Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Evie
Monday morning dawns after I sleep like a dead woman, then wake feeling like one, too.
Charlie is chipper and smiley and still a bit drooly, but he eats breakfast and he’s been fever-free for more than twenty-four hours. Declan agreed he could go back today if he still seemed to feel good, so off he goes.
It’s odd walking to work from his house.
It’s even stranger to walk past my own apartment—or at least the street I would’ve walked from.
A note of alarm sounds in the back of my mind when I register I haven’t even been back to my place.
I didn’t plan on moving into Declan’s and simply abandoning my home.
I have plants that need watering and I still need to clean out the fridge, to name a few items on the list. With Charlie sick and the strange new world of being at Declan’s, I completely forgot.
I’ll have to come on my lunch break or slip over this evening.
“Bye bye, Mama!” Charlie’s sweet little voice interrupts my mental list-making.
“I’ll take you, sweetie,” I say, hoisting him into my arms. Did he get heavier since last I lifted him? Declan carried him when we left, then let him walk for a block or so. It’s slow going, but he loves it.
“Are you sure? I can drop him off.” Declan studies me like he can peel back my scalp and see the thoughts running around in my head.
Also ew. What an unpleasant thought.
“No, it’s fine. I want to catch Clementine up and I’ll be over.
” I reach for the bag I’m always carrying, then realize he’s already got it slung over his shoulder.
It’s so like our normal routine, my next moments feel surreal.
We’ve come from the same house. I’ve slept in his bed.
We’re married. And yet here we are, and it could be almost any other day.
I can’t process it, so I focus on the task at hand.
A few minutes later, I’ve updated the preschool staff and waved goodbye to my adorable baby. Toddler. Whatever. He’s still my baby, even if he’s getting big.
The morning passes in a blur. My best-laid plans to run to my house during lunch get crushed under the weight of my severe exhaustion.
I promise myself I’ll go to bed early tonight.
Leaving the peanut butter and jelly I packed with zero enthusiasm earlier largely untouched, I rest my head on my arms at one of the small break room tables.
“Evie.”
The sound comes from another planet.
“Evie, wake up.”
Maybe this planet, but the other end of a football field.
“Evie.” This time, the voice is accompanied by something warm and firm on my shoulder. It feels nice, until it shakes me.
One of my eyes cracks open and I see a blurry version of Declan.
“There you are. Open your eyes for me.”
There’s a lurch in my chest, my heart dragging itself toward him, and my mind screams, I’ll do anything you say.
I blink him into focus and sit up. My lower back aches from how I was curved over the table, and my butt is nearly numb from sitting on the hard plastic.
“Are you sick?”
He’s assessing in his medical professional way, not asking as a friend. I see the slight narrowing of his lusciously blue eyes, the firm set of his jaw, the way he’s, at some point, taken my wrist and is sneakily taking my pulse.
“No.” It’s probably wrong. I maybe am sick. But I don’t think I have a fever, and it’s just as likely I’m tired.
I’m not a heroine in the nineteenth century who faints on couches and gets the vapors, but I do find emotional upheaval to be exhausting. One might argue a whirlwind wedding, moving in with a man I’m just barely getting to know, a sick baby, and the ongoing custody battle have flattened me.
“Symptoms?”
Irritation shoots up my spine, and I push to my feet.
It’s a less effective statement when my vision swims and I have to steady myself on the chair. But I’m not about to let him boss me around. Not that he normally does, but for some reason, I’ve woken up on the wrong side of the table and I’m irritable as all get out.
“Thanks for your concern, Doctor, but I’m fine. I see lunch is almost over, so I better get back to it.”
He’s taken aback by the sharpness of my response. I don’t have to look at his face to see it—and I don’t look. Instead, I toss my sandwich in the trash, grab my water bottle, and brush out of the room in a flash.
Or, realistically, I use every bit of my energy to power myself to the front desk. I don’t think I have a fever, but I may not be up to coming in tomorrow if I don’t get better rest tonight. Instead of dealing with my house after work, I’ll get Charlie and we’ll work toward an early bedtime.
Yes. That’s all I need.
The afternoon trudges by. Sam texts to see how I’m doing and I tell her Charlie’s feeling better and I’m exhausted but fine. She doesn’t send anything in writing about me and Declan, and I appreciate that. I’m in no humor to answer questions about my hot, thoughtful, nosey husband.
This line of thought shoves an image into my mind so potent, I nearly choke on the sip of coffee I’ve just taken. It’s later than I normally have caffeine, but I do still have to make it through the dinner and bedtime routine, and that’s after another hour of work.
The mental picture is from yesterday when I was forced to endure the moment Declan, shirtless and offensively gorgeous in his kitchen, snatched up my baby and talked to him in the sweetest way.
The absolute assault on my ovaries that happened in that moment will never be forgotten. It is seared into my brain and shall evermore be.
It was bad enough to come downstairs and see him in his frankly rather tiny running shorts, his muscular thighs and calves on full display. His chest and abs are what one might imagine of a single doctor who likes to exercise, eat well, and comes from Ryan stock.
Except better. Because he hadn’t shaved yet, so he had a touch of stubble, his hair a bit mussed and almost rakish. He was a visual feast.
And then, he held my baby.
“I think you’re coming down with something, Evie.”
Maggie’s concern cuts through my fantasy. I should probably be ashamed of myself for lingering over the moment in my mind. Maybe on another day, I would. But today, I feel I have very little control over what my brain does, and he is my husband after all, isn’t he?
“You might be right,” I reluctantly admit. I don’t like it, but maybe if it’s what Charlie had, I’ll be good as new by tomorrow.
Eventually, it’s finally time to leave, when I’m gathering my things and Declan approaches.
“Am I on the preschool’s list as someone authorized to pick Charlie up?”
I halt my actions and turn to him. “Yes. I added you last week.”
He nods. “Let me get him. You go home and relax.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he silences me by cupping cheek in one cool palm. It feels so good I almost nuzzle into it, save for the fact that I am still aware we’re at work.
“It’s after hours, so I’m going to treat you like my wife, not my employee, okay?”
My lashes flutter because, what? “Okay?”
I could swear a smile flickers across his face before it’s gone. “I’m going to help you. Whether you’re just exhausted or you’re coming down with what Charlie had, you need rest. Let me do this.”
The petulant part of me wants to say no, but I’m not an idiot. I need help, and for once, getting it doesn’t involve calling Jack or even texting Sam. Not that I did either one of those very often.
Today, I do need help, much as I’m reluctant to admit it. And the thought of falling into Declan’s bed sounds like the best thing I can imagine.
So, like a hero, I accept his help yet again.
“Good. Thank you. I’ll see you at home in about an hour.” He sweeps his thumb over my cheek, then drops his hand.
It’d be weird if I tried to grab it back, right?
Fifteen minutes later, I drop my bag inside the front door, climb the stairs on all fours, and pour myself into Declan’s bed just in time to pass out cold.