105. Sterling
Chapter 105
Sterling
I slam the dryer closed and hit start.
All the beds are made in the guest cabins.
The guys helped me get everything sorted, and I washed the dirty bedding in my laundry room so I wouldn’t disturb Courtney. But now it’s well past dark, and I haven’t seen her since this morning.
She didn’t come out for lunch, and I never got to give her the coffee I made.
With the final load of sheets going, I grab a can of beef stew out of my pantry.
I know chicken noodle is the typical sick nourishment, but this is the only flavor I have.
I’m a simple man.
A man not prepared for caretaking.
The can weighs heavy in my hand as I walk the trail to the Laundry Cabin.
With Courtney’s darkened windows in sight, I start to second-guess myself.
There are no lights on in the cabin, and I don’t want to wake her, but I need to get my eyes on her. Just to make sure she hasn’t gotten worse .
As I open her front door, I remember the new lock I have sitting on my kitchen table.
I’ll install that tomorrow.
The door opens with a quiet creak, but silence greets me.
I step inside and kick my boots off.
I told myself I would just check on her. But I know I’ll stay for a while.
There’s no way for me to stop myself.
The curtains are all open, letting in enough dim moonlight to light my way.
I’m halfway to the bedroom when I realize how fucking cold it is in here.
The air feels as chilled as it did outside, and the floorboards are freezing beneath my sock-covered feet.
Stopping, I go back to the thermostat by the front door and use my phone to illuminate the unit.
It’s off.
What the fuck?
I push the tab from off to heat .
Nothing happens.
I seem to recall some rattling last time I turned this unit on. But maybe I’m misremembering.
Sighing, I turn back toward the bedroom. This is probably why she got sick.
Was it not bad enough that she slept on a damn board already? Now she’s self-sacrificing by sleeping in a damn frozen room.
The form in the bed doesn’t appear to stir as I enter the bedroom, but when I get closer, I can see she’s shivering.
“Courtney?” I whisper.
She doesn’t react.
I stand in indecision for a minute, unsure if it’s the right call to wake her—to see how she’s feeling—or let her sleep to get better.
Her body trembles again.
“Dammit,” I huff.
I’m annoyed with myself for not bringing more than a can of fucking stew. But I didn’t know what else to do. And I didn’t count on the heat being off.
Stepping up to the edge of the bunk, I place a hand on the mattress and lean over Courtney’s sleeping body.
She’s curled up on her side, facing away from me, blankets up to her damn nose.
“Court—” I trail off as I place my other hand on the mattress beside the first.
Why does this mattress feel so fucking hard?
I lift and lower my palms, checking the firmness.
Christ.
I grit my teeth.
It’s so cold in here the memory foam has gone hard.
Does she think I wouldn’t allow her to turn the fucking heat on?
She’s the damn maintenance person. I know she knows how to work a thermostat.
I grip her shoulder with one of my hands and give her a gentle shake. “Courtney.”
She groans and tries to shrug me off.
“Cookie.” I raise my voice louder.
“What?” she grumbles, not moving otherwise.
“You gotta turn the heat on, Honey. You’ll freeze to death.” Honey? I’ve never called someone Honey in my fucking life.
“Doesn’t…”
I can’t catch the second word.
“What was that?” I lean closer.
“It doesn’t work.” She’s hard to understand, still half asleep.
“The heat doesn’t work?” I clarify.
She grunts a reply.
I glance back toward the main room. “The thermostat was off.”
This time her groan sounds annoyed. “I know,” she tries to snap but is still too groggy. “I didn’t want a fire.”
“A fire?” She tries to pull the blankets up over her head, but I move my hand from her shoulder and grip the fabric so she can’t. “What are you talking about, Cookie?”
“The cords are chewed up,” she murmurs like she’s falling back asleep. “Too expensive. Can’t afford one.”
Can’t afford one?
The fuck?
“That’s not for you to worry about.” Barbed wire twists around my rib cage. What the hell is she talking about saying it’s too expensive ? “I’ll fix it, Courtney. It’s my responsibility.”
She makes a sound in the back of her throat. “…a burden.”
