Chapter 21 #2
He would have objected, but he was too weak and feeble. The more he fought, the more he embarrassed himself. So he just groaned.
“Such a big, tough man,” she mocked.
“I mildly overexerted myself. This is just lag from snow removal.”
“Sure.”
“I am sure. A baby aspirin and a hot shower, and I’ll be good as new.” He coughed again, this time curling to his side with a groan.
“The universe is telling you to stop talking and rest. I only want you opening your mouth to drink water. You need to stay hydrated.” She disappeared into the kitchen, humming softly. Stirring. Clinking things.
The sounds were… nice. Especially considering how shitty he felt.
Years had passed since anyone had nurtured him and he’d forgotten what a comfort that could be.
The last time someone had taken care of him like this was when his mother tucked him in with chicken pox, bringing him soup and cool washcloths for his fever.
“Whatever you’re making in there smells incredible.”
“I said no talking. Your vocal cords need a rest or the inflammation won’t go down. The soup will be ready in a few minutes.”
As he sank into the couch cushions, his mind drifted to his childhood. He recalled the old daytime sitcoms he used to watch whenever he got sick as a child, and how his mother waited on him. One time, he had the chicken pox and was stuck on the couch for a week.
He hadn’t thought of that memory in years, but he couldn’t stop thinking of it now. He remembered the scent of his mom’s shirts—a cross between flowers and fabric softener. He missed that smell. He hadn’t smelled it since she died.
Wren returned with a bowl of steaming soup. “This has to cool.” She pulled the table close and set him up with a little placemat and more tea. Then she refilled his water.
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “It’s nothing. I like taking care of you.”
And he liked being taken care of, especially by her. Very few people could get this close to him. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable in front of others, but for some reason it didn’t bother him with Wren.
She settled next to him on the couch and reached for the remote. “I always like Gilmore Girls when I’m sick.”
“I don’t have cable.”
“I can sign into my account. We can stream something.”
Greyson rarely watched television. He mainly relied on books for entertainment, so he wasn’t even aware that sharing accounts was possible, but he liked the idea of Wren further mingling her life with his.
Once she logged into Netflix and played a preview for the chick show she wanted to watch, he frowned, dizzy from just a preview of such small-town chaos.
“What do you think?”
“Absolutely not.”
She clicked her tongue. “It’s a perfect show for binge-watching.”
“They talk too fast, and I already have a headache.” No way could he put up with hours of that. “Find something with a little less estrogen.”
She rolled her eyes. “You mean something more manly?”
“Yes.” He sniffled, and shivered under the blanket, cradling his soup as he waited for it to cool.
“Of course, my fragile little cupcake.”
She scrolled for a while as he slurped and hummed over the delicious comfort food. Who knew so many shows existed? The overwhelming amount of choices exhausted him.
“What about vampires? Is that manly enough?”
He’d probably fall asleep as soon as she put something on. “Sure.” He swallowed down the last drop of broth. “Is there more soup?”
She cued up a movie and took his bowl to get a refill.
He watched what seemed a dreary opening to a thriller. “I think this is the longest I’ve watched my TV since I bought it.”
“I can tell.”
A moss covered forest filled the screen as a young deer nibbled at a fern and some chick talked about dying. The deer bolted as something chased it then a teenager appeared holding a cactus. “What is this?”
“Twilight.”
He frowned. “Isn’t this a show for little girls?”
“No. It’s a saga for all ages. Shh, you have to listen.”
Fantastic, he was locked into a five-movie marathon about high school vampires. “I should have picked the small-town fast talkers.”
“Give it a chance.”
Too weak to steal the remote, and unsure how to even use the damn thing, he settled in with his second bowl of soup. He must have had quite the fever, because the movie actually held his interest. By the time Bella fell in love with Edward, Greyson was thoroughly invested.
“Isn’t he a hundred years older than her?”
“It’s an age-gap romance.”
“I’d say.”
By the second movie, he was locked in and pissed at Edward for disappearing on Bella. It made him think of all the times he’d done that to Wren. Glancing over at her, his stomach bottomed out at the sound of her delicate sniffle.
“Are you crying?”
“Don’t judge me.” She wiped her eyes. “It’s sad.”
He stared back at the television where Bella sobbed in abandonment and guilt choked him. Was that what it had been like for Wren?
He never imagined her missing him that much, but whenever he came back from his long trips at sea, she always welcomed him with cold fury. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He was as bad as Edward, disappearing without explanation, leaving her to wonder if he’d ever come back.
