Chapter 40 - Out of Control #4
Not anything either of us could pretend had been chosen carefully.
He was sick.
Half asleep.
Shivering.
And apparently somewhere beneath all that control, when he felt awful enough-
he reached for me.
I curled my fingers around his.
"I'm here."
His grip loosened slightly.
But he didn't let go.
So neither did I.
I sat there with one hand in his and the other changing the cloth on his forehead.
Minutes passed.
Maybe an hour.
I stopped checking.
At some point, I started running my fingers through his hair.
Slowly.
Away from his forehead.
Again.
And again.
There was no reason for it.
I'd already dried his hair carefully with a towel after cooling him down, making sure I hadn't left it wet.
The cloth had already done what it needed to do.
This wasn't.
This was just-
comfort.
His breathing seemed to settle whenever I did it.
So I kept doing it.
My fingertips moved through his messy hair.
Over his scalp.
Back again.
Every now and then his fingers tightened around mine.
And every time they did, my chest hurt a little.
"It's okay," I whispered.
His face turned slightly toward my hand.
I went still.
Then slowly moved my fingers through his hair again.
He settled.
Something about that almost destroyed me.
Adrian Vale, who fought everyone.
Argued about everything.
Controlled everything.
Needed nobody.
Was lying on his couch with a fever, holding my hand because apparently even Adrian needed someone sometimes.
So I stayed.
I watched Miami slowly become morning through the windows.
I knew the exact moment the black outside turned dark blue.
Then gray.
Then pale gold began appearing over the Atlantic.
I hadn't slept.
Not really.
Maybe ten minutes here.
Five there.
Never enough to count.
Adrian finally stopped shivering sometime before sunrise.
His temperature came down too.
Not normal.
But down.
Enough that I could breathe again.
At seven-fifteen, my phone vibrated on the table.
I carefully freed my hand from Adrian's.
He moved slightly.
His fingers closed once around empty air.
My heart did something stupid.
I picked up my phone.
Claire.
I didn't bother waiting for her to ask.
Her response came less than a minute later.
I looked at him.
Three dots.
I smiled tiredly.
Then another message.
I looked down at myself.
Same pajamas.
Hair probably insane.
Eyes burning.
I had absolutely no intention of taking that advice.
Adrian woke properly around eight.
His eyes opened.
Focused.
Found me.
I was sitting on the floor beside the couch with my back against it.
"Morning."
His eyebrows pulled together.
He looked around.
Then at me again.
"What time is it?"
"Eight-ish."
His voice was still terrible.
But his eyes were clearer.
That alone made me want to celebrate.
I checked his temperature.
102.1.
I actually smiled.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're smiling."
"You're less cooked."
He closed his eyes.
"Excellent."
"How do you feel?"
"Terrible."
"Good."
His eyes opened again.
"That was unnecessarily cruel."
"If you can complain about my personality, you're improving."
His mouth moved slightly.
I stood.
"Breakfast."
"No."
I pointed at him.
"Don't start."
His eyes closed.
"I'm sleeping."
"You just woke up."
"I changed my mind."
"Too bad."
Breakfast was simple.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
Coffee for me.
And, because apparently I had lost all respect for authority, I made Adrian eat again.
He was stronger than yesterday.
Not strong.
But stronger.
Strong enough to hold his glass.
Strong enough to feed himself.
Strong enough to tell me my eggs needed salt.
I stared at him.
"You nearly reached 104 degrees last night."
"They still need salt."
"I kept you alive."
"With under-seasoned eggs."
"I'm going home."
"No."
The word came out immediately.
I stopped.
Adrian stopped.
We looked at each other.
Then he picked up his glass.
"You said you were staying."
"I was threatening you."
"You're bad at threats."
I stared at him for another second.
Then went back to my breakfast.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Neither of us mentioned it.
After breakfast, Adrian looked at me for approximately thirty seconds before saying-
"You need to sleep."
"I'm fine."
"No."
I looked up.
He was sitting on the couch again.
"You're using my own material against me."
"You haven't slept."
"I slept."
"When?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
"Exactly."
"You were unconscious for most of the night. You don't know what I was doing."
His expression changed slightly.
"You stayed up."
It wasn't a question.
I shrugged.
"Your fever went up."
"How high?"
"103.8."
His eyes stayed on me.
"And?"
"And what?"
"What did you do?"
"Kept it from becoming your new personality."
"Angelica."
"Medicine. Water. Cool cloths. Watched your temperature."
I didn't mention his hand.
Or mine.
Or the fact that I'd spent part of the night running my fingers through his hair like that was a perfectly normal thing to do with my boss.
