Driven to Distraction

by Olivia Dade

  He could put in a full day at the library and still muster the energy to cook her dinner every night she worked late. Even better, the man fried up potatoes like a motherfucking chef. Jesus, she’d have let him move in for that reason alone.

  He could help her library office stay organized. So organized that Tina had actually walked out of it in confusion once, thinking she’d visited the wrong room. Then, when she’d realized the office was indeed Con’s, she’d almost hyperventilated. Since that day, she’d been wearing her smiley face socks on a regular basis, much to Con’s amusement.

  He could somehow determine whether or not she needed conversation when she got home. Depending on his conclusion, he either chatted with her or settled her in front of a hockey game. Neither option seemed to bother him.

  He could fuck her until she sobbed his name.

  He could make her feel safe. Cosseted.

  And most surprising of all, he could take a woman who prized her solitude and make her so goddamn happy that she wanted him by her side every day. Every single second.

  As far as Con was concerned, Iron Man and Thor could go fuck themselves, because only one true superhero existed in her universe. No wonder Sam wore Marvel tees. At this point, if he drew her aside and informed her he could fly or sprout webs from his wrists, she wouldn’t blink. She’d simply ask how his superhero abilities could be utilized in the bedroom.

  And God knew, she appreciated his special hammer.

  When she laughed, it prompted a coughing fit that had her doubled over in the garden and gasping for breath. The sound of the tiller ceased, and Sam was suddenly standing next to her. Supporting her. Holding her close and keeping her protected from the chilly wind.

  “Are you okay, love?” His eyes rested on her face, warm and concerned.

  She nodded, her heart full. “Perfect.”

  They’d been together such a short time, but he’d transformed everything about her life. Absolutely everything. She didn’t even want to remember how she’d existed before he’d maneuvered his way past her defenses.

  She loved him. So much it almost brought her to her knees.

  And she was going to tell him tonight.

  ***

  Amazing how much can change in three months and a week of dating.

  The same thought kept circling lazily in her head as they pushed through the Verizon Center crowds to find their seats later that night. She’d gone to dozens of Caps games before. Hundreds, actually. She had season tickets, which very few people knew. Not only because she’d rarely wanted company at those games, but because most of the people whose company she might have welcomed—Helen, Angie, Penny, or Sarah, for example—didn’t particularly enjoy sports. Before Sam, she’d always driven to D.C. and back alone.

  As it turned out, though, he didn’t just love playing hockey. He loved watching the games live as much as she did. So they’d managed to wheel and deal with other ticket holders until they could buy him a seat and sit together. He was maybe a little too eager to ramble about stats for her taste, but she could forgive that. Probably a geek thing, she figured.

  Cheering for goals and booing bad ref calls was a hell of a lot more entertaining with a partner. As was celebrating each victory with what Sam—employing awful but endearing punnery—called “cunniwingus.” It’d gotten to the point where the sound of the end-of-game buzzer made her wet. God help her if the game went to overtime, because she’d find herself staring at his mouth and that incredible beard more than the on-ice action. Several times recently, they’d pulled off on some highway shoulder while driving back home so he could take the edge off her need, his fingers stroking her clit and pumping her pussy until she shuddered in the darkness of the car.

  When they arrived home, he’d push her against a wall, yank down her jeans and panties, kick her ankles apart, and lick her until she screamed. His name. Just as he’d promised that first night.

  She shivered just thinking about it. And then shivered again, this time harder, because the rink was fucking cold tonight. Much more so than usual. What the hell? Had they decided to run a goddamn cryogenics experiment in the Verizon Center?

  The cold air tightened her chest until she couldn’t hold back another coughing fit, this one strong enough to bend her at the waist. His hand immediately came from behind to rest warm against her sternum. Not a sexual touch, but an offering of the support she needed. He kept his hand there all the way to their row. And as soon as they reached the right level and he could move up alongside her, he did.

  Thank God for his muscled lumberjack arms. They were the only things keeping her upright while she hacked up a lung and stumbled toward their assigned spots.

  He eased her into her seat with a tender solicitude that comforted and irritated her at the same time. His face drawn with concern, he quickly dropped down next to her, pulled her close, and let her catch her breath against his chest.

  When he spoke, his lips moved against her hair. “We shouldn’t have come tonight.”

  No one other than her best female friends had ever sounded that worried about her. Then again, she’d never allowed another man close enough to encourage solicitousness. But Sam, she’d found, was an irresistible force, and she wasn’t nearly as immovable an object as she’d once imagined.

  She burrowed against him, shaking with cold despite her long underwear, thick sweater, and heavy down jacket. “I’m fine. Once I put on my hat and gloves, I’ll warm right up.”

  He gave a little grunt of disagreement. “I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

  Within seconds, he’d tugged her hat down around her ears and threaded her fingers into the insulated gloves. At the added warmth, her shivering diminished slightly.

  “See?” She raised her head to offer a weak smile. “All better.”

  “I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow.” When she started to protest, he simply talked over her. “No arguments, Constance Marie. Next time you’re sick, I’ll know you’re too stubborn to see someone about it when you need to, and I won’t let you put me off for so long.”

