Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Scottie
“If you tell me it’s not a big deal one more time, I’ll throw you in my truck and take you to the hospital,” he says.
“I’ll punch you if you even try,” I say through clattering teeth as I shiver on the couch. Still, I take a sip from the straw he puts in my mouth.
“I’m more afraid of Pinto punching me.” He nods toward where my cat has been perched on top of my bookshelf all day. “If your fever doesn’t break tomorrow, I’m taking you in, regardless. A fever this high for that many days is dangerous.”
In my head, I say, “I like you when you’re bossy,” but the words thankfully don’t make it out of my mouth. I just make a mumbling sound, and Lucas tucks a blanket around me.
I’m vaguely aware of him sitting in my armchair when I fall asleep. Through the night I drift in and out of consciousness—dreaming of buzzing, alarms, cool metal against my forehead, and a straw pushed between my lips with something nasty in it.
But they’re nothing more than fever dreams. I didn’t say goodbye to Lucas, but there’s no way he stayed. He did his time. Anyone would have gone home after yesterday.
That effort wouldn’t be worth it.
Hours later, predawn light peeks through my closed curtains just enough to wake me.
I’m exhausted, battered, and covered in sweat, but I feel a million times better.
I take a deep breath, reveling in the feeling of moving without every inch of me hurting.
Then I look around the room and play my favorite game: where’s Pinto?
I find him almost immediately sitting under a heating vent.
My eyes keep scanning the room, though, my throat pinched with nerves I’m trying to pretend don’t exist. Truth is, I’m nervous to look at the armchair.
Scared by how much I want him to still be here.
Just check, I tell myself. Rip off the Band-Aid!
My eyes drift to the chair before I can stop them.
Empty.
My heart seems to dry out. It’s stupid to be disappointed. He went above and beyond yesterday. Knowing him, he probably even sent a text telling me when he’ll be back.
If he’ll be back—
Whoosh.
A flush from the hallway bathroom makes me hiccup with relief. Excitement. Gratitude.
The emotion leaks out of my eyes, and I wipe them while the sink runs.
A minute later, I’m pretending to be asleep when I hear the door open.
His feet pad across the hardwood, and a moment later, there’s a quiet rummaging.
Then I feel the sensation of cold metal gliding from one side of my forehead to the other. Hear a soft beep. A sigh of relief.
“98.4,” he mutters. He lets out what sounds like a laugh, but it’s too full, like something’s spilling out of it. “I think your fever officially broke,” he whispers.
His fingertips skim across the top of my forehead and into my hair, a feeling that is so comforting, I almost moan. I stay still and silent, though, not wanting to spook him, not wanting him to stop.
“You are so beautiful.” He exhales the words like a sigh. Holds his hand on my face …
Then he goes back to the armchair. After only a few minutes, I hear his breathing regulate, and I risk looking at him. He’s still in the same clothes—team sweatshirt, jeans, socks. His eyes are closed, head tipped to the side, arms folded, and his feet are propped up on my coffee table.
My chest tightens so suddenly, I have to close my eyes and try to stave off the overwhelming feeling.
He stayed.
I don’t think I made it easy for him, either.
But he stayed.
With my eyes closed and a smile on my lips, I curl back up and fall fast asleep.
***
Sometime later, I hear a buzz, then a soft curse, then the thud of a phone hitting the floor.
I stretch like a cat while Lucas dives for his phone, scrambling to silence the alarm.
“Sorry,” he says, swiping into a screen. “I still had my alarm set to check on you every two hours. I’m so sorry.”
I yawn, still stretching. “It’s okay. You didn’t need to stay.”
He gives me a warning look, and I snort.
“I mean, thank you for staying.” I purposefully say it in an exaggerated way, hoping he’ll know I mean it but I’m me, so I can’t say it.
“Was that so hard?”
“Excruciating,” I say, slowly sitting up.
“Easy there.” He rushes to sit across from me on the coffee table and then puts his hand to my head. It’s strong and warm, and I shiver in spite of myself. He frowns. “I don’t think you have a fever, but are you still getting chills?”
I could kick my stupid body for responding to his touch.
