by Carian Cole
“I’m leaving this afternoon. I have to fly back to the office in South Carolina. I’ll be there until Sunday.”
“Michael? Really? I just got home. I have hardly seen you at all. Do you really have to go?” I don’t want him to leave again, especially when I feel sick. I have a huge fear of passing out, cracking my head open and lying on the floor bleeding to death.
“Babe, I don’t have time for this. I told you my job was going to be really busy with the new software platform.”
A coughing fit takes over for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’m not trying to bother you, really. I just need a little help. Please? Can you just take me to the doctor? I don’t care about the car right now.”
He’s silent for a few moments, but I can hear him rustling stuff around on his desk. “All right, all right. I’m going to take my lunch break now and come home for you. I’ll take you to urgent care real quick, okay? But then I have to get back here and catch my flight this afternoon. You’re going to have to see if Amy can take you for your car, or maybe the garage can drive it to our house for you if we pay them. Get dressed. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Love you.”
I feel dismissed, but at least he agreed to take me to the doctor, which is a good thing because my visit doesn’t go so well. According to the doctor, and the tests she put me through, I have a high fever and am suffering from dehydration and exhaustion on top of an extremely bad cold and walking pneumonia. She gives me antibiotics, cough medicine, some supplements to take, and faxes a note over to my boss saying I can’t return to work until next Wednesday—if I feel better by then. My boss will have a cow, for sure. If I have a job by next week, it will be a miracle. In the meantime, she says I need to get as much rest as possible and drink a lot of water and juice.
On the way home, Michael stops at a convenience store and buys me orange juice and a few cans of soup. He plants a quick kiss on the top of my head after he parks his car in front of our condo. “I have to get back to the office. My flight leaves at five. Just go rest, and I’ll call you later, okay?”
I smile weakly at him through my hot and dizzy sick daze. “Thank you. I’m going to go inside and lie down. I’m sorry I interrupted your day.”
“It’s all right, Evelyn. I’m sorry to be rushing you around. I know I seem like a dick, but I’m really stressed out at work.” He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I know you’ve had a rough time lately. I promise when things settle down, I’ll make this up to you, okay? We’ll go away for a long weekend.”
“I would really like that. Now, you go so you don’t miss your flight. I’m not going to kiss you goodbye because I don’t want to spread germs. Call me later.” I grab my bag of juice and soup and go inside.
I try to remember the last time Michael and I had a vacation together. It must be about four years ago—give or take a year. We used to go away for long weekends together to the beach, but when he was promoted, he became so wrapped up in his job and he could never really commit to taking an entire weekend away from it. I don’t even think that was a conscious decision on his part at all; it just kind of happened that way. He slowly took on more and more work, started to travel more to visit clients, and when he did have some free time on the weekends, he wanted to use the time to relax by golfing with his friends or just watching the game on television. Which is totally fine, of course, but I would be a liar if I said it didn’t bother me that we didn’t spend a whole lot of time together anymore.
Amy and I used to hang out on the weekends together, but since she broke up with her boyfriend of five years a few months ago, she is now on a dating frenzy every weekend. I would need a matrix to try to keep track of all the different men she is currently juggle-dating. Unfortunately, most of them turn out to be total jerks after the third date, or at least that’s what she keeps saying. She hasn’t let me meet any of them yet, so I can’t do my own evaluation.
I drag out a big, comfy blanket and pillow from the closet, throw on a tank top and yoga pants, and get all comfy on the couch. I always feel weird sleeping upstairs when Michael is away. I guess in a way I’m afraid to be alone, and I feel safer downstairs. Which is ridiculous, I suppose, as living in a condo there are people pretty much right through the walls on both sides of us.
My cell phone buzzing next to me wakes me up. I grope around and find it has fallen behind the couch cushion. It must be Michael calling to tell me he’s at the hotel.
“Hello?” My voice comes out mostly in a ragged squeak.
“Evie? What the hell is wrong with your voice?”
My heart jumps a little. It’s Storm. I take a breath and tell my heart to calm the hell down.
“I’m sick. Why are you calling me?”
“Sick, how? You sound like pure shit.”
“Thanks. I went to the doctor. I have the flu and dehydration and exhaustion or something. And pneumonia.”
“Holy shit, from the weekend?”
I take a sip of water to try to ease the pain in my throat. “Yes, I guess that started it.”
Admittedly, I purposely didn’t drink a lot while in the truck because I was afraid of having to pee too much and having to make Storm carry me outside to go to the bathroom like a weird dog. I thought by just drinking a little bit, I would be totally fine. Guess not.
“Are you okay? You don’t sound too hot. You sound pretty wasted, actually.”
“I’m fine, really. I just have to rest; the doctor gave me some pills to take and they’re making me tired. I have to stay home until next Wednesday. My boss is throwing a total fit.”
“Fuck that douche.”
“It’s my job, Storm. I kind of need it. So, why are you calling exactly?”
“Seth called and told me you never came to pick up your car. I wanted to see what was up.”
