Chapter 21
Zac
The sound of the shower running filters from the bathroom, and I stand in the middle of her Airbnb, hunched over the kitchen island, taking a shuddering breath. I’m so confused by her. We’re so opposite. She looked so good in the scrubs that it threw me completely off balance.
I can’t help but think how there’s just something between us I can’t pinpoint. Being surrounded by her everywhere—her things, her scent, her chaos—it’s fucking with my head.
My gaze sweeps across the space; the dark ring of a mug stain marking the white countertop. Her bed’s unmade, sheets twisted and tangled. The stack of dishes piled up in the sink, plates crusted with dried food. God, the mess.
She’s been on crutches, so getting from one room to the next must have been a challenge, and she’s had nobody to help her.
I get to cleaning because it’s the only thing that’s going to calm me down.
As I wait for her to finish showering, I’m listening, straining to hear in case she calls out for me.
But God, I hope she doesn’t. Don’t need any more problems with her, especially if she’s without clothes.
I wash the mugs, the dishes, my hands moving on autopilot. Dry them and put them away. Then I wipe down the counter, scrubbing at the stubborn ring until it disappears. The bathroom door opens, the click of the handle loud in the quiet space.
I’m quick to turn, and there she is, standing in the hallway in gray sweats that hang low on her hips, her hair wet and dripping onto her shoulders, no makeup.
She’s breathtaking. I stand frozen for a split second, just taking her in.
A droplet clings to her lashes, catching the light. But her skin is awfully pale.
“Zac,” she says, and the way my name sits on her lips is like a warm hug wrapping around my chest.
But then she pales even more, the color draining from her face. “I don’t feel so good.”
I watch her sway. My body reacts before my brain catches up. She faints right in front of me. I catch her against my chest, my arms wrapping around her waist as her crutches clatter to the floor with a harsh bang.
Heart pounding in my ears, I ignore them and sweep her up into my arms, one hand under her knees, the other supporting her back as I carry her to bed. It doesn’t take long; the place is small, and she’s already waking up anyway, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks before I even lay her down.
I lower her head to the pillow carefully, easing her body onto the mattress. I don’t even know which side of the bed is hers, but right now, I just go for whatever’s closest to the entry. I gently place her down, immediately checking her over.
My hands move to cup her face, turning her head as I lean in closer.
“Hey,” I say softly, watching for a response.
Her eyes blink open slowly, pupils equal and reactive, tracking my face as I move my finger from side to side.
No signs of a concussion. I press two fingers to the pulse point at her throat, counting silently.
Strong and steady, maybe a little fast, but that’s normal after fainting.
A lazy smile spreads across her face.
I don’t know what she’s fucking smiling at. This girl is one of the most frustrating people I’ve ever met. How can she be like this?
“Thanks for saving me again,” she murmurs. “I guess.”
Color fills her face, flooding back into her cheeks. At this point, I’m hovering over her, my hands planted on either side of her head, my face inches from hers. My eyes drop to her lips before I can stop myself, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how close we are.
I pull back quickly, but her hand claws at my forearm, her fingers wrapping around my wrist and holding me still. The touch sends heat racing up my arm.
I take in her face… eyes still hazy, her lips parted slightly, and I just want to kiss her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I need to get out of here. But she’s sick.
Fucking hell.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, trying to find my voice, forcing the words out. “Some water?”
An excuse to leave this room for a minute, to get my shit together.
“Water would be great,” she says, breathless.
I straighten up, putting distance between us. “Are you okay now?”
“Yeah.” She nods weakly against the pillow. “I just probably spent too long in the shower.”
I nod, not really believing that, but there’s no other obvious reason for why she fainted. I head to the kitchen, fill a glass with cold water, and when I get back, I make her go through the checks properly.
As I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dips under my weight. “Look at my finger,” I instruct, holding it up and moving it in an H-pattern in front of her face. Her eyes track it smoothly. Good.
I take her pulse at her wrist again, pressing my fingers against the delicate skin, feeling the steady thump beneath. “Sixty-five,” I murmur. Normal. I press the back of my hand to her forehead, then her cheeks. Skin warm, but not feverish. Temperature’s normal.
“Deep breath for me,” I say, and she complies, her chest rising and falling evenly. No respiratory distress.