“No, I’m fine. Honestly. I feel like I’ve been wrung out, but the aches and chills are gone.
” He nods, and then there’s a buzz on his phone—not alarm style, but a text.
He ignores it and goes into the kitchen, and I can’t help glancing at his phone.
He has a text from the Mudflaps’ manager—my friend, Fletch.
Fletch
Morning throwing started eighteen minutes ago. Missing a mandatory training is a $500 fine.
Above the text on his lock screen, the time reads 8:48.
“What are you doing here?” I call into the kitchen, urgency pushing away every other emotion. “You have throwing today! You can’t hover over me like this. Go before you get fined!”
No part of him rushes or even reacts. He calmly puts the soup in the microwave and sets it for forty-five seconds. While it’s warming, he hands me yet another coconut water. I’m probably half coconut at this point.
“Fletch isn’t going to fine me.”
“You have a job!” I say. “You’re training for the Show, Lucas. Every practice matters.”
“I’ll call him and tell him what’s going on. I promise he’ll understand.” The microwave beeps, and Lucas walks back into the kitchen, still talking to me. “He’s way nicer since he fell in love with Chat Girl.”
“Her name is Poppy. And you have to take this more seriously.”
“I take it seriously,” he says, coming back with the soup and a spoon. “I take my friend’s health more seriously. Now eat.”
I glare at him, but I’m also starving and take the soup too eagerly.
“Aren’t I supposed to eat rice and toast and all that?
” I ask, bringing the spoon up to my lips.
I hold back a moan—barely. It’s easily the best chicken noodle soup I’ve ever had.
The broth is rich and salty and warms me from head to toe.
“No, that’s for the stomach bug, not the actual flu. For influenza, you need vitamins and nutrients, not stuff that’s easy to digest.”
I swallow another bite. “Whatever you say, Doc.” It’s one thing for him to be supporting a friend. It’s another to wear such patient worry after doting on me all day and night. “Lucas, you have to go. I feel way better, and your career is too important. Go. Now!”
He pauses and studies me, like he’s making sure I’m okay to be on my own. “Fine, but only because you have enough energy to yell,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “But I’m coming back after to check on you.”
“Fine,” I repeat back to him, “but we’re starting the PR boot camp the second you get here, so be ready.”
“Okay.” He spends a minute grabbing his watch, wallet, hat, and keys from the side table and slipping on his shoes, and then he comes over to the couch and leans down like he …
Like he wants to kiss me.
I go still as he jerks back.
“Uh, sorry, I was just, uh,” he stammers. Puts his hand quickly on my head. “Just checking for a fever. I’m gonna go.”
“Yeah. Good thinking,” I say, ducking my face practically into the soup bowl.
“But I’ll be back,” he says, walking backward to the door.
“Cool.”
“Be careful. I mean, don’t, uh, overdo it.”
“Got it,” I say. “See ya, buddy.”
“See ya, pal.” He groans but doesn’t correct himself.
The door opens.
Closes.
And I melt into a puddle on the couch.
He almost kissed me.
I’m a disgusting, sweaty mess of sickness, and Lucas Fischer wanted to kiss me goodbye, even after he spent the last eighteen hours taking care of me.
I smile to myself. My phone buzzes with a text, and I grab it automatically.
My face falls.
I have dozens of missed texts, but the most are from my family.
Mom
How’s our girl this morning?
Jake, have you heard from her?
Scottie’s Boyfriend
not yet
she said she’d text when she woke up
Mom
Oh no. She still hasn’t sent anything? Can you check on her?
Scottie’s Boyfriend
i flew back into Chicago last night
training today sorry
i’ll call her later
Mom
No problem, sweetie! I wish you could have checked on her, but I understand. Just let me know if you hear from her. <3
Scottie, text me the second you’re up. I’m worried about you.
I groan.
The scene of domestic warmth this morning almost made me forget my situation, which is idiotic. To Lucas, I’m still Jake Rodgers’s girlfriend. If anything, he’s probably kicking himself right now for forgetting, too.
I’m “taken.”
And if Jake, his stupid agent, and my family get their way, not even Liam Neeson could save me.