Chapter 11 – IVY #2
I can hear his heartbeat beneath my ear. Strong and steady, yet slightly fast, as if he's afraid of me. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and I find myself matching my breathing to his without meaning to.
He doesn't seem to mind that I'm sweaty and gross and probably smell like a trash fire. He just holds me, sharing his warmth, his hand gently caressing my back in soothing circles through the blanket. And I'm too exhausted to keep up the walls my fever has thoroughly burned through.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" I whisper against his chest.
He makes a soft rumbling sound. Not quite a growl, more like a purr. His hand on my back pauses for a moment before resuming those gentle circles.
I wait for an answer I know won't come in words. Instead, he carefully reaches up and tucks a strand of hair that's escaped my cap behind my ear. The gesture is so tender, so careful.
Then my stomach lurches again and I groan, pressing my face against his chest. He immediately shifts, moving his hand to rub my shoulder.
"Gonna be sick again," I warn him.
He doesn't move away. Instead, he reaches out to grab the trash can and lifts it up to me, holding it there. Then he goes back to gently rubbing the back of my neck with his other hand, the motion somehow helping to settle my roiling stomach.
I don't end up puking, thank the gods. But the nausea lingers, waves of it cresting and falling. Through it all, Wraith just holds me until I settle back against him and close my eyes. This time, both his arms come around me.
It's fucking weird that I feel comfortable curled up against a seven-foot-plus-tall feral alpha who's known as the scariest player in the NHL.
An alpha who could crush my skull like a pumpkin without even trying.
But my give-a-shit meter is broken right now, and honestly?
It's nice to have someone give a damn whether I live or die.
Been a while since I had that.
At some point, I must doze off because when I wake up, I'm drenched in sweat and vaguely aware my fever has broken. I'm still curled against Wraith's chest, his arm still around me, the blanket still tucked carefully around me.
The first thing I notice is that I'm not dead.
Actually, I feel… sort of okay?
I blink slowly, trying to orient myself. The familiar darkness of my nest surrounds me, broken only by the soft glow of my security monitors. I have no idea what time it is. That's one of the downsides of living in the bowels of a hockey arena.
Could be noon, could be midnight.
Time has become a fluid concept down here.
Wraith is still awake. I can tell by the way his breathing changes when he realizes I'm stirring. But he doesn't move, doesn't try to extract himself from our tangle of limbs.
"You stayed?" I murmur, my voice rough from sleep and sickness.
He makes a soft affirmative sound. Like where else would he be?
The sweat cooling on my skin makes me shiver, but it's different from the bone-deep chills that wracked me earlier. This is just normal gross, not my-body-is-trying-to-cook-me-alive gross.
Yay. It's the little things.
I shift against Wraith's chest, testing how my body feels. Still weak. Still achy. But the nausea has finally backed off, and my head doesn't feel like it's going to split open anymore.
His arm tenses slightly when I move, like he's ready to catch me if I start to fall. The man's been holding me for... how long? Hours? And he hasn't complained once. Hasn't moved an inch, apparently perfectly happy to hold a sick, shivering girl all night.
"I think the fever broke," I rasp, my voice sounding like I've been gargling gravel.
Wraith makes a soft questioning sound, and his free hand comes up to press against my forehead again. His scarred palm is cool against my skin, or maybe I'm just not burning up anymore. Hard to tell.
He makes an approving rumble deep in his chest. This one definitely isn't a growl. I feel it more than hear it, the vibration traveling through his ribcage into mine.
"Thanks for staying," I mumble. "You probably have better things to do than babysit a sick stranger."
Another negative grunt. This one sounds almost offended, like the idea that anything could be more important than this is ridiculous.
My stomach growls—actually growls, not the sick churning from before—and I realize I'm hungry. Genuinely hungry, not just forcing food down because I know I should eat.
Wraith's chest rumbles again and he huffs, almost like a laugh. He carefully extracts his arm from around me, moving slowly enough that I can adjust without falling over. Then he reaches for the duffel bag, pulling out a sleeve of salted crackers and another sports drink.
He opens both for me before handing them over, watching with those intense blue eyes to make sure I can handle them okay.
I take a careful bite of cracker. It tastes like the best thing I've ever eaten, which probably says more about how awful I've been feeling than the actual quality of gas station crackers. But I'm not going to complain.
"You're really good at this," I say between bites. "The whole... taking care of people thing."
His eyebrows draw together and he shakes his head, his gaze dropping to his hands.
Those massive, scarred hands that have been so gentle with me.
There's a story there—several stories, probably—written in burn tissue.
