Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
COOPER
Sutton shifted back into her usual demeanor after she told me about Zach asking her out. Across the room glares and sharp quips, but now they feel forced.
Tried to text her about it, but she’s left every single text unanswered except for one. Replying to give me an adjusted session time and place for today.
I tuck myself into a study booth in the library an hour before I’m supposed to meet Sutton.
This isn’t my favorite library—mine is on the east side of campus and is much smaller—but this is hers.
The booth is up against a brick wall with a large window that overlooks campus.
Today, it’s gross out. Gray and cold. Snow is melting which means it’s turning black from being trampled and over shoveled.
I finished my test early and came here instead of heading home.
I love my roommates, trust me, I do, but it’s very rare for the place to be remotely quiet.
Someone is always doing something—cooking, playing video games, watching television, someone.
Studying is impossible there. I can barely get through two math equations before my mind wanders to them or somewhere else.
With back-to-back games coming up, I want to get ahead on my homework.
Plus, I knew if I went home, I’d end up shutting everyone out. Today’s been a bad day, but I’m trying to be better.
Time ticks by, and I expect Sutton to be here by now. She’s never late, but once it’s fifteen after four, I get concerned.
After another ten minutes, there’s an unease that takes root in my stomach. I call her twice and it goes directly to voicemail. I snatch my keys off the table and get to her place as quickly as possible.
I slam on the steering wheel when I get caught behind a mail truck. There’s no room to go around them; the left side of the street is lined with parallel-parked cars, campus parking passes hanging from the rearview mirrors.
Their blinker turns on, flashing in the same direction I need to go. The last time I was scared like this was when my dad called about Sutton getting hurt. I couldn’t get to the hospital quickly enough.
Except this time, when I show up, I’m not letting her shoo me away. Mom was angry with Dad for calling me, but he explained how I deserved to know because no matter what, Sutton is family.
Sutton being family has been my scapegoat. Whenever she gets mad at me, rolls her eyes, and even insults me, I tell myself that she’s family. It’s my Trojan horse.
Because even a crumb of Sutton is better than nothing.
Maintaining my position in Sutton’s life hasn’t been easy. There is a minefield between us, and I risk it every day to stay close to her. I’ve held tight to this belief that maybe one day we’ll at least get back to how we once were.
I shift my backpack to my other shoulder, push up the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Immediately, I pull it back down, covering the colorful bracelet on my wrist.
I knock on their door after sneaking in the main door behind another student.
After the fourth time, there’s finally movement from the other side of the door. The lock unlatches, and at an unhurried pace, the apartment door peels open.
“Hello?” the redheaded, sleeping zombie on the other side of the threshold croaks.
She’s in an oversized sweatshirt and pink fuzzy socks. A stain stretches across the pocket. Half, more like a third, of her curls are in a bun lopsided on the left side of her head. The remainder of her hair is either matted to her forehead or sticking out in unconventional ways.
“What are you doing here?” Sutton bites out, displeased and confused.
“We’re supposed to be meeting.”
“That’s not till tomorrow.”
“Dave, it is tomorrow. It’s almost five.”
Sutton looks appalled. Horrified expression to match her horror movie appearance. “Oh my god. I slept for twenty hours. I missed everything today.” She turns around, walking gingerly into her apartment, leaving me in the doorway.
I trail behind her, taking the open door as an invitation to come in.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Obviously not.” Good to know that even sick, appearing to be on her deathbed, and having had twenty hours of sleep, she’s still partially herself. “People should rethink the phrase there are no dumb questions.”
Sutton opens the cabinet with their cups, grabbing a glass. All her movements are sluggish. In front of the sink, she wobbles. Sets the glass down, one hand curled tightly around it, the other bracing the counter for support with a lethargic shake of her head.
My feet cover the distance in four large steps. I stretch my hand flat across her lower back to steady her.
“Here. Let me.” I take the glass from her, filling it with water. “You should sit. Can you walk to the couch?”
“Yes, Cooper,” she deadpans, but I see the fight in her eyes.
The lowering of her resolve when she tries to take a step and immediately uses the counter again as a crutch.
Hazel eyes that lean more green today, fissures of amber crackling through them, tip up to the ceiling, then straight forward.
On me, but not exactly. Sutton stares at the wall behind me and, on an exasperated inhale, says, “No.”