“Any dizziness? Nausea? Headache?” I run through the checklist automatically, my doctor brain taking over.
“No, no, and no,” she answers, her voice stronger now. “I feel fine, really. Just a little embarrassed.”
“Any chest pain? Palpitations before you fainted?”
“Nope. I just felt hot, and then everything went fuzzy.”
I nod slowly, mentally cataloguing the symptoms. A syncope, probably from the hot shower combined with not eating much.
Blood pressure dropped, not enough oxygen to the brain for a moment.
Nothing immediately concerning, but I’ll keep an eye on her.
If she’d been alone, she could’ve gone down hard.
Hit her head on the tile, re-injured her ankle.
Laid there until someone thought to check. That’s why I’m here.
“Blood pressure’s probably fine now, but it likely dropped in the shower,” I explain. “When’s the last time you ate something substantial?”
She bites her lip, thinking. “They brought me something this morning before discharge. I only had a few bites. I wasn’t really hungry.”
“Hot water, low blood sugar, standing for too long.” I shake my head. “You need to eat regularly, especially with the injury. Your body’s working overtime to heal.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she says with a small smile, and there’s something in the way she says it that makes a low and pleasant hum warm my blood.
She tries to sit up, pushing herself onto her elbows.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” I say, my hand on her shoulder, pressing her back down gently.
“I can’t just lie here,” she protests. “There’s no TV in the bedroom. I’ll go crazy.”
“Well, let me at least get you to the sofa before you pass out again.”
Before she can argue, I’m lifting her into my arms. I know she could use her crutches, but for some reason, my body is moving of its own accord, scooping her up and carrying her close to my chest.
She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself, before her head lies against me. Her warm body in my hold feels… nice. Too nice.
I lower her onto the sofa carefully, then go about propping her injured leg on a cushion and tucking another pillow behind her head, adjusting it until she’s comfortable.
“Do you want a blanket?” I ask, looking down at her.
She smirks up at me, that playful glint back in her eyes. “Sure.”
“What are you smirking at?” I ask as I cross my arms.
“You,” she answers with a smug grin that makes my chest tighten.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I just… I don’t know. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re this caring, but…” she trails off, studying my face. “You’re surprising me.”
I look at her, holding her gaze, because I know exactly what she means. I’m not normally like this. Actually, I’m never like this… all soft, attentive, and domestic. I’m blaming her for whatever it is about her that makes me feel this way.
“Do you want something else before I make you something to eat?” I ask, needing to move, to do something with my hands.
She nods, almost shyly. “I’d love some tea.”
I look around, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling awkward. “I don’t know how to make tea,” I admit.
She smiles, and it’s warm and genuine. “In the top right cupboard, I have different types of tea. It just needs boiling water, and you just leave the tea bag in there. I like mine strong with honey.”
I turn to leave, walking to open the cupboard and find boxes stacked haphazardly, reading the names printed on the front: English Breakfast, Green Tea, Lemon, Peppermint.
“What flavor?” I call out over my shoulder.
“Green, please,” she says.
“And you leave the bag in?” I ask again, just to confirm, because this seems weird to me.
“Yes, please. I’ll take it out when it’s dark enough.”
I don’t understand this shit, but whatever. I follow the instructions carefully. Boil the water in the electric kettle, drop the tea bag into a mug—one I just cleaned—and pour the steaming water over it, and then add a spoonful of honey.
She needs food. I open the cupboards one by one. There’s really not much here—bread, cheese, milk, crackers, sugar, flour, baking soda, random spices. The most basic, random things.
“What do you eat?” I call out, bewildered.
“I’ve run out of a lot of it. But it was fully stocked when I arrived here,” she calls back. “So, I just… yeah. I haven’t gotten around to ordering food yet.”
“I’ll make a sandwich, and then bake some cookies,” I say as I walk the tea over to her, carefully so it doesn’t spill. “You need something to eat.”
Her eyebrows lift in surprise as I make her a quick sandwich and then lower the mug and plate to the coffee table, placing it within easy reach.
“You know how to make cookies?” she asks skeptically.
“Everyone knows how to make cookies.”
“Well, not everyone knows how to make them from scratch and not from a box,” she eyes me like she doesn’t believe I know how to cook anything, “especially someone who needed instructions on green tea.”