13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Wes
I was stepping out of my shower when I heard the sounds in the hallway and figured Joss must be home. The only other apartment on this floor is still vacant, so I knew if someone was there, it had to be her. I’d barely run a towel over my hair and thrown on a shirt when I heard a thump and rushed to open the door. That was when I knew something was wrong. Frank was standing there with Joss’s bags while she rested her body against the wall for support. My legs moved on instinct, and by the time my brain caught up, I was kneeling in front of her.
Now, she’s looking through me with glassy, red-rimmed eyes, and her rosy cheeks are a stark contrast against her too-pale skin.
“Joss? What’s wrong?” My voice is laced with concern as I turn to look up at Frank .
“She told me she was under the weather, but…” He trails off, my same worry mirrored in his eyes.
I look back to where her eyes still rove over me, unseeing. “Joss, let me help you get inside.” I move to stand just as she sinks toward the floor, her delicate eyelids fluttering closed. “Shit!”
I catch her in my arms, stopping her slide before she can hit her head. Panic rises in my chest. Her body is an inferno, and yet I can feel her shivering. Hell, she must be down with a fever. The thought of her coworkers letting her push through it on that flight makes me more furious than I probably have any right to be. I slide my other arm under her knees, dropping her keys. Her body curls against me as I lift her in my arms, and it’s both a dream and a nightmare.
My hands tremble against her. What do I do? Do I take her to the hospital? How serious is this?
Her eyes flutter open for the briefest of moments. I finally glance away from her face and realize Frank must have let us inside, because I’m standing in her apartment. My eyes land on him and he’s looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry, Frank, what was that?”
“I have to get back to the desk.” He eyes me warily, like he’s not sure he should leave Joss alone in my arms, but it’s gone with a blink. Something in my face must’ve eased his concerns. “If she needs anything, just call down. I have a pharmacy’s worth of meds in my office—never know what you might need.”
“Thanks. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
I hear the door click shut as I’m already moving, striding straight to Joss’s bedroom. I’ve never been in here before, and under any other circumstance, my curiosity would get the better of me. Right now, though, all I see is her. I lay her gently on the bed, her eyes finally opening long enough to lock onto mine. Falling to my knees next to the bed, I ignore the protest of my right one. My eyes never leave her face as I trail my knuckles across her warm cheek. Too warm—she’s burning up.
“Hey there, you scared me.” My voice is rough, almost breaking on the words. I want to be quiet and gentle, but I’m struggling to push the fear of what could have happened down. What if she hadn’t made it home when she did? What if Frank or I weren’t here?
She gives me a weak smile, leaning into my touch. Her delicate hand covers mine where it rests on her cheek, and I can feel how clammy she is.
“I’m okay, Wes, just tired.” Her voice is barely a whisper as she tries to downplay how sick she is, but it’s not going to work on me.
“Grey, you’re more than just tired. How long have you been feeling like this?”
My eyes move over every inch of her, looking for any sign that she might pass out again. I’d bet my Jeep that’s sitting in storage back home that she’s dehydrated too. She starts to sit up but seems to think better of it.
“A couple days, I think. I’ve felt off this whole trip, but it didn’t really hit until today’s flight. I was too busy to really take note of how bad I felt.” She squints and shields her eyes, like the light in her room is too bright. I extricate my hand so I can go pull the shades closed, wanting to dampen the late afternoon light streaming in.
“I’m going to get you some water. Where do you keep your medicine? ”
When she doesn’t answer right away, I whip around to make sure she’s still lucid. The fist in my chest relaxes slightly when our eyes lock.
“I don’t get sick. I don’t have anything here.” The helplessness in her voice cracks my heart.
“Okay, sweetheart. I have some. If I leave for a few minutes, will you be alright?”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“Yes, I’ll be fine.” She pushes herself up to sit and when I move to help her, she holds out a hand. “No, really, I’m okay. I just need to get out of my uniform.”
My worry about her passing out again wars with the realization that she needs privacy. It’s not like I can help her change—that’s definitely not my job—but I don’t want to leave her alone either.
“Let me help you. I mean, not to change, but I can help you move around,” I say, injecting more bravado into my voice than I feel at the moment.
“I’m not an invalid, Wes,” she snarks back at me. Snark is good, right? You can’t be snarky if you’re in bad shape. She must see something on my face or sense how on edge this has me, which makes her take pity on me. “But as I see your masculine, caveman side is coming out, I’ll humor you.”
