Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jess
T he buttery light of early morning cast the cozy bedroom in a warm glow. I surveyed my body, praying the worst was over.
Head wasn’t pierced with pain. My chest was sore from coughing, but I could swear I’d coughed less overnight. I reached for the thermometer Jude had used a thousand times in the last day or so and checked—ninety-eight and change!
Jude. My heart flipped as I registered thinking his real name and then the memories crowded in.
Him washing my hair as I huddled in the freezing bath. Him wrapping me in a towel, those muscular arms holding me close as he carried me to the bed.
Him force-feeding me toast and applesauce and medicine.
Baby .
My head fell back against the pillow. That had to have been a fever-induced hallucination. Didn’t it?
“How are you?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe of the room.
His room. This was his house and his room, and I’d been here for… how long had I been here? More than a day?
I bolted up and tried to stand, then instantly saw stars. His giant hand wrapped around my wrists and lowered me back down to the bed.
“Easy. You’ve hardly eaten. Move slowly.”
The gruff words made me oddly homesick, though I couldn’t figure out why or for what. All I knew was I’d overstayed my welcome times a thousand, and now I needed to go.
“I am so sorry for this. Let me slip on my shoes and I’ll go.”
He’d resumed his post at the door, arms crossed over his chest and one foot over the other, perfectly at home. “Yeah? You’ll drive home right now?”
I eyed him, because the challenge in his voice was unmistakable. “What? Why are you saying it like that?”
His eyes dropped to my shirt, then my legs, and— oh. I crossed my arms over my chest. Where is my bra? Where are my clothes?
“Your clothes are clean—I washed them. Didn’t see anything I wouldn’t have at a pool. I’m not holding you hostage here, but the roads are still impassible, especially in your little nonsense car.”
I groaned. “Oh, you are still yourself, aren’t you? My car is perfectly capable of making it back to Silverton. It may be old, but I’ve taken good care of it.”
“I’m sure you have. But it’s two-wheel drive, isn’t it?”
I didn’t give him a response because he was being rude and rude people didn’t get responses, especially when my energy was flagging hard.
He seemed to register this the minute I thought it, and he moved freakishly fast into my space and cupped a hand around the back of my head, angling my chin up so he could look in my eyes. With his other go-go-Gadget-long arm, he reached for the thermometer and swiped it across my head. When the readout showed a normal temp, his shoulders relaxed enough I could see the visible change.
“I’m not trying to be a jerk. You can’t go anywhere because the roads are impassible, even for my truck. We’re stuck here another while until they get plows up higher. I know that’s not news you want to hear.”
His face was shadowed, his beard even more unruly than when I’d arrived.
I didn’t know what I wanted to hear. I’d been living in an alternate universe the last day or so and I couldn’t tell which way was up.
“I’m sorry, too.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
So we sat there, me hunched over with my arms crossed now. I’d realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath his giant shirt and the boxer briefs I vaguely remembered pulling on after the horrid cold bath from hell.
“Your clothes are on the dresser.” He nodded toward the pretty maple dresser on the wall in front of the bed. “Do whatever you want slowly , and then I can bring you some breakfast. We need to get some fuel in you, and hopefully, that’ll help with the shakiness.”
After an embarrassingly slow time pulling on my own clothes and wishing I’d worn sweatpants here instead of jeans, I emerged from the bedroom refusing to think about the fact he’d washed, dried, and folded my clothes .
It was so personal—intimate. Though he’d also washed my hair and changed sheets I’d soaked with sweat, so maybe clothes washing was nothing at this point.
“Think you can sit here?” He gestured to where he’d set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast at the counter.
“Think so.” I slipped onto the stool and rested my forearms on the countertop. The food wasn’t quite as revolting as the toast I’d been force-fed yesterday, which had to be a good sign.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, disappearing down the hall.
Maybe that was for the best. We’d never been chatty friends. Even before we’d had our falling out, we’d been comfortable, but not chatty. I didn’t imagine he was this way with anyone, though maybe Kenny could get him gabbing.
I heard the whoosh of water in the pipes and the sound of the washer lid closing. A minute later, he returned to the kitchen.
“That going down okay? I can make something else.”
I shook my head as I chewed the bite. “No, this is great. Thank you.”
He turned back toward the stove and presented me with his broad back draped in a worn T-shirt and pooling just a little at the waistband of his gray sweatpants. I swallowed hard and bounced my eyes away because acknowledging how completely and utterly masculine he was would not help my fever. If I’d ever had a physical type, it was his, and if he’d ever given me a clue he was interested… how different would it all have been? Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen for Kurt’s overt interest after resolving not to pursue someone who showed me only friendship.
