Chapter 8
Lacey
Lacey
I won’t be able to make our lesson this week.
I skim over the message on my screen before pressing Send. TJ texted me to ask when we could meet up for our lesson three days ago, and I’m just getting back to him now.
In my defense, I was busy fighting for my next breath. Literally . I’ve had a nasty sinus infection all week.
My siblings picked up some virus at school and passed it on to me. The two of them recovered in less than three days. Meanwhile, I’m going on day five and still struggling.
Normally, I wouldn’t let a cold stop me, but I couldn’t go a whole minute without coughing my lungs out and blowing my nose, let alone sit through class and serve coffee.
I don’t know how much longer I can afford to miss work. All those days off are going to put quite a dent in this month’s paycheck, and I need that money more than ever now that my car broke down.
Not to mention, I’m going to have a hard time catching up, having skipped all of this week’s classes. I haven’t really allowed myself to think about that.
If I do, I’m going to start panicking, and I need to focus on getting better first. Then I can panic.
I’ve just settled down for my second nap of the day when my phone pings on my nightstand.
I grab it to check my messages.
TJ answered my text.
TJ
Why not?
I groan. He’s lucky I even told him I can’t tutor him this week, and now he wants an explanation?
I text him back quickly.
Lacey
I’m sick.
I place my phone face down on my nightstand and close my eyes. I spend the next three hours drifting in and out of sleep. I’m not tired, but I figured getting more sleep would help me recover quicker, a theory I’m not sure is accurate, considering I’ve been napping for five days with no results.
What’s worse, I can’t even drive myself to the drugstore to grab medicine. I considered getting some delivered to me, but the delivery fees are outrageous, so I accepted that I’d have to get through this on my own.
A decision I’m starting to regret. It’s one thing to be sick; it’s another to be miserable.
I decide to text Dia. She asked me how I was feeling and if she could do anything to help just this morning, but I forgot to reply. It never occurred to me that I could ask her to get me some meds.
Lacey
My car broke down again. Do you think you could get me some medicine? Some decongestant, cough drops, and pain relievers maybe? I’ll pay you back.
Lacey
Oh, and could you get me some soup? I would DIE for chicken noodle soup right now.
She doesn’t answer right away, no doubt because she’s busy. Who knows when she’ll see this? Last I heard, she was spending the day with Finn, and I know they’re big on spending quality time without their phones.
I realize a few minutes later that there’s supposed to be a thunderstorm later today. I wouldn’t want her to get on the road in these conditions.
Lacey
Never mind, just saw there’s a big storm rolling in. I’ll manage xo
I scroll on social media for the next hour while I wait for her to text me back. Then, I drag myself into the bathroom for a hot shower. Hopefully, it will allow me to breathe through at least one of my nostrils.
I’ve just finished rinsing off the conditioner in my hair when I hear something.
It sounded like a knock.
Must be the owner having visitors. He lives on the second floor of the house I’m renting, but the walls are paper-thin, hence the cheap rent, and I can hear everything.
I carry on like nothing happened and step out of the shower a minute later.
Only, I hear it again.
It was louder this time. More persistent.
Is someone at my door?
Maybe Dia saw my message and rushed over?
I check my phone.
No reply.
She would tell me if she was on her way. That’s not like her. The questions racing through my mind come to a screeching halt when someone rings my doorbell.
I curse myself for not getting that doorbell camera when it was on sale a few days ago. I told myself I didn’t need it, but now that I’m sick, weak, and vulnerable, I’d do anything to see who’s on my porch.
I reach for my bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and throw it on before scurrying down the hall. I know for a fact my siblings are at school and not coming home until much later today, so who the hell is out there?
I make it all the way to the front door and debate on opening it. My landlord should’ve really put a peephole on that damn thing.
I mean, come on, girl is sick and home alone during a storm when there’s a mysterious knock at her door? Sounds like the beginning of a horror movie.
I nearly have a heart attack when my phone chimes with a message.
From TJ.
TJ
Let me in.
TJ’s the one outside my house?
My shoulders drop with relief as I unlock and open the door. Sure enough, my fake boyfriend is standing on my porch, his hair and jacket soaked from the rain. He’s got two bags huddled up in his arms, but I don’t question it, stepping aside to let him in.
He rushes inside, kicks his shoes off, and says, “Not to sound dramatic, but I was worried you were going to let me drown for a sec.”
I don’t reply, failing to make sense of his presence.
TJ stops to take in my appearance. I’m bare-faced, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and fluffy slippers with cherries all over them. Oh, and my hair is a wet, tangled mess.
Not that I care what TJ thinks, but I usually have concealer on at the very least. It doesn’t seem to faze him one bit because he doesn’t comment, drops the bags on the floor, and hangs his coat by the door.