“Michael had to go out of town, so he couldn’t drive me up there to pick it up. I’ll have to deal with it next week. I’m sorry, Storm. I know Seth is your friend and you guys did me a favor taking care of it. I didn’t know I was going to get sick and that Michael had to travel again.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about that at all. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I’ll let Seth know. I’m worried about you, though. So, you’re home alone?”
“That sounds creepy, but yes, I am here alone. Well, the cat is here, of course. Where are you? Are you at the cabin?”
“No. I’m at my other house.”
‘Other house’ must be nice. How many houses could he have? I can’t even imagine having several places to live. The concept of getting out of just one house and getting into another one is hard enough for me to deal with right now, let alone achieve.
“Well, thanks for calling about the car. I’ll get it straightened out and out of Seth’s way as soon as I can. I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to go back to sleep.”
“Get some rest and make sure you drink enough water.”
“I will. Goodnight.”
I hang up before he can say anything else. I don’t understand why he keeps contacting me. I feel like we really shouldn’t be talking to each other anymore. There really isn’t a reason to, is there? Deep inside, a part of me likes when he calls me, though. I like feeling as if he is thinking of me.
I notice I have a text from Michael. It must have come through while I was on the phone.
Michael: I’m here. I don’t want to call in case you’re sleeping. Let me know if you’re okay.
Me: I’m okay, just really tired from the meds. Call me in the morning. Love you.
Michael: Love you. Feel better.
My throat is freaking on fire. I want tea and honey so bad, but I don’t feel like I can walk all the way to the kitchen and boil water. I glance at Halo sleeping on my feet. “Halo, why can’t you be like those cats on the internet and do amazing tricks? Like make tea?” He blinks at me in the way only cats can. I wave at him.
When I realized Halo was deaf as a tiny kitten, I started to make hand signals at
him. It’s definitely not sign language, but it’s our own little communication and I think he likes it. I realize the fever is allowing really random thoughts to seep in and out of my mind.
A warm, soft hand is gently touching my forehead. Mom always felt my forehead when I was sick and placed a cool cloth on my it. I feel her sit next to me on the couch. I’m so glad she’s here to take care of me.
“Mom?” I open my eyes. The room is dark with just the dim glow of the television.
“No, baby, it’s me. You’re burning up.”
Somehow, Storm is in my house, sitting on my couch. Touching my forehead.
I want to yell and jump up, but I can barely move. My entire body hurts and feels like lead.
“Storm . . . what are you . . . how did you get in?” I mumble groggily.
“I picked your front door lock when you didn’t answer. You really need a security system in this place. I got inside in, like, less than two minutes.”
Is he kidding? He broke into my house? I must be dreaming this. I close my eyes and count to five. When I open them, he’ll be gone. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
He’s still here.
“Take these.” He hands me two pills and holds a glass of water to my mouth. “You don’t look good.” I swallow the pills and hand him the glass. I really hope that was my prescription I just swallowed and not some crazy pills he’s giving me.
I let my head fall back onto the pillow. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to make you some tea. I brought you soup, Gatorade, cough drops, flavored water, ice cream, sherbet . . .”
“Storm . . . you can’t be here.”
He’s already on his way to the kitchen, lugging all the grocery bags. “Too late,” he yells from the kitchen. “Just sit there and be quiet.”
I can’t believe he is here, in my house, making tea and putting groceries into my kitchen. I don’t know if I should be pissed off or grateful. I think I will settle for both right now, since I feel so crappy I can’t even muster up the strength to tell him he has to leave. And of course, here I am looking absolutely horrible with no makeup on.
A few minutes later, he strolls back into the living room with a cup of tea, hands it to me, and then pulls something out of his pocket and holds it up. “Look what I got! For Halo.” It’s a tiny fuzzy mouse. “Look what it does.” He pokes it with his finger and it lights up. “I thought he would like this. It’s interactive.”
“He will love that. That’s really cute. He’s sleeping, but put it next to him, and he’ll probably play with it when he wakes up.” He gently places the toy next to Halo on the chair across the room and then sits on the floor next to the couch. My heart swoons. A rock star just gave my cat a toy. Seriously, what could be cuter?
“Drink the tea, Ev. You’ll feel better.”
The tea is made perfectly with honey and just a tiny touch of milk. It feels like Heaven on my throat.
“What are you doing here?” I ask softly.
He pushes his hair out of his face, tucks it behind his ear and grins at me. “You were alone. And you sounded pretty bad.” He shrugs. “I thought maybe you shouldn’t be alone. I know you get nervous.”
I nod slowly at him over my teacup, inhaling the steam into my nose. I’m not sure what to say to him. I feel like we keep being pulled back to each other, and I’m not entirely sure I don’t like it.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asks me. “And think about all the good stuff I just bought you before you say yes. I even bought you those really soft tissues. And, like, five different kinds of cough drops.”
I shake my head.
“Evie, I’m not good at talking about my feelings and shit, but I kind of feel like I should take care of you. Can I just hang out here until tomorrow? Otherwise, I’m gonna sit around and worry about you, and I’m tired. I’ll just crash here on the floor.”
I can’t help but wonder if his feelings of wanting to take care of me stem from what happened to his wife. That is not a territory I want to tread into at all.
