43. Zara
ZARA
But afterward, once all those big events have passed, I can take things easier and respect the limitations spondyloarthritis has placed on my body. I can take the metaphorical bull by the horns and craft it into something we can both live with, in relative harmony.
I flip over to check my alarm clock. At the sudden, unwelcome movement, my body wails at me, like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
I feel like crap. But it has nothing to do with the SpA—and everything to do with the symptoms that hit me yesterday. I’d played ostrich when I woke up yesterday morning, shoving my head in a hole and pretending I didn’t have a sore throat. Pretending I wasn’t getting sick.
Ignoring the symptoms didn’t make them go away.
And now they’re too drastic to pretend they don’t exist. The aching body. The chills. The headache. The exhaustion. The brain fog that swept in overnight with no plans to dissipate in the morning sun.
Of all the days for me to get sick, it had to be July 4th—one of the busiest days of the year for Picnic & Treats .
Get out of bed and move around. You’ll feel better in no time.
I half-heartedly shove the bedding aside and cautiously swing my legs over the edge of the mattress as I sit upright. Being hit with a sledgehammer would hurt far less than this. Shit.
I lower my feet to the floor and slowly stand, testing my balance, testing what my body thinks of my plans.
My legs wobble under my weight, and I grab the corner of the nightstand, steadying myself.
Once I’m positive my equilibrium won’t fail me, I take a tentative step.
My muscles scream, What the hell do you think you’re doing? and I drop my ass back onto the edge of the bed.
I gauge the distance between me and the bedroom door. I don’t exactly want to stay in bed all day. My body will hate me if I even try. But I’m not sure I can make it to the living room either.
I pick up my phone and speed dial Keshia’s number.
“Good morning, Z,” she cheerfully chirps.
“I’m not gonna make it in,” I grumble, the words sandpapering the lining of my throat. Ouch. Goddammit. Ouch.
“You sound terrible.” The sweet sympathy in her tone is a soothing balm to my soul. Too bad it doesn’t do anything for the symptoms. “Do you need me to cover your shift?”
“Could you? I know you have plans to spend today with Tyler. And I hate to ask.” She wasn’t scheduled to work because it’s a holiday.
“He texted last night. He and the guys are in Portland. So no plans.”
“Portland? What happened to you two spending the day together?” Lord, why am I so surprised? This is Tyler we’re talking about. The king of letdowns when it comes to his girlfriend.
A fluttering sigh comes from Keshia’s end of the phone line. “Oh, well. What’s a girl to do?”
Dump his sorry ass. That would be my first suggestion. She can do so much better than him. And hopefully she realizes that before she wastes too much more time on a man who’s only capable of loving himself.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I promise her.
“Don’t worry about me and P&T. We’re good. You just make sure you get lots of rest. Is there anything you need? I can drop it off on my way. ”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Maybe I can crawl to the bedroom door since my legs aren’t in the mood to walk there.
We end the call, and with a groan, I lie down on the bed.
The bright side of brain fog is it dulls the memory of what Athena said during her rant that I overheard last week, when she was in the staff room. I haven’t been able to stop replaying it in my head. The downside?
I glance longingly at the spicy romance novel on the bedside table. I don’t have energy to read it.
There are always audiobooks.
I lift my phone and stare at the screen. I just don’t have the brain capacity right now to download an audiobook app, create an account, and find something worth listening to.
Maybe if I go back to sleep, I’ll wake up feeling better.
“Hey, Golden Girl.” The familiar, low husky voice intrudes on my restless dream, and a warm hand touches my aching head.
I’m vaguely aware of a soft moan, a moan possibly falling from between my dry lips. I slowly blink my eyes open. It takes a moment before the man sitting on the edge of my bed comes into focus.
He’s wearing his faded blue T-shirt that hugs his body just right and his jeans.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is scratchier than it was when I spoke to Keshia on the phone. Flames creep along the tender lining of my throat. On top of that, my nose feels like cotton balls have been stuffed up it, warping the sound of my voice even more.
“I took Peony to P&T to visit you, but Keshia told me you were home, sick. I dropped Peony off at home then came here. Is it the spondyloarthritis? You’re having a relapse?”
I shake my head, the movement minute. “No. An annoying summer cold.” Usually, summer colds don’t hit me like this, but with everything going on with my body, maybe the SpA made the illness feel worse than normal .
