23. Chapter 23
Grayson
I’m itching to get home. What else is new? I’m always ready to get back to Harlow, but especially today.
I glance down at my phone, shooting him another text. He’s probably still asleep. He’s been sleeping on and off all day, only responding to me in short, one-word messages.
Me
Do you need me to bring anything home?
He woke up this morning feeling like death and looking like it too. His normally tan skin was pale and gaunt, his eyes were red-rimmed, and the tip of his button nose was raw.
I’m not fully expecting a response, but one comes in a few seconds later.
Harlow
Bubble bath stuff, soup, cuddles.
I can’t help but smile.
Me
I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find cuddles at the store.
There’s no response, so I slip my phone into my pocket and push away from the desk, standing up.
If nothing else, I’m glad it’s a Friday, and I’ll be able to spend the weekend with Harlow. He’s very clingy when he’s sick. I’m honestly surprised he even told me to go to work today. I planned to stay home with him, but he told me I didn’t need to.
I’m almost at the door—and free of this place for the next two days—when Carlos’s voice stops me. “Hey, where are you rushing off to?”
“Home,” I call over my shoulder, stopping only long enough to hold the door open as he rushes out after me. “Harlow isn’t feeling well.”
Carlos frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m glad I caught you before I left. María wants to know if you two would like to come for dinner next weekend?”
That gives me pause. Carlos has never invited me to his house before. “Really?”
He nods, following me toward my car. “Yeah, she’s been asking for a couple of weeks, and I’ve been putting it off—told her you kids wouldn’t want to have dinner with a couple of old fools like us.”
In his mid-forties, Carlos is hardly what I’d consider old, but I get what he’s saying. “I think that would be nice, actually, but can I talk to Harlow and let you know?”
He nods, giving me a little wave. “Sure thing. Have a good weekend with your man.”
I couldn’t stop my smile if I tried. “Goodnight!” I call after him as he steps away and walks toward his car.
After stopping by the store to grab some vanilla-and-lavender-scented bubble bath, soup, and some other essentials, I head home.
When I walk in the front door, I’m not greeted by Harlow. Not that I really expected to be, considering how miserable he’s feeling.
I’m surprised when I slip into our bedroom and he’s not there either. Not only that, but the bed is made.
“Harlow?”
His voice echoes through the wall when he yells my name, coming from the guest bedroom. Well, what the fuck is that about?
When I push open the door, Harlow is curled up in the bed, looking tiny and pitiful, his cheeks rosy despite how pale his face is. Even his freckles are pale.
“What are you doing in here?”
He shrugs, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. “Didn’t want to make you sick. I washed the sheets and blankets and remade the bed, so it got rid of my germs.”
I blink at him for a second before stepping fully into the room and sitting down beside him on the bed. “So, what? You think you’re just gonna stay in here all weekend?”
“Figured I would,” he whispers, then grimaces.
“I don’t think that’s gonna work for me.”
Harlow peers at me with sleepy blue eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, first off, you requested cuddles. Like I suspected, I couldn’t find them at the store, but lucky for you, I happen to have some stocked.”
That gets him to crack a smile. “Dork.”
“Yeah, but you love me.” The words slip out without thought. We’ve told each other I love you before. Of course we have, but it’s different now somehow. Like the words hold more weight now that we’re married. Like somehow it means something else, even though it doesn’t. Not for him, anyway.
I clear my throat, about to take it back, when he nods. “I do.”
My heart skips a beat. Jesus, I’ve gotta get control of that. “Besides, you’re a clingy shit when you’re sick. You’ve never hid out. Remember when we were nineteen, and you gave me that stomach bug because you didn’t want to be left alone?”
He frowns. “I can’t help it that I don’t like throwing up alone.”
“I wasn’t complaining, Harlow. I like being there for you. I always have. So why don’t you come here and let me take you back to our bed where you belong? I got some bubble bath stuff too, and if you’d like, I’ll run you one.”
He nods, hesitating for only a second before he tosses the blanket back and pretty much throws himself into my arms.
I hold him against my chest as he crawls into my lap, pressing his face into my throat.
“Jesus, baby.” I frown. “You’re burning up. Have you taken anything?”
