Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jason
When I get back from my run, Hailey’s nowhere to be seen, but I notice a couple of sticky notes on the table, one asking where to put dirty dishes and one that’s a grocery list.
Picking up the pen, I write, In the sink, as the answer to the question on the first one.
Then I take a quick glance through the fridge and pantry, add a few more things to the grocery delivery app on top of the things she listed, and hit order.
As soon as I hit it, I second-guess myself.
Did I order the right kind of cough drops? Or the right brand of tea?
I just picked the cough drops I normally get and the first option for cinnamon spice tea. Well, if she has other preferences, I can take care of that when she comes back out.
After a quick shower, I make myself some breakfast, wondering if she’s asleep or awake … If she were awake, wouldn’t she come out here?
But she feels like she’s an inconvenience, so she might hide in her room no matter what.
After I finish my eggs and toast, I rinse my plate and put it and Hailey’s in the dishwasher, then consider if I should check on her or not.
I don’t want her to feel like she has to remain in her room if she’d rather come out, but I also don’t want her to feel like she has to come out if she doesn’t want to.
Ultimately, I decide to text her. Maybe it’s silly, but then if she’s sleeping, I’m less likely to wake her up. And if she’s awake, well, she’ll see the text.
I ordered the groceries you requested. And then I was worried I got the wrong brand of cough drops and tea. Here’s what I got
I snap a screenshot and send it to her.
That’s perfect. Thank you
So you ARE awake
Yeah. I kinda wish I wasn’t, but I can’t sleep any more right now. I’m tired and feel awful, though
Awww. I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can do for you?
No, I’ll be fine. You should stay away from me, though. I don’t want to get you sick
I’m not worried
Good for you. I still don’t want to risk it. I’ll keep to my room until I’m better
I blow out a breath, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, ready to type out a protest. But if she wants to stay in bed, that might be what she needs, after all. Who am I to argue?
Let me know if you need anything else
Okay. I will.
I stare at the screen for a few more seconds, wondering if she’ll say anything else. Or if I should say something else. But what else is there to say?
Tossing my phone on the couch next to me, I pick up the TV remote.
God, this sucks, though. I had a whole fun day planned, and now she’s sick and can’t go anywhere.
I don’t know what to do with myself, either.
I already went for a run. I’ve been watching game tape for days.
I don’t want to just sit here on my ass all day, but I also don’t want to leave her alone. What if she needs something?
Plus, I’m waiting for groceries, so it’s not like I can do anything until after they get here.
But I can’t settle. I start a show, then turn it off.
Find a movie, let it play for twenty minutes, but I’m doomscrolling the whole time, so it’s not like I’m paying attention.
It’s just unnecessary noise, so I turn it off, then head over to YouTube to see what the indie sports commentators are saying about the upcoming season.
Everyone has an opinion, of course. My high school coach loved to tell us that opinions are like assholes—everyone’s got one, and they all stink. He said the same thing about excuses, too. Actually, he said excuses more than opinions, now that I think about it.
Even that doesn’t hold my attention for long, though. I’m either bored or irritated by all of them.
The real issue is that I want to spend time with Hailey. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since she agreed to come. The need to see her, talk to her, make sure she has everything she needs is like an itch I can’t scratch.
“At least I got her the groceries she wanted,” I mutter to myself.
Plus soup—because who doesn’t like soup when they’re not feeling well?
—and other things that I hope she likes.
Despite feeding her several meals while I was in Wisconsin, I don’t really know what she eats normally.
Other than that she’s not much of a breakfast eater, today being a notable exception.
Passing out before dinner and sleeping all night will do that to you, though.
I mean, I’d wake up ravenous after a few hours, personally.
I’ve done it before after a particularly grueling set of away games, when we leave as soon as the game is over.
I can kinda sleep on planes, but not well.
And there’ve been a few times over the years where I came home and crashed, only to wake up starving at some ungodly hour.
Usually I’ll get up, eat something, then go back to bed.
As I’m scrolling some more, I get an alert that my groceries are on their way. I force myself to stay put rather than pace the length of my condo while I wait for them to arrive.
The doorman texts when the delivery person reaches the lobby, asking if I want to come down or if he should bring them up.
Be right down
Any excuse to get up and move is welcome at this point. If I had to wait for the doorman to get my groceries up to me, I think I’d tear the door off the hinges in my impatience.
Grabbing my keys, I slip on some shoes, pocket my phone, then head down to the lobby, where I nod at Dave, the doorman, grab my bags, and head back up to my place.
Hailey appears in the entrance to the living room as I’m putting things away.
“Hey!” I call, trying to sound cheerful but not in a way that makes her want to punch me in the face.
I hate when people are overly cheerful when I feel like ass.
“Your honey and tea and everything are here. Do you want me to make you a cup?”
“That’d be so wonderful,” she croaks, then disappears into the bathroom.
Ah, so that explains why she left her cave.
I rummage around until I find the tea kettle—I’m not much of a tea drinker, so it doesn’t get used often—fill it with water, and set it on the stove, happy to have something useful to do.
I get down a mug, open the new box of tea, and put a bag inside it, ready and waiting for the water to heat up.
