12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
I ’m grateful for a break from seeing Brooks the Wednesday following our pumpkin patch excursion, due to his parent-teacher conferences. My heart initially misses his presence at small group, until I scold it for disobeying instructions.
I throw my focus into work on campus, spending more time than usual in the sorority houses, hoping to distract my attention from Brooks’ troubling existence. Luckily for me, it’s peak homecoming season, so the sororities are eager to have extra hands painting yard displays and pomping floats. It’s the perfect opportunity to have meaningful conversations with the girls while working alongside them in their world.
Bailey and I get dinner together on another Sunday evening, and she confirms that she had encouraging conversations with both Lana and Amaya. She seems to be enjoying working for the athletic department, and she asks lots of questions about my experience on staff. I find it helpful to talk to someone who understands my Arrow ministry world without being directly in it.
I miss our third small group meeting of the month because two Arrow students are performing in a musical on campus. But this week is our group game night on Friday, so I’m not too sad about missing.
I love game nights. They are one of my favorite pastimes ever. My hidden competitive side comes out full force, and I’m fueled with enough social energy to last several days.
So when I wake up feeling sluggish for my early Bible study on Friday morning, I’m concerned. But I write off the worry that it’s been a busy week, resulting in a lack of sleep. Tomorrow morning is commitment-free, so I can sleep in and recover.
Unfortunately, as the day goes on, my body objects more and more. I’m barely capable of contributing to the discussion during our staff meeting, frequently spacing out and missing chunks of the conversation.
“Teegan? Can you handle planning that?” Kent’s voice cuts in.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“We were talking about doing a costume dance party this year for the After Party the week of Halloween. Are you up for taking the reins on that?” Kent repeats.
“Oh, yes! Of course, I can!” I answer with more enthusiasm than I feel. I don’t feel much of any kind of energy right now.
“Okay, great,” Kent replies. “Lucas offered to pitch in with setup, and I’m sure you can talk with Gina about helping you when she gets back to town.”
By the time the staff meeting has ended, I’m barely functioning. I cancel the lunch I had scheduled and head home, hoping that a little down time will help me bounce back.
Gina is out of town for a week at her cousin’s debut celebration. Gina’s mom’s family is Filipino, and they’ve continued the cultural tradition of a coming-of-age celebration for their eighteenth birthdays. Gina won’t get back until Monday, giving me a chance to relax in a quiet house.
Locking the front door behind me, I fling myself down on the couch. Maybe a quick nap will help me feel better for tonight.
I’m slow to come back to full consciousness. I click my phone on and see that it’s after 5:00 p.m., which means I passed out for three hours. And I’m supposed to be at Joy’s house at 5:30.
Groaning, I sit up but promptly lay back down.
Is this what dying feels like? I think this must be what dying feels like .
Slowly attempting to sit up again, I steady myself enough to use the bathroom. Next stop is my bedroom, where I swap my jeans for flared leggings and my scratchy sweater for a soft, oversized sweatshirt to ward off the goosebumps. I know that I should stop in the kitchen and get some water, but the couch is calling out to me. Easing back onto the cushions, tears fill my eyes as I plunge into a pool of self-pity.
Of course, I get sick on small group game night. So unfair.
I shoot off a text message to Joy letting her know that I won’t be able to make it.
JOY
Bummer, Teegan! Are you okay?
Just a little under the weather. Nothing to fret about though. Sad I won’t be able to come hang out!
JOY
You need anything?
I’m good, but thanks! My roommate is out of town, so I’ll be able to rest up!
JOY
Ok. We’ll pray you feel better quickly.
I click off my phone and turn on the television, hoping to distract my mind from the depressing FOMO.
Half an episode of The Voice later, there’s a loud knock on my door. Assuming that it must be some solicitor with no sense of appropriate calling times, I ignore it.
There’s another knock, and a familiar voice calls out, “Teegan? Can you hear me? I know you’re there.”
No. No, no, no. Brooks doesn’t need to be here right now. Not when my defenses are down. Not when I look like Death’s daughter.
