11. Ian
11
IAN
Chloe let me hold her hand in the car. I didn’t even mean to do it, but it happened. And when she interlocked her fingers with mine, my day was fuckin’ made.
Until Logan pulls into the driveway of the lake house and everything goes to shit.
Chloe turns to me, a wobbly smile on her lips, and then she throws up all over my lap.
“I don’t feel right,” she whispers brokenly. “My toast was bad.”
When I turn to face her, concerned about what she said, Chloe opens her mouth and proceeds to throw up across the back seat of the car and onto me.
Everything she had for breakfast, along with what looks like s’more remnants, hits my body with the same force as my massaging showerhead.
My fingers grip the door handle and it opens with minimal effort. As carefully as possible, I step out of Logan’s car, keeping the vomit contained as best I can. Once I’m clear, I let the hem of my shirt drop and hold it forward a bit to keep the vomit from sliding down my body.
How the fuck do I get it off?
If I lift the shirt up, it will put my face right in the puke.
“Tear it off, man.” Logan closes the driver’s side door. “Unless you wanna stand there and let me cut it off?” He pulls a knife from his pocket and holds it out helpfully.
While he offers the knife, Poppy leans into the back seat, but Chloe shoos her away.
“Don’t want you,” she groans. “Want Ian.”
Her words are the only thing in the world that matter. Hearing her in need, sick, and wanting me, does something to my heart that I’m not prepared for.
I grab the neckline of the shirt and pull it apart. Thankfully, I’m wearing cotton; otherwise, I would have had to use the knife. The shirt falls down around my waist and stepping out of it is easy enough.
Poppy leans against the car door next to Logan, but her eyes are on me. “You’re hot.” She turns to Logan with a grin on her face when he elbows her in the side. “You should do that too, if you want me to compliment you.”
When Logan grabs her by the arm and leads her away from the car, muttering something under his breath, I see the smile on Poppy’s face.
“She’s playing with fire.” My words aren’t for anyone in particular, but the grunt of agreement that comes from Chloe in the back seat tells me she may be sick, but she’s not delirious. And she definitely didn’t miss the tension between Poppy and Logan.
“Stupid toast.” She groans and leans back, closing her eyes while clutching a hand to her stomach. “Sorry I ruined your shirt.”
“I doubt your toast was bad, Chloe. And you can ruin all my clothes. I don’t care when you’re sick.” Ignoring the vomit sticking in her hair, I help Chloe out of the car and lift her into my arms. Her head presses against my chest while my arms support her back and knees.
Carefully, I walk into the house through the door someone left open for us and down the stupidly long hall to her room. She needs to get into the shower before the vomit dries and she feels even more gross when she wakes up. Honestly, I need a shower too, but I’m not about to ask her to take one with me. “I think the alcohol probably just came up a little later than it normally would. You know, with the grease from the potatoes.”
“Yep.” She doesn’t lift her head from my chest until I get her into her room and shut the door behind me.
As gently as I can manage, I lower Chloe to her feet and take a step back, watching for any sign that she is about to go down.
She walks into the bathroom a little bit wobbly, but when I try to help her, she swats at my hand. At least until she makes it into the tiled room and realizes she won’t be able to get into the tub by herself.
“Ian.” Her voice trembles and she turns pitiful eyes on me. “Will you help me?”
“Of course I will.”
It is like driving nails into my eyeballs without anesthetic, but I do what I know she is asking. I help Chloe take off her clothes and get ready, biting my lip when I see the perfection of her skin.
Once I find the strength to look away, I turn on the shower and hold her close, trying to keep her balanced while she climbs into the tub. She presses herself completely against my body, and I can’t stop my dick from standing at attention with the way she fits exactly the way she should.
Even sick, Chloe is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
“Hey,” Remy calls through the closed bedroom door. “Is Chloe sick too? Parker’s been throwing up since we left the restaurant.”
“Yeah,” I tell him without moving away from Chloe’s side, helping her get a grip on the handle on the wall of the shower. “I thought maybe Logan might have told you.”
“Logan and Poppy are both sick too,” Remy calls back. “I think it’s a bug. He walked into the house with her and just threw up on the kitchen floor.”
“Food poisoning,” Chloe groans while stepping into the stream of hot water. “It’s gotta be food poisoning.”
“Or a twenty-four-hour bug,” I counter with a wry grin as I stare at the water coursing over her hair and skin. “I doubt you can get food poisoning from toast and potatoes.” My throat dries up completely as a rivulet drips from her neck down her chest and then drops off the tip of one nipple.
“Whatever.” She groans again, leaning back against the tile in the shower.
My dick doesn’t care that she is sick. Or that she isn’t mine anymore. Not technically. Instead, it sees the curve of her breasts and the way her back arches against the tile while her front is hit by the stream of water, and it immediately stands at attention, pressed against my pants so hard I think I might split the seam.
“Ian?” Remy hollers back through the door. “What do you think about maybe closing all the blinds and turning the living room into a pillow fort so they can rest and we can play cards or watch a movie or some shit like that?” He taps the door. “I don’t want to leave Parker, and I know you don’t want to leave Chloe.”