“You called me baby.”
My heart nearly stops. “I did. Would you rather I didn’t?”
Harlow shakes his head. “No. I like it.”
“Okay.” I press my lips to his wild hair. “Have you taken anything?” I ask again.
“No. I wanted to let the fever burn away whatever was making me sick.”
I hum. “I’m not sure that’s sound logic.”
He pats around the bed, then sits up in my lap, opening a text thread before handing his phone over to me. I read through the messages.
Harlow
I have a fever
Josh
That sucks. Are you okay?
Harlow
I’m probably dying
Josh
I’m not sure you’re dying. Have you taken anything?
Harlow
Google said I should let it run its course. That means my body is fighting the infection
Josh
There’s some truth to that. If you’re not feeling miserable and you’re able to stay hydrated and sleep, it’s generally safe to let the fever run its course. But if you’re feeling crummy or if you’re unable to drink or rest, take some fever reducer.
Is Grayson home with you?
Harlow didn’t respond after that. I hand his phone back to him, then cup his face and tilt his head back.
There’s a sheen of sweat on his hairline, the strands of his hair starting to dampen with it.
“I don’t know, baby,” I say, tilting his head back and forth so I can look at him. “You look pretty miserable to me.”
He groans, leaning harder into my hands. “I am.”
I press my lips to his forehead, and fuck, he really is burning up. “Let’s get some medicine in you, okay?”
“Ugh. Fine.”
If he doesn’t start feeling better tomorrow, I’m gonna make him go to the doctor. Or maybe the ER. Not that I’m super thrilled with the idea of rushing him off to Josh just because he doesn’t feel good.
I’m good with them being friends; I really am. But I also can’t deny that I like having Harlow all to myself. I don’t worry so much now about him running off to be with Josh. In fact, I don’t worry about that at all.
Wrapping an arm around Harlow, I stand, cradling him to me before carrying him back into our bedroom. He doesn’t fight me at all, his body slumping into mine as I make the short walk.
I press a kiss to his forehead and lay him down on the bed. “I’m gonna grab some meds and water, and while you’re taking them, I’m gonna run you a bath. Sound good?”
“Okay,” he mumbles, burrowing under the blankets and making himself a little cocoon.
After giving him two fever reducers and a glass of water, I make my way into the bathroom, opening the new bubble bath I bought and filling the tub. It smells amazing, and before it’s even done filling up, Harlow is ambling his way into the bathroom on shaky legs.
“Should have waited for me, baby.”
He sighs, sinking to the floor next to me. “I like that. Baby. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when we’re not married anymore and you’re not calling me baby and pretty boy. Be sad, I guess.”
Oh Jesus, my fucking heart. I have to bite my tongue; otherwise, I might do something stupid like tell him that we don’t have to get divorced. Or that I’m in love with him. Or that he can be my baby forever if he wants.
Instead, I clear my throat, then run my fingers through his hair. “Time to get in, okay?”
I help him strip down, then he uses my arm as leverage as he steps into the tub. He sinks into the water with a heavy sigh, his eyes falling closed.
“Wait, stay,” he says when I stand up, so I sit right back down.
I don’t know why he thought he was gonna make it in the guest room for the night if he doesn’t even want me to leave the bathroom while he’s in the tub.
“How’s the water?” I ask.
“Warm,” Harlow says with a sigh. “Would be better if you got in too,” he adds, squinting one eye open and looking at me.
The fact that I can never say no to him continues to be true, and I stand, stripping quickly out of my clothes before climbing in behind him. The water is warm, almost bordering on hot, and it honestly feels amazing.
I sit down behind Harlow, and as soon as I’m settled, he presses his back against my chest, his head falling backward to my shoulder. His hair tickles my skin, and I wrap my arm around his stomach, holding him to me.
The bath is more to help him relax than anything, and after a few minutes of me toying gently with his hair and running a hand softly up and down his side, his body grows heavier as he dozes off.
I hate that he’s sick, but I really love this. I love Harlow’s weight pressing into me. The way he trusts me. The way he clings to me.
“I love you,” I whisper. It feels safe in here with him half dozing. I’ve said the words a thousand times over the years, but they’ve never felt quite like this coming out of my mouth.
