it would just disrupt his sleep.
Margot said he needs rest, so I sat my ass on a stool at the breakfast bar and watched the pot.
I will say, I don’t think my efforts were in vain. The soup smells good, and from the small—and scalding—sip I tasted before I added more salt, it’s delicious too.
After placing the tray on the nightstand, I pull the covers off of Seth’s face and place my hand on his forehead. He’s still hot, but I think it’s a little better than before. The fever reducer must be working.
He opens his eyes, and I’m once again struck by the color of them. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how fucking blue they are; they’re otherwordly.
“Hey,” I whisper. “How’re you feeling?”
He closes his eyes again and groans, but it doesn’t sound as pathetic as earlier, another positive sign.
“I made soup,” I say lamely. His eyes pop open and find the tray with the bowl on the nightstand.
“You… made soup?” he rasps but picks his head up to get a better look.
“Yeah, don’t make it a thing. I—I just—it’ll make you feel better, okay?
” The intensity in his eyes has me squirming, and I’m suddenly unsure about the soup, the gesture, my existence as a whole.
“Sit up.” The command comes out more harsh than I’d like, but he’s still looking at me, and I feel like I’m under the microscope.
I help him shift up, thankful for the break in eye contact, and prop a few pillows behind him. Then, I bring the tray to his lap, unfolding the little legs so it’s standing on the bed over his lap.
I step away from the bed, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck as I watch him. Just the effort of sitting up seems to have drained him as he looks at the bowl like it’s his own personal Mount Everest.
Without thinking too much about it, I sit next to him and pick up the spoon.
I notice my hand trembles as I bring the first sip to his mouth.
With his gaze on me, he takes the mouthful, and his eyes close as he hums in approval.
He swallows, and I watch his throat work, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down.
Why is such a small thing so attractive?
“It’s good, thank you.” He blinks his eyes open and looks at me, and it’s just so warm and fond and vulnerable. I can’t imagine he’s open like this with many people, and like a man starved, I eat it up. I drink it down, let it fill my belly and my chest with the same warmth radiating from him.
I feed him in silence until most of the bowl is gone and his eyelids are heavy. I move the tray to the nightstand and help Seth lie back down, tucking the covers tight around him.
I’m just about to straighten up and leave him to rest, when his hand grasps mine. “Stay.” The word is small, and the next one is even smaller: “Please.”
I nod and maneuver myself next to him, back to the headboard, legs stretched in front of me. He turns to his side, laying his head in my lap, covers up to his chin.
We stay like that for a while before I notice I’m absentmindedly running my hand through his soft hair. I’m not sure how much time passes, my head empty of anything but that look on his face as he ate and the silky strands gliding between my fingers.
I’m pretty sure he’s asleep, his breathing even and deep, but then he mumbles, “This is nice. I love this. I love you.”
My heart stops in my chest. Did he just say—
Seth lets out a tiny snore.
Great. I get to sit here and freak out about his fever-dream love declaration while he snoozes. Maybe he didn’t actually say it. Maybe I’m also feverish and hearing things.
I want to reach for my phone and call Thea to unload everything that’s happened over the last few days. Freak out with her and tell her I need help looking for places to live in Seattle because I don’t want Seth to leave me behind when he inevitably goes back to his real life.
My phone is trapped in my pocket, and I’m trapped by the weight of his head on my lap, but I don’t care. It would take an act of God to get me to move right now. For the first time in forever, I feel like I’m exactly where I should be, next to who I should be with. I don’t want to let go.
And thankfully, at least for today, I don’t have to.