17. Jake
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
jake
“ M orning, Jake,” Frank calls, taking a tentative step into my workshop. The bay doors are open, as they have been all week. With the summer heat rising, I like to take advantage of the breeze it provides and fresh air it lets in.
“Hey, Frank, do I have a delivery today?” I ask, confused. My wood and supplies don’t get delivered by him, and I’m not sure I’ve ordered anything else.
“Actually, yes,” he says, handing over a box. “I also wanted to pop in and ask you a question. There’s a help wanted sign on your storefront. What are you hiring for?”
It’s been up for almost a week now, and no one has responded to it or to my online post. “I need an apprentice and someone to run the store part-time. Do you know of someone?”
Frank rubs a hand over his jaw, looking a little sheepish. “My son needs a job. He graduated earlier this month and has no idea what he wants for his future. Colby’s a hard worker, and he’s good with his hands. He’s been helping me fix things around the house for years.”
My last apprentice I hired wasn’t bad, but he had a big ego.
Everything I taught him he claimed to already know and excel at from his previous job.
It was beyond frustrating, and the quality of the pieces he worked on often weren’t up to my standards.
Having someone with no training is enticing.
Building his skills from the ground up can ensure I teach him the correct and safe way to do everything.
“Send him in, I’m sure we can work something out.”
Frank leaves with a wide smile and a promise that Colby will stop by this evening.
Apparently, he’s been out camping with his high school buddies this week before they go off to college but is heading home today.
My type of guy already. I have plans to meet with Amber after she closes her shop today, so hopefully he shows before then.
We’ve seen each other in passing at the gym all week, and my mom mentioned Amber brought her lunch and ate with her twice this week while she was working.
Other than that, she’s kept her distance from me.
I clearly walked into something on Sunday when she was with the girls, but the sadness in Lily’s eyes and the subtle shake of Michele’s head told me not to ask or get involved.
Hopefully, she’s finally opening up to them.
Evelyn’s request to keep an eye on her has stayed at the back of my mind.
The thought crossed my mind to tell her to call Amber, but I didn’t want to push, and the girls seemed to have it handled.
When I see her tonight, I can get a better read on how she’s doing.
Plus, we have friend dinner at Thoren’s place in two days.
My mom closes the store at five, poking her head into the shop to say goodbye.
She informs me she left a sticky note on the door for Colby, letting him know to come around back.
About an hour later, a young man walks into the shop.
I thought all day on how to see if he would be a good fit.
It dawned on me that since my delivery today, I had a task that was easier with two sets of hands, so I put him to work while I interviewed him.
Together, we installed the motion-activated light and security camera I ordered for the back of the stores.
Both are in range of Amber’s store and entrance to her apartment.
It bothered me knowing she had no protection back here.
I don’t work late every night, and it’s a dark alleyway.
There was no way I was leaving her unprotected like that.
Colby is eager to help and doesn’t complain once even though I’m extorting free labor out of him.
He seems like a good kid and had no problem agreeing to work two days in the store and three in the shop with me.
We agree he will start Monday, then I send him on his way.
Having his help will make a huge difference for my mom and me.
She can be home for Dad more, and I can possibly even take a full day off once in a while.
Things are slowly coming together around here.
After putting away my tools, I realize it’s after seven thirty, and I was supposed to meet Amber at seven.
Surprised she hasn’t come to yell at me, I grab the shelves I finished for Socks and ring her buzzer for the back door.
She takes a few minutes to answer, but when she pulls the door open, I instantly know something is wrong.
Her usually tan skin is pale and blotchy, with a light sheen of sweat coating her skin. Amber ushers me in before closing the back door, then ambles over to her register where she slumps onto a stool. There are no angry words at being late, not even an annoyed glare.
“I finished your website with your mom this week. I can walk you through everything after you hang the shelves.” Her movements are slow, and concern races through me.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she grits out, clearly in pain. “You can hang them wherever you think will look best. I’ll be right back.”
I know better than most that you can’t help someone who refuses to acknowledge they need it.
Letting her slip into the back, I pull out my pen, level, and drill and start marking off where to put the shelves.
It takes me fifteen minutes to install them all, plus the box one for him to hide in.
With my mom’s help, I lined the bottom of that one with a little foam piece and covered it with a fuzzy material for him to lounge in.
Stepping back, I admire my work, then realize Amber never returned.
I figured she was out here folding things or cleaning, but looking around, she’s nowhere to be found.
The back room is small, mostly filled with extra stock, and a desk, a chair, a microwave, and a mini fridge sit along one wall.
She’s not there either, which only leaves one place.
I rap my knuckles on the bathroom door and wait for a response. After a minute of nothing, I call out to her, only to be met with a grumble. The door is locked, but that’s never stopped me before. Grabbing my drill, I use the small bit to pick the lock, and it swings open.
Amber is sprawled on the floor, her head over the toilet. Crouching, I move to touch her shoulder only to feel the heat radiating from her body.
“Shit, Amber,” I say, putting my hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up.”
