Chapter 9 #2
Sliding the notebook into my pocket, I read over Quinn’s paper one last time.
It had been mostly written, save for the conclusion, so reading it once had provided enough information for me to finish writing it for him.
His main issue was poor grammar. I would have to sit him down sometime and introduce him to the comma.
Quinn stirred, his tongue clacking against the roof of his mouth as if parched. He blinked at me, his eyes unfocused, and said croakily, “Do I distract you today?”
A sound, something like an attempt to laugh, warbled from him.
“You seem to have a way of doing that, Quinn. Even when you’re this sorry looking.”
He frowned, and then shook his head as if to clear it.
“Your paper is ready to be sent in.” I stood up and passed the laptop to him, stretching my arms out to maintain a good distance.
A tired smile tugged at his lips.
Ding-dong!
Finally!
I rushed to the intercom and buzzed Hunter and Shannon in. Two minutes later, they were rolling out of the elevator and into our apartment.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, jamming myself against the wall to let them pass. “I have no clue what to do with him.”
Both sets of blue eyes skipped from me to Quinn. Hunter chuckled, “Looks like we have a case of the man-flu, Shan.”
Quinn raised an elegant middle finger.
Hunter rolled into the room, shoving his chair right up in front of Quinn—
“Travis!” Shannon grabbed his chair and pulled him back. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
Silence.
I was sure if I spoke, my voice would echo coldly like it did in the pre-Quinn days.
Trying not to get involved, I managed to slip and come to a crashing thump on the ground. I picked myself up. In the gap between Hunter and Shannon, Quinn quirked a brow my way.
“Sorry.” Shannon stepped back from Hunter’s chair abruptly.
Hunter didn’t reply, pivoting his chair. The calm way he rolled across the room was belied by the flicker of a muscle in his jaw. Coming past me, he said, “I’ll come back later. Keep doing whatever you are doing. Quinn will man-up soon enough.”
“Hey!” Quinn managed in an awkward attempt to lighten the heavy air.
Hunter left, and Shannon just stood there with blue streaks of hair hanging over her shoulder and curtaining her face from view.
Quinn tugged her hand. “He’ll be fine, Shan. He’ll get over it.”
“Yeah,” she said, as I wondered where to put myself. In the kitchen where I could overhear them? Perhaps just disappear into my room? Stay put and say something to break the tension?
“Why do I keep doing that?” A hiccup rose out of Shannon and she took a steadying breath, her hands fisted at her sides. “Excuse me.”
With long, steady strides, she marched to the front door and presumably chased after Hunter.
Lifting the blanket sunk onto his lap, Quinn covered his shoulders. “She finds it tough.”
I stopped clicking my pen and snapped my gaze to his.
“She thinks it’s her fault,” he continued.
I perched on the arm of the couch and crossed my ankle over my knee. “What’s her fault?”
Quinn gestured to the spot where Hunter had been. “She was supposed to pick him up from basketball practice that evening. She was late. . . .” He shifted suddenly, pushing himself into a wobbly stand. “I need to piss and, since you haven’t offered, make myself some honey tea.”
I stood abruptly, edging around the coffee table and keeping my distance. “Okay. Just sit on the toilet. I don’t trust your aim in this state.”
Three days and a remarkably-improved-Quinn later, it was my turn.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. No matter how hot I turned the dial, the water wasn’t hot enough.
With studded breaths, I hobbled back into my room and jerked on my linen pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, the difference between a cat and a comma showcased on the front.
Perhaps Quinn might find it informative.
A wave of dizziness washed over me and I fought through it. I would not get sick. Not today. It would have to wait for the weekend.
The hairdryer seemed only to pump cool air, so I switched to scrubbing with a towel.
My phone beeped, and I checked the calendar update. I had to attend three classes and the weekly Scribe meeting. A glance at my watch said I was going to be late.
Shrugging my bag over my shoulder, I straggled into the kitchen, where Quinn was standing in his flannel pajama pants, tank-top, and worn gray slippers with his back against the counter listening to the radio as he shoveled cereal into his mouth.
“Morning,” he said, sliding to the side as I filled a glass with water to soothe my dry throat. I took a sip and winced. Swallowing would not be fun today.
