Chapter Twenty Seven
Gluten for Punishment
D id I eat French fries?
My mouth tastes like them, and something else. Something sweet.
Rolling over, I blink my heavy eyes open slowly.
The dark room spins. Not a slow, lazy kind of spin, either.
More like someone tied me to the fan and put it on full blast. My heart kicks hard against my ribs, sending panic blooming through my chest. I stare up at the ceiling, breath held, trying to place anything familiar.
Nothing comes.
The ceiling’s smooth and pale and not mine .
Where the hell—?
My fingers curl into the blanket, and I freeze. It's not the quilt from Robin I keep on my rental’s lumpy bed. This one’s soft, heavy, and clean. The sheets beneath me smell like fresh detergent and something warm and masculine… cedarwood, maybe?
Moonlight streams through a window somewhere to my left, slanting across the wall and catching on a polished wood nightstand. The silver drawer handle gleams like it’s brand new.
Definitely not mine.
Oh, God. This isn’t my room.
My stomach flips. Not emotionally. Literally . I jolt upright, and immediately regret it.
Pain claws up my sides, and my stomach lurches like it’s being gripped in a vise. A low whimper escapes me as I slap a hand over my mouth.
No, no, no…
I scramble off the bed, limbs leaden and shaky, knees buckling the second my feet hit the hardwood. Pain shoots straight through the bone. My joints throb like someone’s trying to screw them loose from the inside out, and my head—fuck, my head feels like it's wrapped in barbed wire.
I half-stumble, half-drag myself toward the bathroom across from me. The cold tile bites into my bare knees as I skid toward the toilet, fingers digging into the bowl just in time.
And I lose it.
Everything.
Definitely alcohol, definitely some kind of food.
And definitely bad.
I heave, dry and wet, as my throat burns and my ribs scream. My hands shake, my vision blurs. I can feel my lymph nodes swelling already—an ache blooming in my armpits, my neck. My hips throb like I ran ten miles. Everything hurts.
And I’m wearing—
I glance down and catch a flash of navy fabric and the worn white cotton letters across the chest that reads Ranger .
It’s Kade’s shirt.
I’m wearing Kade’s shirt, and…
Using my free hand, I check what’s underneath and my shoulders slump. Shirt and panties, but nothing else. I don’t get a chance to think about what that means before the bedroom door slams open somewhere behind me.
“Georgia?” His voice is rough and groggy, but he sounds scared. “Darlin’, you okay?”
Quickly flushing, I lean up and scramble for toilet paper, wiping my face even though I know this is only the beginning—the prequel to the horror show about to go down.
“I’m fine,” I rasp, nausea already blooming again.
My head falls to the toilet seat, and I thank all the stars in the sky that the toilet is new.
The light coming in from his room is suddenly blocked out and without even looking, I know he’s staring down at me with narrowed, stormy eyes and a ticking beard. His hand’s probably gripping the handle like he’s ready to yank the thing from its hinges.
“You’re not fine,” he murmurs, voice closer than I expect. So close, I shiver. Joints pop, and then he’s there, brushing my hair from my cheek. “Drank too much, didn’t you, baby?”
My heart skips a few beats at the name, and as if it’s all I needed to unlock a hidden vault, everything comes racing back in.
The bar with his sisters, Loretta’s words that pushed me to drink way too damn much, that asshole putting his hands on me and Kade fighting to defend my honor.
His admission, his feelings, his wants .
Sound of his voice when it wrapped around the words baby and mine .
I remember him bundling me into his truck and kissing my forehead—repeatedly. Remember the ghost of his beard over my flesh when he carried me inside and left me alone in his room to change while he made…
While he made me the French fries I wouldn’t shut up about.
“No,” I groan, rolling my head against my arm. “I mean, yeah. I drank too much but this isn’t just that…”
God, he’s going to think I’m a freak. Too much work. A nut job with a weird allergy and a body that’s far too delicate for his rugged, country ways.
How could a guy like him, raised the way he was, understand a person with health issues like I have and not think I’m making it up? Other people have— so many people have discredited my illness. Told me I’m a hypochondriac. That it’s in my head.
Happened my entire childhood. Every foster parent dismissed me, swept my pain under the rug.
Both my exes rolled their eyes and scoffed at my flare-ups.
The last one even nicknamed me princess , and it wasn’t because I’m sweet and delicate.
Whenever we’d go out, he said I was spoiled and difficult because I had to be careful with what I consumed.
