9. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Finnley
Something is beeping. I crack open an eye and try to focus on where it’s coming from. My eyes feel crunchy and my head hurts. My mouth also feels like it’s full of dust, and my tongue feels thick and dry.
I grope around on my nightstand for my phone, which is the source of the noise, I’ve realized. Two numbers register at once: 1:40 a.m. and sixty. Too low. Way too low.
Too much wine.
I groan and force myself into a half-sitting position, which causes a wave of nausea to hit with a vengeance. I’m used to fighting through high blood sugar. So, having it go this low is a little startling. I rip open my nightstand drawer and fumble my hand around, until I land on a juice box.
I finally unwrap that small-ass straw and jab the pointy end into the aluminum seal, wishing it was my eye. I shove the straw between my lips and gulp the warm apple juice down, quickly emptying the entire box without even opening both eyes .
Flopping back against my pillow in the dark, I drop the juice box onto the nightstand. Another number: fifteen. Fifteen minutes until the room stops spinning and I can go back to sleep.
I haven’t been out long. After I had a little, one-handed reading time, I’d shut off my light and was almost asleep, when I heard the shower kick on in Hudson’s room. He’s always been a bit of a clean freak, but two showers in less than three hours?
Almost as if my thoughts summoned him, I hear a soft knock on my door, and then his deep voice, laced with quiet concern. “Jameson? You ok?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry. Did my alarm wake you?”
He pushes the door open further, but hesitates on the threshold, like he isn’t sure if he should come in. “I thought it was Paige.”
I sit up a little and motion for him to come in. He crosses the room to stand next to the side of my bed. His gray sweats are slung low on his hips and his chest is bare. He’s like a beautiful, guardian angel in the form of my best friend. My chest floods with warmth and I am suddenly very grateful to have him standing in my room.
His hair is sticking up on both sides of his forehead and it makes me smile.
“Cool hair, Wolverine,” I quip.
He reaches up with a half smile and brushes his hand back and forth over his dark hair, making it stand on end everywhere. “How’s that?”
“Much better,” I say, nodding lightly so my head doesn’t spin. “Very Chris Farley.”
His chuckle is sleepy, and his brows come together over hazel eyes as they roam over my blanket-covered body. Finally, he meets my gaze.
“Do you need me to get you something?” he asks. He eyes the bed for a second longer before sitting down on the edge next to my knee.
I shake my head and smile at him. “No, I took care of it. ”
“I can help, you know. I may not have diabetes, but I do know a thing or two about it.” I’m usually alone when this happens. So, his teasing tone feels strangely comforting. He really is the best, best friend.
“Yeah, but can you chug a juice box in your sleep?” I joke.
He laughs, rubbing his jaw, and the sound of his stubble scratching fills the silence.
“Probably not, but I am awake now. So, if you need something, I can get it.” He pauses and tips his chin in the direction of my phone. “What was it?”
“Sixty.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “That’s low. Really fucking low. How many glasses of wine did you have?” His look is searching, his tone concerned.
“Mm, three. Maybe four,” I say. I don’t remember.
“Jameson,” he admonishes.
“I know, I know,” I say and sigh weakly.
And I do know. Normally, I don’t drink that much because I know that my traitorous liver will choose to metabolize all that delicious wine before it will maintain my blood sugar. But I’ve been working so hard for months, getting everything ready for the B to get into bed with me and keep me company. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed, but it’s been years. I didn’t know how much having him here would comfort me, but I’ve been telling him for literal years that I can take care of myself. And I absolutely can.
“I really have to pee.” I shoo him out with a hand and say, “I’m fine, Dad .” His lips tip up at my joke.
When he stands, his eyes snag on my nightstand. “What’s with all that?” he asks, nodding toward the small sharps container.
I glance over and shrug. “Just old stuff,” I say and hope it’s dark enough in the room that he can’t detect the lie on my face. Damn twitchy eyebrow.
He nods as something flits across his expression that I can’t place.
I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, but when I stand up, I’m so dizzy that I plop right back down on the bed with a little laugh. Hudson reaches out to steady me.
“You want some help?” he asks and reaches for my hand.
I nod and let him help me up. I glance down. “Sorry about the underwear,” I say with a cringe. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m wearing my laciest panties that are definitely mostly see-through and a threadbare, ribbed tank top that’s seen better days. “Instead of seeing your dad in his boxers, you get to see your best friend in her drawers.”
He laughs. “So not the same thing, Jameson.”
“True, but still,” I say, and he follows me to the bathroom with his hand on my elbow in case I get dizzy again.
“You need me to come in with you?”
“No, it’s ok. I think I’m good now.”
“I’ll wait out here just in case you get a dizzy spell again.”
“Thanks, Huddy.” I go inside and shut the door.
When I open the door and come back out, he’s on the other side, leaning against the dresser, with hands braced behind him. It makes the curve of his pecs more pronounced, and I’m glad it’s dark in here, because damn . I’m totally checking him out.
“You doing ok?” he asks.
“Yeah, just lightheaded, but it’s getting better.”
He nods. “All right. Let’s get you back into bed.”
We shuffle back across the room, and he straightens out my blankets for me. I climb in on my knees and turn around, settling in. When he turns to go, I reach out and grab his hand.
“Will you stay?” It’s probably not the best idea, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep myself from asking. Now that he’s here, I don’t want him to go.
He considers it for a minute. He’s probably about to give me a lecture about needing to sleep instead of sitting up all night talking to him, which is what normally happens.
“Just for a bit?” I give him my sweetest, most manipulative best friend smile.
He chuckles and lifts his chin. “Shove over. ”
I grin up at him and slide over so he can scoot in next to me. Once he’s in and resting on his back, he tucks his left arm behind his head and pulls the blankets up to his waist.
“Thanks, Huddy,” I whisper and tuck my hands under my cheek on my pillow, facing him.
He glances over and he gives me a crooked smile. “Go to sleep, Jameson.”
I sigh and he chuckles, knowing I’m wide awake and want to chat.
“You have to be up in less than four hours,” he says.
“You’re such a dad,” I scoff, feigning irritation, then reach over and pull his armpit hair.
“Ow, fuck.” He laughs, rubbing his armpit.
I cackle quietly and scootch closer to him, the spicy scent of his deodorant filling my nose. “If I could just squeeze in right here,” I say with a grin and cross my arm over his ribs as I settle my head against his chest, with my ear resting against his armpit.
God, what am I doing?
He glances down at me. “Comfortable?”
“I am now.” I chuckle.
He sighs and shakes his head, but he’s got a ghost of a smile on his face. “Night, Jameson,” he finally says.
“Nighty night, Huddy,” I say and snuggle closer.