Nick
Jesus. I'm getting old.
My limbs lie heavy against the mattress, every muscle aching with exhaustion. My lips are bruised, partially numb from my evening with Leah, but fuck, that woman and her body … I'll gladly break every bone to experience her—her touch, her smell, her taste, her everything—all over again.
My eyes are still closed when an abrupt snort sounds directly in my ear. Squinting into the darkness, shapes around me sharpen until a creature's face emerges inches from mine.
No, not just any creature.
Angus.
He's standing over me, his muscular legs planted firmly like a bull ready to charge.
I startle, sitting up on my elbow. “Hey, boy …” Possessed by post-coital bliss or sheer stupidity, I reach out to pet him. His sharp growl quickly sobers me up, and I jerk back.
Little shit.
Keeping an eye on him—or at least the shadowy figure of him—my hand slips over to the other half of the bed, searching for Leah … except all I find is a chaos of cold, empty sheets.
I don't exactly know what happened last night.
I don't know if I said something wrong or if I did something to physically hurt her, but Leah became quite distraught.
I stayed wrapped around her for most of the night because she asked me to—as if there was any chance I wouldn't—and kept her close long after she fell asleep.
At some point, exhaustion finally pulled me under.
I pause, listening for signs of her, for a footstep, a soft breath, maybe even the creak of a cabinet door.
I'm met with only silence.
Where is she?
Stumbling out of bed, I slip on my jeans before checking the bathroom.
Angus flops off the mattress. Staring at me, he gives a brief grumble before moseying out of the room and down the hallway.
I follow, stepping softly.
“Leah?” I whisper, not wanting to wake her if she fell asleep somewhere else. “Leah, where are—?” My words dissolve when I find her curled up on her couch in the fetal position, using my sweater as a blanket. “Darlin’ …” I take a knee, combing my fingers through her hair—her damp, sweaty hair.
She stirs. Her swollen eyes meeting mine as she forces a smile on her tear-stained cheeks. “Hey,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Did I wake you up?”
“Not at all.” I sigh, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“I’m fine,” she lies, hugging her mid-section.
“Did I—” I tenderly stroke her arm—“did I hurt you?”
She sniffles, shaking her head. “No. I’m fine. I-I just need a minute.”
“Tell me what's wrong, baby."
Her breath catches, fingers bunching in the fabric over her stomach as her face pinches with another wave of pain. She squeezes her eyes shut and waits for it to pass, but when they open again, fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
“C’mon,” I demand. “We're going to the ER.”
“No.” She shakes her head, resting a hand on mine. “It's … a flair-up. From my endo,” she reluctantly admits, the words broken between shallow breaths. “I just need … a minute.”
Panic crawls up my throat as another wave of pain twists through her. Leah, my little ray of sunshine cancer survivor, has endometriosis.
Well, shit. There's a damn good chance last night triggered this.
“Let’s get you some medicine. Do you have some ibuprofen? Naproxen?”
She hums, her eyes lingering on me. “I took some ibuprofen.” A lazy smile pulls at her lips. “And some hydrocodone.”
“Okay. Good.” I adjust the sweater over her shoulder. “That's good,” I repeat softly.
“I may or may not be getting a little loopy,” she admits, a soft giggle slipping out.
“Ah. Even better. Relief is on the way.” I chuckle. “Do you want to try a warm bath?”
She grimaces. “I just wanna stay here.”
“Okay. Then we stay here.” I settle onto the floor beside her, keeping myself turned toward the couch.
A smile teases at her lips as she relaxes against the pillow.
“You could've told me, you know,” I whisper, pushing a few wayward strands of hair off of her clammy skin. “The initials behind my name vouch that I actually know a thing or two about the human body.”
The corner of her mouth curls as she opens one eye to glare at me. “But you're not my doctor. You're my boyfriend.” She nuzzles back into her pillow, her words muffled. “I don't want you to look at me with pity … or like I'm broken. I want you to look at me like … like I'm hot.”
Oh yeah. Norco has entered the chat.
I lean in and kiss her temple. “Oh, trust me. You are very, very hot.”
“And sexy?”
I chuckle, pressing my lips to her skin again. “The absolute sexiest—” I pause, losing concentration as it registers what she just called me.
Boyfriend.
Leah called me her boyfriend.
Granted it may be an opioid-induced declaration, and I'm probably way too old to be labeled as a ‘boyfriend’—I'm definitely too old to be this excited about it—but damn, it feels good to hear her claim me like that.
And now, I want to hear her say it again.
I rub my hand across my stubble as an uncontrollable grin tugs at my mouth “Did you just call me your boyfriend?”
Her body grows rigid as she sheepishly peeks out. “I mean … at least I thought … Oh gosh …” Her pink cheeks glow crimson before she flops over, covering her face with her arms. “Can this possibly get any more embarrassing?”
“There's nothing to be embarrassed about.” Peeling her arm off of her, I lace my fingers with hers and kiss her knuckles. “Now, get some rest … girlfriend.”
She beams up at me and brings our joined hands to her mouth, kissing my fingers. Nuzzling into my palm, her eyes finally close as she drifts back to sleep.
Once Leah has settled, I grab a nearby throw blanket and cover my exposed body. I shift closer to her and lean back against the couch, resting my head beside hers before closing my eyes.
The room falls quiet, leaving only the slow, steady rhythm of Leah's breathing.
A disgruntled huff breaks the silence.
I crack an eye open to the judgmental frown of a grumpy pit bull.
“What, Cujo?” I whisper-shout. “What do you want?”
He narrows his eyes.
“Look, if you think I'm leaving her side, you can forget it, buddy. I'm staying right—”
He lumbers across my legs, his nails pinching my skin. Turning in a clumsy circle, he drops his full weight into my lap with a satisfied grunt.
