Intertwined

bonus four: you're allowed

R H E T T

IF I WAS smarter, I would have called Nessa the second I felt lightheaded and despite her persistent in me doing just that when I need her, my stubborn streak seems to be alive and well. Because here I am, on the floor, unable to get myself up and my gorgeous ex-girlfriend just walked into my apartment with a phone held to her cheek. Without her having to say anything to indicate who is on the other line, because if the ringing coming from my room is any indication, my sister panicked and called her to come check on me.

When her eyes meet mine, all I can do is shake my head in a silent plea to keep my condition to herself. I knew when Nessa left this morning she had a group project on her plate, and me being in bad condition is the last thing she needs. I want her to stay focused, even if she'll be furious with me for it. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

"I found him, Nessa. He's asleep," Emmy says, her eyes not leaving my face and all I can managed to do is swallow. I'm such a fucking idiot for ever thinking letting her go was a good idea. She's like a breath of fresh air, and I've been struggling to breath since I let her go.

Nessa says something on the phone before Emmy responds. "It's okay. Better safe than sorry. I'll talk to you later, okay?" she asks, before saying goodbye. She tucks her phone away and sinks down next to me. "What happened?"

I study the worried lines on her face and my heart clenches in my chest. Even when I push her away, she's still here. She doesn't deserve to keep being put in this place where she feels the need to care for me, not after everything I did. "Nothing," I say, shaking my head because I don't know what else to do. I want to push her away; I want her safe—from me. "I got dizzy and fell."

"Does anything hurt?" Her eyes roam over my body, her fingertips reaching for my torso. Her touch only resting for a second before her hand shifts, moving to my hip while her brows knot in worry.

Nothing I say is going to push her further away, and I should know better. Only Emmy is going to decide when it's time to give up, and nothing I do is going to be enough. I feel my mask slipping away, my shoulders tensing before my stomach twists. "Just everything," I mumble, and when her eyes lift to rest on mine, I feel something shift. "I'm sorry, Trouble. I–"

"It's fine," she cuts me off before I can finish, her hand moving to my cheek. The cold touch of her fingertips on my flushed skin puts me at an immediate ease, my eyes closing, and I allow myself to lean into her.

"That feels nice."

"You're burning up, Rhett," she says, moving the back of her hand to my forehead. "Are you feeling okay? Any nausea?"

I shake my head to answer her questions, letting my gaze settle on her and take her in as she moves her hand to the collar of my shirt. She pulls it down, reaching for the bandage covering my incision from my collarbone surgery. When her brows pull together after pulling at the corner, I know it's not a good sign, but I can't seem to care.

"I think your incision is infected, Lieutenant."

A smile creeps up on my lips. "I miss you."

Something shifts on her face, and I can sense her shutting down. "Okay, we need to get you to a hospital," she says, standing up. "I'm going to help you up, okay?"

I nod my hand, one of her hands slipping under my good arm while the other goes to my waist to help me up from the ground. The second I'm up right, my head spins and my good arm moves from over her shoulder toward the wall to help steady myself.

"Still dizzy?" she asks, twisting to stand in front of me and moves a hand to each of my sides. My stomach turns again, and eases with the trail of her hand over my chest as she moves back under my shoulder. "Let's get you to the couch, yeah? Greyson's in my apartment. I'm going to go and get him to help us."