45. Clara
Chapter 45
Clara
T he cold virus snakes its way through the entire house.
Jansen is the first to fall, not even getting out of bed on Monday.
I’m next, barely making it through my shift at the coffee shop without passing out on the espresso machine.
Walker lasts until Tuesday, RJ until Wednesday, and Trips refuses to believe he’s sick until he’s shivering in bed Thursday afternoon, at which point, Jansen forces him to take some drugs and drink some weird herbal tea he’s sure will cure us all. In his defense, the tea does make my throat feel better, but it isn’t a cure-all by any measure.
Stumbling home from my last class of the week, the snow either melted or in nasty black piles on the side of the road, I trip over a box on the front porch.
Dragging it through the door, I collapse onto the pile of pillows in Jansen’s meditation space. The pillows absorb me, and the next thing I know, someone’s wrapped around me, hands entangled in mine. I blink slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dimness, night having fallen while I passed out a foot inside the door.
I twist around, coming face-to-face with Jansen. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey. I made you some tea.”
I press my nose against his chest, basking in his earthy, soapy scent. “What time is it?”
“Six thirty. You were out, but I’m going to need your help.”
I pull his forehead down until it’s pressed against mine. “How are you so goddamn healthy?”
He laughs, holding me tight against him. “I slept for three days straight, Clara. You tried to pretend you were only sick for one day.”
“It’s not fair,” I moan.
“At least you’re not as bad as Trips. Come on. Let’s get you tea.”
“Fine,” I say, letting him pull me to my feet.
We hold hands until he has me seated at the kitchen island before he pours me some of his sick tea. Jansen also reheats some of the dakjuk rice porridge Walker made, sliding the bowl of yummy get-well goodness in front of me. I love this guy.
My groggy brain sputters to a halt. That’s a big thought. Do I love him?
How would I know? I thought I was in love before.
Maybe it just felt like the right amount of time had passed to fall in love. Or maybe I had been in love, but I fell out again, one exacting cut at a time. Or maybe watching my parents’ fucked-up relationship has forever skewed what love looks like in my mind.
Could I be in love?
Jansen hops onto the counter, one of his legs brushing against mine as he swings them, peeling a clementine. What do I feel right now? I know there’s trust. There’s ease, joy, and a strong sense of being taken care of. Not to mention a hum of attraction that whispers even when I’m too sick to make it from the front hall to my bedroom for a nap.
I take a bite of the porridge, not sure what to do with all the emotions crawling around in my chest. Because if I might be in love with Jansen, what exactly do I feel for Walker? For RJ or Trips? Ugh. Food. Food always helps.
Jansen pops the whole fruit in his mouth, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Do you think you’re well enough to do a couple of things for me?”
I take a sip of tea. “If you want me to go for a run? No. If you want to cuddle? I’m your girl.”
He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “You’re always my girl, beautiful.”
Grinning, I lean into him. “So what do you need me for?”
He sits back on the island, looking me over. “You are looking slightly better. Apparently, a hall nap was what you needed.”
I shove him gently, and he snatches up my hand, pressing a kiss to my fingertips. Lacing our hands together, he sighs. “RJ needs to go to bed. But he’s in the zone and I can’t knock him out of it.”
“Is this a usual thing? ”
Jansen bobbles his head, his hair brushing over his shoulders, and it’s all I can do to force more soup into my mouth instead of running my fingers through the golden strands. I’m not well enough—yet.
“It doesn’t happen all the time, but yeah. Usually Trips barks at him and RJ knocks it off. But as Trips is a feverish mess, I was hoping you could work some of that Clara magic.”
“I have magic?”
He squeezes my hand. “You’re chock-full of the stuff.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know about magic, but I can try to get RJ to sleep.”
“Perfect. Second job: Walker will be back here in about an hour. He’s prepping for the forgery tonight. I don’t know what all he needs, but once he drops into a flow-state, you’ll have to be his gopher. I usually do that, but I have another mission tonight.”
“Ooh, a mission,” I smirk, stretching my fingers between his, the play of his skin on mine buzzy and wonderful.
