by C. J. Welles
I close my eyes as more tears slide down my face and drop to the ground. I feel someone come up beside me and rest a hand on my back.
“Casey is a fighter, Bryson. She will make it through this. You both will.” When I hear moms voice I cry harder.
It’s so fucking unfair.
Why did this have to happen to us?
***
Chapter Eleven
Casey
Present Day
I IGNORE MY doorbell as it rings again. “Casey,” Carmen calls out but I don’t get up. I don’t have the energy to get up. My phone rings and I slowly roll over to pick it up but it stops ringing before I get my hand on it.
The blanket slips from the top of my body and I shiver more than I already was. Between the pounding head, the high temperature and the body aches, I think it’s safe to say I have a case of the flu. I’d take myself to the doctor for some antibiotics, but I don’t even have the energy to walk to my kitchen, let alone drive to the doctors.
I soon drift back off to sleep and am woken up a while later to my doorbell ringing again. Maybe I didn’t fall asleep and Carmen is still at my door. My head pounds as I slowly get up from the couch and stumble down the hall.
I fling the door open and a whoosh of air leaves my mouth as I find Bryson standing on my doorstep. “You look like shit,” he says as his eyebrows draw down.
I ignore him and turn around before making my way back to my couch. Grabbing my blankets, I wrap them around my body before collapsing on the couch and burrowing my head into the pillow.
“What are you doing here?” I mumble, every word causing my head to throb.
He doesn’t answer and even though my eyes are closed, I have no doubt he is sitting there staring at me while his jaw ticks from grinding it.
I open one eye and squint at him and find him glaring at me and of course, he’s grinding his jaw. It’s what he does when he feels any kind of emotion. Anger, hurt, sadness, just anything apart from happiness.
“If you’ve come here to kill me with your death glare, you’re too late. I already feel like I’m dying.”
“Don’t say that,” he growls in a deadly tone. A deadly tone that he didn’t even use two weeks ago when I blurted out that I didn’t cheat on him. “Don’t joke about death.”
“Sorry,” I murmur. “What are you doing?” I ask, repeating my question.
“I don’t know,” he says as he lets out a deep breath.
I go to shake my head at his not very helpful answer, but think better of it, as I know it’ll feel like someone is trying to hammer nails into my head. Instead, I sigh loudly and squirm around until I’m facing the back of the couch. It feels marginally better if I cover my head and block out the cold and light.
I hear his footsteps as he moves through my house but I don’t look up. Just as my eyes grow heavy and I begin to drift off to sleep, the blankets are pulled back, making me groan in pain from the coldness.
“You’re running a fever,” Bryson mumbles as he places a cold flannel against my forehead.
I try to push the flannel away but he holds it there tightly. “It’s c-c-cold,” I say through rattling teeth.
“I know, but you won’t break the fever by staying rugged up.” He picks my hand up and places it on top of the flannel. “Hold it there while I get you some Tylenol.” If I had the energy, I would protest but I can’t be bothered.
A moment later, Bryson is back and helping me sit up. My body aches with every movement but I let him hold me up as I swallow the Tylenol and water to chase it down.
I expect him to let me lie back down but a yelp flies out of my mouth as he wraps one arm around my back and the other under my legs. He picks me up and carries me through the house and into my room. After lying me down on my bed, he places one blanket over me and tosses the other two on the wicker chair in the corner of my room.
“Get some sleep,” he quietly says as he walks to my doorway.
I study him as he stands there and study’s me. “Bry,” I say as he turns to leave. “Thank you.”
He nods his head once but doesn’t answer before he walks out.
*
Casey
Five Years Ago
I WAKE UP from a fitful sleep again. Every time my body gives in and goes to sleep, I wake up covered in sweat after dreaming of our baby.
Bryson is already sitting up in bed next to me with a sad look on his face. I know it’s killing him, watching me have these horrid dreams, but I can’t stop them.
I welcome the dreams as punishment for my body letting down our babies and Bryson.
I don’t know how he can still sleep in the same bed as me, how he can still look at me with love in his eyes and how he can feel sorry for me.
If anything, he should hate me for failing our babies.
“Casey,” he says quietly as he places his hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off as I roll over with my back to him. “You need to see someone, to talk to someone.” I hear him let out a ragged breath. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” I snap.
“Casey-”
“No,” I growl as I fling the covers back and get up.
“Where are you going?”
“Bryson, just don’t,” I yell then add, “Please.” Because I feel bad.
I shouldn’t be angry at him because he is trying to help me. But I am angry at him because he’s not angry with me.
“Casey,” he whispers. “I love you.” A lump forms in my throat as his words float across the room and try to seep into my soul.
“You shouldn’t,” I croak out as I leave the room and head for the sofa, leaving my fiancé sitting in the dark in our bed.
***
Chapter Twelve
Bryson
Present Day
AFTER I SEARCH through Casey’s kitchen and find nothing worth cooking a meal with, I drive to the grocer. I find everything I need to make chicken broth then I fill up the cart with anything she may need in the next few days.