I decide to ignore him and feign absence, but, next thing I know, my phone lights up and rings loudly with a phone call from him. So much for feigning absence .
Slowly rising to my feet, I smooth my hair down as best I can before opening the door a crack. Brooks is standing outside, arms laden with grocery bags.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. Whatever germs have taken up residence in my body apparently shut down my manners. I don’t even open the door fully.
“You’re sick,” Brooks responds, as though that’s enough of an explanation.
“Only a little. I told Joy I’d be fine,” I say.
“Yes, Joy said you told her that,” Brooks replies. “But you forget that I know you, Teegan. You’d never miss a game night unless you were at Death’s door.”
A chill runs through me. Brooks-induced or fever-induced? Jury’s out.
I’m still staring, which is likely unnerving, given the less-than-human state of my eyes.
Brooks raises his arms, holding up the grocery bags. “Let me take care of you, Teegan,” he says, voice quiet and eyes pleading.
“But I’m probably contagious. You’ll get sick too if you come in here,” I reason, even though that’s not the real reason I don’t want to let him in. I don’t trust the decision-making skills of my fever-addled brain under the influence of Brooks’ nearness.
“I’m a teacher. I have an immune system of steel,” Brooks says, voice firm and commanding. “I’m coming in, and I’m taking care of you.”
He pushes his way in the door, and I step back to let him enter. Which might be the beginning of the end for me.
“I didn’t know what your symptoms were, so I got pretty much every medicine and remedy I could think of at the store,” Brooks says, spreading the grocery bags out on the table. “What hurts?”
“What doesn’t hurt?” I quip back, trying to make light of the situation. Brooks gives me a scolding look. “My stomach is fine. But a hammer has taken up residence in my head, and every muscle in my body has joined a picket line. Moving hurts so much.”
Brooks puts the back of his hand to my forehead and swears under his breath. “Sorry, old habits die hard. Especially when I’m stressed. You’re burning up,” he says. “We need to get your fever down. ”
He places his hands on my shoulders, and, despite his gentleness, the touch causes pinpricks of pain under my skin. I flinch, and he lightens his touch even more as he guides me back to the couch.
“I’m going to give you ibuprofen first to help with the muscle aches and fever. When’s the last time you ate something?” he asks.
I give an indiscriminate shrug.
“Food first. Or your stomach will join your muscles on the picket line,” he states. “Toast or potato soup?”
“Soup, please,” I answer as I sit down on the couch. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back on the cushion. I hear microwave beeps, and Brooks brings over a small bowl of soup, an electrolyte drink, and two pills. He takes the TV remote and sits down on the love seat perpendicular to the couch.
“You eat. I’ll find something to watch,” he commands. I can’t help the whisper of a smile that crosses my lips before I take a bite.
Brooks confidently navigates the television menus as I eat more of the potato soup. A minute later, he hits play on Trolls .
The spoon in my hand pauses midway to my mouth. I look over at him.
He meets my eyes. “What? You don’t like this movie anymore?”
I was secretly obsessed with Trolls in high school. Except, it wasn’t a secret from Brooks since we had no secrets. I identified with Poppy on a soul level. Her inclination to find the bright side of any circumstance. To turn any situation into an adventure. Her impossible-to-dampen spirit.
That is, until reality smacked her in the face and she temporarily lost her color. Relatable.
I pause for a beat to tamp down the swell in my chest before answering. “No, I still love Trolls . But no one is supposed to know that a kid movie is my favorite.”
Brooks tilts his head, considering me. “Well, it’s only you and me here. So you don’t have to hide.”
My eyes drop from his. He clears his throat. “You should be okay to take the medicine now as long as you finish the soup.”
I nod, appreciating the excuse to focus on something other than him. I swallow the pills and several gulps of the sports drink before returning to the soup. Brooks takes the bowl from me when I’m done, and I hear water running in the sink followed by the clank of the bowl in the dishwasher.
My energy is drained from sitting up and eating. Propping my head on a throw pillow, I pull my legs up onto the couch, shivering. Brooks returns to the living room, and I motion to the love seat.
