Chapter 57
Chapter Fifty-Seven
What did the sheet say to the bed?
Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.
—Dear God…I’m turning into Sebastian…
Remy
Remy dropped into the lounge’s cafeteria-style chair, breathing through her nose.
Toward the end of her most recent case, her stomach had cramped and her mouth began to water.
She’d indicated for Lucia to close—a task the physician assistant was well trained to do and often performed for Remy when she alternated between ORs.
Her stomach cramped again—harder—and Remy eyed the entrance to the women’s locker room, wondering if she’d make it to a stall before losing the contents of her stomach. A sour burning surged up her esophagus and she bolted for the door, praying she wouldn’t flatten anyone as she slammed it open.
Remy fell to her knees in front of the toilet and retched until her stomach ached.
Fucking hell.
She wiped her mouth and leaned against the partition, the cool metal heaven against her overheated skin.
“Dr. Remington?” Her surgical tech, Shukri, called out from the doorway.
Remy hadn’t bothered to close the stall door.
“You got whacked, didn’t you?” Sympathy tinged her voice.
“I saw you rush out and then I heard you getting sick. Here. I brought you a cup of water to rinse the taste of sick out of your mouth.” She handed a paper cup to Remy.
“Another one bites the dust,” Shukri continued, as Remy swished and spit into the porcelain god she’d just unwillingly worshipped, praying another wave would stay at bay.
“We seem to have a norovirus sweeping through. You’re the fifth person I’ve heard of with it. ”
Remy dropped her head on her bent knees. “I’m not sick,” she mumbled. “I don’t get sick.”
“You want some help standing up?” Shukri reached a hand out to Remy and helped tug her to a standing position. “Don’t worry. I’ll use proper hand hygiene so I don’t catch your germs.”
“I’m not sick,” Remy repeated wanly, pressing a hand to her stomach at another telltale cramp.
There was a sharp knock on the locker room door.
“I called Dr. Desai right before I came in. He said he was getting your guard to drive you home. That must be him.”
Remy groaned. “I have cases this afternoon.”
“Not anymore you don’t.” Instead of Brinder or her guard, Sebastian stood in the doorway, concern wrinkling his brow as worried eyes scanned her.
“My poor Scrub Angel.” He moved toward her, nodding at Shukri.
“Thanks for calling in the cavalry. I was in the area when I got the message about my angel from Brinder—er, Dr. Desai.”
“Of—of course,” she stammered, clearly overwhelmed at the celebrity standing in the bathroom of the women’s locker room.
“I have more cases.” Remy winced. That came out too much like a whine.
Now Brinder stepped into the bathroom, further crowding the space. If she didn’t feel like such horseshit, it would’ve been funny. These two gorgeous, brooding, worried men hovering over her, alongside a normally unflappable surgical nurse with eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“I’ve already reassigned them. I told your patients you’re ill.
I gave them the choice of rescheduling with you or having another doctor perform it.
Dr. Slattery is coming out of clinic to finish your cases for you,” he continued calmly, speaking of her partner, a fortysomething orthopedist with phenomenal skills.
“You get home, spend the weekend resting, and you’ll be back in your OR on Monday.
Please don’t worry.” Brinder gave her a kind, but firm smile—his eyes showing that exact worry he was warning her against—and softened his voice even more. “Just get well.”
Remy was quite sure she looked like a swamp creature. And smelled like one too.
Fuck. Her stomach cramped again, hard. The next wave knocked her sideways—figuratively and nearly literally. She doubled over and proceeded to puke all over her boss’s fancy Italian brogues.
Ten hours of utter misery. First the throwing up. Then her system seemed to reverse course and she couldn’t get off the toilet. All the while, a fever with chills coursed through her.
By nine that evening, Remy was a sweaty, exhausted, literally drained mess. She barely had any energy, and her abs ached like she’d just finished one thousand sit-ups.
“Hey you,” a tender voice came from the bedroom doorway. “I have some ginger ale, Gatorade, and saltines.”
Remy groaned at the idea of putting anything in her body. “Nooo. I can’t,” she managed, not even wanting to move her lips for fear it would start a fresh wave, even though she’d finally stopped throwing up bile an hour earlier.
