Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ISLA
My skin burns and my head throbs.
Time seems to pass in disorienting dollops. In between moments of fitful waking, I have vivid dreams. I dream that Charlotte is getting married to Sheriff Briggs. I dream that Luke arrives at my apartment riding a rainbow-colored dragon. I dream that my skin peels off in one long slough, like a snake shedding.
But mostly I dream about Caden.
And every time I open my eyes, he’s there.
He doesn’t leave me.
He sits beside me on the bed, whispering quiet words of comfort. He presses a cool cloth against my forehead, and sometimes I feel his fingertips on the inside of my wrist. He cradles me against his chest as he holds a glass of water to my lips. It soothes my aching throat. He tells me stories about Argentina, and they filter into my dreams. Vineyards bursting with deep purple grapes that smell earthy sweet. A sunset over mountains, brilliant ribbons of orange and pink.
In the middle of the night, I wake up drenched in sweat. I moan, shivering, my apartment dark and empty. For a moment, I panic, feeling disoriented and alone.
“Caden?” I whimper.
Suddenly, he’s there.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.” I’m lifted in the air and placed on my couch. I hear the shuffle of movement as Caden strips my bed and changes the sheets. He changes my clothes too. I don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed. None of this feels real. I’m in a dream state, the lines between reality and hallucination blurring. Maybe Caden isn’t here at all. Maybe I’m just imagining him.
Time passes and I must fall back to sleep because suddenly, I’m waking up to a knock on the door.
I hear Caden’s footsteps. I’m too tired to open my eyes.
The door creaks open and then I hear a surprised, “Oh. Hi.”
“You’re still here?” Charlotte’s voice wraps around my consciousness.
I don’t hear a reply to that.
“Is she okay?” Charlotte demands.
I try to peel my lids open but they’re so heavy.
“She’s sleeping,” Caden says quietly. “I had a doctor come by yesterday. He says it’s a really bad case of the flu. He told me to monitor her for forty-eight hours. So I’ve got…twenty two hours to go. She doesn’t seem to be getting worse, but she’s not really improving either.”
“What about Luke? Does he know she’s sick?”
Luke is on a dragon, I think.
“I texted him from Isla’s phone yesterday,” Caden says. “I still haven’t heard back. She said he’s at a bachelor party?”
“Right,” Charlotte says. I feel like I can hear her eyes roll. “The private island. It’s all weekend. He told her he probably wouldn’t have service.”
There’s a long pause.
“Well, thanks, but I can take it from here,” Charlotte says.
“I don’t mind staying,” Caden says quickly. “I’m already exposed to whatever this is. May as well stay the course.”
I don’t want Caden to leave. He’s made me feel so safe. But my mouth feels gluey and I can’t find the words. I hear Charlotte make a slight noise, like a combination of a huff and a growl.
“Please,” he begs. “Let me take care of her. Just until the forty-eight hours are up. I have a doctor on speed dial. If anything happens, I can get her to a hospital. You know my name can open doors, get her care as quickly as possible. I just…the fever needs to break.”
There’s a pause. “Fine. Here’s my number. I want updates every hour. Got it?”
“Every hour,” Caden promises.
“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for what you put her through. For leaving her the way you did.”
I hear a catch of breath. Then silence.
“I understand,” Caden says at last.
There are more footsteps and then I feel the cool press of Charlotte’s lips against my forehead.
“Get some rest,” she whispers.
I don’t know how much time passes after she leaves. At some point, I feel a depression on the bed beside me. Then a low voice starts to sing, in a soft tone. I don’t know the song but it sounds like a lullaby. It’s in Spanish.
I wake up the next morning and something’s different.
My hair is matted and my clothes are sticky with sweat but my skin isn’t on fire anymore. My body doesn’t ache. My throat no longer burns.
My stomach gives a little rumble.
Caden is sleeping softly on the bed beside me. He’s propped up on pillows with a book on his chest, like he fell asleep reading. I glance at the book—it’s my copy of The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary. One of my favorite romance novels. For a brief moment, I watch the soft rise and fall of his breath, my eyes tracing from the dent at the base of his throat to the angular jut of his chin.