Kade will be just the same, and maybe…
Maybe once I tell him, he’ll realize everything he thought he wanted earlier was nothing but a pipe dream. That a future between us is exactly what I thought it would be…
Impossible .
He smooths my hair back from my face and presses his palm to my forehead.
“You’re really hot,” he grumbles, tone laced with an edge I can’t discern. “Are you sick? Did you catch something?”
Water turns on, but I ignore the sound of it, focusing on the feeling of his hand pressed against my warm skin. He feels so good.
And of course, my stomach chooses that exact second to full Exorcist again. I sob into the toilet, and my cries only grow louder when he softly picks up my hair, bundling it at my nape and rubs my back.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, never letting up his kindness. “I’ve got you, darlin’. I’m not going anywhere, Georgia. I’m here, and I’m not letting you die.”
And then I realize I’m begging him to leave me to die on my own between coughs and heaves.
When I’m finally done, he flushes the toilet for me and softly grips my chin, dragging my tear-stained face up to meet his gaze.
“What happened?”
“I ate French fries,” I mutter, feeling miserable. “I’m just having a flare-up.” Swallowing thickly, I drop my eyes, unable to see the rejection in his. “I can go home if—”
And then he’s dragging my eyes right back up.
“Look at me.” In the moonlight, I catch his face harden a split second before he grinds out, “You try to leave this house, and I’ll throw you over my fuckin’ shoulder and tie you to my bed.”
I blink rapidly, mouth opening and closing at the vehemence in his tone. At the threat that should send me running for the hills but has a different part of me warming instead.
“Pretty sure tying me to your bed is the last thing you want right now,” I say dumbly. “Really bad idea.”
Kade’s lip lifts in the hint of a smirk, but it drops just as fast. “Don’t joke right now, baby. I’m seconds from losing my mind.”
Squinting, I whisper, “Why?”
His shoulders fall an inch, and he tugs on his hair before pushing to his feet. I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t, just busies himself at the sink. When the water cuts off, he pauses, head falling.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hands braced on the vanity.
“I did this? Made you sick?” He shakes his head and gives me a pained look.
“I’m so sorry, Georgia. Recipe said homemade was safe.
Took a while, and you fell asleep at the island before they were finished.
Put you in my bed and you didn’t even budge, but… ”
My cheeks burn. “I got up and ate them.”
He was asleep on the couch, and I leaned against the island, watching him sleep while I munched on delicious homemade fries he’d left to cool on the counter. I’d still been so drunk and craving something that sure as fuck wasn’t carbs, but a hell of a lot more dangerous and I…
“I dipped them in your rocky road ice cream,” I whisper, face red hot.
Before my diagnosis, it was my favorite. And going down, it still was. Coming back up, however… Not so much.
Reaching out, I squeeze his leg, the material of his sweats soft beneath my hand. “I did this, Kade. Not you. Sometimes, I forget. Shouldn’t, but it happens, and I pay the price.”
In all honesty, I don’t think I truly forgot, but the alcohol was speaking for my stomach—and hormones—and I let myself be weak in one way so I wouldn’t be weak in another.
He still looks tortured, so I add, “The fries were delicious and I really appreciate you going to so much trouble. But you didn’t do this. I promise.”
After a long moment, he sighs and drops to a crouch next to me. A warm wet cloth is pressed to my cheeks, my lips and jaw. It takes me a second to realize he’s cleaning me up—caring for me, in the only way he can, and my eyes sting.
This man is killing me.
“What can I do?” he murmurs, breath ghosting across my damp cheeks. “Need to fix this.”
This , not me.
Just like before, but I’m starting to see a totally different meaning where this man is concerned.
“Nothing,” I whisper, leaning into his touch. “I’m okay.”
“No you’re not.” His brows furrow and he grimaces, moving to clean my hair but he doesn't call attention to the mess I made. “Feel fuckin’ terrible, baby. You’re sick, miserable, and on the cold floor. Let me help you.”
Kade pauses, eyes meeting mine, and the earnest look in his stormy iris’ makes my heart swoon and soar all at once. I can feel my walls shaking, trembling with the need to let him in, but it’s so damn hard.
I’m terrified of what’ll happen when I finally do—and finally, because at this point, I know it’s only a matter of time before he wins.
And as if he can see the battle happening inside me, can hear all my protests, he cups my jaw tenderly and says the one thing I’m helpless to resist.