“Don’t ask about it, beautiful. It’s a secret mission.” His eyes are alight with mischief as he mimes locking his lips and throwing away the key.
“Hmm.”
Jansen hops off the counter, pulling me against his chest, his lips soft against the top of my head. “On that note, I should head out. Don’t wait up,” he says.
I wrap my arms around him, needing him close, needing him here, with me, safe. Apparently, Sunday’s adventures messed me up more than I thought they had. “Is it going to be dangerous?”
“Not at all. Don’t worry. ”
I don’t let go, not until Jansen scoops me off the stool and sets me on the counter, pressing his head to my sternum. “Your heart’s racing,” he says.
I swallow, digging my fingers into his hair. “I’m scared.”
His Cheshire grin flashes one second before he tickles me. I squeal, shimmying back across the counter, jumping down by the sink. “Not cool, Jansen,” I say as he inches around the island, fingers raised in claws.
He dives and I rush out to the living room. He tackles me to the couch, pinning my arms. “This looks familiar,” he breathes.
I turn my head as I cough, the activity making my not-quite-healthy lungs seize. “A little less sexy,” I wheeze.
He laughs, rolling us so I’m lying on him. “Maybe a touch.”
I mock punch him as he chuckles.
“It’s nice to see your smile, beautiful.”
I brush his hair off his face, staring into his bright green eyes. “Just be safe, okay?”
He nods, kissing first one palm, then the other, before hauling us both to our feet. “I’ll be safe.”
I pop onto my toes to press a kiss to his lips. “When I’m better, I expect some ‘thank you for saving my life’ sex. Just so you’re prepared.”
His eyes immediately darken, his hands settling on my hips. “But you’re not well enough yet?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Damn. I’ve got to keep safe then, with something like that to look forward to.”
I giggle, pushing him away. “Exactly. Now go. Otherwise, I’m just going to keep saying goodbye all night. ”
“There are worse things,” he says, kissing me, but not pushing it. Sick is not sexy. It just isn’t.
He turns me toward the stairs and gives me a little slap on the ass. “Go. Fix RJ. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I glare at him, but he winks and leaves, totally ignoring my mock anger.
With a huff, I climb the stairs, pausing at the top. It wasn’t long ago that all these rooms were locked to me. Knocking on RJ’s door, I hear a muffled “come in,” so I do.
RJ’s wrapped in a blanket in front of his monitors, empty bottles of Gatorade and Mountain Dew strewn on one side of his desk, a wastebasket full of dirty tissues on the other side. Looking around for something to sit down on and failing, I go stand next to him.
His eyes are rimmed in red, bloodshot, and totally focused on his screen.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hi,” he answers, not taking his eyes from the screen, glancing from one browser window to another, then typing a handful of words.
“RJ?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s time to get some rest.”
He toggles through a few more windows. “Our security might have been breached. I need to make sure all our secrets are safe. I don’t want to go to jail. None of us belongs in jail.”
“RJ, if they already got in, they’ve been in for weeks at least. The damage is done. And if there isn’t a breach, improving the security doesn’t need to happen today. ”
He blinks a few times, turning to me. “But if they got in through me, I could identify who it was. We could find them, figure out what they know, what kind of risk they present.”
“If they left crumbs, the crumbs will still be there tomorrow, RJ.” I press my hands to his face, his stubble coarse against my palms. “It can wait. You can’t. You need sleep. We need you well. I need you well.”
He tries to look back at the monitors, but I fight to keep him looking at me. “Now, RJ. You need to go to bed now.”
He rubs the back of his neck, the blanket falling from his shoulders into his lap, a shiver rippling through him, his T-shirt twisted. Slowly, he nods, turning his back to the monitors.
Just turning off the monitors, afraid to kill whatever programs he has running in the background, I walk him over to his bed, our fingers interlaced. He reaches for a small bottle, tossing some product in his hand and then working it into his hair, wrapping it, then falling back onto his mattress, tugging my hand and scooting over to make space for me to join him.
