He wanted to believe her.
Clearing his thoughts, he knocked on the door and opened it just a crack. “You okay, darlin’?”
“Does it sound like I’m okay?” It was the closest she’d ever gotten to being peevish with him, and he found the whole thing making him smile for some stupid reason.
“Here’s a washcloth.” He held the cloth out with two fingers, not daring to open the door further to look at her. If he knew women—and he thought he did—she wouldn’t take kindly to his walking right in on her in such a vulnerable state. When the cloth was jerked out of his hands, he smiled.
“Thank you,” came the reluctant reply.
He wanted to ask. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand she tell him.
Are
you
pregnant?
A jingle sound came from the living room that didn’t belong to the TV.
“That’s my phone,” she croaked. “Can you see if it’s Madison? And tell her I don’t feel well so I won’t be back home for a while?”
You
won’t be back home at all. Not tonight anyway, if I have anything to say about it.
He headed back to the kitchen where she’d dropped her bag, searched through it for a moment, checked caller ID, and flipped it open.
“Hey, Mad.”
“Dwayne?” The voice on the other end sounded vaguely like Madison, but more like a version of Madison that had been drawn and quartered, then run over by a herd of cattle.
“Yeah, Veronica’s… busy. She asked me to answer her phone.”
There was a pause, then a sigh. “So she got to your place okay?”
“She’s not feeling too hot,” he admitted.
“Well, that confirms it.” A clank, a bang, and a groan followed.
“Confirms what? Mad, are you okay?”
From the corner of his eye, Dwayne could see Jeremy sit up straighter in his recliner. Then lean forward, but toward the TV, as if that was his main focus.
Right.
“Food poisoning. I just got off the phone with Skye. She’s sick too. If Veronica’s miserable, that’s three for three.” She moaned, and he heard something flop, like maybe she fell into bed. “Stupid food court burritos.”
“Food poisoning.” Not pregnancy. Never had the idea of bad Mexican burritos ever had him so relieved.
When he heard a groan in his ear, he snapped back to the moment. “Madison, do you need something? Can we bring you anything? Jeremy’s here; I can send him with—”
“No,” she croaked. “Don’t worry about me. I just wanted to make sure Veronica got there okay and wasn’t keeled over somewhere on the road. Can you watch over her?”
“Of course.” He wanted to ask.
But
who
will
watch
over
you?
when he saw Jeremy tossing his empty can in the trash and grabbing his keys from the coffee table.
Well, that answered that one. Madison may not like it, but he felt a hell of a lot better about it if someone was with her for the next few hours. “Call me if you need anything. You know I’ll come get you.”
“I know. But thanks.” She clicked off without saying good-bye, in true Madison fashion.
He shut Veronica’s phone and set it on the kitchen counter, watching Jeremy and fighting a smile.
Jeremy shoved his hands in his pockets and looked uncomfortable.
Amused, Dwayne asked, “Going somewhere?”
He shrugged, took his hands out of his pockets, then replaced them immediately. “Yeah, well, you’ve got Veronica here so…”
“Yeah.” He smiled then. “Drive safe.”
After Jeremy left, he listened for the sound of his motorcycle starting, then fading out. Then he headed back to the bathroom where his girlfriend was draped over the small tile floor.
“Darlin’, you doing better?”
She mumbled something into the ground, and he felt a moment of panic. When was the last time he cleaned his bathroom? Okay. The weekend. That wasn’t too bad. Having a female over regularly had kept him on his toes with cleaning.
He sat down, back supported by the door frame, and scratched her back lightly with the tips of his fingers. She sighed and turned one cheek to the floor so she could squint at him.
“That feels good. Please never stop.”
“You got it.” The moment stretched, both quietly sitting on the bathroom floor, his fingers drawing patterns over her shirt, which was quickly cooling from the perspiration she’d been coated with. The fabric still stuck to her back like a second skin, though.
“You wanna change out of those clothes and into a pair of my sweats?”
Looking a little stronger, she propped her cheek on her forearms and looked at him. “You sure you want to risk your clothing?”
“To make you more comfortable? No risk at all.”
She gave him a beatific—if a little weak—smile. “Then yes, I’d love… a change of clothes.”