“Please, darlin’. Just let me carry this. Can’t take your pain, but I can take the weight of havin’ to do it alone. You’ve done enough all by yourself. Time to let someone else stand beside you.”
Beside me. Not in front of me. Not without me.
Beside me. Like a partner. A team. A family.
The words hit harder than I want to admit. Because he’s not wrong. I’ve been doing this—all of this—alone for so long I forgot what it feels like to have help that doesn’t come with strings, or pity, or the expectation that I’ll owe them for it later.
Foster homes. College. Diagnosis. Grief. Work. Survival.
Every heartbreak, every hospital visit, every gut-wrenching flare, I’ve faced with no one but myself and a too-heavy bag of just in case supplies.
No one’s ever said that to me before.
That it’s okay to be tired. To not hold everything together. That maybe I deserve to rest too.
And God… how badly I want to believe him.
“I’d love that, but…” My throat tightens, and I feel the words before I can say them, “But you don’t have to.”
“I know,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “But I want to, because I want you .”
Something cracks inside me—a slow, splintering release of years of being strong because I had no other choice.
And for the first time in maybe forever…
I don’t feel so alone.
But…
Sighing, I can’t help the small smile that curves my lips, or keep the embarrassment from my cheeks. With a slow, defeated but giddy nod, I press my palm against his hand on my cheek, thanking him the only way I can.
“What I really need,” I murmur, brain swimming and spinning all at once. “Is the pill container in my purse. It’s pink, you can’t miss it.”
He nods sharply, face serious, like he’s making a mental list, and against my will, I smile.
“What else?”
“Water, please, and then, uh…” I thought I couldn’t get any redder, but then I have to squeak out, “Some privacy .”
“Privacy? What the hell for?”
God, he sounds and looks adorable when he’s confused and possessive, but this is the last thing I ever wanted to have to say to a man, especially Kade Archer.
“Kade,” I whisper-hiss, eyes wide, body vibrating with humiliation. “My stomach is rioting right now. What I need is privacy, extremely loud music—but not too loud because my head is killing me, some incredible-smelling room spray, and for this to not be happening, but we’re here now. Get it ?”
It takes a second, but then it clicks, and when it does, this foolishly wonderful, asshole of a man rolls his eyes and sighs, long and loud, like I’m the one being dramatic.
“Darlin’, I’ve been cleaning up animal shi—”
I smack a hand to his mouth and lean in, hissing, “If you ever hope to see me naked someday, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
His brows go high and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to my palm. That single kiss is equivalent to dynamite directly to my system.
“Naked’s ‘bout to come a hell of a lot sooner than someday,” he mutters, pushing to stand.
I notice him wince and rub his thigh, but before I can ask him what’s wrong, he steps behind me and the rush of loud water fills the bathroom. My head snaps to the side and I gape, fingers clenching the toilet lid.
I’d been in a desperate rush when I ran in here, and all the time I spent helping plan the housewarming party kept me in Aurora’s room. Much as I wanted to snoop, I couldn't do it with his family around.
“You got it,” I breathe, jealousy and excitement thrumming through my sluggish veins. “You got the dream tub for the dream window with the dream view.”
He grabs a glass canister from the ledge beneath the giant arched window and pours something into the massive tub that’s quickly filling with water. Steam clouds the window, but moonlight still pours in around us, along with the intoxicating scent of flowers.
Kade gives me a strange, but soft look and nods, palming the back of his neck.
“Yeah, well, a pretty girl once told me this window deserves the best tub a bucket-bathing hillbilly like me could get and…” He smiles, brushing my hair back. “I’m finding it’s impossible to tell that girl no.”
My heart races, brain rewriting itself before I can stop it.
“I’ll drop towels, water, and your pills by the door. Tub’s loud enough to block out any… sounds that may arise before I leave.”
“Leave?”
My insides are confused.
I want him to stay as much as I want to have my vagina waxed—which is none and never—but the idea of him leaving… It makes me sicker than the ice cream.
He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Gonna run to my mom’s real quick. I’ll be back in…”
His cocked brow tells me to fill in the blanks, and I blush even harder. “Can I text you when I’m in the tub?’
Kade chuckles and nods. “Phone’s on the charger. I’ll leave it with everything else.”
Before he can walk away, words escape me, loud and filled with way too damn much longing, and hope.
“I hate being alone, so…” I swallow thickly, and murmur, “thank you for staying even though you don’t have to.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be, darlin’.”