I tuck us both under his blanket, my head resting on his chest, his arms soft around me. I don’t say anything, and he doesn’t either, but I listen as his breathing slows, his body shedding the tension that he held while working.
Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I sit up, watching the rise and fall of his chest under the blankets, peace spreading with every breath. Finally, I slip out of the bed, tucking the blankets tight around him, his silk pillowcase glinting in the dim light of the room. After a quick tidying of his desk, I switch off the desk lamp and sneak out of the room, a bag full of recycling in my hand .
Turning toward the stairs, I bump into a bare chest.
Dropping the bag of recycling, my hands pop up by instinct, pressing against some of the prettiest pecs I’ve ever seen. Twists of inked smoke rise from Trips’ waist over his shoulders, hidden images caught in the haze. Having only seen the edges of the design peeking out from his T-shirts, I’m floored by the intricacy. Never mind the delicious muscles underneath it. It’s all I can do to look up at his face instead of drooling at what I have before me.
As soon as I manage it, though, all sexy thoughts flee. Glassy eyes look everywhere but at me, while my palms absorb the heat of his fever, a sheen of sweat covering his bare chest.
“Trips, why are you up?” I ask, trying and failing to tug him to his room.
He shivers, looking over my head. “You need a winter coat.”
I wrap my hands around his bicep, trying not to notice how lovely it is, and shift my weight toward his room, putting my whole body into it, knowing how impossible he is to move. Surprisingly, he stumbles, grabbing onto the wall, his eyes blinking, searching the hallway, his jaw locked. Coughing from exertion, I lean against the wall, too. Trips presses his forehead against the wall while I catch my breath. “Trips, please. I’m not sure you’re awake. Let’s go back to bed.”
“Where’s Jansen? I need his help.”
On my tippy-toes, I tug his head toward me until I’m sure he’s looking at me. “Bedtime, you brute.”
His brows furrow, but this time, when I take his arm, he lets me drag him back to his room. Pushing open the door to the one room I haven’t been in the house, I flick on the lights, not wanting to stumble over anything.
It turns out Trips’ room is the largest, apart from my own. A king-sized bed hunkers near the door, piled high with the kinds of pillows and blankets that I’ve only ever seen in a hotel. There’s a desk by the front window, and a black punching bag in the farthest corner. The room is immaculate, nothing personal on display.
The only disorder is a collection of cups on his nightstand, likely whatever drinks Jansen’s been bringing him, and a bottle of pills. I pull him over to his bed, but he digs his heels in a few feet away. “No. You’re not supposed to be in here,” he growls, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivers again.
“Well, I’m here now. Do you know when you last had anything for your fever?”
Trips stares at me. “I wish you were a guy. That’d be easier.”
“No such luck, buddy. Let’s get you tucked in.”
He shakes his head. “You make things hard. I don’t like it. Why are you here?”
“Trips, you’re feverish. You can hardly stay on your feet. Get in bed.”
Hot, clammy hands settle on either side of my neck as Trips takes a step closer to the bed—which is also a step closer to me. “No trouble. I don’t like trouble,” he says.
“Archibald. Bed.”
He glances at his bed, the change of focus causing him to tilt. I push him, forcing him to fall onto the mattress, tucking him in before he’s realized he’s been caught. “Dizzy,” he murmurs .
I debate the risk of over medicating, but looking at the beast in the bed, I figure we’re safe. I dose out the drugs and hand them to him. He swallows them before I can hand him the water. Yikes.
“I’m going back downstairs, Trips. If you need something, yell, call, or message. But don’t go wandering right now. You could’ve fallen down the stairs.”
He closes his eyes, one arm thrown over his face.
I’m shutting off the light and closing the door when I hear him mumble, “Boots. Need boots. Girls’ boots.”
I roll my eyes, clicking the door shut, then collect the recycling. After a moment of hesitation, I leave the bag at the top of the stairs. If either of those two escape their rooms, hopefully the ruckus of falling bottles will give me a chance to keep them from cracking their heads open on their way down the stairs.
Jansen had better be home soon. Nursing these two takes an entire team.