  “I haven’t been sick in years,” she grumbled. “After the first few months of visiting schools with the Bookmobile, I ran out of new diseases to catch.”

  He extracted a wad of clean tissues from his pocket and passed them to her. Dabbing at her runny nose, she sniffed loudly.

  “Apparently you missed one.” He pressed a lingering kiss against her temple. “You feel too warm to me, although it’s hard to tell with my cold lips. And if you debate me about going to the doctor tomorrow, I’ll encourage her to give you a shot in your delectable butt.”

  She sniffed again. “Prick.”

  Despite his enveloping warmth, she moved away to watch the players skate and take shots at their goalie during the pregame warm-up. The colors seemed off tonight, though, and the lights shone so bright they hurt her eyes. Maybe she could close them for a few minutes? Once the game had started and Sam wasn’t paying such close attention to her? She couldn’t do it now. If she did, he’d hustle them both out of the Verizon Center before she knew what was happening.

  She wanted to see the game. With him. She wasn’t cutting their time short or depriving him of the experience because she had a stupid cold.

  He took her gloved hand in his. “You’ll be the one getting the prick. In your butt, as I explained.”

  At that, she couldn’t help but open her eyes—although she didn’t really recall closing them—and laugh. It prompted another coughing fit. The man to her right turned away from her, and she didn’t blame the guy. Sam was right. She should have stayed home, for her own sake and for the good of the people around her.

  But they were already at the rink, and she planned to enjoy herself. When she could breathe again, she smiled. “That either came out very wrong or very right.”

  He waggled his brows. “Guess which.”

  Doing her best not to laugh again, she smacked him weakly on the arm.r />
  The warm-up time ended, and the lights dimmed for the national anthem. The crowd rose and grew quiet, waiting for the spotlighted singer on the ice to begin her performance. In that silence, Con’s unusually heavy breathing became audible. As did a weird new sound in her chest. Why was she crackling?

  “Con?” Sam was suddenly supporting her weight, and she was sagging against his side. “Are you having trouble catching your breath?”

  She didn’t know the answer to that question or any other at the moment.

  Her chest hurt. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. Her limbs were shaking so hard she couldn’t find her balance. And the room was spinning around her in slow, dizzying rotations.

  Sam cupped her cheek. “Jesus, you feel hot. Can you even stand?”

  Several people shushed him, but he paid no attention. He just waited for a response. And when she didn’t give him one, he nodded, his face blurry and shifting and pale. “Okay. I’m making this decision for you, like it or not. We’re going to the emergency room. Hold on.”

  As long as she didn’t have to stay upright, she didn’t give a fuck where she went. So she didn’t protest when he scooped her in his arms like a hero in a stupid girly movie. As he carried her from the rink, she curled against his chest and tried to keep her arms around his neck, even though they kept flopping to her sides. And when he set her down in his car after what seemed like hours and strapped her into the seat, she didn’t open her eyes.

  She still knew exactly where he was, though. She always did these days.

  When her hand lifted, it landed softly on his bearded cheek. Precisely where she’d intended. His breath hitched, and she felt him lean close and press his hand over hers.

  “We need to go, love,” he whispered. “Just rest for a few minutes.”

  She let her hand drop, but she still had enough presence of mind to tell him what he needed to know.

  “I love you, Sam,” she said.

  And that was the last thing she remembered clearly for a long, long time.

  19

  Con swung in and out of reality for hours that night. But most of the time, she lay sprawled on the hospital bed, quiet except for her labored breaths.

  The triage nurse had tutted at the fever Con was spiking when Sam carried her into the emergency room. “How long has she been this hot?” the woman had asked, and he hadn’t known what to say. Sure, he’d noticed her rosy cheeks all day, but he’d thought the cold hours they’d spent working in the garden, the wind continually whipping against them, had brought color to her face. Then the two of them had been rushing to get ready for the game, and he’d figured exertion was the culprit. And Con’s cheeks always pinkened and her nose always ran in the cold of the Verizon Center during a hockey game.

  He’d made a mistake. A fucking huge one.

  Shame bowed his head, and he couldn’t shake a sense of imminent disaster. He’d been so careful not to override what Con wanted that he hadn’t taken care of her the right way. Hadn’t noticed when she’d crossed the line from normal disinterest in a doctor’s visit to dangerous stubbornness and carelessness with her own health.

  He’d been telling himself all night long that she wasn’t his father. She hadn’t been taken to the emergency room in a vain attempt to reverse what couldn’t be changed. To revive a body that had already shut down permanently. It wasn’t like the last time Sam had seen the inside of a hospital.

  She wasn’t dying. At least, he hoped she wasn’t.

  Pneumonia. Con had pneumonia. Completely treatable. Usually.

  When the nurse had administered a shot of antibiotics in Con’s butt, he hadn’t felt even a flicker of amusement. Since then, she’d been wheeled out for a chest X-ray and received various other medications and fluids via IV. At first, she’d been restless. But over the last few hours, she’d seemed to rest more comfortably, and he hoped the medicine was beginning to fight back her infection.

  The few occasions when she wasn’t unconscious—

  Sleeping, he corrected himself immediately. Sleeping, not unconscious.

