Chapter Nineteen Jamie
(I Wasn't Surprised He Asked)
Iturn my head to stare at my shower because it's not him, and also because I want to be in there with him again.
Those two things make little sense together, but I'm full of contradictions like that.
A cough hits hard after minutes of some relief, and I think it must be close to midnight by now.
We'll stand here a while longer, and then Mateo can help me back into bed.
I should apologize for my breakdown, but he seems to have moved on.
Instead, I answer the question he's asked.
"You and I have led very different lives," I start.
The whistling from my chest sounds as terrible as it feels.
"And I'm really not—yours hasn't been perfect.
I know that. But you're close to your family.
Physically and emotionally, and home—it didn't have to be a single place for you.
It was everywhere. It's always been right there, and so full of—" I'm coughing again, and when I glance at him, he's watching me with so much fucking concern that it makes my point for me.
"That. The way you're looking at me. Like you care. "
"I do care. Maybe more than you've ever understood."
I understand just fine, and I'm probably pouting about it.
"That everywhere kind of love? It was built all around you.
For you. But I didn't grow up with those things.
That care. That love. My parents weren't cruel to me, but they weren't warm.
They weren't kind. The closest I had back then was Kai's house and his dad's bar, but I didn't get to stay there. They weren’t mine. Nobody built that home for me."
"So you built it yourself," Mateo says. "Probably for Harper, first and foremost, but you needed it, too. And when you got sick, it was the only home that mattered, no matter how far away you were."
I almost mention that I’d once wondered whether I still belonged here, but that was so many years ago on a night I don’t want us to remember now.
I start coughing again anyway. I take off my towel and push it against his chest. Then I return to my bedroom and dig through my suitcase for anything to wear.
Packing hadn't been a priority when I was self-medicating with a heavy pour of cough medicine.
Even now, I'm clammy and shaky and desperately need to lie down.
Careful not to whine, I find sweatpants and a t-shirt, and I pull them on without briefs.
It must have taken me a while to do that much.
I turn around to find Mateo wearing his joggers, water and meds in his hands, and my bed so much neater behind him.
I take the pills and water from him and swallow with one large gulp. "I don't think the emptiness was intentional—Harper and I just aren't here as much anymore—but I won't pretend it's unfamiliar."
Mateo looks frustrated by that. Then I shiver, and he reaches for me like I can't make it those few feet on my own.
I let him get me settled, propped up on a couple of pillows and the covers pulled up to my chin.
He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes his fingers through my hair again, and it feels so fucking good.
"Do you think you'll be able to get some sleep?" he asks. "Do you want tea or anything?"
"No. I'm not even sure we have any here."
It's the whole empty thing. He nods. "I can pick up some stuff tomorrow."
Even buoyed by the thought that I'll see him tomorrow, my breathing takes a turn for the worse.
I curl up as I roll onto my side and cough again, losing his touch when I move.
Blinking up at him, I find his hand and almost beg him to stay as close as possible.
I need to ask the questions that have been on my mind since he walked into my room.
Or since last July.
"Do you still talk to Logan?"
"Yes," he says, his fingers tight around my hand until he relaxes to hold me there.
"Does he visit a lot? Or do you go to see him?"
Tighten. Relax. "Actually, he—" Tighten. "His job relocated him a little over a year ago. He's closer now, so we can—it's easy to visit whenever."
"Are you guys together?"
"Yes and no."
"Where were you when Harper called tonight?" I ask.
Relax. Mateo takes a deep breath I envy.
I slowly tug his hand higher so it's back on my head.
I'm needy, and he'll touch me the way I want him to, and even though he doesn't have to tell me the truth, I can't think of a time he hasn't.
For a second, I almost let go and take my question back, but it's already too late. I wait instead.
"I was at Logan's."
I close my eyes and focus on how much my chest hurts.
I think everything will be okay as long as neither of us says anything else.
It's tempting to fall asleep like this—and I know I need the rest—but I'm so fucked up.
I make one miserable sound after another.
Mateo doesn't pull away from me, and I'm shaking again, ruined by a fever or the fear that he'll be gone as soon as he thinks I won't notice.