“You’re looking a little flushed this morning,” Quinn said, scraping the bowl clean.
I convulsed in another shiver and resettled my bag strap higher on my shoulder. “Flushed? It’s freezing in here.” I grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl. Behind me came the clatter of dishes. “Right,” I said. “Bye.”
A hand gripped my elbow, and Quinn coaxed me around. I dropped the orange to the counter and yielded, chasing after the warmth of that touch.
Quinn’s mouth firmed into a thin line as he pressed a palm to my forehead. His gaze dropped to mine. “Yeah, you’re not going anywhere.”
“I’ll be okay. I can hold off whatever this is until tomorrow.”
Quinn pulled at my bag strap and my load lightened. Quinn chucked it over his shoulder and steered me around. “Back to bed.”
“I really need to get to class—”
“You really need to get to bed. No arguing. Keep walking, or I will carry you there.”
I feebly attempted to brush him off, but the fever took over, deciding Quinn’s plans of snuggling back into bed were far superior to mine.
“Maybe just for an hour,” I conceded. I would pump down a few painkillers and when they kicked in, I would make it to my second class.
Quinn laughed as he peeled back my sheets.
I collapsed onto the bed and let him tuck me in. He molded the covers around me, firmly pressing them to my sides, and then ducked out of my room only to return with more blankets.
They smelled faintly of Quinn. Quinn right after a shower, a mix of Axe and cashmere shampoo. “Have you washed these since you got sick?”
“Of course you’d ask that.” He pinched my foot on his way out. “Yesterday.”
“You must have slept with them since then. They have your scent.”
He paused at the door. “Does that bother you?”
“It might have a couple weeks ago, but your smell has grown on me. I’ll tell you when I’m sick of it.”
I thought that was it, that Quinn would go off and do whatever he had to do. But he didn’t. Throughout the delirium of my fever, he brought me cups of hot tea, hot water bottles, and hot chicken broth.
After I’d sweated through the first bout, he pulled me out of bed with cool hands. “Time to take off that funny shirt of yours and hop into the shower.”
I pinched the sweaty comma-cat T-shirt from my skin, a flutter of cool air skittering over my chest. “It’s not just funny. It’s true.”
Grabbing a fistful of material at the back, I pried the thing off me and it sounded like Velcro being ripped apart. Positively nasty.
Quinn scrunched his nose. “Dump it on the bed and go wash.”
The last of the fever followed his orders, and I came back to a freshly-made bed and comfortable clothes to climb into.
“So much for working,” I told myself as I greedily climbed back into bed. I slapped a hand toward my bedside table, feeling for my phone. At least I’d give Hannah some notice that I wouldn’t be at the meeting today.
“You’re not the only one missing the meeting,” Hannah said, lowering her voice.
“I overheard Jill telling the chief that Jack had to visit his brother in the prison infirmary. Apparently he got hurt pretty badly. But don’t worry about the politics page.
Chief said something about asking you, but I’d be totally happy to help out. You just get yourself better.”
I groaned again. Why did I have to be sick the week I had the opportunity to write something good? I murmured a goodbye, hung up and curled an arm over my forehead.
That’s when Quinn poked his head around my door. “Just gonna hurry to the laundry room so I can dry these. When I come back, we’re watching a movie.”
True to his word, when returned he set his laptop on the end of the bed and turned on Batman.
Watching the vigilantes reap justice had me dreaming of my own vigilante. I sank against the mountain of pillows at my back and pulled the blankets up to my chin.
That cold itch was coming back. “I’m glad for The Raven,” I suddenly said. “For that night. He saved me. I want to do the same for him.”
“If he wears a hood to protect his identity, I’d say he doesn’t want to be found.”
I shivered, twisting onto my side, my arms and feet stretching toward Quinn’s side of the bed, searching for warmth. He sensed the change and shuffled closer, gently tucking the blankets tightly to my sides.
Through chattering teeth, I asked, “Was this what I should have done when you were sick?”
His profile, layered in colored light from the small screen, tilted toward me. “Nah, you did just fine.”
I shut my eyes, straining to feel more warmth than just those words. “Two more questions, Quinn. Did you have any pets? And, when is your birthday?”