I never take my eyes off Chloe or the way the water sluices off her body. So when she turns her head and opens her eyes, she catches me staring and taking in my fill. Even when her eyes flash with a familiar passion, I don’t look away.
Please want me.
Pathetic as it is, I don’t think I can do much with my life if Chloe isn’t in my arms every night.
“I want to do that.” She sounds weaker than she had when she stepped into the shower. “Can we do that?”
“Anything.” I move forward and reluctantly hold out a towel for her to step out. “Do you want to get out?”
I help because I’ll do anything for Chloe. That devotion doesn’t stop when she is sick or I am covered in her puke. I hold her leggings while she steps into them and then lift a shirt over her head so that she won’t have to do it herself.
The exhausted smile on her face and the sigh that comes from her now-clean face hit me hard. “Thanks.” She tilts her head to the side and blinks slowly before a horrified expression crosses her eyes. “Ian.”
“Yes, you did throw up on me. And it’s okay. Taking care of you is more important than cleaning myself up. If you’ll be okay right there for a minute, I’ll grab a quick one and be right back to take you to the living room like you asked.” My heart lurches at the emotion in her eyes, and if I could, I’d take away whatever pain she is going through.
Chloe nods, wincing while she moves. Then she just leans over and lays her head on her pillow. “M’kay. Come back soon. I miss you.”
Her illness-induced words may have been a slip of the tongue, but they still make my fuckin’ chest swell. Not only that, but my heart starts beating rapidly in my chest.
Is she out of it? Completely.
But I’ve been with Chloe for a long time. I know her better than I know myself most days. One of the first things I ever learned was that she never says anything that she doesn’t mean. That’s why her words were so terrible when she gave me back the ring.
While I strip and get into the shower, my mind goes to the same place it always does. Chloe.
Her blunt and blatant honesty, regardless of what it costs her, is one of the reasons I fell in love with her before I even knew what love really was. She never spares my feelings, never pandered to her brother, never does anything unless she feels like it is the right thing to do.
In less than five minutes, I’m done in the shower, changed into a fresh pair of sweats, and carrying a sleeping Chloe out of her room and into the living room. Her body fits perfectly against mine. Her head curls against my neck, and I feel her warm breath every single time she exhales. Idly, I hope that she doesn’t throw up again, because she is breathing literally into my shirt, and I’m wearing a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. If she throws up, it’ll go all the way down my shirt and into my pants, without a doubt.
“I think we got it.” Remy covers Parker with a blanket where she lies on one of the couches. Dom is lying at the foot of her couch, his eyes closed and a bucket under his head.
“He wasn’t feeling great when we got up,” Emma says with a nod toward her husband. “But he thought it was just the booze.”
With how fast everyone is going down, it’s clear that we have some sort of bug going around.
Logan and Poppy are curled up together with a pail lying between them. “Not the booze,” Logan grunts with a hoarse voice.
Remy and Linc, along with Ben, have turned the living room into the inside of a movie theater. The windows are covered with sheets and the blinds are closed, blocking out the majority of the light. All the pillows from every room not in use are scattered around, along with almost all of the blankets, and even a few bigger bowls and towels are spread out just in case they are needed.
“Just in case they throw up again,” Ben explains needlessly. He plops down on one of the far chairs, a stockpot full of popcorn in his hand. “For those of us who are alive and not throwing up everywhere.”
Chloe snorts in her sleep, and even though I don’t want to let her out of my arms, I know that I have to. Otherwise, she is likely to throw a punch like she usually does, and if she catches me off guard, I may actually drop her.
When I lay her down on the pillows that line the floor, wrapping a blanket around her and tucking it under her neck, Chloe surprises me by opening her eyes and reaching for my hand. When I give it to her, she raises it to her lips and kisses it softly, blinks slowly, and then stares right into my eyes.
“I love you, Ian. I’m so sorry. Sorry for everything I said to all of you. I didn’t mean it. I was so fucking hurt that I didn’t know what to do and I wanted you to hurt too. Please. Just… please.”
When she shuts her eyes again, I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I don’t do a single fuckin’ thing except watch her while I wait to see if she is going to open them again or go back to sleep.
Finally, a soft snore breaks free from her mouth, and I feel like I can breathe again.
“I guess she doesn’t hate us all after all,” Ben pipes up from his chair, then starts munching loudly on some popcorn. “’Cause there’s one thing Chloe never does…”
“She never says something she doesn’t mean.” Remy and Linc both speak at the same time. Everyone knows how Chloe is. Kevin used to brag about her all the time, so even if they didn’t know her, they knew how happy he was that his baby sister always meant what she said and never broke a promise.
Except the one she broke when she gave me back my ring.
I brush a wet lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, and sit down. Then I pull Chloe’s head onto my lap, sitting back against the foot of the couch and away from my friends so they don’t see the panic on my face. Instead, I gently run a hand down her back, touching her the way I know she likes. Just offering her a little bit of comfort as she sleeps. The entire time, I’m worried and fighting back the sparks of joy that keep popping up.
I don’t want to get my hopes up.
But her words are there, dancing in my head and reminding me what’s at stake.
What I have to gain.
“I hope she doesn’t change her mind.”