I reach out and touch his shoulder.
“Caden,” I say, my voice raspy.
He jolts awake, blinking around blearily as the book slides onto the floor with a soft thump. “Are you okay?” he says. “Do you need something?”
“I’m hungry,” I say as my stomach gives another growl. “I think the fever broke.”
Pale yellow light streams in through my windows. I can see the circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted. But a tired smile lights up his face. He quickly places the back of his hand to my forehead, a practiced move.
“You’re cool,” he says, delighted. “Let’s check with the thermometer. I’ll heat up some soup.”
He disappears into the bathroom and comes back to pop a thermometer in my mouth. I wait patiently with it under my tongue as I hear cabinets opening and pots clanging from the kitchen. When Caden comes back to the take the thermometer out, he looks at the temperature, relieved.
“Back to normal,” he declares, showing me the number.
“I didn’t know I owned a thermometer,” I say.
“You didn’t,” Caden says. “Charlotte and I got you a whole pharmacy. I think you’re stocked up for the next decade.” Faint spots of pink color his cheeks and he quickly busies himself by pulling out his phone. “Let me tell her your fever broke. Do you want to take a shower? There are fresh towels, and I ordered some shampoos and stuff because you were almost out. I hope they’re okay—Daisy recommended them.”
I don’t know what to say—it’s so thoughtful of him. Of both of them. And I do want to get out of these sticky clothes. I look down at my bedding, a tangle of sheets.
“I’ll change those,” Caden reassures me.
“Okay,” I say, feeling a little overwhelmed.
I hurry into the bathroom and close the door behind me. I open the medicine cabinet and find bottles neatly organized, everything from antinausea medication to extra strength Tylenol to sleeping pills. There’s a little basket on the sink filled with various skin care items, serums and scrubs and lotions, with a note that says Feel Better Soon, Isla! -Daisy.
I open the shower curtain and there is a pair of expensive looking shampoo and conditioner next to my bottle of Dove body wash. Some European brand with a name I can’t pronounce. I turn on the water and peel off my sweaty clothes. As I step beneath the hot spray, my body relaxes and my mind starts to spin back over the past couple days.
Oh god. I threw up in front of Caden. I clap my hands over my face. I think he helped me change my clothes at one point. Shame creeps into my stomach. This is so embarrassing. But also…I’m grateful. I’m glad I didn’t have to be alone. I’m glad I had someone to take care of me. Then I remember the song in Spanish. Caden was singing to me. My toes clench, my skin tingling.
I squirt some shampoo onto my hand and start to lather my hair. It smells amazing—freesia and orange peel. I feel myself relax as the water washes me clean.
I hear a faint clang from the kitchen and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m naked in the shower and there’s only a thin wall between me and Caden. I finish as quickly as my aching joints and sore muscles allow, then grab one of the fluffy towels from the rack on the wall. These are way nicer than my towels from TJ Maxx. I wrap myself in the warm softness and then peek out the bathroom door. Caden is in the kitchen with his back to me, stirring a pot on the stove.
I rush to my little nook behind the Japanese screens and quickly change into a fresh pair of sweatpants and a tee. My bed has been remade.
I towel dry my hair but it’s still damp as I emerge out into the living room. Caden is pouring soup into a bowl. The scent of broth and noodles makes my mouth water. I’m suddenly famished. He turns to see me and a bright smile spreads across his face. His hair is sleep-tangled and his T-shirt rumpled.
I feel a slight pinch between my thighs.
“You look great,” he says.
“I look like death,” I say.
“Nah. Yesterday you looked like death. Today you’re giving Victorian invalid struck down by the consumption vibes.”
I grin. “Shall I journey to the seaside to get some fresh air? That was what the doctors recommended back then, right?”
“I think they used leeches,” Caden says, as I sit down at the table.
“Blech” I say with a shudder. “I’ll stick with Tylenol.”
He has one of my oven mitts on and the contrast between the domesticity and the very bulk of him is jarring.
And a little sexy.
