Chapter 41 – thiago
Forty-One
thiago
Ihaven’t woken up to a foot in my ribs since I was ten years old, when I had sleepovers in Rio with my cousins.
Rolling onto my back, I feel the offending foot flop onto my stomach so hard it forces a grunt from my chest. I lie there for a moment, taking stock of how I feel. My head is still heavy, but the fever-induced haze that has consumed me for days is finally lifting.
Then I remember that Remi stayed.
My eyes snap open. Morning sunlight spills through the gaps in the blinds, casting pale streaks across the living room. It takes me a second to spot her sprawled at the opposite end of the couch beneath a throw blanket.
One leg hangs over the cushions while the other is draped across my stomach, as if she owns the place. As if she owns me.
I can’t help smiling.
I stare at her longer than I should, tracing every contour of her face and committing every detail to memory. Without the jokes, sarcasm, and distractions she uses to keep people at arm’s length, the armor she wears so effortlessly when she’s awake is nowhere to be found.
Maybe some part of her has always known that getting too close to me is a mistake. But she stayed and took care of me even after our argument, even though she didn’t have to.
Against my better judgment, I let my mind wander again, imagining a different reality where I get to watch Remi fall asleep every night and wake up beside her every morning.
I picture pulling her into my arms after hours of making her mine, her hair spread across my pillow and her sleepy complaints as I wake her too early.
The longer I let myself imagine it, the harder it becomes to ignore how badly I want it to be real.
“Are you just going to sit there and stare, or are you going to offer me breakfast?” She stretches beneath the blanket and slowly opens her eyes. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
When the teasing fades, there’s a tenderness to her voice I’ve never heard her use with me before.
“Better. Not great, but definitely better.”
Her entire face brightens as she sits up and reaches for my forehead. “Still warm.”
I gently take her hand in mine and press a kiss on her palm. “That awful canned soup must have done the trick since we both know it wasn’t the morale lollipop you stole.”
Remi laughs. “Probably not.” She slips her hand from mine and rises from the couch. “Do you have an extra toothbrush, Braga?”
“It’s in the cabinet beneath the sink.”
An hour later, we’re finishing scrambled eggs and toast at my kitchen island.
She made sure I ate and took more cold and flu medicine, hovering over me until I swallowed every last pill. I happily went along with it all because it meant I could keep her here a little longer, listening to her ramble about whatever happened to cross her mind.
There were plenty of them, and I laugh to myself as I think about how easily she filled the last hour with stories, random observations, and questions that somehow led to entirely different conversations.
For a few hours, I got to pretend this was normal. I got to pretend she was mine and there wasn’t a time bomb hanging over our heads waiting to destroy everything.
“I have to head out,” she says sometime around noon. “Promise me you’ll have dinner delivered and not starve yourself while running a fever.”
“I promise.”
Remi rises onto her toes and presses the back of her hand against my neck. “Your fever is just as stubborn as you are,” she murmurs.
The concern in her voice does dangerous things to my heart.
“Must have been that pond water,” she adds.
I snort. “So what you’re saying is that this is your fault because you’re the one who pushed me in.”
Remi shrugs. “Either way, I paid my dues, Braga. I took care of you and even bathed you, so that has to count for something.”
My gaze drifts over her face and the smile that’s slowly becoming my favorite thing in the world. “It counts for everything.”
Her grin falters for the briefest second. If I say another word, I might tell her exactly how much it means, and if she stays any longer, I might forget all the reasons she can’t.
“See you,” she whispers as she squeezes my arm.
When she turns to leave, I catch her wrist.
“Remi, I know you keep saying we aren’t friends, but—”
“We are.”
I blink. “What?”
She rolls her eyes as though the answer should be obvious. “Do you think I’d go out of my way to take care of just anyone?”
I can’t stop myself from smiling. “No.”
“Exactly.” She points at me. “And I brought you my last lollipop.”
“You ate it.”
She laughs. “It’s the thought that counts.”
Before I can think better of it, I grab the front of her shirt and gently tug her toward me. She stumbles forward with a surprised laugh, and a second later, my arms are around her.
I rest my chin on her head and close my eyes. The scent of her shampoo fills my lungs, and her warmth presses against mine. Everything about this feels reckless, selfish, and so fucking unfair, yet it also feels right.
Remi’s hands settle against my back. “You know,” she says softly, “for someone who has the flu, you’re awfully clingy. Trying to share your germs?”
A laugh rumbles through my chest. “Give me a break. I almost died.”
“You had a fever.”
“It was very serious.”
She snorts, and I tighten my arms around her for another second before forcing myself to let go. Stepping back, she looks up at me. “Get some rest, Braga.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She studies me for another second as if trying to determine whether she believes me. Apparently deciding I’m hopeless, she shakes her head and heads for the door.
I watch her go like I always do, and every time she does, letting her walk away gets a little harder.