I close my eyes.
I couldn’t make out the first part of what she said.
But I didn’t need to hear it.
I could feel it.
“You’re not a burden,” I whisper as those barbs scrape across bone. “You’re never that, Little Worker.”
But her breathing has changed, her body relaxing again into sleep, so she can’t hear me.
I lower my head to her shoulder and rest it there.
If this woman doesn’t strangle me through sexual tension, she’s going to drown me in guilt.
She’s here freezing herself and literally sick because she thinks it’s too expensive to fix the fucking heater.
Because she thought she’d have to pay for it?
Because she felt like a burden.
Because she’s felt like a burden before.
I rock my head back and forth.
If she was in the Bunk House, she wouldn’t feel this way. Because the heat would be for everyone. But she’s here. Alone.
The only one in the cabin. The only one using the heat.
Anger with myself floods my system.
She’s suffering, again, because I singled her out.
But she’s sure as shit not moving into the fucking Bunk House, so she’s just going to have to deal with it.
Or she could move into the main house with me.
I stay there, bent over, head on her shoulder, for far too long with that idea crawling around in my brain.
I want that .
I want her with me. Badly.
But that would single her out even more. And it would out the fact that I’m not only treating her differently. I’m sleeping with her.
And I will be sleeping with her.
That wire tightens even further, my chest constricting.
Last night, after we left my back deck, I went to my nice, warm bed, and she slept like this.
On a hard mattress in a cold room.
I couldn’t’ve known.
I tell myself that, try to convince myself of that. But these cabins are my responsibility.
I should have known.
When I assigned her the Laundry Cabin, as a way to purposefully isolate her, as a way to try to make her quit, I should have checked.
If I had checked, she never would’ve slept on that fucking board.
She never would’ve slept in the cold.
She never would’ve gotten sick.
It’s my fault.
All of it.
And I need to fix it.
A shiver runs through Courtney, and I straighten.
I can’t change the past, but I can help her now.
Striding back to the main room, I close the curtain over the bedroom doorway, then flip on the light.
I’ll give her some medicine now so she can sleep through the night.
The more restful sleep she can get, the quicker she’ll recover.
Moving around the room, I pull the curtains closed. They aren’t blackout, but I don’t want the sun waking her up tomorrow.
As I’m tugging on the curtain above the crappy table, I pause.
Where’s that little cactus?
I glance around the room, not seeing it anywhere.
A question for another day.
Curtains closed, I look at her little setup on the counter. She has the electric teakettle, but I don’t see any tea. Or cold medication.
I open the cabinet over the sink.
And I stare.
That fucking barbed wire sinks all the way into my skeleton.
This is everything she has.
A handful of ramen packets.
A—I lift it—nearly empty container of oatmeal.
A jar of peanut butter, over half gone.
A bottle of off-brand vitamins.
Instant coffee and six unlabeled bags of tea.
I push the items around.
Nothing else.
I push them to the other side of the cabinet.
Still nothing.
No real food.
No medicine at all.
My heart clenches painfully.
I go into the bathroom, hoping she has a little pharmacy set up here.
On the edge of the sink is a small bottle of Tylenol.
This is it.
I grab it and go back to the other room.
This is all she has.
I turn in a slow circle.
No fridge. No microwave. No place for groceries. No stockpile of drugs.
What has she been eating?
My stomach twists.
Are her cheeks thinner than they were before?
The urge to be sick floods my mouth with saliva.
Has she been hungry?
I look at the stupid fucking can of stew I left on her counter.
I brought her a spare item from my pantry.
A throwaway meal.
Literally nothing.
And it’s the most nutritious thing in this whole fucking cabin.
The bottle of painkillers creaks in my hand as I clench my fist with incompetent rage.
How she can even fucking look at me, let alone touch me.
Or let me touch her …
I close my eyes and breathe.
Just make myself breathe.
Another inhale as I try to picture what I have in my medicine cabinet, wondering if there’s anything that will help her.
I don’t know.
I can’t remember.
I should look, but I don’t want to leave her.
Shaking a pair of pills into my palm, I spot Courtney’s water bottle near the sink and pick it up.