I raise an eyebrow. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”
A smile grazes his lips. “Playing nurse. Hey, you got any honey?”
That’s all he says before taking off toward the kitchen. I trail after him and watch as he empties the contents of his bags on my kitchen counter. He’s got nasal spray, cough drops, and like three different types of pain relievers.
He pulls out a steaming container of chicken noodle soup and says, “Your order, milady.”
“How did you know? I texted Dia.”
Unless I texted him by mistake?
He doesn’t even bother looking at me, walking to the pantry and opening it. “Dia and Finn came over to Theo’s house to hang out with the rest of us. Dia left her phone on the kitchen counter, and I heard the notifications when you texted her. I checked her locked screen and saw your texts.”
Ah. That makes sense.
But it doesn’t explain why he decided to run those errands for me.
He pulls honey out of my pantry. “Got it.”
I scoff. “By all means, make yourself at home.”
I skim over the medicine he bought. There’s like forty dollars’ worth of medicine here. And it’s pouring rain. A normal person would’ve minded his own business.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” I state the obvious.
TJ and I aren’t friends. We’re acquaintances at most. Acquaintances that made out once, but acquaintances nonetheless.
I’ve been trying to pretend like that kiss never happened, but it’s proving to be difficult. Since he and I made out in front of everyone, I’ve been getting a lot of male attention.
A few guys from the team slid into my DMs. None that I’m actually interested in, but hey , a win is a win.
Men really are simple creatures. It’s like that kiss marked me with TJ’s stamp of approval. The guy is a basketball god. One of the most gifted point guards Duke has seen in a while. And as adored as he is, he’s also envied and hated by many guys. I’m sure some of them would just love to steal his girl and rub it in his face.
“That’s me. A do-gooder. So selfless and not at all worried about my tutor being sick when I have an exam next week.”
I should be offended, but I find his honesty refreshing and a tad amusing. Plus, it doesn’t really matter why he’s here. All that matters is that he got me what I needed.
“I’ll pay you back.”
“Nah, you’re good. Just focus on getting better.”
I can’t hide my smile.
“I… Thanks.”
“Anytime, rich girl.”
I watch him open the kitchen cupboard and pull out a mug. Then he’s making his way to my fridge and grabbing the milk.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Warm milk with honey. Then you’re going to eat your soup like a good girl and knock that virus dead so that I don’t fail this test.”
I could argue, but I doubt it would make him leave, so I surrender to my fate. “How can I help?”
I’m reaching for the milk when he sticks his arm out in front of me, operating as a human barrier. “You can start by parking your ass on that chair and letting me take care of you.”
This feels unnatural. I can’t remember the last time I had someone take care of me . I’ve gotten so used to doing everything on my own.
I’m too sick to fight him, so I oblige, taking a seat on a kitchen chair. That’s when I notice the water pooling at his feet. His hair and pants are dripping wet. We need to get him out of these clothes.
“At least let me get you a towel. And some dry clothes.” I rise to my feet, and he pins me with an annoyed look. “What? You can’t get sick, too.”
He caves a moment later. “Do you even have clothes to give me?”
The answer comes to me. “I have my dad’s clothes.”
It’s like all the air got sucked out of the room when the words leave my mouth. TJ doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face…
It’s full of pity.
I point a finger at him as if to intimidate him. “You look at me like that again I’m going to start sending you fun facts about cats every day for like a year.”
The threat seems to get my point across because he laughs and focuses on making me that warm milk. “Copy that.”
I make a beeline for the closet near the front door. I keep stuff I don’t want to deal with in there, which is why it’s full of my dad’s things.
This is what I took back home after we cleared out his apartment, although I can barely remember what’s in most of those boxes. I was on autopilot back then.
I spot a box labeled Clothes in no time and tear it open, ignoring the painful pit in my throat. I fish a black button-up shirt out of the box, and it feels like getting stabbed in the chest.
I grab a dry pair of jeans and shove the box back into the closet. My eyes are burning with unshed tears, but I fight them off to the best of my ability.
“Put this on.” I hand the clothes to TJ. “I’ll be back with a towel for your hair.”
I turn to leave, but TJ’s hand flies out to catch my wrist. Dark, worry-ridden eyes plunge into mine when I spin to face him. “You okay?”
He noticed my bloodshot eyes. Great .
I glower at him. “Daily cat facts, remember?”
“I like cats,” he deadpans. “Answer the question.”
I can’t hold his gaze a second longer. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t let go of my wrist.
“Promise,” I add.
That seems to be enough to get him to let me go.
I grab a clean towel from the bathroom and return to TJ, who’s busy pouring the milk into a small saucepan he probably found snooping around.
“Here.” I give him the towel, and he takes it, patting his hair lightly. It doesn’t make much of a difference.
I steal the towel from his hands. “Let me do it.”