“You have to,” Sebastian replied firmly.
“Brinder gave me clear instructions, which include ensuring you drink as you can tolerate. You’re already dehydrated, and we don’t want it getting worse.
” He moved to the bed, placing everything on her nightstand, and sat on the edge, stroking her sweat-dampened hair.
“My precious queen. I hate seeing you like this.”
“You should go in the other room. I don’t want you getting sick,” Remy croaked out, her throat as ravaged as her abs. She briefly closed her eyes, silently begging him to stay—against her best medical judgment—because Sebastian’s presence was comforting.
“Nope. Not gonna happen, my queen. Besides, given the way we spent last evening”—he waggled his brows in clear allusion to the lovemaking that had lived rent-free in her mind from the moment she woke that morning—“I’ve already been exposed to your cooties.”
Remy groaned again.
“Come on, my queen. Let’s get some electrolytes in you.” He wrapped his free arm around her to help her up, raising the glass to her lips. “Small sips,” he coached.
Remy complied, her parched mouth feeling better at the taste of fruit punch. She winced, ready for another cramp, but instead, her stomach merely gurgled. She attempted a few more sips and then dropped back on the pillow Sebastian had propped behind her.
“Want to try a saltine?”
Remy shook her head. “Not yet.” She nodded toward the surprisingly refreshing drink. “Is that fruit punch Gatorade?”
Sebastian gave a sheepish smile. “It’s what my mom always gave me when I got sick. I had Jared DoorDash us a ton of stuff. Chicken noodle soup. Gatorade. Ginger ale. The works. When I was a kid, I’d watch The Price is Right on sick days. Want me to bring up an episode on YouTube?”
“Th—” she began, and then halted, her words stuck in emotion. “Thank you, Sebastian.”
“It’s my honor to take care of you, Arabella.
” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
“And while I love seeing you in scrubs, my angel, let’s get you out of those manky things.
We may need to burn them,” he teased, making her smile.
“You think you can stand in the shower on your own? You need to clean off and I want to change the sheets.”
Remy nodded and stood on wobbling legs. He wrapped an arm gently around her waist. “Ok, maybe not yet.”
“No,” she replied, her voice stronger than her legs felt. “I desperately need a shower. I can do it. I just…needed to get my equilibrium.”
“Ok, my queen,” he assented, but she could read the doubt on his face. “Let me walk with you in there. I’ll make sure you’re steady and then have these sheets changed”—he snapped his fingers—“lickety split.”
He guided her into the bathroom, then watched carefully as she shucked her soiled clothes in the least tantalizing disrobing in the history of female nudity. Once he confirmed she wasn’t going to topple over, he hurried back into the bedroom.
As the hot water streamed over her, Remy heard small exclamations of frustration coming from the other room.
She smiled at the bursts of grumbling, rinsing off and drying herself with one of the fresh, fluffy towels Jared had delivered to the house after Sebastian decreed hers to be subpar.
She had to admit, compared to this decadent cotton embrace, they had been.
Jared had summarily collected her old towels and donated them to an animal shelter.
Feeling slightly restored, Remy tucked the bath sheet around her body and stood in the doorway. There, she was treated to the sight of Sebastian Wheatley battling a fitted sheet. And losing. Every time he tried to pull the fourth corner over the mattress, another would pop off.
Remy slapped a hand over her mouth to contain the giggle that slipped out.
Sebastian gave both her and the bed a baleful glance. “Defeated by a sheet.” He shook his head, hands resting on his hips. “We may need to sleep in the guest room, my queen.”
Remy stepped forward. “You’ve never made a bed in your life, have you?” She still felt like crap, and she needed some acetaminophen for her low-grade fever now that she could keep down liquids. But the sight of Sebastian glowering at the fitted sheet was as medicinal as the fruit punch Gatorade.
“I did my friend’s, remember? For the Fruity Pebbles reward.” He gave a cute pout, clearly remembering the recent unsatisfactory breakfast broth experience.
“Let me help,” she murmured, nudging him out of the way.