  The few occasions when she wasn’t sleeping, she was often confused. Asking about her siblings and parents, as if she were still a child in California. Was everyone all right? She didn’t understand why the entire house was so quiet. Christian, Prudence, and Chastity—had they been fed? Was her mom or dad home to cook dinner? Had all of the kids already done their homework, and if not, did they need help?

  The worry in her raspy voice squeezed his heart like a fist. He tried to reassure her, but when that didn’t work, he simply listened and stroked her hair back from her hot forehead until she quieted again.

  During the one brief period when she’d been both awake and completely lucid, she’d told him not to call her family. Given how dependent her siblings and parents seemed to be, and how much they relied on her, loving her without ever taking care of her the way she did them, he understood that. Maybe they’d rally around her and make her illness easier to handle. Or maybe they’d pile their own fears and expectations on her when she could barely breathe as it was.

  If she wasn’t willing to take that gamble, he didn’t blame her.

  But she hadn’t said anything about not calling her friends. And at some point, he’d probably fall asleep despite his best efforts. He needed someone awake by her side at all times. Him, preferably, but even coffee wasn’t completely doing the job anymore.

  So he called Helen, even though it was four in the morning and the emergency room was over an hour away from Nice County. She arrived forty-five minutes later with Wes in tow, her red hair a cloud of tangled curls around her anxious, determined face.

  At the sound of the opening door, Sam looked up from where his fingers intertwined with Con’s. “I don’t want to know how fast you drove.”

  “Fast.” Wes appeared a little shell-shocked. “I didn’t think she had that in her.”

  Helen ignored them both in favor of rushing to Con’s side. “I’ve got her for now, Sam. If you need to eat something or want to nap in the chair or whatever—”

  He didn’t let go of Con. “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah. We can see that.” Wes’s voice was freighted with irony. “But why don’t you go grab something to eat, anyway? Or rest for a few minutes?”

  Helen chimed in as she took Con’s free hand in hers. “She’s sleeping, Sam. If she wakes up, we’ll let you know right away.”

  “You’ve made sure she’s getting the care she needs, and we’re here to help.” Wes gave him a gentle clap on the shoulder. “Relax, man. You’ve earned it.”

  Sam stared at him, stunned at such kindness from a man who’d loathed him upon—and ever since—their very first meeting. Understandably, given Sam’s history with Helen.

  “When she wakes up…” He squeezed Con’s fingers a little tighter before letting go. “I don’t want her alone or wondering where I am. I don’t want her scared.”

  “If Con weren’t unconscious, she’d smack you upside your head for that.” Helen gave him a small, wry smile. “She likes to think she’s completely fearless. Most people agree with her.”

  “I’m not most people.” Standing up, he brushed a kiss against Con’s cheek. “I love her.”

  And if Con hadn’t simply been rambling in a delirious, fevered haze earlier, she loved him back.

  When she said it again, that time without the mind-altering effects of illness, he could finally offer his heart to her. Without hesitation. Without fear she’d see it as manipulation or an attempt to rush her own feelings or a source of pressure she didn’t want or need.

  He hoped to God he got the chance.

  “Yeah,” Wes said once more, this time without irony. “We can see that too.”

  ***

  Sam didn’t know what kind of phone tree Con’s friends had in place, but apparently it was both effective and speedy. By the time he jerked awake from his nap in the chair by Con’s bedside, anxious an
d reaching for her before he even remembered where he was, a large group of people had begun cycling in and out of the hospital room at regular intervals.

  The nurses didn’t seem delighted by the crowd. But as long as Con’s visitors kept quiet, followed hospital rules, and stayed out of the medical staff’s way, they were allowed to linger nearby.

  When he woke up, Sarah and Chris were taking their shift. She’d pulled her blond curls into a sloppy ponytail, her sweatshirt was rumpled, and her interrupted sleep showed in the dark shadows beneath her blue-gray eyes. Despite all that, the smile she offered Sam was genuine.

  “I think Con’s beginning to feel better. If I’m reading the monitor right, her oxygen levels are improving all the time.” Her smile died as she wagged a finger at him. “Next time she contracts the Black Death and ends up in the hospital, though, I expect you to call us right away. Not weeks later.”

  Chris gave Sarah a fond pat on her ample ass. “Slight exaggeration there. Hours, baby. Not weeks.”

  She paid him no mind. “Same goes if you start sprouting buboes, Wolcott. Neither one of you is alone, and it’s time you both started acknowledging that.”

  “Agreed.” With his typical taciturnity, Chris didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

  Sam blinked at them, confused. At what point had he become part of this makeshift clan of librarians and their partners?

  He cleared his throat. “Um, thanks.”

  After a trip to the nearest bathroom, he came back to find the next team in place. This time it was Mary and Penny. His sister walked over to give him a big hug, and he couldn’t help it. Even though she was a foot shorter and probably eighty pounds lighter than him, he leaned on her, resting his head on her shoulder as she held him.

  “It’s okay, Sam. We’re here now.” She rubbed his back soothingly.

  Mary spoke from across the bed. “The nurse told us Con’s fever is going down. When he listened to her chest, he said her breathing sounded good too.”