chapter 19
[Jude]
Angelica is sick, and I am fucking scared. I’ve never taken care of anyone in my life, except myself, so I do what I always do when I don’t know what to do.
“Hi, Jude.”
“Julia.” I breathe a sigh of relief after hearing my younger sister’s voice. The quiet redhead who turned into a spunky wife and mother of three is my answer for anything I don’t know.
“How are you in trouble now?” she laughs.
“Why would you think I’m in trouble?” I grouse.
“Because it’s mid-morning on a Friday and you’d never call me this early without it meaning trouble,” she teases.
“I’m not in trouble.” Not exactly. “But I am with a sick friend, and I’ve tried everything I know to help her. Warm bath. Soup. Rest.”
Silence fills the phone.
“Julia?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to unpack that sentence. Friend. Sick. You help. Her.” Julia’s voice shifts. “How is Sabrina?”
My sister has met my previous on-again, off-again friend-with-benefits, and she does not approve, although she’d never outright say that. Her tone when referencing Sabrina implies her opinion, although Julia is the least opinionated person I’ve ever known.
“It’s not Sabrina.” I scrub my hand down my face as I stand in Angelica’s living room, looking into the gloomy courtyard of her apartment complex.
I should have taken her to my place, but I was afraid to move her.
She’s hardly moved other than flipping from one side of the bed to the other and sitting up for only a few sips of soup and half a piece of toast.
“Oh.” Pause. “Oh.”
“Don’t oh me right now,” I snap. “I need to know what to do.”
Silence fills the phone again, but I can practically hear the smile in my sister’s voice when she eventually says, “This is new.”
“Yes. It’s new.”
“No, I mean, that tremor in your voice. You must really care about this one.”
“Her name is Angelica.”
“Angelica,” Julia whispers, like she worships the name.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“I’m only repeating you. It’s beautiful.”
“She’s beautiful,” I grunt, swiping over my hair and cupping the back of my neck.
“Oh, Jude.” The sigh in my sister’s voice is too much. It’s almost as if she’s proud of me for some reason.
“Look, are you going to help me or not?”
She laughs outright at my distress. “Okay. Here’s what to do.”
I quickly make a list, finding I’ve already done most of what she tells me.
“Monitor her fever, and if she still has it tomorrow, I’d take her to an urgent care.”
Urgent care? That sounds serious.
“Does Dad know about Angelica?”
“Of course not.” Once again, my tone is too harsh. Julia isn’t the issue. My racing heart is. I want to take care of Angelica. I want her to feel better. And then, we need to talk.
As the quiet lingers between Julia and me, I swallow down my pride and ask a question that’s been on my mind.
“Do you think it’s too late for Tucker and me to have a relationship?” I’d taken to calling our dad Tucker once I learned about the convoluted relationship we have.
“No, Jude. I don’t think it’s too late.” Again, a smile fills her voice.
This one sounds motherly, which is ironic considering she’s younger than me.
But Julia has always been my rock. I never faulted her for being the true child of our parents.
My once-shy and innocent little sister until she surprised us all and went off to California.
I could ask Julia how to fix the divide between Tucker and me, but I only have one concern right now. When I hear the bathroom door close, I turn toward the open doorway to Angelica’s bedroom.
“I’ve got to go.”
“I’m proud of you, Jude. You actually sound like you’re growing up.”
“Funny.”
“No more lost boy for you,” she teases, as if I’m Peter Pan, which is something she teased me about as a child. Never wanting to grow up. Always causing mischief. Only I was more like Captain Hook, grumpy and angry. Envious.
“Yeah, yeah. Gotta go,” I state again.
“I love you, Jude.”
My shoulders relax a little. “Love you, too, cupcake,” I tease, using her husband’s nickname for her.
The line goes dead with my sister’s chuckle echoing in my ear.
Returning to my nursemaid duties, I check on my patient. When I enter Angelica’s bedroom, she’s exiting the bathroom. Her body is hunched forward like it took all her effort to walk the few steps.