Everything might be okay if we don't say anything else, but I can't keep him here that way. "Does he know where you are?"
"Yes."
"Does he expect you to come home tonight?"
"It's not my home," he murmurs. "And no, I don't think so."
I nod beneath his hand, but I feel myself slipping away.
Antibiotics and Tylenol won't knock me out—they haven't been in my system long enough to do anything yet—but the combination of the hot shower and Mateo's presence has relaxed me more than I could've imagined.
I cough some, but even those are weaker now.
While I'm suddenly having trouble finding my voice, I panic less when he stands up.
Now that I know he's not expected back in his boyfriend's bed, I can listen to him return to the bathroom without trying to follow him there.
I'm not convinced I could get out of bed even if I wanted to.
He's probably only gone for a few minutes, but I haven't opened my eyes.
Mateo crawls into bed, still shirtless and destined for a night of very little sleep by my side.
He's spooning me as comfortably as he first did years ago, and he presses a hand to my forehead.
I don't know whether he's satisfied by whatever he feels there, but he kisses the back of my neck.
I feel the chill from a dock in Upstate New York when I mumble just loud enough for him to hear.
"Please don't leave me again."
He leaves eventually, but only so he can crouch next to the bed and nudge me awake with more water and meds.
I fall back asleep after that. When I wake up again, Mateo isn't in my room at all.
There's a mug of tea on my nightstand, hot enough that I can see the steam.
He hasn't gone far, and I strain to hear him above the nasty sounds from my chest.
I give up when I cough for about a minute straight, but my chaos is enough to bring him back to me. I look up to see him leaning against my doorframe. Attempting to read his expression gets me nowhere, and I say the first thing that comes to mind.
"Nice shirt."
Mateo looks down at where my team's logo is splayed across his chest and cracks a smile. "I needed something to wear to the store."
"You have a shirt of your own."
"I grabbed this one first," he shrugs. "How are you feeling?"
"You're here."
"I am. Drink your tea."
I roll my eyes and do as I've been told.
I'm not feeling great, but that's still better than yesterday, when I'd stumbled off a plane and into urgent care.
There'd been no need for Mateo to reprimand me for flying with pneumonia.
Everyone who'd seen me had done that just fine, and I've suffered the consequences since.
I haven't been this incapacitated since I literally couldn't stand on my own two feet.
I stay helpless in bed now because I don't know where else to go, even in the place I call home.
I'm still holding the mug when I realize I haven't coughed since Mateo reappeared—less because he's here, and more because he was up early enough to give me medicine and tea. I take another sip, and he watches from the door.
"You didn't get much sleep, did you?" I ask.
He makes a face, still mostly unreadable. "I don't think I expected to. I can nap later."
"Are you leaving now?"
"You asked me not to."
"I did, yeah," I say, quiet and at least a little ashamed. "But I didn't—"
Mateo waves his hand to interrupt. "I only left to go to the store.
We should have enough to eat now. We'll have to figure out the whole clothing situation because—well, I'm not sure we can both live out of a single poorly packed suitcase, and I haven't ransacked your closet to see how much you left behind four years ago.
But yeah, no, I—if you still want me to stay, I—"
"I want. I always want."
I want, and he stays. And for a while, it's that easy.
At Mateo's suggestion, I take another blazing hot shower.
He doesn't join me because the daylight has reminded us of boundaries the nighttime forgot.
When I get downstairs with my tea, he's in the kitchen, so at home here I want to cry.
I'm about to tell him I'm not sure I can stomach much after not eating for 24 hours.
He turns around and nods at the closest stool and pushes a bowl of freshly cut fruit across the island.
"Start with that," he says. "I'll make us oatmeal when your hunger kicks back in."
He'd already texted Harper with an update.
I give her a call and hear her tired relief through the phone.
From somewhere nearby, Simon wishes me well and promises to take good care of her through her last month of school.
With soft smiles, Mateo and I talk about them.
I send a quick message to Taylor, loud about my diagnosis and silent about the company I'm keeping.
I don't ask whether I still have a job because of course I do.