I stare down at the solid mass of a dog, his white coat mixed with a few broad patches of brown. Beneath his fur, small hairless scars look suspiciously like old burns.
Oh, buddy … What happened?
His head tips back, locking his eyes with mine as he gives a silent whine.
I cautiously give him the back of my hand to smell before slowly petting his head and scratching behind his ears.
His eyelids droop almost immediately, and within minutes, his snores fill the room.
I smirk. “Truce.”
***
The clank of a pan jolts me awake as a twinge of pain reminds me where I've been sleeping. Rays of morning light cut through the window blinds as the bold aroma of coffee soothes my senses.
Before I can even sit up, dead weight in my lap stops me. Angus lies belly-up with his paws in the air like a dead cockroach. His head hangs off my thigh, lips curled back as he snores..
“Okay, buddy …” I gently nudge him, but he doesn’t move. “Angus,” I say louder. “Angus, c’mon, buddy.” I rub his belly which earns me a tail wag, but nothing else moves. So, I commit the unforgivable sin: I brush my finger across his foot pad.
With a growl, he sits up and glares at me.
“Whoa, easy there, tiger.” I hold my hands up.
He huffs again. Crawling out of my lap, he stretches, then hops onto the couch, making himself comfortable on Leah’s pillow.
I stand up, cracking my back and rubbing my neck before shuffling to the kitchen. Instantly, my breath escapes.
Leah is standing at the stove, wearing nothing but my sweater.
“Mornin’.” I saddle up behind her, my hands slinking around her waist.
She hums, leaning into me. “Mornin’, cowboy.”
I kiss her exposed shoulder, then rest my chin on head. “Whatcha’ cookin’?”
“Eggs?” she says with uncertainty in her voice. A pad of butter scorches in the skillet as she holds a glass measuring cup with a few broken yolks.
I reach past her and turn off the burner. “You got dinner last night. How about I do breakfast?”
She eyes me for a second before passing over the eggs. “Fine. But I’m taking credit if they’re good.”
“Deal.” I wink as I fish out an eggshell. “How are you feeling?”
She rubs her lower abdomen. “Better, thanks.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
“Eh … manageable. Like … maybe a four.”
“That's manageable?”
She stifles a grin. “It's fine—it really is. I'm not—”
“Go cuddle Angus, okay?”
She crosses her arms. “Nick—”
“Doctor's orders.”
“But you don't know where anything is.”
“I think I can find my way around your kitchen.” My hand lands on a drawer.
“Wait, Nick, not that one—”
I open it.
And pause.
Then I die laughing. “Leah, do I need to stage an intervention?”
Warmth spreads across her cheeks. “Listen, I can explain—”
“Explain why you have enough peach rings to survive a natural disaster.” I snort, hefting the five-pound bag from the drawer. “Forget king size; you went straight for bunker size.”
She giggles, covering her face with a hand. “I swear I'm not eating that many at one time. They were cheaper this way.”
“Ah, of course. Gotta get those essentials in bulk. Toilet paper, laundry detergent … high fructose corn syrup …” I test the bag's weight in my palm. “Call it a hunch, but I'm guessing this is less of a snack and more of a dietary staple.”
Her smile lingers for another second as she picks at her nails. “Something like that. It's—” she shakes her head—“it's silly.”
I turn to face her, leaning my hip against the counter. “Try me, silly.”
She chews the inside of her cheek. “So … when I was going through chemo, I lost my sense of taste. I mean, not completely. Things either tasted like absolutely nothing, or they tasted—” she scrunches up her nose—“horribly wrong. Chicken was often metallic-y. Bread tasted like sour soil. Water, which has no taste, suddenly had a taste, and it was far from pleasant.” She nods at the candy.
“But peach rings … man, they still tasted like peach rings. So, I always kept them handy.”
“How's your sense of taste now?”
She forces a smile. “It's better. I'm grateful to have some normalcy back.” She shrugs.
“I guess I wish I had it all back, y'know?
Like if I had known the last time I had my mama's chicken spaghetti was going to be the last time it tasted that delicious, I would've slowed down. Savored it a little bit longer.” She lets out a quiet laugh.
“My sister-in-law's pregnant right now, and she's obsessed with all things chocolate, so when we get together, there's always something chocolatey: brownies, cake, pie.
And I … gosh, what I wouldn't give to enjoy chocolate again—at least the way I remember it.” She glances at the bag in my hand.
“But peach rings? They never let me down.”
“Well, then.” I slip the bag back into the drawer and quietly close it. “I'm a giant asshole.”
She giggles. “Stop. I never told you. And it is pretty weird.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Everybody's got a comfort food. Yours just apparently requires its own zip code.”
“So what's yours?”
“Hrm.” I turn the stove back on.
“You're not going to tell me?”
“I'll do you one better: I'll make it for you.” I grab the pan and start wiping out the burnt butter. “So go give that velvet hippo some love. I'll bring you both breakfast in a little bit, okay?”
She doesn't respond.
“Lee?” I peer over my shoulder and catch her staring at me—well, at my chest. “You okay?”
She blinks, smiling sheepishly. “Huh? Yeah, I'm just … watching you cook.”
Giving her a lazy grin, I shamelessly flex. “Enjoying the view?”
She snorts, shaking her head. “You're ridiculous.”
“Hey—” I teasingly hold up my hands, turning back to the stove. “You were staring first.”
“Well, you're the one giving a free show.”
“Hrm.” I smirk. “I seem to remember you giving me a pretty spectacular view yourself last night.”
Her cheeks burn red as she reaches for her coffee—then she reaches again because she completely missed it the first time. With her mug finally in hand, she slinks out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of laughter behind.