“I’m so cold again,” she grumbles, climbing back into her bed and bringing her covers up to her chin. She visibly trembles, although her forehead feels warm.
“We’ve got to get that fever down.”
Angelica hums while her eyes close.
I do the only thing I can think of next. I strip out of my clothes, down to my boxer briefs, and climb into the bed behind her, tugging her back to my chest.
“What are you doing?” The rough grumble sounds like it takes all her energy to speak.
“Warming you up.” I wrap my arm over her waist and tug her tighter to my chest. I tuck my knees behind hers and press them upward, like she’s sitting in my lap. I set her cold feet on top of mine, touching every place I can so the heat of my body seeps into hers.
“If you wanted to get in bed with me, all you had to do was ask,” she mutters.
“And if you wanted to see me again, you didn’t need to play sick. You could have called.” Not that she’s faking this illness. But why hadn’t she called me sooner?
She scoffs, snuggling deeper into me. I press my lips to the back of her hair. She smells like sugar and spice again, but also warm and dewy from the fever. I slip my arm beneath her oversized T-shirt so we are skin to skin as much as we can be. She settles into the added warmth against her belly.
“I’m sorry you’re sick.” It’s all my fault. Wet hair and a cold walk. Prolonged exposure while ice skating. I should have taken better care of her.
“It’s not your fault I feel bad,” she says, her voice still quiet and sleepy.
“But I want you to feel better,” I mutter to her neck. I want to make everything better.
“Just a few more days,” she murmurs, like she knows exactly how long she’ll be ill.
A few more days. I close my eyes, curious if she’d like another day with me.
I’d like more than another day with her.
+ + +
By late afternoon, Angelica is complaining about being too hot and scooting out of my grasp. Surprisingly, I’d fallen asleep as well, and I roll to my back as she moves away from me.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, as she lies on her back as well and kicks her legs out from underneath the covers.
“Hot.” She rolls her head on the pillow to look at me.
I have several comebacks, but instead, I blurt something very ill-timed. “Let me take you to your brother’s wedding.”
Angelica shifts her head for a better look at me. “Jude.” She sighs. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m selfish. You were my date. Now let me be yours.”
She shakes her head and turns to face the ceiling again. “That wouldn’t be the reason I’d consider you selfish.”
I shift to my side and prop up on my elbow. “Then explain it to me.”
Her head whips back in my direction. “Why does my opinion matter?”
Because you matter to me. For reasons I cannot explain, what she thinks of me has struck a chord.
“I’d just like to know what my offenses are.” I tip my chin, bracing for a list of infractions. “Why did you change your mind about dating me?”
“It was one date, Jude.”
“Two,” I remind her. A rehearsal dinner and the wedding.
She exhales heavily. “When you suggested that my volunteering set you in the good graces of your board, it diminished the work.”
“I—” I’m cut off as she looks away from me. “I’m sorry.” However, the apology is too late.
“Volunteering time. It’s on the list,” I state.
She rolls her head back in my direction. “You read the list?” Her large eyes are still fever-riddled but beautiful when she blinks at me.
I shrug, dropping my gaze to her arm that rests on top of the covers. Her skin is so pale, so soft.
“I’m trying to do the list,” I admit, keeping my eyes focused on the crease of her elbow.
“Really?” Her excited trill has me briefly meeting her eyes, but just as quickly, I look away again, feeling my face heat.
“Want to tell me what you’ve done so far?” Her eyes are expectant, blue flames of hope. Hope for me?
I fall to my back and tick off on my fingers. “I gave of my time at the breakfast with Santa.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
I turn my head on the pillow and narrow my eyes. “Are you my shrink now?”
She waves her hand and gives me a soft smile. “Fine. Continue.”
“I donated money.” A Snowball’s Chance. She already knows this one.
I’m not ready to admit that I might have cheated a little bit, and I’ve put purchasing her Christmas presents on the list. It kind of matched up with Scrooge tossing coins at the boy and telling him to purchase the biggest goose.