“Will you hand me that throw blanket?” I ask.
“No,” he answers.
“What? Rude.”
“I know you’re cold, but your fever is super high, Teegan. You can’t trap your body heat in with a blanket,” he states, firm yet gentle. “Do you have an extra bed sheet somewhere?”
“Yeah, in the hall linen closet,” I say. “But I’d rather have the blanket. I’m freezing.”
“Sorry, can’t do that. But I’ll get a sheet if you sit up and drink the rest of that energy drink.”
“You’re so bossy,” I grumble, but I sit up to grab the drink. Brooks walks down the hallway and returns with a flat sheet. He makes good on his threat and doesn’t hand it over to me until I’ve chugged the rest of the bottle.
I dramatically flop back down on my pillow and hold out my hand. “There! I drank it. Now give me the sheet.”
Brooks spreads the sheet over me, making sure it covers my feet. His nearness makes my heart flutter, and I wish with every fiber of my achy being that I did not look like the plague right now. When he leans in to tuck the sheet around my shoulders, I get an inhale of his mountain spring body wash scent. Why does he have to smell so good? I mentally whine. I close my eyes, willing myself not to whimper out loud.
He settles back into the love seat, and we watch Trolls in silence, apart from an occasional laugh from Brooks. I fight the heaviness in my eyes to stay awake, but I lose the battle by the time Poppy and Branch reach Bergen Town.
As I slowly regain consciousness, I recognize the sounds of the second Trolls movie before I drag my eyes halfway open. I’m disoriented but notice two things .
One: I am blazing hot. Apparently while I was asleep, my blood morphed into lava and is incinerating me from the inside out.
Two: My arm under my head is stretched the short distance between the corner of the couch and the loveseat, my fingers wrapped around Brooks’ hand propped on the cushion.
And it’s the smallest, biggest comfort.
No. No, Teegan!
I combine the withdrawal of my hand from his with a full-body stretch, avoiding any acknowledgment of the contact. The loss of his comforting touch focuses my senses on the lava flowing beneath my skin.
Kicking the sheet off of me, I abruptly sit up—too abruptly. The hammer inside my skull protests the movement, and I fall back to the pillow. “I’m so hot,” I sputter.
The feather-light touch of Brooks’ fingers returns to my forehead. “Yeah, your fever is back in full force,” he says, concern deepening in his voice. “It’s been three hours—you need more medicine.”
Brooks moves from the love seat, and I hear the rustling of grocery bags. I manage to slowly ease myself to a sitting position. My sweatshirt feels like a heating blanket now, so I pull it off over my head.
The air hits the skin around my tank top with cool relief. I hear Brooks’ sharp intake of breath in front of me. Looking up, I see him shake his head briefly before closing the gap between us. He holds out two green capsules to me, along with a glass of water.
“Nighttime cold and flu medicine to bring down the fever and pain. Hopefully it will knock you out too, once it kicks in,” he says.
I accept the medicine and quickly swallow it. Even the couch is making me feel hot, so I slip to the floor, plastering my face to the cool surface of the coffee table. My hair is stringy and sweaty, sticking to my neck and shoulders.
“I want to take a cold shower,” I mumble. My brain tells my limbs to crawl to the bathroom, but my muscles are still on strike.
“That’s not a good idea,” Brooks says gently. “Having wet hair when the chills come back would only make you feel colder.”
“I’m never going to feel cold again in my life,” I say, eyes closed. “I’ve turned into the lava monster from Moana . ”
Brooks huffs a laugh. “I’ll remind you of that declaration next time you beg me for a blanket. Hold on.”
He retreats down the hallway, and I hear water running in the bathroom. When he returns, he takes my hand briefly to slip off the hair tie perpetually available on my wrist. I sense his presence behind me on the couch before he asks, “Can you hold your head up for just a minute?”
I raise my head, a “why?” poised on my tongue. His fingers slide across my scalp, gathering up sections of my hair one by one.
“You know how to braid hair?” I ask, voice shaky.