I still haven’t worked out what brought me to Kansas City and to her doorstep but now I’m thankful that I did end up here. She was rugged up on the couch with blankets and the fire was out. When I looked outside for wood, there was none to be found.
No wonder she’s sick, she’s clearly not been looking after herself.
After I finish at the grocer, I pile the groceries into the crates that sit on the bed of my truck. Back at home, I would go out and cut a load of wood for the fire but as I don’t know anywhere to get any in a short amount of time, I stop at the gas station on my way back to Casey’s and grab two bags of wood. It should be enough to get us through until tomorrow.
As I pull up in her driveway, I see a black Audi sitting on the street out the front. I usually wouldn’t take notice of cars parked out the front of houses, but the area that Casey lives in isn’t a rich area. It’s where you’d find your blue-collar families living.
Grabbing the groceries, I make my way up the garden path and to her front door, where I find the guy from Joe’s. The guy who she isn’t dating, but who is still showing up at her house.
At first look, I can tell he’s too good for Casey and I don’t mean it in a bad way against Casey. The guy is wearing a tweed jacket along with three quarter chino trousers and a pair of boat shoes. Little Ella would have more muscles than this bozo.
The Casey that I knew liked men who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, they know what a hammer looks like and they have muscles.
He hears me walking up and turns to look over his shoulder. I can tell he knows who I am because his eyes narrow and he glares at me.
“Casey’s not up for visitors,” I say.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, ignoring my comment.
“I could ask the same thing.”
He rolls his eyes like a fucking teenager. “Carmen called me. Casey hasn’t answered her calls or the door.”
“She’s sick, that’d probably be why.” I pu
sh past him and unlock the door with Casey’s key I grabbed from the bench. I walk in and turn to face him. “I’ll make sure to tell her you came for a visit.” I don’t wait for a reply before I close the door.
In the kitchen, I put away the groceries then start making chicken broth. I don’t know how to cook much, but I can ace broths and casseroles.
Once I’ve got the broth simmering, I begin cleaning the place. I know Casey isn’t a messy person, but this place needs some TLC.
I try not to acknowledge it, but something inside my chest clenches when I think about Casey being here alone and not well. The last time I looked after Casey when she wasn’t well, was… after we lost the baby.
I’ve just finished cleaning the bathroom when I hear her coughing then shuffling around on the bed. I chuck the cleaning cloth in the wash basket then walk down the hall, to her room.
She’s sitting up with the blanket wrapped tightly around her and is shivering. I look at her face and she looks pale.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she says quietly as she begins to move.
I help her off the bed and pull the blanket away from her, which she tries to protest about, then I carry her to the bathroom. Placing her down on the floor, I step aside as she vomits in the toilet bowl. She’s obviously not eaten for a while as all she does is dry retch. After five minutes, she collapses back onto the hard tile floor.
Every minute of standing here reminds me of the day our lives changed forever. Just over five years ago we were in this same situation, only last time two lives were lost.
When it’s clear that Casey isn’t moving in a hurry, I bend down and scoop her up. She nuzzles her face into my chest and sighs. “Don’t leave me, Bry,” she murmurs and my heart thumps against my chest. I place her on the bed and put her blanket back over her. She whimpers as she rolls to her side and curls into a ball. “Bry,” she mutters quietly and I think I imagined it until she talks again. “Don’t go, Bry.”
I stand next to her bed, frozen to the spot, as I decide whether it’s wise to climb onto the bed with her or not. All sense must leave me, as I kick off my boots and strip down to my boxers.
Climbing onto the bed, I lay behind Casey and wrap my arm around her waist. She rolls over and buries her face in my chest. I can’t help it, I drop a chaste kiss on her forehead before I close my eyes.
*
Casey
I BLINK MY eyes open as I work out where I am. I feel like I’m in the middle of the Sahara Desert with no water for miles. My eyes finally open and I come face to face with a sculptured chest covered in a light dusting of hair. There’s an arm wrapped around my middle and my legs are pinned down by another leg.
I look up and my breath catches in my throat when I see Bryson’s face. I close my eyes and rub them with my hand before opening them again.
I must be dreaming.
When I open my eyes, Bryson is still wrapped around me.
Nope, not dreaming.
I think back and sift through my memories, trying to remember what happened yesterday. I remember opening the door to Bryson, but I don’t know how I got into bed with a half-naked Bryson.
After lying here for a few minutes, enjoying Bryson’s body this close to mine, I slowly extract myself from his hold.
As much as I’d love to lie here forever, I really need to pee and I don’t know how Bryson ended up in here, so I don’t know if he’s going to wake up and be in battle mode.
I go to the toilet then, after I’ve washed my face and hands, I quickly clean my teeth, as my mouth feels like it’s got cotton ball fluff in it.
Taking a quick peek into my bedroom, I make my way out to the kitchen and find my stock pot on the stove. Removing the lid, I smell chicken broth. Bry must have cooked it before he went to sleep. Filling up a bowl, I grab a spoon and a bread roll from the packet on the bench then sit at the table. I’m so darn hungry and just want to scoff down the food but in my hazy memories, I remember being sick and I don’t want to eat too quickly.