Back in the bedroom, I shake her shoulder again. “Courtney.”
She groans.
“I need you to wake up and drink some water.”
“Later,” she mumbles while trying to pull the blankets over her head again, but I stop her.
“Now. Then you can go back to sleep.”
I don’t know how much these will do, but they can’t hurt. And if I don’t do something to feel like I’m helping, I’m going to lose my shit.
Her eyes finally flutter open, and I hold the water bottle out in front of her.
She sneaks her hands out from under the blankets and takes it from me.
Courtney lifts her head, and I wait for her to take a sip from the short straw.
“Open up,” I urge her.
Not arguing for once, she parts her lips and, reaching around, I press the pills into her mouth.
She drinks more water, swallowing them.
“That’s my girl,” I praise her. “Just a little more.”
She takes another mouthful before dropping her head back to the pillow.
I take the water from her hands and set it down on the bunk above the top of the hard mattress.
I have a space heater in one of my closets, but I’ll get it later.
For now, I’ll be her heater.
I strip down until I’m in nothing but my boxers and socks, then I climb into bed behind her .
Courtney makes a disgruntled sound when I bump into her. But when I get under the blankets and wrap my arm around her middle, pulling her back against me, she lets out a contented sigh.
She’s still tense. Still curled on her side.
I wiggle one arm under her pillow, pressing as much of her back to my front as I can manage.
It’d be better if she was wearing fewer layers, but it took enough of her energy to drink some water. I won’t try to make her strip.
Searching for any skin-on-skin contact, I use my top hand to feel for hers.
They’re clasped together under the blankets, palm to palm, but her fingers still feel cold.
I wedge my fingers between her palm, then use my hand to push hers apart until her hand is clasping mine. Her other hand resting on top of mine.
She surprises me when she squeezes our entwined fingers.
“This okay?” I ask, with no intention of moving.
She nods. Her breath hitches once. And then she exhales, relaxing against me.
I close my eyes and focus on keeping my tone calm. “Honey, what have you been eating?”
The endearment feels right. And I’m done fighting my feelings for the person in my arms.
“It’s not my stomach,” she replies sleepily.
“No, I mean, what have you been eating for your meals?” I keep my voice quiet to match hers.
“I eat lunch in the Food Hall. Like you said.”
“That’s only lunch.” It’s getting harder to keep my tone even.
“But I can have the guest’s food still, right?” Exhausted confusion laces her question.
“Yeah, you can always eat the guest meals.” I flex my arm to hold her tighter. “But what do you have for breakfast? Or dinner when guests aren’t here?”
And why am I only asking this now?
Why didn’t I wonder?
Why didn’t I fucking think?
“I have food.” She says it like she means it. And that makes it worse. I open my mouth, but she keeps going. “Sometimes I make toast in the Food Hall.” She sounds almost drunk, clearly on the verge of falling back asleep. But it’s making her honest. And I don’t care if it’s unethical to talk to her like this. I have a feeling it’s the only way I’ll get a real answer. “But I’ve kept track.”
“Kept track?” The question sounds broken. “Of the toast?”
She hums. “So I can pay you back.”
“Courtney…”
You don’t have to pay me back for toast.
It’s what I want to say. But that barbed wire has reached my throat. And I can’t say anything.
“But not until the end of the month.” She sighs, relaxing farther into me. “I’ll get the good ramen then too.”
I close my eyes.
The fucking good ramen.
Pay me back at the end of the month.
I suck in a breath.
If she’s waiting to buy good ramen , I doubt she has any plans to buy cold medicine.
How have I been so fucking blind?
She squeezes my fingers again. “This is nice.”
Courtney is relaxing, falling back asleep, while I feel like I’m on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.
I expect my pounding heart to keep her awake, but as I hold her, she slips into unconsciousness once more.
I bury my nose in the back of the hat she’s still wearing.
How she can sleep next to me… How she can trust me…
I bend my knees so my thighs are flush against hers.
Thoughts spiraling, I lie wrapped around my girl, willing my body to heat hers.
Needing to help her when so far all I’ve done is disappoint her.