Chapter 11 Caleb
Caleb
Oh fuck, she looks bad.
Maddy’s desk is littered with tissues, and she’s gathering up her things like a sloth.
She clicks through her computer with a slowness that’s so uncharacteristic, it’s concerning. She tries to slip her bag over her shoulder and nearly tips her chair over when she bumps into it.
“Maddy? You okay?” I ask.
She jerks, startled, then tries to stand up straight. “Yeah. I mean, yes, just… finishing up. I’m taking off early.” Her eyes are at half-mast, but she musters a wobbly smile. “I think I’ve come down with something.”
I stop at the edge of her desk, nodding. “You look like death warmed over.”
She laughs, then immediately coughs. “Thank you, that’s what I was going for, actually. I’m so glad you noticed.”
I shove my hands in my slacks pockets, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “Are you going to the doctor?”
She shrugs, then busies herself zipping her laptop sleeve. “If I still feel like garbage tomorrow, I’ll go to urgent care. They’re usually not much help. They tell you to take some Motrin and get more rest.”
“Gotcha,” I say, choosing not to argue with her. I glance over to Adrian’s office and then back to her. “Did you get all of Adrian’s reports done? Because if not, I can finish those for you.”
She nods. “Thanks, but I finished and even remembered to update his Dropbox with them. I think I deserve a medal, or at least a sticker for finishing it in this state though.”
I grin. “If you want a sticker, I can find you one.”
She’s about to reply when the elevator dings and Marissa strides in.
Damn, I don’t like her. And I won’t pretend like I do.
She gives Maddy a look that could strip paint. “Leaving early? Must be nice.”
Maddy’s jaw tenses, but she doesn’t look up. “I’m sick, Marissa. They don’t want me to pass it to anyone else.”
Marissa’s voice goes syrupy as she sets a few pieces of mail on Maddy’s desk.
“It must be hard, you know, keeping up. I remember my first year—so many sick days, you wouldn’t believe.
Some people just don’t have the resilience for this kind of company.
” She glances at me, as if I’ll join in with her bullshit.
I don’t even blink. “Thanks for the mail. You can go back to reception now,” I say flatly.
Marissa bristles, then looks away. “Whatever. Hope you feel better, Maddy.” She looks at her like she’s got the plague and then drifts off, her heels clicking against the floor with excessive vigor.
Once she’s out of earshot, Maddy exhales. “Thanks. I don’t know why she hates me so much.”
“She hates everyone that doesn’t give her the attention she wants,” I mutter. I wait until Maddy meets my eyes. “Seriously, are you okay to get home by yourself? I can take you.”
She nods, but it’s half-hearted. “I’ll be fine. I probably just need to crash for a few hours, and then I’ll feel better.” She manages to adjust the bag over her shoulder once more, but the strap snags on her cardigan, and she has to twist awkwardly to free it.
I watch this entire process, fighting every urge to help her. It’s driving me crazy. “Do you have food at home? Or anything for the fever?”
She hesitates a fraction, enough to tell me at least one of those answers is a no.
“I’ll figure it out,” she says, shaking her head as she pushes her desk chair in. “I just wanna go home and lie down for a while. I’ll get to the rest of it later.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
I follow her to the elevators, trying not to hover. She steps inside and leans against the mirrored wall. The doors close, and I watch her stare at the floor until she’s no longer in view, replaced by the steel exterior.
And even once she’s gone, I stand there for a minute, thoughts running rampant in my mind.
She’s not going to go to the store. She’s not going to pick up soup, or medicine, or anything else.
She’ll crawl into bed and try to sleep it off, and maybe she’ll be better in the morning, or maybe she’ll get worse, because that’s what happens when you live alone and don’t want to admit you need help.
I go back to my office, sit, and stare at my screen for way too long, those worried thoughts still pinging.
It’s not my place to take care of her.
She’d probably be weirded out if I just… showed up.
Fuck it. I shove back from my desk, stand, walk to the HR floor, and knock on the HR Director’s door.