My stomach gives an embarrassingly loud growl as Caden places the bowl on the table.
“I hope this is okay,” he says. “Cooking was not one of the skills I picked up in Argentina, but I figured “heat soup in pot” should be easy enough.”
I’m barely listening—the first bite is heaven and I shovel the soup into my mouth so quickly I burn my tongue. When I’m finished and the bowl is empty, I sigh and sit back. My eyes feel heavy, my stomach full for the first time in days.
“Better?” Caden asks.
I nod. The morning light softens the line of his jaw, making the circles under his eyes stand out in sharp relief.
“You should go home,” I say. “Get some sleep yourself.”
As soon as I say the words, I have this sudden urge to take them back.
“No, no,” Caden says, waving his oven-mitted hand at me. “I told the doctor I would watch you for forty-eight hours and we still have…” He checks the clock on his phone. “Five hours left to go.”
“Okay,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “What do you want to do for five hours?”
“Are you still tired? You could nap.”
“I feel like I’ve been sleeping for a week,” I say. “I’d like to be conscious for a while.”
“Understandable.” Caden takes off the mitt and reaches into a bag by the door, pulling out two board games. “Scattergories or Scrabble?” he says.
I let out a raspy laugh. “I don’t think you can play Scattergories with only two people.”
He frowns at the box. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked Finn to bring these over. He’s not really a board game kind of guy.”
“And you are?”
“Oh yeah.”
“How come we never played board games together?” As soon as I say it, I tense. Bringing up the past feels dangerous.
Caden shrugs. “We didn’t really hang out at each other’s homes.”
“No,” I agree. “I guess we didn’t.”
Not until that final, fateful night.
“Mom and I used to play Scrabble all the time,” Caden says. He cracks his knuckles. “Watch out. She taught me well.”
“Bring it,” I say, putting on my best mean face.
“I’m shaking in my boots,” Caden says as he starts to set up the game.
Two hours later and I’ve creamed him twice.
“Dammit,” he says as I beat him a third time. “I swear, I really am good at this game.”
“Oh, I can tell,” I say, as he gets up to refill my water glass. “But you forgot one crucial detail.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“I play with Grace,” I say. “You think I ever win a game against her? No. But I sure as hell learn some new words.”
“I was wondering how you knew what DYHANA was,” Caden says.
“It’s a type of Hindu meditation,” I tell him.
He points at another word. “And PACZKI?”
“That’s a kind of donut. I knew that one myself.”
He shakes his head. “Next time, we’re getting a couple more people and playing Scattergories. Maybe then I’ll have a chance of winning.”
Something shivers in me at the promise. Next time. But there won’t be a next time. He’s leaving. And I’m getting married.
He seems to feel the shift in mood too. He starts to put the tiles into the bag.
“Thanks for staying,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”
His head snaps up. “Yes, I did. I wasn’t going to abandon you again.”
I hold his gaze, unspoken words crackling between us.
“I never wanted you to feel—I wasn’t thinking when—” He puts the bag down and rubs his eyes. “I didn’t understand the consequences of the choices I made. Maybe that was on purpose. I didn’t want to think about it.” When he looks at me again, his gaze burns like silver-blue fire. I feel like I’ve been soldered onto this chair. My heart starts to thrum against my ribs. “You should know…I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to be with you.”
My mouth goes dry. “Why did you leave?”
“Isla? Isla!” There are footsteps outside and then a frantic pounding on my door. I leap up so fast my head spins and I have to plop back down in my chair.
“I’ll get it,” Caden says and strides over to open the door. Luke is standing there, panting. My apartment feels even smaller than usual. I have the sudden impulse to throw myself between the two men.
Luke takes in Caden and shock flits across his face.
“Everton?” he says.
“Hello, Luke,” Caden says.
“Hey babe,” I say, regaining my sense of equilibrium and hurrying over to wrap my arms around my fiancé. Luke is wearing a polo shirt that smells like his cologne. He presses his cheek against the top of my head. I relax into him. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“I didn’t get that text until this morning,” Luke says. I can feel his eyes move to Caden. “Didn’t know you’d still be here.”