Now she’s making jokes. The vise around my heart releases a little more. She’s okay. She’s going to be okay.
“Can you grab a pair of joggers and a T-shirt from that second drawer for me?” She inclines her head toward the dresser on the opposite wall from her .
“You’re going to let me rifle through your drawers?” I raise an eyebrow at her as I follow her instructions. Pulling the drawer in question open, I see neatly stacked clothes—all leisurewear or pajamas in various shades.
“Just that one,” she says with a laugh, but it’s weak and turns into a cough that racks her body. I grab the first things I can get my hands on and rush back to the bed. Laying them next to her, I put my hand on her forehead.
“Okay, let me help you to the bathroom, and then I’ll run next door to grab what you need, yeah?” I say as I reach my hands out. She takes both in hers, and I barely notice the jolt of energy when we touch because I’m solely focused on how warm she is. She drops one hand to grab her clothes, and I take the opportunity to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer. I haven’t been this close to her since that first day on the plane, pressed to her body, feeling her breath tangle with mine.
We’ve made a distinct effort to draw some boundaries since then. It’s obvious that in order for us to maintain what has so far been an easy friendship, we need to keep our distance. Now as she melts into my side, the things I’m feeling are as far from friendly as it gets.
This is not the time for that.
The tile is cold on my feet when we reach the bathroom, and I can only imagine how much colder it must be for Joss.
“Do you have slippers or something?”
She looks up at me and peels away from my side. The loss of her touch is like a punch to the gut. She leans back against the counter, her small hands resting on the lip behind her.
“In the closet. You can…”
I’m already moving to grab them before the sentence is out of her mouth. I’m back in a flash, a pair of teal fuzzy slippers in my hands. They make me want to laugh, they’re so ridiculous. She smiles when she sees them.
“Thanks,” she says, then lets her eyes flutter closed as I make quick work of helping her into them. When I fit the first slipper around her foot, she chuckles, and I draw my gaze up from where I’m positioned, wanting to absorb that sound. “You’re like prince charming, except my slippers are made of fur instead of glass.”
She’s right, the only glassy thing here is her eyes. They’re glazed with exhaustion, even under her attempts at levity.
“You okay? You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”
My stomach clenches at the memory of her sliding down the wall. I stand and swipe the back of my hand across her forehead, then graze it down her cheek where she catches it with her own.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
“Alright, I’ll only be gone for a minute. Don’t push it. Sit down if you’re feeling dizzy.” I know I’m being overbearing, but as she said, my inner caveman is coming out and I just want to keep her safe. She nods and then shoos me out of the bathroom. I back out with my hands raised. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”
I waste no time rushing from her apartment back to mine. I expect to find the door wide open, but it’s shut tight. Frank must have closed it on his way back downstairs. I slide through the door, grabbing a sweatshirt from a bar stool and slipping my Vans on while heading toward my bathroom.
I’m really grateful for the Wes of last week who decided to stock up on all the necessities, like cold medicine and pain relievers. It took me a while to figure out the Australian equivalents to the ones I buy in the States, but I think what I have will do.
I shove a few things in a grocery bag then swing through the kitchen, grabbing a couple bottles of cold water from the fridge, along with a box of crackers and some Tim Tams. Joss and I have bonded over our love of the cookies, and it’s a show of my friendship that I’ll share mine with her.
Next door again, everything but the medicine gets dropped unceremoniously on Joss’s counter. I breathe a little easier at the sound of running water coming from behind the closed bathroom door, and I take the opportunity to drop my haul on her bedside table.
“Proof of life, please. You okay in there?” I call out, knuckles rapping gently on the door.
There’s an exasperated sigh followed by a small laugh. I can almost hear her rolling her eyes at me. “I’m fine, Wes. I’ll be right out.”
I press my forehead against the door in relief, my hands braced on the wall on either side. In the darker recesses of my brain, I was terrified she’d be passed out on the floor by the time I got back. I don’t let myself think about why I’m so panicked—those thoughts won’t do me any good here.
She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay. If I keep repeating it over and over, maybe I’ll eventually believe it.
The door opens and I’m face-to-face with her. God, even when she’s sick she still takes my breath away.
She stumbles back a step, obviously surprised to discover me hovering in the doorframe, and I instantly reach forward to grasp her arms. I want to crush her to me, replace this worry with the feel of her beating heart against my chest, but I need to keep this about her. Her eyes haven’t left mine, and they seem more alert than they did before.
“Let’s get you in bed, Grey.”
