12. Violet
VIOLET
I wake up, throat dry and head pounding, but my stomach no longer feels woozy. Sitting up slowly, I groan as my head objects to the change of position. I must be delirious because I dreamt Gavin was here last night and took care of me.
I get out of bed and tiptoe down the hallway to Jane’s room to see if Gavin is there. The door is open, lights off, bed made. It looks just like she left it. Yeah, definitely delirious. I’m never ordering Chinese takeout again.
After I stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth, I head downstairs. I’m pulling my hair up into a high ponytail when I spot him on the couch.
The TV is muted on ESPN and his arms are crossed at his waist. His chin is tucked low, resting against his chest, and his eyes are closed. He’s in basketball shorts and a cut-off T-shirt, like maybe he just came from a workout or practice.
I didn’t dream it. He was here and… he came back.
As quiet as I can, I descend the rest of the steps. Tiptoeing, I move at a snail’s pace. The old floors in this house creak with every step, and I wince at each groan of the hardwood.
“Violet,” Gavin’s deep, sleep-filled voice calls behind me.
I take another step before I look at him.
His lids are heavy, and his hair is a little messy, but he stares at me with a worried expression as he unfolds himself from the couch.
Sometimes I still get struck by how handsome he is—even like this.
Especially like this, if I’m honest. He’s just rumpled Gavin and not the superstar jock everyone loves.
“Hi.” I wave awkwardly. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I think. I was going to try to eat something.” I point my thumb in the direction of the kitchen.
He nods and follows me into the kitchen. On the table are grocery bags. The top of a 7-up bottle pokes out of one of the paper sacks.
“What is all this?”
He crooks an arm and rubs at the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “I, uh, picked up a few things.”
“For me?”
Chuckling, he moves into action, pulling items out. Bread, butter, cheese, soup, and a bunch of different medicines. After he empties the bags, he goes to the cabinet and gets a glass and fills it with water for me.
“You’re very comfortable in my kitchen.”
All the uneasiness in his demeanor shifts as he pulls out a skillet and then finds a knife. “It’s not that big of a kitchen,” he says. “Besides, people keep things in sort of the same spots.”
I murmur my agreement and drink some of the water.
“What exactly is happening here?” I ask as he grabs a loaf of bread and tosses it in the air to his other hand, catching it with a wink. He is filled with energy and charm that makes my brain want to explode. Gavin is in my kitchen and… smiling? This is too weird.
“I’m making grilled cheese.”
“Because?”
“Last night.”
I stare at him blankly.
“7-up, grilled cheese, and movies.”
I keep staring.
“You don’t remember.” He shakes his head. “Last night you said that when you were younger and home sick, your dad would make grilled cheese sandwiches and you guys would watch movies all day.” He points to the 7-up. “I got that too in case your stomach was still upset.”
“And the rest of it?” I pick up a bottle of Pepto.
“I grabbed a bunch of stuff. I wasn’t really sure what you might need.”
“I remember saying it. I’m just not sure why you are helping me.”
He stops what he’s doing and comes over to the table, bracing both hands on top of the chair. “I want to continue the truce.”
I have a vague recollection of telling him that last night was a temporary truce.
Or maybe he said it and I agreed? It seemed like a fine idea at the time.
I’m not sure if it was because that’s what I really wanted or if I just wanted someone with me when I was sick.
Either way, I appreciate what he’s done for me.
Some people like to be alone when they’re not feeling well, but I am not one of those people.
“Don’t you have places to be?” I ask as I lie my head on the table.
The cool wood feels nice against my cheek.
I know the reason he stayed behind for spring break is because of basketball.
I think they have the final tournament of the regular season next week.
I try not to know these things, I really do, but this school looooves their basketball players.
“Not today.” His brows tug together in concern. “You look pale. You should go lie down on the couch or get back in bed. I’ll bring everything to you.”
My instinct is to argue, but I think better of it. Instead, I trudge back up the stairs and get in bed. I’m shivering when I pull the blankets back over me. I’m so cold that my bones hurt and my teeth chatter.
Sometime later, the bed dips beside me with Gavin’s weight. “Do you feel like eating anything?”
I shake my head.
“All right. Take this and I’ll leave you alone.” He holds out a small plastic cup of red medicine.
I sit up and take the cup. “Is this the awful medicine your mom used to make you take?”
A small grin pulls at the corner of his mouth and a small dimple appears. “It tastes awful, but it works.”
I take it with a grimace. “It does taste awful.”
Smiling, he takes the empty cup from me and continues to sit on the edge of my bed.
“Tell me more about your parents.”
His brows lift.
“Entertain me, Leonard. I feel like crap and look worse. I need a distraction.”
“My mom is the coolest. We’re close. A lot closer than I am to my dad.”
“Really?” Gavin’s dad was a pro basketball player. I know things turned sideways between them after the rumors of his dad cheating on his mom surfaced, but I always imagined his childhood playing ball with his father, Gavin sitting in the stands cheering him on.
“He was gone a lot until he retired.”
“How old were you when he stopped playing?”
“Thirteen.”
“That young?”
“I was in junior high. I remember coming home after school and he’d be sitting outside by the pool, staring into space. It was hard on him, I think.”
“Is that why you don’t want to play in the NBA?”
“Aren’t you full of questions today.” He smiles.
It’s something I always wondered. Gavin told me the night we met that he was going to be a sports journalist, and playing college on a nationally ranked team was his in.
It made sense at the time, but since then I’ve learned just how good he is, and I can’t wrap my brain around why he wouldn’t want to keep playing.
“Well?”
“You should rest.”
My head is fuzzy and I’m still so cold, but I don’t feel like sleeping.
“Need or want anything else?” he asks.
“Can you grab my laptop off my desk? I want to put a movie on for background noise.”
He does and I sit all the way up to open it. My fingers shake over the touch pad.
“Give me this,” he says with a chuckle. He moves to sit on the bed next to me and I happily hand it over so I can pull the covers back up to my chin.
“What movie?” he asks as he gets situated with the device on his lap.
“Persuasion is up next.”
“Right. The list. What is on the list exactly?”
“All of my favorite Jane Austen movies and miniseries.”
His brows lift. “All of them? Are there a lot?”
“I pulled my top five.”
“Okay. And why Jane Austen?” He waves a hand to the framed quotes on the wall above our heads. “Aside from your obsession, of course.”
“It isn’t an obsession. It inspires me.” A coughing fit stops me from saying more.
Gavin finds the movie and hits play. I expect him to hand the laptop back and leave, but he repositions the screen, so we can both see and crosses his arms over his chest, watching intently as the opening credits play.
“You are going to watch Persuasion with me?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “Why?”
“I’ve never seen this one.”
“And you’ve just been dying for the opportunity?”
His shoulder bumps mine. “Truce, remember?”
Right. I nod.
“Good.” His gaze goes back to the screen.
Seconds tick by and I’m still watching him. He turns his head and smiles, catching me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I pull the comforter tighter around me and force my stare on the screen.
Why does this truce suddenly feel like the worst idea ever?