He took her hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
She frowned. “For what?”
He shook his head, unsure if she even thought of those times anymore. “Not telling you what was in my head.”
Her smile looked sad. “You’re getting better at sharing your feelings.”
“I’m trying.”
The plot on the screen thickened. Edward needed to get back to Forks and do something about Wolf-Boy. “He better handle that dog sniffing around his territory.”
“I like Jacob. Edward abandoned her.”
He scowled, shocked to find them on opposing sides. “Wren, we like Edward. She’s supposed to wait for him.”
Wren laughed. “Well, I guess we know what team you’re on.”
Greyson pulled Rat to his chest as Wren cleared the dishes. He was totally comfortable until she reappeared in her coat and hat.
He sat up. “Where are you going?”
“I told you, I have that massage.”
He paused the movie, wishing for a way to prevent her from rubbing oil all over some big city jerk. “How long will you be?”
“A little over an hour.”
He wobbled to his feet. “I’ll get my keys.”
“Sit your butt down.” She pushed him back and he collapsed like a sack of rocks. “You’re not leaving that couch.”
Defeated and annoyed with his weakness, he coughed. “I should drive you. The roads are getting icy.”
“It’s a two-minute ride, Grey. I’ll be fine. Besides,” she pointed to the television. “You’re so into this.”
“Am not.”
“Whatever you say.” She bundled up in her scarf and gloves and then kissed his head. “We’ll see if you’re still team Edward when I get back.”
“Who else’s team would I be on?”
She gave him a knowing look, then chuckled and opened the door.
“Text me when you get there so I don’t worry.”
“I will.” She shut the door and left.
Greyson looked down at Rat. “As soon as I’m over this cold, you and I are going douchebag hunting.” He hit play.
A few minutes later, his phone pinged with a text from Wren. He smiled whenever her contact picture popped up. It showed her from when she was about ten years old, hair curly and wild as she laughed, her smile slightly hidden by a melting ice cream cone.
As soon as he knew she was safe, he tried not to think about what she was doing. That city slicker better behave himself on her table.
He focused on Edward and Bella to avoid getting worked up, but it turned out that Edward was a gaslighting jerk who didn’t keep his word.
A while later, the door opened. “You’re still awake?”
“Shh…” He waved, but kept his eyes fixed on the screen. “Edward’s going to the Volturi. Bella and Alice are trying to stop him.”
She took off her coat and laughed. “Oh, you’re deep in it now.”
“They’re not gonna make it.” He sat up, body tense and eyes unblinking.
“I really thought you’d be Team Jacob.”
“I’m Team Get-It-Together, Bella. She jumped off a cliff, Wren. A cliff.” He paused the movie. “And Edward’s a jerk for leaving her. You didn’t prepare me for that.”
“I told you it was angsty.” She came to sit beside him on the sofa, smelling like the spa.
“Alice and Carlisle are the only sane ones. Charlie’s not bad either. I can’t believe Bella lied to him.”
She laughed, and he hit play, fully aware that she was laughing at him, not with him.
He didn’t care. “Don’t judge me. I am what you made me.”
Thankfully, things worked out. New Moon left him so drained that he passed out at the start of Eclipse, just as the camera panned over the snowy trees.
He awoke in the middle of the night, mind fuzzy, and the house silent. Wren lay curled up beside him on the couch, television off, the glowing embers in the woodstove the only source of light. How she hadn’t fallen off the edge was a mystery.
The fire needed another log, but he felt too tangled up in her sleeping body to move without waking her. And he didn’t want her to fall. He’d better keep holding her, so he stayed put.
God, she looked pretty. And fucking perfect in his arms.
This close, he could see every freckle on her nose and count each individual eyelash.
She’d showered between movies last night and put on one of his flannels.
The sight of her in his clothes, curled up in his space, made something primitive and possessive unfurl in his chest. She belonged here, with him, wearing his shirts and falling asleep in his arms.
He hadn’t expected her to stay, but was glad she did.
Honestly, he never wanted her to leave. She fit perfectly into his space, as if the house had been built to fit her into the design.
And maybe it had, on some subconscious level.
He certainly thought about her when he stocked it.
Why else would he own a tea kettle when he only ever made black coffee?
She nestled closer to him and he pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in her unique scent.
She moaned softly against his chest and rasped, “What time is it?”