I also pull the honey out of the bag, tossing it in the air end over end, then catching it before setting it on the counter next to the mug.
“What else, what else, what else?” I chant, scanning the kitchen. What goes good with tea and isn’t murder on a sore throat? Toast seems too scratchy. Should I have gotten popsicles?
My mom always let me eat my fill of popsicles when I had a sore throat as a kid.
I’m not sure I can handle waiting for another grocery delivery, though. If she wants popsicles, I’m going to go get them myself.
The bathroom door clicks open just then, and I step out of the kitchen so I can see her. “I’ve got the water on for your tea. It should be ready any minute. Do you want to drink it out here on the couch? Or …”
She’s already shaking her head before I can make another suggestion, her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed around herself. “No, that’s okay. I’d rather be in bed. It’s warmer in there. I’m freezing.”
That … that has me worried. “You’re freezing?”
She nods.
I take a step closer, but she backs up, hands going up as though to ward me off.
“Seriously, Jason. This is the worst cold I’ve ever had.
It’s hanging on for a stupid long time. You do not want it.
Aren’t you supposed to be playing hockey again soon?
I know you said not for a couple more weeks, but if I feel this awful the second week, I don’t want you to get it.
You’ll be in no shape to play when you need to go back to work. ”
Pressing my lips together, I cross my arms. “Fine,” I bite out, not liking that she won’t let me near her. “When your tea’s ready, am I going to have to step out on the balcony while you get it? Or can I bring it to you?”
She eyes the balcony, then looks back at me. “Probably that wouldn’t be a terrible idea, but I feel awful enough that I’ll let you bring it to me.” Pointing at me, she narrows her eyes and glares. “But you have to hold your breath while you’re in my room.”
“Whatever you say, Hailey.”
“Promise,” she demands.
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Fine. I promise.”
Just then, the tea kettle starts screaming.
She winces, and I rush to the kitchen to take it off the stove and turn off the burner.
As I’m pouring the water into the mug, I ask, “Is there anything else you want to go with it? I have some shortbread cookies someone gave me a while ago. They might be nice.”
When she doesn’t answer, I look up to find that I’m alone once again. She scampered back to her room while I wasn’t looking.
“How will I know how much honey you want?” I yell, then hold my breath as I wait for an answer.
Pointlessly, it turns out, because she texts me her answer.
“Just bring the honey, too,” I read out loud.
“And a spoon.” Snorting, I set my phone back down.
“Fine,” I yell back, not wanting to play the texting game when I know she’s awake and can hear me.
I can’t really blame her for not wanting to yell back, though, from the sounds of the coughs coming from her room.
They’re deep. Chesty. Reverberating. Sometimes she sounds a little like the sea lions that gather on the beaches in California.
After the tea has steeped for a few minutes, I carefully remove the tea bag, then take the mug, a spoon, and the new honey bear I bought into her room.
Once I step inside the door, she lets out an eep!
that immediately sets off another coughing fit.
This one sounds even worse than before, and from the way she throws back the blankets and hops out of bed, her mouth closed and eyes wide, I think it was productive.
I step to the side, letting her out, and set the tea, honey, and spoon on the bedside table.
“Gross,” I hear from the bathroom, followed by the sound of running water.
When she steps back into the bedroom, she glares at me. “You promised to hold your breath,” she croaks, sounding worse than she did before.
“I’m worried about you, Hailey.”
She waves away my concern. “I told you. It’s a cold. I’ve been battling it for about a week already. Flying just made it worse, is all. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
Except she’s not fine in a few days. The next day, she has a fever—or still has a fever, since I’m pretty sure she had one already—and the day after that, she won’t even get out of bed. “I’m calling the doctor,” I announce.
She winces, pulling the blanket over her head and coughing. “I don’t need a doctor,” I barely hear after the coughing subsides. “I told you, I’ll be fine.”
“Hailey. You’re clearly very sick. You won’t be fine if you have pneumonia.
” One of the guys I played with knew someone who died of pneumonia.
She was friends with his girlfriend, early twenties just like us.
She was fine. Healthy. Nothing obviously wrong with her.
She just got sick. And sicker. And sicker.
Eventually she went to the hospital, and then she was gone.
I’ll be damned if I let the same thing happen to Hailey. Not after—
I savagely cut that thought off. “You don’t have a choice,” I announce. “I’m calling a doctor. You don’t have to go anywhere or do anything but lie there.”
She flips the blankets down, her eyes wide. “Jason, no!” she hisses. “That’ll be so expensive!” Her voice is pretty much gone, so hissing and whispers are all she can manage right now.
I give her a jaded look. “My insurance would cover it if you agreed to marry me already.”
She throws up her hands. “You want me to marry you like this?”
Shrugging one shoulder, I pull my phone out. “Honestly, Hailey, if it meant you’d see a doctor? Yes. Absolutely. Right now, though, you’re seeing a doctor either way. I’ll pay for it. I don’t care.”
I’m not sure what she sees when she examines my face, but whatever it is, she sighs and relaxes. “Fine,” she mutters.
“Fine?” I ask, needing to clarify. “Fine you’ll quit objecting to the doctor? Or fine you’ll marry me?”
She glares at me again. “Both.”