Those thoughts were so far from the point right now, yet seeing him like this, barefoot in his mountain hideaway with his fluffball cat swirling around his feet…
It broke me. Had to be thanks to the illness, but my eyes filled with tears again and I ducked my head to swipe at them before he could see. Between letting all my pent-up anger fly at him and then having him take care of me for days, there was too much space in me available for new feelings.
A niggling sensation flashed into my mind like we’d talked about something I’d regret, but I couldn’t summon details. Hopefully, it’d come back to me, and more so, I hoped I hadn’t said anything too honest. Had I been mean to him again?
When he settled into the seat next to me, a plate of his own filled with huge portions of what he’d made me and a steaming mug of black coffee, I turned to him.
“I never got to say what I came to say. I know you don’t really want to hear anything from me”—he shook his head like my words frustrated him, but I pressed on—“but I need to.”
His glare was less furious and more bracing, if such a thing could be parsed out by looking.
With a deep breath, I said, “I heard about your grandmother, and I wanted to say I’m very sorry. I know she meant a lot to you.”
His jaw flexed, visible despite his even longer than yesterday beard.
No words, no surprise. Onward.
“I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry for the contents of what I said after the mission, but I am genuinely sorry for the timing. I—” I thought you were just being an extra big jerk. That didn’t really work—not a great apology if it comes with a side of insults, especially after he’d taken such good care of me. “It was a lot, working together. And I didn’t consider that you might be… going through something.”
His eyes skipped away from mine and he took a large bite.
Okayyyy.
After a moment, he spoke to his plate. “Thanks.”
I huffed, gazing around at the cozy space so at odds with this stilted interaction, unsurprised by the curt reply. A little wire basket with heads of garlic sat on the counter near the stove. A bowl of red and yellow swirled apples occupied prime placement on the island. An ornate metal bottlecap opener had been mounted under the cabinet that looked oddly worn.
Focusing on the details helped me avoid the frustration his reply ignited and how hard it was to tell if that edge to the word was sarcasm. Was it? Why would it be? And yet… hadn’t most of our interactions for the last five years been something like this, minus the apology or sincerity?
“No, really, Pop. Thank you.”
A glance at his face confirmed what I thought I’d heard—he was genuinely saying thank you.
So many of our encounters had been ugly and hard. His real response, one without an edge to it, softened me.
“I know she meant so much to you. I guess your grandpa passed a while back?” I hoped the words sounded gentle like I meant them and not combative like most everything else I ever said to him.
He nodded, his eyes snagging on mine. A beat passed before he said, “About five years ago.”
My chest ached and my throat burned at the thought of him losing both of his people so close together. “I’m so sorry. ”
“Thanks,” he said again, quieter this time. “How’s your mom doing?”
I huffed lightly, the bizarre reality of this conversation hitting me. Talking about family, catching up almost like old friends as we sat here side by side eating eggs he’d made… it was so far from what had been our norm.
“She’s good. Really happy with Guy. They moved to Tampa for his work and… yeah. She’s good, thanks.” My mom and I had been on our own for so long, I’d hardly known how to adjust to her meeting and falling for Guy. But by then, I was in the Army, and by the time they got married, I was engaged to Kurt.
It’d crossed my mind more than once that Mom finding her happiness had made me want to find my own place, my person , more urgently than I had before. We’d been a team until I’d left home for the Army and she’d supported me from afar, but I was grown, and it wasn’t just the two of us against the world anymore. She had Guy, who was a better man than my father had ever been and loved her so much. He became her home.
And seeing that… I’d wanted the same for myself desperately. Both for my own happiness and future, and for her, so I could tell her I was good—that we both had what we’d always hoped for, so she could truly just relax and enjoy how her life turned out.
When my life fell apart, it was a relief that hers was still intact.
“Good. I’m glad.”
He seemed to mean it, too, which warmed me. He’d met my mom when she visited. She’d been charmed by Kurt, as was typical of women who met him, but she’d been taken by Beast. I remembered her peppering me with questions about him and widening her eyes a few times like, Is this guy real?
And I remember telling her yes. He was a good friend.
A stab of sadness hit in the tender spot where I usually felt only anger with him.
Now that I’d done it… now that I’d made what little peace I could, energy was leaving me fast and my mood was dropping.
“I think I’ll go rest for a while, if that’s okay.”
He dipped his head, eyes studying me like he might be able to sense if my fever had jumped up again. “Take your temperature before you get in bed.”
Shaking my head at his unending reserves of bossiness, I waved as I walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Wilco.”