She looks up, trying to mask her annoyance. “How can I help you, Caleb?”
“Sorry, this’ll just take a second,” I say. “I need Maddy Williams’s address. She’s my new assistant, and I need to send something to her.” I sound creepy, but whatever.
Karen gives me a look. “Is this urgent?”
“She’s out sick, and I’m a little worried about her. I want to send her some things from the drug store.” I keep my face blank, trying to act like this is the most normal thing in the world.
She sighs and, after a few clicks on her computer, reads out an address on the rougher side of the city.
Oh geez. That area’s not safe.
I thank her, then head straight for the ground floor. I’m already making a list in my head. I need soup, tea, Tylenol, and anything else I think might help.
She might not even open the door, though. But, I’ve got to try.
I’d rather risk her shutting me out than spend the whole night wondering if she’s lying on the floor of her apartment, too proud to ask for help.
An hour later, I’m standing outside her apartment, loaded down with so much shit, that my biceps are starting to ache. The complex is seedy, and I wouldn’t want anyone I know to live here, but…
That’s a problem for a different day. I knock gently on her door.
At first, there’s nothing. Then a cough, so rough it sounds like she’s being wrung out from the inside. Footsteps shuffle, a lock turns, and the door cracks open an inch. Her face appears, eyes glassy and hair everywhere.
She blinks at me with surprise and maybe a hint of embarrassment. “Caleb? What are you doing here?”
“Hi,” I say, holding up the bags. “Didn’t want you to starve and I was worried you didn’t have any medicine.”
She hesitates, then opens the door wide enough for me to slip in.
Her apartment is a shoebox, and it was obviously built a long time ago. The tan carpet is worn with stained areas. The kitchen is more of a suggestion than an actual room, and the living area barely has enough room for a couch.
Maddy is wrapped in a faded pink comforter and she’s holding a wad of tissues in one hand.
She stares at me, swaying a little. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” she squeaks, her shoulders hunched. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
I shake my head, not the least bit put off. “It’s fine. You should see my place. Maybe you should sit down, though? You look like you might pass out.” I try to make light of it, but she only half-smiles and nods, then collapses back in a plop on the couch.
I set the grocery bags on the table and start unpacking—Tylenol, instant ramen, cans of soup, a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade, and, for some reason, a box of Popsicles.
Aren’t those good for a sore throat? Maybe not. I don’t know.
“You look like you feel terrible,” I say, heading into the kitchen.
She snorts, then hacks up a cough. “You really know how to make a girl feel good.”
I fill her electric kettle with water and flip the switch. The kitchen’s barely functional, but I find a clean mug. From the corner of my eye, I catch Maddy trying to smooth her hair.
I can’t believe I actually did this, but I’m here now. May as well see if I can help her.
“So, would you like tea, soup, or a slow death?” I joke, while lining up the tea and soup on the counter for her to see.
“I think I’d actually prefer a slow death at this point. Something to look forward to,” she tries to tease back, but falls into a coughing fit again.
I eye her as she tries to stop. “Yeah, let’s go ahead and start with the throat-soothing tea then.
” I pour the water as soon as the kettle goes off, add the teabag and some honey I picked up at the last minute, and bring it over.
She tries to take it, but her hands aren’t steady, so I just set it on the side table and grab a tissue for her.
She blows her nose with the resignation of someone who’s given up on dignity.
And I find it absolutely fucking adorable.
“Don’t get me wrong—I appreciate it, but why are you here?” she croaks, voice muffled by Kleenex.
I shrug, rolling my shoulders. “You seemed like you needed help.”
She glares at me, but still manages to look pitiful. “I’m not helpless, you know.”
“Everyone gets sick, Maddy. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help.”
She sighs, peering up at me with fever-flushed cheeks. “Well… I’m sorry you had to see this,” she mutters, gesturing at the clutter. “I swear, it’s not usually this bad.”
“Totally not judging,” I say, and then return to the tiny kitchen. I start heating up soup in the microwave in a pink-and-purple floral bowl I find. Despite the apartment being a more than a little bit chaotic, it feels homey.
