Chapter 7
SEVEN
LEO
I still don’t like North. I don’t. It doesn’t matter that he’s hot. It doesn’t matter that he was nice. That’s his job, damn it. He’s trained to take care of people, and I had the audacity to go and seize all over him. Literally.
After feeding him inedible food, apparently.
The evidence of that is all over my kitchen, and it’s humiliating to see because I thought I’d been in full control of myself, but the mess says otherwise.
There are small piles of powdered Parmesan on the floor and the counters, spilled spaghetti noodles on the stove, and it looks like I tipped over the pot of water and just left it there.
It also doesn’t help that half my box of sea salt is missing, which probably means it was in the pasta water.
Oh god, what did I feed him?
I’m on my hands and knees, wiping up the mess, when I hear footsteps, and then North clears his throat. “Yeah, I wasn’t joking about you getting into bed.”
I glance over my shoulder at the totally wrong time because it’s the moment North lifts his fucking shirt to wipe his brow with it, and I catch his goddamn, tattooed washboard abs, which are littered with faint, pale pink scars.
I look away before he can notice. “I can’t just leave this sitting here.”
“True. But luckily for you, there’s a fireman who lives directly behind you, who happens to be in your house right now—”
“Uninvited!” I remind him.
He goes on like I haven’t spoken. “—willing to help. And trust me, I know how to clean a kitchen.”
I’m way too embarrassed to let him touch any of this. “You can go now. I’m fine.”
“Okay. Let me just give your brother a call. I’m sure it won’t be a big deal for him to come over here and…”
I groan, half-annoyed, half-panicked. Easton is the kind of self-sacrificing fuck who would get himself written up to help me clean a kitchen if he thought I was in distress.
Which, for the record, I am not in distress. Just horrifically embarrassed.
“Fine, whatever.” I throw the paper towel toward the trash and miss, because of course I do, then groan as I attempt to climb to my feet. I fail at that, too, because my hip is on fire from all the walking I did without my cane, and I will definitely be paying for that the rest of the week.
North lifts me like I weigh absolutely nothing, and that makes me feel even worse.
“I think you should probably shower,” he murmurs as he steadies me on my feet.
My face goes white-hot. “I smell that bad?”
Christ, I didn’t mean to ask that, but after seizures, words tend to tumble out of my mouth unchecked. It’s why I laughed on the walk home. It’s why I was so…easy with him.
Something was definitely scrambled up there, because he should not make me feel this safe.
And even now, I want to lean into his space, and I haven’t felt this way in years.
North sighs loudly, drawing me out of my thought spiral. “You don’t smell. I just know I always feel better when I have one after a rough day. Or moment. Whatever. You know what I mean.”
I want to pretend I don’t, but the truth is, I have a very fancy shower with a stone bench so I won’t fall and crack my head open, and seizing always makes me sweat buckets.
It’ll be nice to change out of these clothes, which do reek of salty pasta water, and wash all those embarrassing moments off me.
“Fine. A shower it is. You can let yourself out when you’re done being all up in my business,” I tell him, then lean my upper arm against the wall as I make my way out of the kitchen.
I can only just make out the sound of him running the faucet, and I do everything I can not to think about the fact that I’m seriously going to owe him when all of this is over and done with.
It’s hard to process complicated thoughts though, so I let it go, knowing how shitty I’ll feel tomorrow when my brain is fully back online.
In the bathroom, I leave the door cracked so the steam doesn’t fog everything up, then start the shower and peel out of my T-shirt and jeans, then drop my glasses on the counter. I look like a stranger in the mirror, but it’s not because of the seizure.
My dark hair is lifeless and limp, the bags under my eyes are epic, my face is gaunt, and even my freckles seem pale.
There are days I wish I were more like my brother.
Effortlessly attractive and unafraid to use it to get what I want.
I was never bold like him, never brave. I was curious, but too afraid to voice what I wanted.
It was a miracle anyone noticed me before, and I don’t expect that to happen again.
With a deep breath, I step under the spray and close my eyes as the water cascades over my shoulders. I need a massage, badly, but this does a little to help some of my muscles unknot.
Rolling my head, I let the water pound against my neck, then finally, I back up to sit.
The little soap caddy sits against the glass door of the shower, and I look for the little purple spot on the side.
Usually, by the time I remember to do this part of my routine, it’s late at night, and my ability to read no longer exists.