He doesn’t argue, staying still as I move closer and squeeze his brown hair dry. I dab at it a few times, only withdrawing when I’m satisfied.
His hair is now an unkempt, sexy mess, and I laugh when a few strands fall before his eyes. He pushes the hair blinding him out of his face and looks down at me, our eyes drawn together like magnets.
I didn’t realize we were this close until now.
“Thanks.” His voice is close to a whisper.
There’s a shift in the air, but I refuse to acknowledge it, backing away. “You should change.”
“Yeah” is all he says.
I watch as he ambles to the bathroom and closes the door.
“You didn’t even drink the whole thing,” TJ points out when I empty the mug of warm milk into the sink.
Truth is, he over-honeyed.
Not that I’d ever tell him that.
“I’ve been craving chicken noodle soup all week. Let me live,” I say, stalking toward the soup container sitting on the counter.
TJ pushes off his seat. “Sit down, I’ll get you a bowl.”
The authority in his voice makes me laugh, and I plop back down onto my chair. He’s just opened the cupboard when I realize a bowl isn’t what I want.
“Actually… would you mind getting me another mug? I don’t eat soup in a bowl.”
He seems surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s just a thing my father did. He liked to drink his soup. I grew up doing it.”
TJ nods, grabbing a mug at random and closing the cupboard door. Just like that, it feels like my heart is going to cave in on itself.
He picked my dad’s mug.
I can’t help thinking that this is the universe’s way of punishing me for not allowing myself to grieve him since he died. I was always too busy.
TJ notices the look on my face. “What? What is it?”
“It’s nothing. I…” I debate on telling him the truth. “My dad made that.”
The mug is very simple. It’s black and covered with uneven white dots.
Confusion flashes in his eyes. “Your dad made mugs?”
“Sorry, he didn’t make it. He painted it. Not too long before his accident.” A laugh rips from my throat, dripping with guilt and self-hatred. “He took me to one of those ceramic-painting places for my eighteenth birthday. I was such a bitch about it. I wanted to go to a graduation party with my friends, but I was supposed to be at his house for the weekend, and he wanted to do something just the two of us.”
I have no idea why I’m opening up to TJ, out of all people. But maybe it’s not about him. Maybe it’s about talking to someone .
Anyone.
“I was an unpleasant bitch the entire time we were there. He was trying to make conversation, and I was ignoring him, scrolling on my phone and texting my friends. They called to tell us our mugs were ready a week after he died.”
My eyes are burning again, but this time, I can’t keep the tears at bay.
“You didn’t know.” TJ breaks the silence.
“It doesn’t change what happened.”
“I’m so sorry, Lacey.”
This is too much. I need a minute.
I clear my throat. “On second thought, I’m not that hungry. Can you put it away?”
He doesn’t, just staring at me intently.
“You’re allowed to feel pain, you know that, right?” He sounds so understanding, which is incredibly ironic considering that he doesn’t . He couldn’t possibly.
Feeling that pain would end me. Fighting my emotions is what’s kept me going this long. It’s the only reason I was able to be there for my siblings when they needed me. Taking time to grieve is a luxury I didn’t have then, and I certainly don’t have it now.
“Put it away, please.” It comes out as a command.
He doesn’t move. “Will you just admit that you’re hurting?”
His request sets me off. I lift to my feet in one leap and rush over to him, needing to get that mug the hell out of my sight. I rip the mug out of his hand almost violently.
Then I hear it.
The sound of the mug crashing against the kitchen tiles.
My dad’s mug breaks into a hundred pieces.
It slipped out of my hands.
One look at the ceramic on the ground and the floodgates are blown open.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been sick all week, super stressed about school and missing work and how I’m going to afford fixing my car. Or maybe it’s that I’ve held this back for far too long.
Tears begin coursing down my face, but I don’t make a sound, crying silently. Embarrassment overwhelms me as I drop to my knees to pick up the pieces.
“Leave it,” TJ says.
I don’t listen, gathering the chunks of ceramic into my hands.
“Lacey, stop. I’ll take care of it.”
I pretend as though I don’t hear him and take the mug to the trash. I stay perfectly still in front of the garbage once the mug’s been disposed of.
TJ gives me space at first, but it doesn’t take long before I hear him close in on me.
“Please don’t slap me for this.”
I’m not sure what he means until he takes my wrist into his hand and whips me around. Then his arms are around me, squeezing me.
It’s terrifying how fast I sink into his embrace, surrendering to the affectionate gesture. I even hug him back, pressing my cheek flat against his chest. The next thing I know, his hand is in my hair, massaging my skull slowly.
I go from crying silently to sobbing without restraint. TJ doesn’t say a word for the next five minutes, just holding me and playing with my hair.
And as I cry, I was wonder if perhaps I was wrong.
Perhaps TJ is more my friend than an acquaintance after all.