Former almost-ex-boss.
Whatever he was now.
"I know."
I looked at him.
"What?"
Adrian's eyes stayed on mine.
"What you did last night."
I frowned.
"You were barely conscious."
"I was conscious."
I stared at him.
"The whole time?"
"Most of it."
Oh.
I suddenly became extremely aware of my hands.
The damp cloth.
His forehead.
His neck.
His hair.
My fingers moving through it over and over again because every time I stopped, he seemed less settled.
His hand finding mine.
Holding it.
Tightening around my fingers whenever another shiver went through him.
He remembered that.
All of it.
"You could've said something."
"I had a fever of almost one hundred and four."
"You still complained plenty."
"I prioritized."
I almost smiled.
Then his expression changed.
The humor disappeared.
"Thank you."
I went still.
Completely still.
Adrian Vale had just thanked me.
I tried to remember another time he'd done that.
For anything.
I couldn't.
Not when I'd helped him with work.
Not when I'd done something for him.
Not once.
Adrian doesn't thank people.
He acknowledges things.
He nods.
He occasionally stops being an asshole for several consecutive seconds.
Apparently that's supposed to be enough.
Then I remembered.
Although—
That wasn't entirely true.
He'd thanked me before.
For bringing him food.
But that had been different.
A quiet thank you over dinner.
This wasn't.
But now he was looking directly at me.
And he'd said it.
Thank you.
Somehow, those same two words felt completely different now.
"For what?" I asked, quieter than I'd intended.
His eyes didn't leave mine.
"Last night."
I swallowed.
"You already said you knew."
"I do."
A pause.
"You stayed awake all night."
I didn't say anything.
"You kept checking my temperature. You kept changing the cloth. You made me drink water when I didn't want it."
My chest tightened.
His voice was still rough from being sick.
"You stayed beside me the entire night."
Another pause.
Then, quieter-
"Thank you for taking care of me."
Well.
Fuck.
I looked down at my hands.
Because apparently looking at Adrian was no longer an option.
He remembered.
Not just that I'd been there.
He remembered my hand in his.
He remembered my fingers moving through his hair.
He remembered me sitting beside him hour after hour while he shook.
And somehow knowing he'd been conscious for all of it made everything I'd done feel completely different.
"You don't have to thank me," I said.
"I know."
Of course that was his answer.
Not okay.
Not fine.
I know.
He wasn't thanking me because he thought he owed me one.
He was thanking me because he wanted to.
I finally looked at him again.
"You're welcome."
For some reason, that was harder to say than it should have been.
Neither of us mentioned his hand holding mine.
Neither of us mentioned my fingers in his hair.
We didn't need to.
Apparently, he remembered.
Adrian looked at me for another second.
Then his eyes moved over my face.
"Now go to the guest room and sleep."
"No."
His eyebrows pulled together.
"You were awake all night."
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted."
"I'm not leaving you here alone."
"I'm better."
"You're still sick."
"I'm sitting three rooms away."
"Still no."
He stared at me.
I stared back.
"Guest room," he said.
"No."
"Angelica."
"Adrian."
"Go to sleep."
"I will."
"In the guest room."
"On the couch."
His eyes narrowed.
"There's a bed."
"Congratulations."
"Angelica."
"I'm sleeping."
Before he could argue, I took the pillow from the other end of the couch, put it down, and stretched out.
Adrian stared at me.
I pulled the light throw over myself.
"Goodnight."
"It's nine-thirty in the morning."
"Then good morning."
"Go to the guest room."
I closed my eyes.
"No."
"Angelica."
Nothing.
"Angelica."
I smiled without opening my eyes.
"You're disturbing my sleep."
Silence.
Finally.
I settled deeper into the pillow.
The couch smelled faintly like him.
That was an observation I absolutely did not need.
I was asleep before I could think about it again.
When I opened my eyes, I had no idea how long I'd been asleep.
For several seconds, I didn't move.
Then my vision focused.
Adrian was sitting beside the couch.
Watching me.
I blinked.
He didn't look away.
"How long have you been sitting there?"
"Not long."
I stared at him.
"That's suspiciously vague."
"Go back to sleep."
"You were watching me sleep."
"You were sleeping."
"Excellent observation."
His mouth moved slightly.
I pulled the blanket a little higher.
"Creep."
"Go back to sleep, Angelica."
My eyes were already closing again.
And strangely, knowing he was sitting right there made it easier to do exactly that.
When I woke up again, the light outside had changed.
Late afternoon.
For a few seconds, I stayed exactly where I was.
Then I remembered where I was.
Adrian's couch.
Adrian's penthouse.
Adrian-