Chapter 20
HARLOW
Igroan as I wake, my body achy and chilled. I startle when I find Jameson looking down at me.
“You’re not fine.”
Another groan leaves me in response. “Why are you still dressed? You haven’t come to bed?”
He plants his hands on his hips. “It’s morning.”
I shiver. “Oh.”
“I called Spencer,” he goes on. “I don’t have time to take Roe to school so he’s coming to get her.”
I try to sit up and shove the covers back, but I don’t have the strength. Jae gives a gentle push to my shoulders and pulls my quilt back up to my shoulders.
“I have to go to work,” I protest.
“I called them too and let them know you have a bug and can’t come in.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He shakes his head sternly. “I wish I could stay with you today, but I just can’t. Keep your phone close. I’m going to check on you when I can.”
“M’kay,” I hum.
“There’s water on your nightstand, Tylenol, and toast if you think you can eat something. I love you.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “If I can leave early I will.”
I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Always.” He squeezes back.
The bedroom door clicks softly shut behind him and I drift off to sleep once more.
I stumble out of my bed and open the door, trying to make it to the bathroom across the hall before I puke my guts up, but as luck would I have it I only make it to the sink instead of the toilet.
“Hey,” a soft voice croons. Fingers gather my hair up into a ponytail while more fingers rub my neck. I open my eyes to look in the mirror as I turn the sink on to rinse the mess out and I’m shocked to find Spencer behind me not Jameson. Am I dreaming? Hallucinating?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, reaching for one of the paper cups I keep by the sink for Roe because I can’t trust her with a glass one. I fill it with water and swish the liquid around my mouth before spitting.
“You’re sick.” He lets my hair go and I reach for my toothbrush. “You were out of it when I got Roe, so I came back. I didn’t think you should be alone.”
A part of me thinks it’s sweet that he would do that, the other part of me is annoyed.
“I’m not your responsibility.”
He narrows his eyes on me where he watches me in the mirror. I work the toothbrush vigorously on my teeth. If I’m not careful I’ll have my gums bleeding, but the pain might be worth the distraction.
“Why do you do that?” he asks, voice hard.
I spit out my toothpaste and rinse against with water. “Do what?”
“Always try to push me away. I’m just trying to help you out. Is that really so wrong?”
Doesn’t he get it? No matter what, my feelings for him are always going to be complicated. Keeping him at a distance is the safest for everyone.
“I don’t know,” I say instead.
He steps out of my way so I can leave the bathroom. I need to disinfect the sink, but it’ll have to wait. I need to lie back down. Beside the bed is the water Jameson left for me, along with the Tylenol and untouched toast.
“Is there something I can get you?” Spencer asks from the doorway, and he sounds desperate to help me. It makes me annoyed at myself for being short with him.
“There should be ginger ale in the refrigerator. I’ll have some of that.” I always try to keep some on hand if Monroe gets sick.
He’s gone in a flash.
He returns less than a minute later with a can of the stuff and a bendy straw. If I didn’t feel like a beat-up pinata I might smile.
“Thank you.” I take a few sips and set the soda beside me on the end table.
“You should take your temperature. Do you have a thermometer?”
“There’s a six-year-old living here. Of course I have a thermometer.” I fluff my pillows and sit up. I’ve slept for about fourteen hours which is unheard of for me. Even though I feel like I could go back to sleep, I figure it’s better if I try to stay awake.
“So sassy,” he says with a smile. “Where is it?”
“Medicine cabinet.”
He’s gone again, leaving behind his scent of citrus and salty ocean air.
Moments later, he breezes back in with the thermometer and aims it at my forehead.
“Careful where you point that thing,” I joke and manage to get him to crack a smile.
“Just shy of a hundred so I’d say you just have a low-grade fever.”
“Thank you, Dr. Shaw.”
He chuckles and sets the thermometer on the table with the rest of my boons.
“Is there anything else I can get you right now?”
“No.” I reach for the ginger ale, but he scoops it up and hands it to me before my fingers can close around the aluminum. “Go home, Spencer. I’m sure you had more important things to do than to be here taking care of me today.”
His normally light blue eyes darken to a murky ocean. “Trust me, Low, there’s nowhere else I would rather be today.”
I swallow down the rest of my protests. “Well … thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He moves to leave my room, but I sigh and pat the empty space beside me in the bed. That side of the bed is made thanks to Jameson.