When the microwave beeps, I bring the soup over to her. She motions to put it down on the coffee table next to the tea.
“I don’t think I’m hungry,” she mumbles.
“Just try,” I urge, basically shoving it into her hands. “You’ll feel better. It’s got antioxidants in it.”
She attempts to give me a challenging look. “Okay, Mom.”
I laugh, then sit beside her, careful not to crowd her. The comforter covers everything from her chin down, so I wait. Eventually, she frees a hand, and I place the bowl in her grip.
Her hand is hot, not the normal kind but the kind that means she’s burning up. She manages a spoonful, then a few more.
She gets about halfway through, then leans back with a sigh. “Okay, maybe I did need this. Thank you. Really.” She meets my gaze, her tired eyes tinged with a look of relief that makes my chest swell.
I smile at her, adjusting my suit jacket. “You want Tylenol?”
She shakes her head, eyes closing. “I’m good. Maybe I just need to sleep. You can go home. I’ll be fine.”
I purse my lips, still not convinced. “I can stay a bit, and make sure you don’t, you know… die.”
She tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. “I’m not planning on dying, Caleb.”
Damn, I like the way my name sounds on her lips.
We sit in silence for a few minutes as she finishes her soup. She shivers under the blanket, and I think about offering to adjust the thermostat, but then I realize there is no thermostat—just a rusty radiator in the corner.
Yikes.
“Do you want to move to your bed?” I eye the full-sized bed in the corner of the studio apartment.
She shakes her head, eyes barely open now. “No, I’ll just sleep here.”
I nod, then settle back. Eventually, her breathing deepens, and she slips off to sleep. I let her be, standing to clean up the kitchen. I wash the mug and bowl, wipe the counter, and gather the tissues into a plastic bag.
She probably doesn’t want me doing all these things, but also… I don’t want to leave yet.
I shove the tissues into the trash, shut the lid, and then wash my hands in the sink, eyeing a picture of her and some girl with purple hair hanging on the wall. It’s the only picture. I stare at it, trying to figure out if it’s a family member or just a friend.
“Why are you still here?” Maddy’s groggy voice cuts through the moment, grabbing my attention.
“Tidying up,” I reach for the dish towel to dry my hands. “I don’t want you re-catching your cold with all the germs still around.”
“You’re really nice as far as bosses go.” She tries to give me a smile.
I pause, not sure what to say. “Is that a good thing?”
She nods, and her eyes jump to the picture I was staring at. “That’s Riley. She’s my best friend. I’ve known her since college.”
“That’s cool,” I say, hesitant to ask too many questions. I’m not sure if we’ve crossed from professional into personal territory…
But I know I’ve crossed that line in my mind with her.
“You can take off your suit jacket,” Maddy suddenly says, gesturing to me. “You look super uncomfortable. You’ve already torn through my kitchen… You might as well settle in—if you want,” she adds quickly.
I hesitate for maybe half a second, then toe off my shoes, strip off my jacket, and sit at the far end of the couch. I grab a throw pillow and lean back, legs stretched out. The couch sags under my weight.
“Movie?” I offer, picking up the remote.
She nods. “Deal. But you pick. I’m too sick to make major decisions right now.”
I chuckle and turn on the TV, flipping through her streaming options. But before I settle on which comedy hits the spot, Maddy shifts on the couch, her head resting against my shoulder. My heart skips a beat.
“Is this okay?” She peers up at me, her lids heavy.
“Yeah, of course,” I tell her, and then try to focus on the shitty movie I randomly click. But while my eyes stay on the screen, the rest of me is tuned to Maddy, whose breaths are growing deeper with every passing minute.
I risk a glance down at her, and see her eyes closed and her face peaceful. Damn, she’s gorgeous, even when she’s sick. Carefully, I brush a strand of her hair from her face.
I’m so fucking lucky to be here right now.
And I know it’s probably breaking all the HR policies at work, but whatever. I don’t give a shit right now.