I stifle a smile. Have to restrain myself from pulling out my phone and documenting the moment. It might not have been her explicitly asking for my help, but between the two letters, I know she is.
I debate carrying her bridal style, but I don’t want to push my luck. Fireman style is absolutely out of the discussion.
“Come on.” I lift an arm over my shoulder, let her weight lean into me. I brace an arm around her waist.
Depositing her on the couch, she lets me prop her up. Back against one side, legs out in front of her, and tucked into a blanket. I hand her the glass of water and encourage her to finish the entire thing, even when she gags after the first sip.
Her skin is dull, cheeks incandescent, the color of her hair. Even with how much sleep she’s gotten, there are dark circles under her eyes. Sutton breathes lightly.
Kneeling beside her, I press the back of my hand to her forehead. She’s feverish.
“Do you have a thermometer? I think you have a fever.”
She nods. “Bathroom closet.” I stand up and start heading down the hallway. “Can you get me some more water?”
A few minutes later, I’m back. She sips on the water, placing it down for me to take her temperature.
“Open,” I say, kneeling beside her with the thermometer hovering by her mouth. Sutton doesn’t fight me, opens her mouth, lifting her tongue. “Good girl.”
I place it under her tongue, and she closes her mouth.
Cheeks pink as she tracks my every move.
We wait for the thermometer to buzz. The seconds pass by achingly slow. It’s not like we are waiting on big test results or anything life or death, but the air seems to grow thicker, the walls closing in on us.
When she breathes, I find myself breathing with her.
And maybe it’s because I’ve thought about this. Taking care of her. Growing old with her. All of the sickness and in health stuff you hear about in wedding vows.
A singular curl falls across her face, tipped in my direction on the pillow.
I push it off her face, dampened with sweat, capturing it on my pointer finger.
Twirling it, the strand gently wraps around my finger, like she has me wrapped around hers.
If only she would realize it. Sutton blinks, and I think for a millisecond that maybe she does.
That the past few days have been a facade.
A beeping sound cuts through the space between us. I drop the curl. She presses up, moving into more of a sitting position.
We both reach for the thermometer. I refrain, letting her remove it and read her temp. Ninety-nine point eight. Right under the threshold.
“I think it’s food poisoning,” she says before I can ask. “Whatever I had in the dining hall last—two nights ago—must have been bad.”
I snort a laugh. “Which one did you go to?”
“Cub Club.”
“And you didn’t remember how sick we all got our first semester on campus from there?”
“Apparently not, because I had the Mexicali Caesar wrap, too.”
“Oh, Dave.” My joking tone cracks a smile on her turned down mouth. “There’s no thinking. You have food poisoning for sure.” She huffs. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Some time yesterday, I guess. Maybe breakfast. Or lunch?” Sutton pauses. “Lunch, but I couldn’t keep it down. I haven’t been able to keep anything down in”—she counts on her fingers—“thirty hours. Probably more.”
At the same time, I joke, “Yeah, I can tell.”
Her brows perk up, then fall with realization. She sniffs her sweatshirt, then pulls a chunk of hair in front of her nose. Sutton covers her mouth, pretending, maybe not, to gag.
“I smell disgusting.” Her nose scrunches.
“I think there’s throw up stuck in your hair here.” I gesture to other side of her head. “Let me go start you a bath.”
“That’s unnecessary. I can do it.”
“I know, but I want to.” Energy levels aside, I know she can do it. There’s no doubt in her independence and ability to take care of herself. But I meant what I said, I want to.
“Cooper.” It’s a hesitant warning, a quiet plea not to push us. The box we’ve drawn around us is bending; we’re pushing at its seams.
I shake my head. I don’t care. “Please, Dave. Let me take care of you.”
“You just want to see me naked.”
“True.” My chest laughs. “But baby, I wouldn’t need a bath to get you naked. If I wanted you naked, I’d already have your clothes off.” I lean forward. “Trust me.” Holding her chin, tone softer, I repeat myself, “I want to take care of you. Puke and all.”
Sutton finally relents after three long exhales. I carry her to her bathroom, after she once again tries to walk and looks like she is in a game of pinball in her hallway.
She sits on the counter while I start the bath. I work in silence, the only sound coming from the water falling from the faucet. Dipping my hand in the water, I turn the handle to the left, cutting off the water.