“If you’re staying you might as well hangout in here. We can put a show on or a movie.”
He arches a brow, skepticism lining his face. “Are you sure? I’m fine to chill in your living room until you need me.”
“Sit.” I point to the spot.
He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”
He settles beside me in the bed, but on top of the covers. He crosses his bare feet at the ankles and adjusts the pillows behind him. He’s dressed comfortably in a pair of cotton shorts and a green t-shirt.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better since I threw up,” I admit. “I don’t know if it’s a bug or I’m just so exhausted.” I pick at a loose thread in the stitching of my quilt.
“I know what you’re going to say, but I’m going to make the offer anyway—quit your job. I can cover your expenses here and you can focus on Roe and school.”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “I don’t want that.”
He sighs. “Offer’s always on the table. Just so you know. You won’t even accept child support from me so it’s the least I could do.”
I ignore his comment and scoop up the remote and pass it to him. “Put something on.”
While he’s finding something to watch, I grab the Tylenol and down two capsules chasing it with the water. It’s probably not smart of me to take it on an empty stomach, but I don’t feel like I can eat yet.
“Star Wars?” I arch a brow.
“Revenge of the Sith to be exact. Remember that summer when you first discovered these and watched them non-stop.”
“Hayden Christenson is hot. Who can blame me? Plus, the story is good. It’s a tragic romance—and there’s space and blasters and light sabers and—”
His hand covers my mouth. “Okay, okay.”
Spencer took me to a special showing of the prequel trilogy at our local movie theater when they played all three movies back-to-back.
I scootch further down in the covers and stifle a yawn. “Don’t let me fall back asleep or I’ll never sleep tonight.”
“I can do that,” he promises.
But it’s a lie, because some time later I wake up to find Spencer asleep beside me. He’s turned toward me, his dark lashes fanning his cheeks. His right hand rests on my hip.
It’s hard to swallow around the lump lodged in my throat.
I don’t think about the past often. What’s the point in that? It’s a time gone by and there’s no going back. But this feels like a peek at what could’ve been if I had stayed.
Maybe I was a coward for leaving him instead of strong like I thought at the time.
Maybe every time he reached out his hand to help me I should’ve held on instead of running the opposite way.
Maybe—
No.
I stop my thoughts on their tracks. I’m not doing this. I’m not playing the what if game. We’re where we are now and focusing on the past is useless.
I roll away from him and the gesture jerks him awake.
“Fuck,” he curses. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?” He doesn’t bother waiting for my response. I peek over to see him pull his phone from his pocket. “I have to get Monroe. Will you be okay until I get back?”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not feeling nauseous so that’s good, but my body is still slightly achy.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He gets up and smooths the quilt where it’s ruffled from his body. “Hang tight,” he warns with a pointed finger.
“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”
Despite how tired and achy I feel, I know a shower will go a long way to making me feel better. Grabbing clean pajamas, I lock myself in the bathroom and turn the shower on to warm.
In the mirror, my skin appears sallow with dark circles beneath my eyes.
I look rough so I think the shower is the smartest move.
It takes me longer than normal to wash my hair, but by the time I get out of the shower and comb out the wet strands I feel much better.
I put on my clean pajamas and swipe Jameson’s oversized sweatshirt off the hook on the bathroom door and tug it on.
It practically swallows me whole and feels like a giant blanket, which is exactly what I want.
I pad my way into the kitchen and pour a fresh glass of water. I still don’t feel like eating, but I know I should try to get something in me. The toast Jameson made me would be stale by now, but I could make a fresh piece.
I’m buttering the toast when the door opens and Roe bursts inside, swinging her backpack around and nearly taking out the lamp.
“Whoa, kid.” Spencer rights the lamp as she dashes down the hall. He holds several grocery bags in one hand and comes over to set them on the counter.
“What’s all that?” I ask and take a bite. Toast crumbs fall onto Jameson’s sweatshirt.
“I thought I’d make you soup.”
“Soup?” I repeat dumbly.
“Yes, soup.” He begins to unpack the items, revealing loads of veggies and broth. “You always did like my mom’s vegetable soup.”
I look away at the mention of his mother. I haven’t seen her or Spencer’s dad in years. Why would I? Without Spencer in my life, it’s not like it makes sense for me to see them, but I do miss them.
“You know how to make her soup?” I ask skeptically.