“We have a guest room down the hall,” I say. “Please, sleep there, not on the floor.”
“Are you sure? I can sleep right here. I sleep on floors all the time when we tour.”
I had forgotten about his band and touring and all the stuff I know nothing about. “No, you are not sleeping on the floor. Get up and go sleep in the guest room.”
“I could sleep on the couch with you, like we did in the truck.” He winks at me and lays his head on my lap. I instinctively touch his hair, tangling my fingers in it. I really do want him to lie on the couch with me and feel his arms around me again. It would be so easy to fall asleep against him, all woozy from the meds and fever. But I can’t let that happen.
“We can’t do that,” I whisper.
Disappointment washes over his face as he stands up. “All righty. I’m gonna go down the hall. Call for me if you need anything, okay?”
“I will.”
“Are you sleeping here on the couch, or are you going to your room?”
“I like it here.”
He starts to walk away, but I call after him, my voice hoarse and scratchy, “Storm?” He turns and looks back at me. “I’m glad you’re here.” Before I can blink, he’s next to me again, bending down next to my face.
“If you weren’t sick, I’d beg you to show me how glad you are, and then I’d show you how glad I am.” A surge of heat having nothing to do with my fever rushes through my body and settles between my legs. He kisses my cheek and walks away. Damn him! How does he twist up my insides so bad? I can’t help but watch his ass as he swaggers across the room and disappears down the hallway to the guest room.
Hot damn! That man wears jeans well.
It’s so odd how I can feel him in the house. There is like an energy that comes off him, and I can feel it in every pore of my body. He’s like a warm plate of just-baked cookies, the yummy scent irresistible, begging you to try to take just one.
I am obviously so delirious I am now comparing sexy men to chocolate chip cookies. Lord, help me. I need to either get laid or go on a diet. Possibly both.
CHAPTER TEN
IT’S A GOOD THING ALL THE meds are making me sleepy, because otherwise, I do not think I would have been able to sleep knowing Storm was just down the hall. Having him in my house gives me mixed feelings of excitement and fear. What if Michael finds out and accuses me of cheating on him? Although, he seems pretty crazy about Storm and his band, so maybe he wouldn’t even care if he knew he was here. I don’t think he’d be happy knowing there is some kind of sexual tension between us and he got me off twice, though, even though I didn’t want to. That alone should be enough for me to tell Storm he has to leave.
I always do the right thing. That’s who I am. I’m honest, loyal, committed. The good girl.
But now, I kind of like being a little bit bad. Being so close to something I shouldn’t be close to is a thrill I’ve never felt before. Storm makes me feel things I’ve only read about in books, feelings I didn’t think existed in real life. I like having this little tiny piece of sexy and sweet taboo in my world. I keep trying to push him out of my head, but he’s like a boomerang that just flings right back.
“How do you feel?”
I’m so lost in my own thoughts I don’t even realize he’s standing there. I don’t feel better at all. In fact, I feel a whole lot worse. “Huh?”
“Focus. Do you feel any better? You look really pale.”
I shake my head and go into a coughing fit. My ribs are killing me from coughing so much. He stands there watching me, wearing his jeans and no shirt. His long hair is all bed-head, which only makes him even more sexy and kind of adorable, like a little kid who needs a haircut. Every time I see him shirtless, I feel like I lose control of my own eyes. I know I should look away, but I can’t. My eyes just keep going back to roam over his inked flesh like he’s some kind of hot train wreck. He knows I’m looking at him like that, and I can see he’s to
rn between being concerned about me being sick and making a sarcastic, sexy comment at me.
“Did you take your medicine?” Surprisingly, he took the concern option.
“Not yet.”
“Good. I’m going to make you something. You mind if I touch some stuff in your kitchen?”
I reach for a tissue and blow my nose. “Have at it,” I say, vaguely worried about what ‘touch stuff’ could actually entail. I feel gross, and I’m sure I look even grosser. I hear him rummaging around and then the whirl of the blender fills the air. What the hell is he doing, and why did I agree to this? I have no appetite at all, so whatever he’s concocting in there, I’m sure I’m not going to be able eat it.
A few minutes later, he’s handing me a glass with what looks like an orange smoothie, like the kind you get at the mall that’s so yummy. “Oh, wow!” I say and take a sip. It’s actually delicious. “This is sooo good.” I take another sip. “What’s in this?”
He’s beaming over the fact I love his fuzzy orange drink. “It’s orange juice, a little bit of milk, and honey.”
“It’s fabulous! Thank you.”
He points to the meds on the coffee table next to me. “Take your meds. You sound worse than yesterday.”
“They make me tired.”
“I don’t care, rest is good for you. Sleep all fucking day if you want.”
I down the pills with a gulp of the orange deliciousness. Meanwhile, he’s typing like mad on his cell phone and looks annoyed at it. He looks up and shoves his phone into his back pocket. “Should I feed the cat? Do you want some breakfast?”
I stare at him like he’s from another planet. Why is he doing this? Why is he even here?
“No, I’m fine. You should really be going.”
I hear his phone beep and he yanks it out once again, glances at the screen, makes a face, and shoves it back into jeans again.