Slowly, I finish off my broth and the roll. Looking around, I notice the fruit bowl is full and there’s bread on the bench, as well as the rolls. Bryson must have bought food. I know I had none.
“How are you feelin’?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Bryson’s voice. I didn’t hear him walking down the hall. He strides past me and my mouth waters as my lips go dry. He’s still wearing only a pair of boxers.
Just boxers.
Nothing else.
I can see every inch of his defined back and his muscles bunch and pull as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a carton of milk. I watch as he unscrews the lid and drinks straight from the carton, his Adam's apple moving with each swallow.
If I wasn’t already sitting, I’d have collapsed onto the floor by now.
He puts the milk away then faces me. “I see you found the broth.” I nod, not trusting my voice. His jaw ticks for a moment then he turns to the sink and starts washing dishes. “That guy from the bar showed up here yesterday.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name,” he growls “He looks like he just walked out of a 1980’s catalog.”
“Brett?” Bryson shrugs but I can tell he knows who I’m talking about. As nice as Brett is, he really does have shocking fashion sense. His looks and polite attitude make up for it though.
“What did he want?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Bryson won’t admit it but he doesn’t like Brett. I can only guess it’s because he’s jealous, which he also won’t admit.
“Why are you here?” I ask and I think I remember asking him earlier but I can’t remember his answer.
“Was just driving through.”
“You were driving through Kansas City?” I question.
He spins around to face me and I suck in a breath at the sight of his naked front, it’s even better than his back. “Can you quit with the questions.”
“I only asked one.”
He lets out a frustrated growl then strides past me and into my bedroom. A minute later he comes back out with his plaid shirt and jeans on. I take a moment to mourn the loss of his naked body before my eyes meet his.
“Are you going?” I ask.
“No, but you wouldn’t quit eye fucking me, so I had to put some clothes on.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Casey,” he warns.
“Okay, okay,” I say as I hold my hands up in a surrender gesture. “Can I ask you anything yet?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Can I have some more broth. I’m starving.”
Bryson Miller actually smiles at me before he refills my bowl and places it in front of me.
“Your work called yesterday. They wanted to know why you didn’t show up at work. You had a total of sixty-two missed calls from Carmen, Brett, your mom and your work.
I frown. “I wasn’t meant to be working yesterday.”
He shrugs. “They said you were.”
I grab my phone and that’s when I see the day. “It’s Tuesday?” I ask in disbelief. The last thing I remember is feeling tired and having a headache after dinner on Saturday.
“I’ve been out to it for nearly three days.”
“You weren’t looking too healthy when I showed up yesterday morning.”
“You’ve been here that long?” he nods. “Why?”
He sighs then points to my bowl. “Eat your food then go shower.”
I see bossy Bryson is back.
***
Chapter Thirteen
Casey
ONCE THE CREDITS for 8 Seconds start, I sit up as I wipe away a tear. “Do you still cry while watching that movie?” Bryson asks as he switches off the DVD player.
“Yes. But I do cry less these days than I did the first time I watched it.”
Bryson lets out a chuckle as he jumps up and walks to the kitchen. “And how many t
imes have you watched it?”
“About twenty.”
He walks back in, carrying a plate of sandwiches and two bottles of Budweiser. Bryson has spent the past two days at my house since I woke up from my flu attack.
We haven’t talked much but it’s been good having him here. I still don’t know what he’s doing here. I haven’t asked since two days ago in my kitchen and he hasn’t said why.
I grab the beer from Bryson’s outstretched hand and pop the lid off before taking a long swig.
“Do you remember the first time I drank beer?” I ask as I place my bottle on the coffee table and pick up the deck of cards.
“How can I forget? You vomited all through my truck,” he replies as he sits on the other end of the couch.
“I said I wasn’t any good at drinking beer.”
“No, but you could drink champagne fine. What kind of person gets sick after drinking six beers but can drink a bottle of champagne without blinking?”
“Special ones like me,” I answer with a laugh.
My laugh slowly dies off and we both sit there, looking at each other. There’s so much I want to say and so many questions I want to ask, but I’m afraid he will shut off to me.
I know that we are currently sailing through the eye of the storm and at any moment, we’re going to go through the other side and all hell will break loose. It’s inevitable, but I want to stay in the eye for as long as we can, which means treading carefully when it comes to our past.
I’ve never been one of those people who just rip a band-aid off and gets it over and done with, so if I can avoid a confrontation between us for a while longer, I will.
“Want to play a game?” I ask while holding up the cards.
“Sure, what’re we playin’?”
“Euchre.”
“Okay, bring it on, Baby.”
I know his words don’t mean anything, but my heart still does a double somersault. If Bryson stays here for much longer, I’m going to fall for him again. After all this time, I still love him. It’s not a question of if I will fall back in love with him but when will I fall back in love with him.