Chapter Ten Caregiver
JULIAN
I’ve never been to her apartment before.
I know her dad is paying for a place for her, but looking out the cab window as we approach the tree-lined, gated entrance sends a familiar, bitter prickle straight down my spine.
This isn't some cramped, drafty starter flat over a loud mechanics shop on the border of Chicago.
This is a sprawling, high-end luxury complex with manicured courtyards and secured, private entrances.
When the cab rolls to a stop at the main drop-off awning, Hadley’s head is resting against my shoulder, her breathing slow and deep. I reach into my pocket, slide a few crumpled twenties through the plastic partition to the driver, and nudge her gently.
“Almost there,” I murmur.
She just nods, her eyes barely fluttering open.
I step out into the freezing night air, turning back to help her out of the backseat.
She leans into my chest without an ounce of resistance, her small boots dragging on the asphalt.
As we walk toward the secured glass double doors of the building, I reach down and gently slip her ring of keys right out of her small, unresisting hand to pass the lobby scanner.
We take a pristine, quiet elevator up to the top floor. The hallway is carpeted in a thick, expensive weave that completely silences the heavy thud of my boots.
Stepping into her apartment, I flick on a single lamp in the entryway so the sudden glare doesn't blind her. The apartment has a sprawling, open-concept layout with towering ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountain skyline. The furniture is all brand-new, pricey, high-end designer stuff in muted creams and heavy oak. There’s a plush, oversized sectional couch in the center of the living room.
It makes me feel massive, rugged, and entirely out of place, but I push the thought down as Hadley steers herself toward it.
She collapses onto the thick cushions, rolling onto her side and curling into a ball, her eyes fluttering shut as she pulls her knees to her chest.
“Hey, no sleeping yet,” I say, my voice a low rumble as I step into her sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen. I find a clean glass in one of the upper cabinets and fill it with cold water from the tap.
When I walk back into the living room, she’s already drifting off, her cheek pressed into a throw pillow.
“Hadley. Sit up for a second,” I tell her, setting a hand on her shoulder and carefully pushing her up. “Drink this first.”
She lets out a soft, sleepy protest but obeys, pushing herself up into a sitting position against the deep cushions.
Her hair is messy, a few strands sticking to her cheek.
She takes the glass from my hand, her small fingers brushing against mine, and sips the water slowly while I stand over her, watching to make sure she finishes every drop.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“No problem.” I hover for a second, then take a step back.
“You okay, sweetheart?” The word slips out before I can stop it.
She blinks up at me, then smiles, her dark brown eyes soft and unfocused. My heart does a violent flip against my ribs.
“Yeah,” she mumbles, setting the empty crystal glass down on the heavy oak coffee table with a soft clink.
That sleepy, trusting smile hits me harder than any body check ever could, making my chest tighten with a dangerous warmth.
I take a conscious step back, trying to remind myself of all the reasons I shouldn't be here, but the movement is cut short when Hadley suddenly bolts upright.
Her face goes pale, the pretty pink flush from the bar evaporating in a second.
“Oh, no…” she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as she doubles over.
“Hadley?”
She doesn't answer, her eyes wide with sudden panic as she scrambles off the plush sectional. I react on pure instinct. I grab her by the elbow, steadying her wobbly balance as she makes a desperate, frantic break down the short hallway toward the bathroom.
She barely makes it over the threshold before she drops to her knees in front of the porcelain toilet.
“Shit,” I mutter, dropping down right behind her.
Before she can even think about it, I reach out with both hands, gathering the thick waves of her hair and holding them back from her face.
She heaves, throwing up into the bowl, her small frame shuddering under my hands.
It’s a miserable, exhausting few minutes, and I just stay entirely still, keeping her hair clear and resting a steady, heavy hand on her back to let her know she isn’t alone.
When she finally finishes, she slumps back against the wall, completely drained, her forehead resting against her raised knees as she lets out a weak, whimpering sound.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur.
I reach up and grab a clean white washcloth from the linen ring next to the sink and run it under the cold tap.
I squeeze out the excess water, then kneel back down beside her.
I press the cool cloth against the back of her neck, letting her breathe it in before using a dry corner to tenderly wipe her mouth.
Hadley keeps her eyes closed, her breathing shallow as she leans into the touch, looking so incredibly small and fragile on the bathroom floor.
“Stay right here,” I murmur, keeping my voice low and soothing.
I stand up, flush the toilet, and grab a bottle of mouthwash from the counter, pouring a small amount into a disposable cup.
I hand it to her, watching as she rinses and spits.
Once she’s finished, I take the cup, toss it in the bin, and pick up a fresh towel to clean up the few stray drops of water from the floor.
“I’m never drinking again,” she mumbles.
I give her a wry grin as I brush stray strands of hair out of her face and help her to her feet. “Good plan.”
We make our way back to the living room, and I get her on the couch before I slip back to the kitchen with her glass. I fill it with water again, then grab a trash can to put next to her.
“Get some rest,” I tell her, putting a blanket over her.
“Stay,” she murmurs, grabbing my hand.
I stop, the feel of her soft hand wrapped around mine sending shots of electricity up my arm. She’s so small and delicate looking, especially now, huddled under the blanket, half-asleep. I swallow the urge to wrap my arm around her and rub her back until she falls asleep, almost overwhelming.
Don’t do anything stupid.
“I’m here,” I tell her instead, sinking down onto the floor next to her.
That has to be enough. Her eyes drift shut not long after, and her breathing evens out.
Only when I’m certain she’s asleep do I slip from her hold.
As quietly as possible, I find some painkillers that I set next to the couch for her to take in the morning.
I leave her on the couch, deciding not to disturb her by moving her to her bed since she’s already asleep. Then, I head for the door.
My hand rests on the knob, and I pause, glancing back at her. She’s curled up on the couch, peaceful now. I don’t want to leave her. I want to stay and keep watch over her all night, but I know I can’t do that. We’re friends, and I need to keep the boundaries between us firm so I don’t lose her.
The people I care about usually leave me once they realize I’m not worth sticking around for, and I don’t want that to happen with her.
Exhaling, I turn back to the door and walk out before I convince myself to stay.