Bleary eyes look up at me, widening in horror, then she leans farther into the toilet and hurls. My hands rush for her hair, holding it out of the way. Stroking her head, I tell her it’s okay as she continually heaves, even when there’s nothing left in her stomach.
When she finally stops and slumps back into the wall beside her, I wet some paper towels. She takes them to wipe her mouth, so I wet more with cold water and run them over her forehead and down her neck.
I keep my voice low and my movements tender. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No,” she rasps. “Just to bed.”
No part of me likes this. She looked okay at the gym this morning, but now that I think about it, she didn’t stay as long as usual.
I jog through the store to ensure everything is locked up.
Turning off the lights as I go, I grab her keys from the back desk.
My tools will have to stay for now, so I put them off to the side before making my way back to the bathroom.
Amber groans when I lift her off the floor and into my arms, her head tucking into my chest. Careful not to run into anything, I step out of her store, locking the door behind us, and walk the few steps to her apartment entrance. Unlocking that door, I carry her up to her home.
Socks meows at my feet as I move to the couch and set Amber down.
She’s shivering, though her skin is slick with sweat, and she’s radiating heat.
Caressing her hair, I tell her to stay there, then kick off my boots and turn on her shower to lukewarm.
On my way back to her, I open her kitchen cupboards until I find a glass and fill it with cold water.
She’s only half lucid as I help her take little sips before carrying her into the bathroom and setting her on the closed toilet lid.
“You need to bring your temperature down, and a shower is the quickest way to do that. I promise not to look, even though I’ve seen it all already,” I muse, trying to ease her discomfort.
She hardly cracks a smile, looking at me with agony in her eyes.
Together, we strip her of her clothes, and I discard them on the floor.
“Can you stand in there or do you need help?”
“I can stand.”
Holding her hand, I help her step into the shower, then close the small glass door.
While she’s in there, I grab her clothes and put them in her hamper.
Then I refill her water glass and put it on her bedside table.
Socks scampers around my every move, so I rummage through her pantry until I find a bag of kitty food and fill his dish.
Lastly, I rifle through her drawers to find sweats and a shirt.
My eyes linger in her panty drawer, but I feel like a creep with the condition she’s in, so I grab a random pair and add them to the pile on her bed.
I expect her to be done by the time I get back in the bathroom, but find her sitting in a ball on the tile floor.
Stripping off my shirt, I open the shower door and poke my head in.
“Did you wash your hair?”
She slowly shakes her head no, so I grab a bottle that says shampoo and do it for her. It’s not easy with the water cascading around her, but I manage. As I’m helping her rinse it out, she turns to me.
“Thank you, Jake.” Her eyes are filled with defeat and humiliation. Yet, she’s looking at me like I hung the fucking moon. Like she’s viewing my soul and likes what she sees. I’m not that guy for her, even if I’m thinking I want to be.
So, I do what I do best. “Well, you smelled like puke.”
She turns away, hiding her face as I finish up, then I turn off the shower. Her towel is hanging on the wall, so I hand it to her and hold her hand to help her up. Thankfully, her skin isn’t as hot to the touch.
With her towel wrapped around her, she walks on shaky legs to her room and sits on her bed.
I hand her the clothes, but she’s weak, and her hands tremble as she tries to slip on the shirt.
Sighing, I pluck it from her hands and slide it over her body, crouching to help her into her underwear and sweats.
Avoiding eye contact, I pull the towel from under her and do my best to dry her hair with it.
I don’t want her to be vulnerable when she has no choice.
I want her vulnerability when she is in control and chooses to let me see her at her worst.
“Come lay down, I’m going to get you Tylenol,” I say, pulling back the covers for her to get in.
She does so without argument while I rifle through her bathroom drawers until I find what I need.
There’re no complaints from her when I hand over two pills and a glass of water.
Her head hits the pillow, and she seems to fall asleep almost instantly .
There’s no way I’m leaving her here alone, so I put the bathroom trash can by her bedside, then attempt to get comfortable on her couch. It’s way too small for me, but I manage a decent position where I can see her in the bed still. Socks jumps onto my lap, cuddling on my bare chest.
We only last like that for about twenty minutes before Amber rustles around before shooting up. “Next to you,” I rasp, lunging off the couch to hand her the small trash can. I’m not quick enough, and she throws up down my jeans right as I get there.
Tears stream from her eyes as she continues to retch, this time in the trash, and I hold her wet hair back. “It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking her back. When she’s done, she slumps back onto the bed, still crying.
Slipping off my soiled pants and socks, I rinse them in her sink before throwing them into the washer with my shirt.
With that started, I get her a damp cloth, clean out the trash can, and wipe down the floor.
I guess I’m chilling in my boxers for the rest of the night.
When everything is taken care of, I slink back to the couch to try and get comfortable again.
I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here, but I can’t seem to stay away from her.
Knowing she’s in pain and suffering is killing me, even with her just fifteen feet from me sleeping peacefully.
Settling in, I pet my furry friend and keep focused on Amber’s breathing, knowing sleep won’t be happening tonight.