“Well, I’m not going to win any cosmetology awards,” Brooks responds, a tease in his voice. “But I watched you braid enough hair to remember the basics.”
“Oh my goodness, I forgot about that,” I murmur. One of the girls on dance team with me had thick, lush locks that were perfect for intricate braiding styles. She was kind enough to humor my obsession with braiding her hair at every party or social event we ever attended. “Kelly had the best hair ever.”
“She had long hair,” Brooks corrects.
“Right. Same, same,” I say.
“Not same. Having waist-length hair doesn’t make it the best hair,” he states.
“Tell that to Rapunzel,” I quip.
“Pretty sure she liked the non-cursed short style that Flynn gave her better,” Brooks quips back. He twists the hair tie back and forth around the end of my braid, silencing me. When he’s done, I feel a cold, wet washcloth press against my neck.
“ Mmm , that’s perfect,” I murmur, returning my head to my arms on the coffee table.
Brooks tucks a missed strand of hair behind my ear. Even though my eyes are closed, I feel his tangle of emotions in the slightly lingering touch of his fingers against my skin.
This is not good. This is not distance.
“You really need to hydrate. Can you drink some more water?” Brooks asks, voice thick with those muddled emotions .
I nod my head but keep my eyes closed as long as possible. Sitting up, I accept the glass of water from him, draining it. I immediately shut my eyes again. The lava in my veins is slowly cooling, although there’s a different kind of heat competing with the fever.
“It would probably be a good idea for you to lie down in your bed now. You’ll sleep better if you’re more comfortable,” Brooks says. “Can you stand if I help you up?”
“I can stand on my own,” I respond, pushing up onto my knees. The movement offends my muscles and my brain, so I pause to brace myself on the coffee table.
“Just let me help you, Teeg,” Brooks says, reaching down to take one of my elbows and holding his other hand out to me. I reluctantly place my hand in his and allow him to pull me up to stand. He intuitively waits a moment for my balance to calibrate before leading me down the hallway to my room.
“How’d you know which room was mine?” I jest, trying to alleviate the intimacy of this moment.
“The pink comforter gave you away,” Brooks replies, laughter in his tone. “The comforter I’m taking away.”
“Fine. I don’t want it,” I say with a small toss of my head. Oof. Bad idea.
Brooks steers me toward the hallway bathroom and removes the washcloth from my neck. “I’m going to take the comforter off and get the throw blanket from the couch to put next to you if you get cold. No burrowing under layers, though.”
I use the bathroom and trudge to my room, falling onto my comforterless bed. A moment later, Brooks is beside me, pulling the flat sheet over me and placing the throw blanket near my feet. “Get some sleep,” he whispers. That medicine must be doing its job because I don’t even remember him leaving the room before I’m asleep.
The sound of an alarm disturbs my very vivid, very odd dreams. I’ve nearly fallen back asleep when I feel a hand gently shaking my shoulder.
“Teegan? It’s been three hours—you can have more ibuprofen now to keep the fever down. But you need to eat this toast first so your stomach doesn’t get upset.”
My bedside lamp clicks on, interrupting the darkness. I roll onto my back and cover my face with the crook of my elbow. “I don’t want toast.”
“But I sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on it.”
I crack one eye and see Brooks holding a plate and another sports drink. “Okay then.”
He helps me prop up against my headboard and hands me the plate. I manage to eat one piece of toast, but I’m too tired to eat the second. “Can one be enough?” I plead.
Brooks clucks his tongue but takes the plate from me. “I knew you’d negotiate. But half a piece of toast isn’t enough. One piece will do.”
A smile turns up the corners of my mouth. I quickly take the medicine and drink several swigs of the electrolyte drink before settling back into my pillows. Brooks’ hand finds my forehead again, and I hear him murmur, “Still hot, but not as bad as before.”
The lamp clicks off, and his footsteps retreat from the room.
For the first time in a very, very long time, I close my eyes hoping to dream about Brooks.