I’ve also never said them with Harlow naked in my arms, vulnerable and turning to me for comfort.
He doesn’t answer. That was the whole point, though. To be able to say them in the way I mean them without him hearing me.
The water is starting to get cold, though, and either the bath or the meds are breaking his fever. His skin is cool and clammy in a way it wasn’t earlier, so I gently shake him awake.
“Hey, baby,” I whisper when he groans. “The water is getting cold. Let’s get out and get you back into bed.”
“Soup?” Harlow rasps.
“Are you hungry?”
He nods against me. “Yeah, but my throat hurts.”
Well, if anything, the soup will help with that.
After pulling the plug, I get him situated into a sitting position, then stand, grabbing two towels. I step out of the tub, wrapping one around my waist before reaching down to help him to his feet.
When he’s standing on the rug in front of the tub, I make quick work of drying him off. He’s shivering, and I need to get him back under the blankets.
He leans his weight into me as I’m drying him off, and when I’m done, I lead him into the bedroom and lift the blankets for him.
“This sucks,” he murmurs, his teeth chattering.
“I know.” I brush a hand over his forehead, sweeping his hair back. “Let me go make you some soup. That’ll warm you up.”
He catches my hand as I’m walking away. “Cuddling will warm me up too.”
“I know it will. But food first, okay?”
Eyes falling closed, he nods. I can’t resist leaning in to drop a quick kiss on his forehead. His lips curve into a small smile, and I pull the blankets up around him.
I warm up the soup in the microwave. My mom would have made him something homemade if she were here, but she’s not, and canned will work just fine for tonight. If he’s not feeling at least a little better tomorrow, I’ll call her and see if she’ll bring us some of her veggie soup.
Harlow is sitting up in the bed when I get back into the room. He doesn’t seem to be shivering as hard, but he’s also tucked completely into the blankets, only his face poking out around the fabric he has pulled up all around him.
I can’t help but smile. “You look adorable.”
He rolls his eyes with a huff. “Sure. Weird kink you’ve got for men on their deathbed.”
“My kink is actually men with a flair for the dramatic.”
He laughs, but it’s rough and raw. “Yeah, that checks out.”
Balancing the bowl in my left hand, I crawl into the bed next to Harlow and stir the soup.
He starts to pull his arm out, but I shake my head. “I’ll feed you.”
Eyes blowing wide, he carefully tucks his arm back into the blanket.
Spoonful by spoonful, I feed him the soup. Halfway through, his eyes are starting to droop, and by the time he’s finished, he’s nearly falling asleep sitting up.
I set the bowl down on the end table and get Harlow settled into the blankets.
“Cuddle me,” he croaks out.
Slipping in beside him, I pull him into my arms. He comes instantly, resting his head on my chest. He breathes out, burrowing deeper into my body.
I’m almost asleep when he twitches in his sleep and jolts awake. “You okay?” I whisper.
He hums. “Yeah.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes, then he sighs. “You really like me, huh?”
My eyes pop open, and my eyebrows draw together. “Um… yes? We’ve been friends our entire lives. Of course I like you.”
He sighs again, this time a little more frustrated. “No, I mean… Never mind.”
My heart thumps, the air seeming to still around us. I have no idea why, but this feels… vital. Real. And I can’t let it go. “No… not never mind. Tell me.”
“It just—It feels like maybe you like me.”
The words squeeze my heart to the point of pain, panic and want flooding my veins in equal measure. How do I even answer that? I’m not sure I can lie to him. I can’t tell him I love him, but I can at least give him this, right?
“And if I do? If I do like you?” I ask softly, my heart hammering loudly in my ears and my stomach a mess of knots.
He goes so long without answering that I’m sure he’s fallen back asleep. I’m not sure if I should be relieved or disappointed.
Both, I think. A little of both.
Nerves settle in my stomach, and I have to swallow hard a couple of times.
I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon, but I close my eyes anyway, focusing on the feeling of Harlow’s body against mine, on the way his back rises and falls with each breath, on the little puffs of air over my chest.
I have no idea how much time has passed before he finally speaks, but when he does, his words nearly steal my breath.
“I think I might like you too.”