Easton came up with the clever dots, and they do help.
Purple for shampoo, blue for conditioner, red for bodywash.
I lather the soap in my hands, then scrub it into my hair before leaning forward to watch all the suds circle the drain. It’s almost hypnotizing, and I only draw out of it when the bubbles are gone.
Taking a breath, I lean back to get the water out of my eyes and the world tilts. Panic hits me, and I reach to the right, scrambling for purchase. My hand hits all the soap bottles, and each one tumbles to the shower floor with a crash so loud, it makes my temples ache.
“Fuck!”
Dropping to my knees, my eyes are blurry with the running water from my hair, and I feel around to clean up the mess when suddenly, there’s an even louder bang.
My entire body feels that like it’s been shocked by the sound, and I tumble sideways, hitting the shower door.
It pops open, and cool air hits me as I brace to hit the floor… only I don’t.
I hit something else instead.
Something warm.
Something soft, yet strong.
“Jesus Christ, it’s like you’re trying to die today.” Suddenly, I’m being lifted in a bridal carry, and I get an immediate whiff of cologne.
Oh my god, it’s North. He’s cradling me in his arms, and I’m naked again, and this time, I’m in his arms. Every instinct I have is to let myself linger in his grasp, but then my mind almost violently remembers what happened last time he saw me in all my glory, and I quickly roll over, attempting to shield myself from his prying eyes.
“What the fuck? Let me go!”
As though he can’t help obeying my command, his arms fall to his sides, and this time, I actually do hit the floor.
“I am so sorry. Oh god, look at you. You have a bruise,” North groans softly as he wraps something around my shoulders. My robe, I realize as he attempts to take my arms and shove them through the sleeves.
Batting his hands away, I wrap the fabric tighter around myself and squint at him as he steps back and paces in front of me. My body is aching from hitting the tile, and I really do have a bruise forming on the left side of my ass, which took the brunt of the fall.
North panicked as soon as he let me go and tried to catch me mid-fall, but being that I was soaking wet and still slightly soapy, I slid through his hands. Now I’m limping toward my bed because the last thing I want is to be spread-eagle in front of him.
The blankets are soft as I drop down, which is nice, but I immediately soak into the covers, which is going to make for a really fucking annoying night’s sleep. There’s nothing worse than wet sheets.
Well, except maybe wet socks.
Or annoying-as-fuck neighbors who feed crows and barge into your bathroom unannounced while you’re trying to clean up your own disaster.
I glance up, and my eyes attempt to follow his movements, but it immediately triggers my vertigo. Letting out a sharp breath, I let my head fall down toward my knees and wait it out.
“Can you stop pacing? It’s making me dizzy. And also, I’m fine.”
“Are you? You fell in the shower, Leo,” he says like I wasn’t there to experience this whole thing. Also, he’s wrong, but he doesn’t give me a chance to tell him that. “I knew I should have come with you.”
“Okay, no,” I say slowly. “I’m a grown, almost thirty-year-old man.
I can shower on my own. Even if I have seizures,” I add before he tries to get all chivalrous or whatever the hell he’s trying to do.
“And second, I didn’t fall in the shower.
I got a little dizzy and knocked over the bottles of soap. I fell when you dropped me.”
He slaps a hand over his face so hard the sound bounces off the walls. “Fuuuuck. I can’t believe I dropped you. You had a seizure, and then I dropped you! Someone should lock me away.”
“Can you stop that, please?” My words come out tight with offense. He’s doing what people always fucking do and treating me like I’m made of spun sugar. “I’m barely hurt, and I’m not that breakable.”
North freezes. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah, you did.” I can’t stop myself from interrupting him.
“You definitely meant to imply I can’t be left alone to do a basic self-care task, and I promise you that I can.
I can take a hit too. My head injury was years ago, okay?
I’m not concussed anymore. All this—” I wave at my temple.
“—is just leftover bullshit, and I’ve been living just fine with it. ”
He takes a breath, then drops down to the floor and leans back on his hands so fucking casually, like he just belongs here in my bedroom while I sit naked under my robe.
“I get it. I’m sorry for being an ass.”
I have no idea what to say to that. Normally, he doesn’t apologize. He usually runs his mouth and doubles down until I’m ready to dig into my old lexicon of ancient Greek swear words to cuss him out.
I don’t know who this man is.