While I’d initially told myself the purchases were made in gratitude for her saving my life, I actually enjoyed the time we spent together as she carefully selected items for each of her family members.
Her love for them was obvious in every decision she made.
Did I think I was reformed? Did I like giving shit away? Donating money. Paying for others. Not particularly. But it had not been as bad as I thought it might be. In fact, it had been kind of nice.
I shiver at the thought.
What has been miserable were the days of silence between us since the breakfast with Santa.
Why hadn’t she called me? She never answered that question, and when she didn’t answer any of my phone calls on Thursday after her midnight announcement about being sick, I stormed her apartment on Friday morning wanting answers.
Staring at her beside me, I still have questions. But the biggest ones on my mind center around her. Does she believe in me? Could she be proud of me? Does she see a change?
As for her question—why her?—I didn’t have an answer, but I had an inkling it had to do with that feminine voice asking me not to leave.
Someone needed me. So far, the need had been my time and my money. The bigger items on the list were still up for consideration.
“I’m proud of you, Jude,” she says, her voice soft.
And I turn my head again, certain she’s joking. But the gleam in her enticing eyes and the soft curve of her lip, highlighting my favorite freckle, is all the reassurance I desire.
“It’s a step,” I admit.
“Never gonna skate, if you don’t put on the skates.”
“‘You always miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.’ Wayne Gretsky. Hockey great,” I explain.
Angelica chuckles, which leads to a short coughing attack.
As she presses herself upright to a seated position, I sit up as well and reach over her for her water bottle on the opposite side of the bed.
This causes me to lean against her. My chest brushes over her covered breasts.
She tracks my retreat over her body and drops her gaze to my bare chest.
“What does that tattoo mean?” she asks, still struggling to clear her throat.
I hand over her water and remain sitting. The blankets pool over my lap, while I glance down at the elaborate design. I raise my arm so she can better see the ink.
The image is an intricate clock, like the one outside Ashford’s. Surrounding the large timepiece is a rose vine. Some flowers are in full bloom, others are only buds. On one portion of the clock, the flowers are wilting while another is only a vine of thorns.
“The clock is Ashford’s signature piece. The roses symbolize the seasons.”
Angelica stares at my hand as I stroke around the ink. Something inside me wants her to trace the cycle. Run her fingertips from spring to summer to fall to winter.
“The thorny vine is closest to your heart.”
“Winter is my favorite season.”
“It’s also my last name,” she states, arching a brow. Maybe there is deeper meaning to the tattoo after all. A subliminal message I hadn’t even known I’d imprinted on myself.
“Fancy that,” I tease.
“So grim, though,” she counters about the coldest season of the year. But she continues to stare at the tattoo while drinking from her water bottle. When she pulls the bottle from her mouth, her lips are moist, and she swipes at them with her thumb.
I might actually be jealous of drops of water.
“So, it wasn’t a fever dream,” she whispers, dipping her gaze to the blankets over my lap.
“What wasn’t a dream?”
“You climbing into bed to heat me up. Or you running a bath for me. Or washing my hair.” Her gaze leaps to my face, while the hesitation in her voice suggests she isn’t certain any of those things really happened.
“Not a dream,” I admit.
“For a minute there, I thought I was having my own Christmas Carol moment.”
“Oh yeah. What ghosts haunt you?”
Her eyes remain fixated on my face. “Only friendly ones.” She takes another sip of her water. “Thank you for being here, Jude. Thank you for taking care of me.”
A strange sensation that can be called nothing other than warm and fuzzy fills my chest. I’m not certain I’ve ever felt whatever this tickle is inside me. I almost feel giddy, and then I want to slap myself.
However, my sister was right. This is new, and I must admit, it feels incredible to be genuinely appreciated. To take care of someone else’s needs.
I wouldn’t say I’m fully reformed, but I’m getting there.
Like learning to skate again, I’m still a bit wobbly.