I try to shift on the bed, but the pain is a twelve. I can hardly move. I’m only capable of groaning.
“Did you have your meds today?”
“No. I haven’t been able to get as far as the bathroom.” The press of my bladder confirms it. If I don’t get up soon, I’m going to humiliate myself.
I can tell from Garrett’s expression the second the same thought crosses his mind. The part about me needing to go to the bathroom. Maybe not so much the part about humiliating myself.
“I’ll be right back.” He disappears out the bedroom door. A moment later, the rush of running water taunts me.
Not helping me here.
Praying my bladder doesn’t fail me, I squeeze my legs together. The action only worsens the muscle pain. It does nothing to ease the need to pee.
Garrett returns and scoops me up in his arms.
My arms go around his shoulders, and I try not to notice the press of his hard chest and abs against my side.
Try not to notice how delicious he feels.
“You shouldn’t come near me. You’ll get the plague too.
” Little late for that warning. “And Peony will get sick.” I don’t need to give Athena yet another reason not to like me.
Plus, it won’t help him with his deadline.
He gives my body a light squeeze-hug. “I’ll take my chances.”
Of course he will.
He carries me to the bathroom. “Why have you been avoiding me for the past week?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you.” I’ve totally been avoiding him—ever since I overheard Athena’s tirade in the staff room.
Every time I replayed her sharp words, they shredded me on the inside a little more.
“I’ve been busy. With all the planning I’ve been doing for the grand reopening. ” It’s the truth though.
He lowers me onto the closed toilet seat.
“I’ll give you privacy while you do your thing.
” He points to the toilet. “And I’ll help you into the bathtub once you’re done.
” A slightly panicked expression crosses his face, lifting his eyebrows.
“Unless you need help with…” He waves at me and the toilet.
“No, I’m good,” I say a little too quickly. If I wasn’t feeling like hell had stomped on me and if I wasn’t mortified at the thought of him helping me with the toilet, I’d burst out laughing at his equally mortified reaction.
Garrett leaves, shutting the door behind him. With the help of the counter, I stand on shaky legs, lower my sleep shorts and panties, and do my business.
Once I’m finished, I flush and wash my hands and brush my teeth. My eyes go to the mirror, and I die a little more on the inside. I don’t look like crap. I look a hundred times worse than crap.
I don’t have the energy to fix my less than substellar appearance. All I can do is remove my sleep bonnet and fluff my hair. It will have to do. It’s not like Garrett and I are dating and I don’t want him to see the real me.
He has seen the real me plenty of times—including when I have a cold.
Knocking comes from the other side of the door. “You ready?”
“Yep. Ready.”
The door cautiously opens, and Garrett steps into the small space, his body almost bumping into mine.
He turns on the tap for the bathtub and picks up the bottle of bath salts from the counter. He unscrews the lid and sniffs the contents. “It smells like you.”
“It’s jasmine.”
He pours some into the water. The light, floral scent is barely noticeable through the congestion in my head.
He returns the bottle to the counter and strips out of his T-shirt.
I don’t say anything or question what he’s doing. I lean against the bathroom door and appreciate the delectable view of his muscled abs and chest. A girl’s gotta make the most of moments like this whenever she can…even when she feels like crap.
Especially when she feels like crap.
His shorts, socks, and boxer briefs come off next. I wasn’t expecting him to join me in the bathtub, but he won’t see me complaining or protesting. I just watch the way his muscles stretch and contract, commit the view to memory for a rainy day. Damn, he’s fine. More than fine.
He turns off the water and helps me remove my T-shirt, a light blush spreading across his sun-kissed cheeks.
“You’ve seen me naked several times. How can you be embarrassed now?” I would giggle at how adorably-bashful the usually unflappable Marine is, but that would only hurt. Everywhere.
“’Cause those times I was planning to give you orgasms and be buried inside you. This seems…”
“Different? Intimate?” Just saying the second word feels like a caress to my soul.
He lifts his shoulders. “Yeah, something like that.”
He helps me shimmy out of the rest of my clothes, placing them next to his on the counter. I can tell he’s doing his best not to check me out, but I keep catching the accidental glances, like featherlight brushes to my skin.
He steps into the bathtub and offers his hand. I take it and join him in the water.
We sit, sloshing the water in gentle waves, my butt settling between his powerful thighs. I lean against him. Heat laps my aching muscles, and I moan in satisfaction.