His heart tightened and did a slow roll as he stood. Why? She asked for sweatpants. That shouldn’t freak him out so much. What made his body react so…
Love. For a second, he thought she was going to say she loved him, even if it was just for his sweats. He shut his fingers in his dresser drawer and bit back a curse. How did that feel? Was the way his heart pitched and tumbled in his chest a good sign, or a bad one?
Things were good. Great. But was he ready to step out and make that next leap of faith into love?
He stood in the hallway, watching as she pushed up off the floor and sat back against the bathtub. Her skin was sheet white, her eyes had dark circles, and her bottom lip looked almost bruised from biting it. Her hair stuck up in some crazy nest on one side, flat and damp on the other. She was, in total, a complete mess.
But she was his mess. And he wanted nothing more than to take care of her at that moment.
Maybe that was love. Maybe it took a bad burrito to kick him over the edge. But for right now, he’d just enjoy the feeling without a label. Labels could come later.
Jeremy rode into Madison’s apartment complex, guns blazing. Or, rather, temper blazing.
She’d called Veronica, but not him. He understood why she’d called her roommate first. Driving down the road while you were sick was no joke, and he didn’t begrudge that one. But her second call should have been to him. But there was no second call. And he’d immediately heard her shoot down Dwayne’s suggestion to send him over to help.
Why? Why didn’t she want him here? She was sick, and she needed help. That’s what people did for each other when they were in love.
But she didn’t want him there. Yet here he was, standing on her doorstep like an idiot. Other than being a complete fool, of course.
He gave himself to the count of five to either knock or leave. One or the other. By the time he hit ten, he knew he wasn’t leaving. It took until fifteen before he actually raised his fist and rapped on the door.
Silence. He was positive she was there, since her car was in the parking lot. But he didn’t hear a word. Not a sound, not a creeping by the door as if she’d checked the peephole and decided not to answer. Nada.
“Madison?”
Now she’d have to acknowledge him.
As the silence stretched out, he thought
or
maybe
not
.
Starting to worry—Veronica seemed like death warmed over, and Madison seemed to be the same—he felt zero remorse reaching for his spare key she’d given him. Though he didn’t use it often, preferring to knock in case Veronica was in there and he startled her, he used it occasionally when she asked him to. But first, he tried the doorknob. And when it twisted easily, he sneered and walked into the apartment, closing the door behind him.
“Madison, it’s me. Your front door was unlocked. And by the way, that’s a great way to get yourself robbed and killed.”
Nothing. Not a curse, not a flying vase, not even a weak insult.
Okay, now he was officially scared.
Creeping in slowly, he cleared the living room and kitchen first. No Madison, but he did see what looked like the beginnings of homemade soup scattered. A chunk of ham waited to be chopped by the butcher knife lying next to it on the carving board. A recipe book was tilted open. A large, empty pot sat on one of the back burners, luckily still turned to off.
“Mad. Where are you?”
He headed for the one place he prayed she wasn’t in, but found her anyway.
Sprawled in the empty bathtub, she looked like a drunk still sleeping off a night of pure booze-soaked debauchery. Or a woman on the wrong end of a bachelorette party. Head lolled at an uncomfortable angle, one arm draped out of the tub in a position that she’d regret later, both legs curled into her chest, as if trying to make the pain go away, fresh tear tracks damp over her cheeks, still spiking her eyelashes that rested against the thin skin under her eyes…
The entire thing broke his heart.
He crouched down and placed her arm back in the tub, knowing otherwise she would wake up to the pins-and-needles feeling. Rubbing up and down her arm, bare thanks to her now-sweaty tank top, he waited to see her reaction.
She was so still, he stared at her chest to make sure she was still breathing. But the rise and fall, deep and steady, told him everything was fine. She just needed the sleep.
She would hate him for it later, but he couldn’t just leave her in the bathtub. No matter how independent she wanted to be. Carefully, as smooth as possible, he got a grip under her and lifted her in his arms. She barely moved, just shifted almost imperceptibly in his arms until she curled towards his chest.
He carried her to her bedroom, picking his way through the minefield of scrub tops and bottoms, socks, and a pair of flip-flops littering the floor. God, she was worse than Skye. Her bed, still unmade, just provided an easy place for him to deposit his cargo.