They don't look like they healed well. Maybe he needed to be cared for once, and he wasn't, and that's why he was there for me all night.
I finish the crackers and drain half the sports drink before my stomach tells me that's enough for now. My body might be ready to rejoin the land of the living, but I'm not going to push it.
"I should probably shower," I say, wrinkling my nose. "I smell like death warmed over."
Wraith tilts his head, and even with most of his face hidden, I can tell he's disagreeing. He reaches up and taps his nose, then shakes his head and makes a gesture I don't quite understand.
"Are you saying I don't smell bad?" I ask skeptically.
He nods firmly.
"You're either being nice or you're hiding a broken nose under that mask."
He makes that soft rumbling sound again and just shakes his head with another huffing laugh.
"Well, regardless of whether you think I smell like roses or roadkill, I need to get cleaned up." I push myself into a sitting position, testing my balance before swinging my feet to the floor and slowly standing.
The room only spins a little.
That's good.
Then my stomach does another unhappy flippy-flip and I'm reminded that I'm still recovering from whatever plague just tried to take me out. Standing up too fast was definitely a fucking mistake.
Wraith catches me before I fall, one arm supporting my waist while the other steadies my shoulder. He makes a worried sound.
"I'm fine," I mumble. "Just moved too quick. Give me a second."
He doesn't look convinced, but his hand stays on my shoulder until I'm steady, and even then he doesn't move away.
I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. "Seriously, I'll be okay. I really need to shower before I think about anything else. Including what the hell I'm going to do now that you've definitely discovered my hideout."
He sighs and nods.
"Can I ask you for another favor?" I ask hesitantly.
Wraith tilts his head, waiting.
"There's an abandoned shower room down the hall. Would you mind keeping an eye out? Just to make sure no one comes in? I know it's weird to ask, and you've already done way too much, but—"
He cuts me off with a firm nod and a reassuring rumble.
Message received.
He's got my back.
"Thank you, Wraith."
He makes a soft sound—almost embarrassed, like he's surprised I know who he is even though he's one of the most recognizable alphas in the NHL—and waves his hand dismissively. Like this is no big deal. Like everyone goes around taking care of sick strangers and standing guard while they shower.
I grab a change of clothes from my stash and the least disgusting towel I have. It's one I lifted from the equipment room a few weeks ago, still smells like industrial detergent. Not exactly luxury, but it's clean.
Wraith watches me gather my things, his expression unreadable for once above the mask. When I'm ready, he moves to the door and glances out into the hallway. After a moment, he nods and gestures for me to follow.
We make our way down the corridor, Wraith moving silently despite his size.
He keeps himself positioned between me and any potential threat, his head constantly moving as he scans our surroundings.
The protective instinct radiating off him is completely unnecessary, considering it's being discovered that's a threat, not me being literally eaten alive by a tired janitor.
The abandoned shower room is tucked away in a forgotten corner of the arena's underbelly.
The door hangs slightly crooked on its hinges, and the inside is.
.. well, it's seen better days. Cracked tile, rust stains, flickering lights that barely work and make the whole place look like a horror set.
But the water runs hot and there's soap, and right now that's all I need.
Wraith checks inside first, making sure it's clear. Then he positions himself outside the door, his massive frame blocking the entrance. Anyone wanting to get in would have to go through him first.
Good fucking luck with that.
"I'll be quick," I tell him.
He makes a negative sound and gestures for me to take my time. Then he settles against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Standing guard.
For me.
A complete fucking stranger.
My chest does this weird tight thing that I refuse to examine too closely. Instead, I duck into the shower room and close the door most of the way. I leave it cracked just enough to hear if something goes wrong, even though I doubt anyone's stupid enough to fuck with Wraith.
The shower takes a minute to heat up, pipes groaning and clanking before hot water finally sputters out. I strip off my disgusting clothes and step under the spray, hissing as the heat hits my sensitive skin.
But gods, it feels amazing.
I let the water wash away the sweat and sickness, standing there until my muscles start to unknot. The cheap soap doesn't smell like much, but it's clean and that's what matters. I scrub at my skin until it's pink, washing my hair twice just to make sure I get all the gross out.
As I stand there under the spray and enjoy myself for a few minutes, my mind finally starts to catch up with everything that's happened.
With the fact that one of the Ghosts' core alphas knows I've been living under the arena.
An alpha I cuddled all night because I was sick and exhausted and desperate for comfort.
An alpha who's currently standing outside like a guard dog.
An alpha whose scent makes me feel…
Fuck.
So much for keeping everyone at a safe distance.