“I was just helping out,” Caden says mechanically.
“Charlotte was helping too,” I add, looking up at Luke. “They both took really good care of me.” There’s a tightness around his mouth as he stares at Caden, and he keeps a protective arm around my shoulder.
“Okay,” he says. “Well, thanks but I’ve got it from here.”
“Right,” Caden says. He glances back at the table with the half cleaned up board game and seems to decide to leave it. “Take care, Isla.”
I duck my head, and don’t have time to say thanks before Caden is out the door in two giant strides. I hear his footsteps going down the stairs, then the Camaro’s engine roars to life.
I close the door as Luke stalks around my kitchen, vibrating with an unpleasant energy. He peers into the pot with the soup, frowning, then looks at the table with the Scrabble board.
“How was the weekend?” I ask, trying to sound peppy. I’m suddenly so tired, though. And a little shaky. My mind is half-stuck on the unfinished conversation with Caden.
“Was he spending the night?” Luke demands.
“What?”
Luke points at the door. “Was Caden Everton spending the night here?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“What the fuck, Isla? That’s not appropriate.”
Through the haze of exhaustion, my irritation flares. “Excuse me?”
There’s a hardness in Luke’s normally gentle brown eyes, and his mouth turns down at the corners. “It was one thing to get a text from some dude on my fiancée’s number. It’s another to show up and he’s here. You can’t have random men sleeping at your apartment. And definitely not your ex-boyfriend, I mean, what were you thinking?”
My head is spinning. “Luke,” I say as sharply as I can. “I had a crazy high fever, I was throwing up, and I was sweating through my clothes. I have never been so sick in my life. You think it matters who was bringing me Tylenol or water or taking my temperature? I would rather it had been you but you weren’t around. And I understood that—I wanted you to enjoy the party.” I put my hands on my hips. “Besides, we talked about this—Caden is not my ex-boyfriend. What happened between us was nothing—it was a blip that was over a long time ago.” My stomach curdles as I say the words but what Luke is implying is just plain wrong. “A doctor literally told him to monitor me for forty-eight hours. Caden was looking out for me the way any of my friends would. Charlotte was looking out for me too. I could barely hold my phone or form coherent sentences. And you’re saying I was being inappropriate to accept help?”
Luke looks immediately chastened. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” He sweeps me up in his arms and presses his lips to my forehead. “I guess seeing another guy in your apartment, my alpha instincts got the better of me.”
I wrap my arms around him, feeling the indents of his spine and the firm muscles around his shoulder blades. “I guess I wouldn’t love some other woman taking care of you if you were sick,” I admit. “But I trust you.” I gaze up at him. “And I would be glad someone was there for you, whether it was a man or woman or a freaking giraffe.”
Luke chuckles. “I’ll have to remember to hire a giraffe nurse next time I get sick.” He sighs. “I’m sorry to imply anything untoward happened. I trust you too.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Untoward?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “My mom uses that phrase,” he says with a chuckle. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Your hair smells really good, did you get a new shampoo?”
“Yeah,” I say then change the subject because Luke does not need to hear that Caden bought me shampoo. “So, tell me about your weekend!”
Luke lights up. “Oh, it was great. Chad’s a total beast—Bethany has her work cut out for her.” He laughs and I smile along, though this is one of those things he says that I don’t quite understand: Chad being a beast or Trip acting like a legend. But I love the way he tells stories, acting out all the parts. He launches into some tale involving a sailboat, a karaoke machine, and a parrot.
“Want to play a game of Scrabble?” I ask when he’s finished.
He wrinkles his nose. “Nah, come here babe, let me show you some of the videos I took, we went snorkeling and Trip has an underwater camera. It was awesome.”
“Okay,” I say, and we snuggle up next to each other on the couch.
He spends the night, and as I drift to sleep nestled against his chest, I feel a sense of contentment that’s only partially interrupted by nagging thoughts about Caden.
I wish Luke had arrived just five minutes later. I could have gotten the answers about why he left, after all this time.
I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to be with you.
I guess I’ll have to leave it at that.