She settled into the mattress with a murmur of nonsense. He covered her up, then debated it. She looked hot, but cold at the same time. Like she’d been sweating, and the sweat cooled over her skin so now she was clammy. Did that mean she should stay cool? Or warm? Shit, he wasn’t the nurse, she was. But it was food poisoning, not the plague, so he took his chances and covered her up. A little wispy sigh of relief escaped her lips, and she turned on her side, facing him.
He brushed the hair that clung to her face back behind her ear. Glancing around, he grabbed the wastebasket and placed it by the bed, just in case. But it looked like maybe she weathered the worst of it. Because he couldn’t resist, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her arm through the covers.
Madison cracked one eye open. “Hey.”
“Hey, pukey.”
She smiled, though it was a small one. “Didn’t anyone tell you name-calling is a horrible way to get girls to like you?”
“I only need one girl to like me. And she’s stuck with me already.” He brushed her hair back from her neck. “Why didn’t you call, baby?”
“I can take care of myself,” the stubborn ass said. “I don’t need you running to rescue me.”
“I didn’t run, I drove my bike.” When she didn’t laugh, he sighed. “I want to be here when you’re sick. I want to know. I want to help.”
“It’s food poisoning. I’m fine.”
“So then tell me that. I never would have known if Veronica hadn’t shown up at Dwayne’s place.”
“You would have made your way here eventually.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I would have given you your space for the night and missed out on all the fun.”
“Lucky you,” she moaned and turned her face into the pillow.
He rubbed circles over her back some more, waiting until her muscles relaxed and the wave of pain passed. “Maybe we should just move in together. Then I’d always know if you’re sick.”
He said it as a joke, but after it was out, he knew it was exactly what he wanted.
She said nothing, and he thought maybe she’d fallen asleep. Which was just as well, since he didn’t want it hanging over his head that he’d asked her to move in together while she was—
“Did you say what I think you said?” Madison’s voice was muffled by the pillow, but still clear.
“Uh… yeah.”
“Nice timing, champ.” She raised her face from the pillow, and he held back a smile at the pink crease down one cheek. “I’m near death’s door and you’re asking to move in here.” She frowned. “What about Veronica?”
“So we move into my—”
“If you even think about suggesting we move into that apartment better known as the gateway to hell, I will hit you.”
“Weak as you are, that couldn’t be too bad.”
“Don’t tempt.”
She looked ready to try it, so he shushed her and helped her rotate onto her side in a more comfortable position. Then he crawled in behind her and pulled her back against his chest. “Sleep now. We’ll talk about it more later.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, pukey.”
***
Veronica sat up slowly, her head pounding. A bright light shone through her eyelids, but she didn’t want to crack them open, too scared of what she’d end up seeing.
Is
this
the
light
that
I’m supposed to walk into? Have I died? Because my body sure feels like it took a big enough beating.
She let her senses return one by one. Body aching, beaten, battered. Moving her arm an inch felt like it took forever. But she brushed up against something warm. She could smell Dwayne, his aftershave, the detergent he used on his bedsheets. The whirl of a ceiling fan and the quiet sound of crickets outside.
And taste, well, she wasn’t going to there just yet.
Taking a chance, she cracked one eye to see that yes, she was indeed in Dwayne’s bedroom. But how had she gotten there? Last thing she remembered was driving down the road, changing stations, and suddenly feeling like her head was a little fuzzy, like her body was being taken over. And now here she was.
“Hey. You’re awake.” The mattress dipped and Dwayne slipped into her line of vision, blocking out the light from the lamp. “How you feeling?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but she croaked like a frog instead. Attractive. When she started to try again, he shook his head and touched a finger to her lips. “I’ll get a bottle of water. Just sit tight.”
It even hurt when the bed jostled as he jumped up. No, she wasn’t going anywhere. With slow, pained motions, she gripped the covers and drew them over her head.
No more. No more.
But all too soon, he returned and helped her shift to sitting up, despite her croaky protests.
“You need some water. Soothe that throat of yours, and rehydrate. They always say getting sick depletes the body of water.”
After another few sips, she felt the cotton clear from her mouth and was ready to try talking. “How did I get in here?”
“You don’t remember?” She shook her head. “You walked in the front door and barely said a word before you headed right to the bathroom to get sick.”
Yup. It was all coming back to her. And she almost preferred the memory loss to the knowledge that she’d vomited in front of her boyfriend. How sweet.
“You were a little too tired to get up, so I brought you in here.”