Muted morning light barely filters through the blinds when my eyes flutter open. My body and head still hurt, but it’s a dull pain compared to last night. Throat scratchy, I roll to the side and take a drink from the glass of water left on my nightstand. As much as I don’t want to leave the cocoon of my bed, I need to use the bathroom.
Wrapping the throw blanket around my shoulders, I pad across the room with sleepy eyes, not fully awake. As I exit my door into the hallway, my foot trips on something. Yelping, I nearly fall over.
It’s Brooks. Lying on the floor of the hallway outside my room with a couch throw pillow and my pink comforter.
Between me accidentally kicking him and loudly yelping, he jerks up, startled awake.
“I’m sorry!” we both cry out. Brooks quickly stands up, and now we’re inches away from each other in the tight hallway .
“I didn’t mean to trip you. I had an alarm set to hopefully wake up before you did,” Brooks says, hair disheveled and eyes blinking awake. The day’s worth of stubble on his face adds to the sexy, sleepy vibe.
NO! Not sexy. Stop thinking that word about Brooks!
“I’m sorry I kicked you,” I say, voice shrill. “What were you doing lying on the floor?”
“Um, ah,” Brooks fumbles a response. “I just . . . I felt like it might be an intrusion to sleep in your room, but I wanted to be close by in case you needed anything. I didn’t want to miss it if you called out—I’m a heavy sleeper.”
“I know you are,” I whisper. We stare at each other in the near-darkness, conflicting emotions weighing down the air between us.
“I was just on my way to the bathroom,” I say suddenly, voice too loud for the quiet hour. Pushing past Brooks, I close myself in the bathroom, breathing deeply.
Looking in the mirror, I wince. I resemble an apocalypse zombie. Hair is sticking out everywhere from my braid; my skin is pale, and my eyes are glassy. Even my lips managed to become grossly chapped, even though they were perfectly moisturized this time yesterday. Fantastic. There’s a sure-fire way to make sure Brooks keeps his distance.
Despite the need for that distance, I still take an extra moment to splash water on my face, brush my teeth, and quickly rebraid my hair. By the time I walk out into the living room, Brooks is armed with more water, medication, and cinnamon toast.
I take a seat at the dining table, pulling one foot up to prop my chin on my knee. Brooks sits down next to me. “Feeling any better?” he asks.
Nodding slightly, I swallow a bite of toast before answering. “Still achy, but not as bad.”
Brooks reaches over and places the backs of his fingers against my forehead. “Still warm, but not on fire like you were yesterday,” he murmurs. His eyes find mine as his fingers trace down the side of my forehead, brushing a strand of hair away in one smooth movement. “You had me scared for a little bit there, Sneaks.”
Blood freezes in my veins at the sound of his old nickname for me on his lips .
I stare in shock for a moment before finally whispering, “Don’t call me that.”
Brooks flinches. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Teegan,” he says.
Despite my recent challenges with balance and movement, I spring to my feet. “Thank you for coming over, for bringing medicine, and for staying with me until I felt better. I’m feeling fine now, so you can head home and get on with your weekend.” I’m speed talking as I move toward the front door, hoping he follows me.
“Teegan, hang on,” Brooks begins, standing to his feet. “Please just let me—”
“I’m fine, Brooks,” I assert, voice too loud again. “Thank you for the help, but you really can go now.”
He’s looking at me with so much of everything in his eyes. I’m trapped by the weight of us.
“I can still—”
“Brooks, please!” My voice cracks. “ Please go so I can . . . so I can go back to sleep. I’ll be fine. I’m fine now.” There’s a pleading in my voice that I can’t control, can’t stop from begging him to leave and let me escape this moment.
“Okay.” His voice is quiet, resigned. He slips his arms into his jacket and his feet into his shoes. When he stands, he looks into my eyes, but I can’t hold his gaze. “Set an alarm to take more meds in three hours. Please text me if you need anything, Teegan.”
My voice is a traitor, so I nod instead of speaking. I manage to squeak out a small “thanks” before I close the door behind him.
I stare at the space he occupied, sobs building in my chest but refusing to escape.
It’s been just long enough that I forgot why I needed to forget him.