Fifteen #2
Great. Not only is Reece hot, athletic, kind, and smart, but now he’s poetic too? Jesus Christ, I don’t stand a chance at this point.
“Do you have any flaws?” I blurt out following my train of thought, my illness severely damaging the filter in my brain apparently.
A surprised laugh slips out of Reece and I soak up the feeling of his chuckle vibrating against my body as I’m snuggled up beside him. “I have plenty, Stace. According to you, I’m incredibly annoying, arrogant, and pompous, remember?”
I wave him off. “I don’t think I’ve ever said pompous.”
He chortles again before humming thoughtfully. “I can’t cook. Like, I burn water. I could fuck up a microwavable meal. Does that count?”
I giggle back, my eyes closing again as I readjust my head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I can cook. Really well, actually.”
“Well, that’s a relief, then.”
I grin against the fabric of his cheer uniform.
It smells like him, something musky and sweet.
As irritating as Reece Taylor can be, I wish I could bottle up his scent to have on hand.
It’s alarmingly comforting. I wouldn’t mind a Reece Taylor scented candle, something to burn during finals or when I’m extra stressed about family or cheer.
Oh, yeah. This stomach flu has completely cooked my brain.
Reece sighs. “He was twenty-one when it happened,” he goes on unprompted.
“He was in college at Ohio State. English major, like I said. It was second semester of his junior year. He was in a frat and he was the DD one night for their holiday party. Lance didn’t like to drink a lot so he didn’t mind driving people.
He liked to make sure everyone was safe.
You know, no one was drinking and driving, all the girls were okay, that kind of thing.
” He pauses, sucking in a deep breath like he’s trying to gain control of his emotions.
I reach my hand up and rest it on his abdomen, patting him a couple of times. “It’s okay,” I encourage.
Reece blows out the breath he’d sucked in.
“Anyway, he was on his way back to the fraternity house after dropping off a few girls at their apartment. It was December, a really cold night, and the roads were starting to get slick. Obviously, they don’t know exactly what happened, but, uh…
the police think he swerved to miss an animal or something.
The roads were too slippery and he lost control.
Hit a guardrail and that was it. He was pronounced dead at the scene and my family’s lives completely fucking changed.
” He lowers his voice, almost to a whisper, and I know it’s to keep it from cr acking.
We sit in silence, the low hum of The Office the only sound as I comprehend everything that Reece just said to me.
I can’t quite register the weight of his words, but I know they’re heavy.
Talking about his brother, telling his brother’s story, isn’t something that comes easily to Reece and he just shared it all with me.
I blink back the sudden urge to cry and pat his stomach again. “You know, I know that I never met your brother,” I tell him, “but I have a feeling that you’re doing a great job living like Lance.”
Reece gives me a watery laugh, rubbing circles on my bicep as he leans his cheek against the top of my head.
Healthy Stacy would kick sick Stacy’s ass for this morning of camaraderie but healthy Stacy can buzz off.
I feel Reece hesitating before he finally murmurs, “Stace…”
But I don’t respond. As much as there’s a part of me that’s dying to know what Reece is about to say, the nausea lurches in my stomach, unrelenting and angry, and I’m off my couch and running down my hallway before I can form a coherent thought.
I’m hunched over my toilet once again, only this time, I have my weirdly kind, annoying stunt-buddy-turned-fake-boyfriend holding my hair and rubbing my back.
He ignores my protests when I tell him repeatedly that I don’t need his help and I give up entirely on pushing him away as I empty all the contents of my stomach.
He stays with me well into the evening, until I’ve thrown everything up and can barely pick myself up off the floor.
So he does it for me.
Reece feeds me a few saltines before pouring me some Pepto Bismol and shoveling more Tylenol down my throat. He carries me to bed, tucking me in next to a trash can, a full Gatorade, and a bottle of Tums, before laying down on top of my baby pink comforter next to me.
“You weren’t lying,” he chuckles as I start to doze off, exhausted from the day of being sick. “Pink is your favorite color.”
I shrug sleepily. “Fits my vibe.”
“I kind of thought black and skulls and crossbones would fit your vibe, but I definitely prefer the pink,” he jokes.
I want to swat at him for his joke but I’m too drowsy to do so. Instead, I smile. I smile against my silk pillowcase as Reece strokes my hair and maybe in the morning, I’ll realize we crossed way too many emotional boundaries today. But tonight, the comfort feels good.
The last thing I hear before I nod off entirely is Reece saying, “Go to sleep, angel.”
And I do.