“That’s nice.” Feeling her head swim a little, she leaned back, then realized she shouldn’t. “Help me up.”
Dwayne eyed her skeptically. “You sure you should move?”
“Seriously. Now.” She spoke through clenched teeth, feeling the telltale tightening in her jaw.
He gave her a hand and she maneuvered as cautiously as possible out of his big bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Dwayne hot on her heels, she managed to gently close the door in his face before he could follow her all the way in.
“Veronica, come on. Let me help.”
“Go away.” She hunched, knowing he was about to hear her get sick and there was nothing she could do about it. Humiliating didn’t begin to describe it.
“But I—”
“I’m begging you. Go to the living room. Turn on the TV. Turn up the music. Something. Whatever.”
She waited, and a few moments later heard what sounded like a football game on TV, before she couldn’t hold back any longer and dropped her dignity to relieve her stomach.
Twenty minutes later, she all but crawled from the bathroom to the kitchen for another bottle of water. She’d rinsed her mouth out, swished with mouthwash, but she still felt more than a little gross.
Dwayne appeared at her side, as if by magic. “Let me help. Go sit down.”
“I just want a bottle of water.” She grasped the fridge handle and tugged, but nothing happened.
“Let me.”
“I can do it myself.” Another tug, and the thing didn’t budge. “What did you do—have this reinforced with steel since yesterday?”
“Yup, you’re on to me. Now go sit on the couch.”
Giving up the good fight, she walked to the couch and gingerly sat. A minute later Dwayne came in with a bottle of water and some antacids.
“I don’t have anything for upset stomachs, but this might help. I could go run out and grab some of that liquid stuff, the pink junk. It’s supposed to be good for this.” He ran a hand over his hair, looking frustrated that he couldn’t offer more, which was silly since he already gave her way more than she needed.
“These will be fine. Thanks.” After she chewed the chalklike tablets and washed them down with blessedly cool water, he sat next to her and patted his thigh.
“Rest your head.”
It was too tempting an offer to refuse, so she did. And sighed with lazy contentment when his fingers started playing with her hair. The sweet pressure on her scalp lulled her, and she dozed on and off in front of the TV, which he’d turned down low now that it wasn’t masking anything. At one point, while she listened to him muttering whispered curses at the referees, she wondered how she’d even begun to be embarrassed about feeling ill around Dwayne. He was the ultimate protector. One sick woman wasn’t going to throw him off his stride, as seen by how easily he comforted her.
When she knew the next wave of nausea passed, she wanted the bed again. But he didn’t let her struggle, no. One word from her and he swept her up in his arms to carry her back to bed, where he tucked her in so carefully tears stung the backs of her eyes. Then, gracefully for a man of his size, he climbed in beside her and gave her a chance to settle in his nook, her head on his shoulder.
Just before she drifted off, she made sure to thank him again for looking out for her.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I always want to take care of you.”
That sweet confession eased her into sleep.
***
Veronica waved a hand as Madison closed the front door. “I’m over here.”
Rounding the couch, Madison stuck her hands on her hips and looked down at her sprawled across the couch. “This looks like a productive day.”
Staring up with one eye, Veronica was half-tempted to imitate one of the rude gestures Madison used and flip her off. But she wasn’t that far gone. So she just pushed up and half-lounged across the cushion. “I still feel awful. Why are you so chipper?”
Madison dropped her hands and sat on the floor by the coffee table. “It was your burrito. Skye and I just had a few bites. You’re the one who insisted that taking on the challenge of a burrito as big as your head must be a good idea.”
“Bad idea,” Veronica moaned as she flopped back down and covered her face. “Bad, bad idea.”
“And now you pay the price. Skye’s not great, but she mostly has a headache. Likely dehydrated, and that’ll fix itself over the next few days. But you, well…” With regret in her voice, Madison added, “You’ll probably recoup soon. I’m sure.”
“Uh-huh.” No effort for sarcasm, she dropped her hands. “I had to call in sick. I’ve never called in sick before.” And she couldn’t afford to do it again.
“Good thing, since you serve food all day. Frankly, I wouldn’t want someone who looks as sick as you do passing me a bowl of pasta.” And when Veronica stuck her tongue out, she added more gently, “The smell of all that rich food wouldn’t have made you feel much better either. So it’s best you took the day off. Food poisoning isn’t a huge deal. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”