“Who knew how diabolical a sheet could be. I mean, who came up with that design? It’s—it’s cruel and inhuman, that’s what it is,” he grumbled, then grumbled some more about sheet wizards when she effortlessly tugged the final corner into place.
Within minutes, she had the top sheet on and the duvet folded back.
Sebastian had managed to change the pillowcases, though.
Remy crossed the room and reached into the top drawer of her dresser, pulling out a cotton camisole and shorts sleep set she sometimes wore to bed when she didn’t feel like wearing a nightgown of any kind.
Sebastian hovered over her, clucking and tutting as he settled her in, tucking the sheets around her waist. “There. Snug as a bug in a rug. Also something my mother would say. I always found it comforting, although now as an adult, a bug in a rug sounds pretty gross to me.” He wrinkled his nose and Remy laughed. “What else can I get you?”
“My leather work backpack?” She rubbed her aching temples. “Oh, and some Tylenol, please. And…my bunny. I need a Chicane snuggle.”
Within minutes, she had fever reducers in her system, her work bag, and Chicane on the bed between her and Sebastian, who was propped up on one elbow. They both pet their bunny, who soaked in the attention.
“Our little prince missed his mommy. He’s been sad,” Sebastian said, rubbing the back of Chicane’s head with his knuckle.
“Just like he missed you while you were in New York.”
Remy licked her lips, suddenly nervous. They hadn’t spoken of the soundless exchange of their feelings the night before. She’d risen early, out of long habit, and then was sick as a dog by mid-morning. Now, it was very much an elephant in the room.
Oh, fuck it. She wasn’t a young girl. She was a strong woman who owned her emotions.
Remy inhaled a fortifying breath and forced herself to say the words. “I missed you, too, Sebastian.” It came out softer than she would’ve preferred, but at least she’d said it.
He ran a fingertip along the edge of her thumb, tracing a path up and down each of her fingers before ending at her naked ring finger.
Then he glanced up, eyes catching on the ring she hadn’t yet removed from the special chain he’d purchased.
Where she’d been wearing his ring every day at work, tucked under her clothes, then carefully placing it back on her finger when she got home.
“I missed you so much. It was brutal to be without you. I kept thinking how much more enjoyable everything is when you’re with me.
” He paused. Swallowed. Ran a hand through his hair.
“I meant it, you know.” His gaze drifted over her face.
“When I told you I love you last night. I meant it. I wasn’t just…
overcome by hot sex. I’m not confusing love and lust—which, to be clear, I also absolutely have for you in abundance.
Especially now that you’ve cleaned the vomit off. ”
She swatted at him, her laughter trailing at the intensity of his eyes burning into hers. “I meant it, too, Sebastian,” she whispered. “I love you.”
Even though I know you’ll end up hurting me when your feelings run their natural course. I love you anyway. God help me.
“Oh, thank God. I love you, too. So much more than I can properly articulate.” Sebastian dropped back on the bed.
“Oh what a fucking relief,” he called out, being his dramatic self that she adored.
“I’ve been living in fear that you’d come out of this loathsome contagion and realize that you, uh, you just got carried away. ”
Remy tilted her head, appreciating that behind this charismatic, magnetic movie star was a regular person with all the attendant insecurities and foibles.
And he loved her.
“I did get a bit carried away,” she offered with a smirk, “but that was just from the, um…oh for fuck’s sake. That was some amazing sex, Sebastian,” she blurted, her cheeks turning pink, and not from her fever.
He barked out a laugh, the relief on his face clear. “And there’s more where that came from.”
“Maybe let me keep down some saltines and toast before you ravage my body again,” she teased.
Bash hopped up, picking up the plate of saltines she easily could have grabbed herself. But she let him, enjoying a touch of TLC she hadn’t experienced since Tasha Remington.
“Oh, for sure, my queen,” he nodded sagely.
“I’m a horndog when it comes to you, but I’m a thoughtful horndog.
” He handed her the plate and rounded to what had become his side of the bed, adding in a teasing sotto voice, but clearly intending to be heard, “I’m also not enough of a horndog to risk being vomited on by my queen. Liege man or no.”
Remy’s laughter hurt her sick-ravaged abs.
It was worth it.