I don’t let her go, tucking her into my side and wrapping an arm around her waist. I don’t miss the way she snuggles into me, allowing me to take care of her. The thought hits me, not for the first time, that I know very little about her family. She doesn’t talk about them, and besides Jaz, I don’t think she has anyone that takes care of her.
I pull the covers back on her bed so she can sit. There are so many pillows in different shapes and sizes that I’m not sure what she does with them all while she sleeps. She must catch the look that I’m casting their way because she ducks her head.
“I know it’s a lot. I love the way they look when the bed is made, but they’re kind of a pain in the ass the rest of the time.”
“Tell me which ones you need and I’ll move the rest.”
She settles two normal-looking pillows behind her and pushes the rest over the edge of her mattress. Ah, so that’s what she does with them. She slides her legs under the covers and snuggles down. I move to the other side and neatly stack the pillows against the wall.
Her bed did look rather inviting with all of them propped there, like a cloud or one of those foam pits. You really need to stop thinking about her bed .
She’s watching me intently, and I have to glance away. Thank god she can’t read my mind.
“There’s cold medicine and pain meds next to the water, you need to take both. ”
“Okay, bossy.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes at her, but my attitude doesn’t last long. She’s struggling to open the medicine, moving on to the water bottle and having no better luck.
“Here, I’ve got it.” I’m back to kneeling by her side. Popping the caps off both bottles and unscrewing the water with ease. I press it into her hand. “Drink.” She raises an eyebrow at my tone. “Please.”
Now she smiles; it’s weak, but it’s there. She takes the water bottle and drinks half of it down. Flying is dehydrating enough—I shiver at the thought of how much worse being sick makes it.
“Thanks,” she says, playing with the cap of the bottle, eyes on her lap. The breath she takes is ragged, like she’s barely holding it together. “Seriously, thank you. I’m not sure what would have happened if you weren’t here.”
She finally looks up, and there are tears in her eyes. My heart squeezes. This soft, vulnerable side of her is something she hasn’t shared with me. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact she isn’t quick to let her guard down. It’s not like I can blame her, I’m not exactly the most forthright person about all my shit either.
I lift a hand to her cheek, unable to stop myself from touching her, and swipe away a tear as it falls. “Hey. It’s alright. I’m here. I’ll be right here for as long as you need. Okay?”
She sniffles and nods, going back to avoiding my eyes. Reaching for the tissue box, she proceeds to use it to hide from me while she blows her nose and dabs at her eyes. Wanting to give her space, I focus instead on reading the label on the bottle in my hand.
“Thank you, Wes. ”
Her eyes finally meet mine as she takes the offered pills and swallows them back with another swig of water. Burrowing deeper into the blankets, her eyes turn heavy. I tuck her in, swiping a tendril of hair away from her face. She grabs my hand before I can pull it away. I know she’ll be asleep in no time, but there’s something in her grey eyes that makes my breath hitch.
“Are you leaving?” Her question is shy, confirming my earlier assumptions that she wants me to stay but doesn’t know how to ask. What she doesn’t know is that I couldn’t leave her here like this even if I wanted to, and I do not want to.
“No, sweetheart, I was just going to grab something from the kitchen. Can I sit in here with you?” I want her to say yes. No, I need her to say yes.
Her little nod is everything. I give her hand a squeeze before ducking into the kitchen.
Her eyes are closed and her breathing even when I tiptoe back into her room a minute later, headed for the chair in the corner. Where my room has a sleek black leather chair, which I’ve discovered is more comfortable than it looks, hers has an overstuffed armchair and ottoman in teal green. Rustling sheets and the sound of my name stops me before I can settle in.
She’s lying on her side and facing me, arms wrapped around one of her pillows. Her eyes are halfway open, fluttering and heavy-looking. She extends her top arm and pats the bed next to her.
“You don’t have to sit all the way over there.”
Her eyes drift closed but her arm stays extended. I know what the smart thing to do is—both because she’s sick and because of our boundaries—but I’m not feeling particularly smart at the moment. I grab two pillows from the stack so I can sit upright next to her. The bed is soft as I stretch my legs out in front of me.
As her breathing eases again, I take stock of the pain in my knee. It’s a reminder of all I’ve lost in the last year, and the heightened emotions only bring it to the surface. She’s fine. This isn’t the same. She won’t be another person I lose. The thought has me reaching for that extended hand, trying to ground myself. She doesn’t open her eyes, but her fingers curl around mine, and I realize this is the most connected to another person I’ve been in a long time.