How could I have been so stupid?
I spend most of the day in the spare bedroom, staring at the blank screen on my laptop. I can't write, not after reading that text. And I didn't mean to go through his phone. Not really. Blake is going to be angry when he finds out, especially if I'm wrong about the sender of the text.
For all I know, she could be a friend just checking in on him. But what kind of friend sends heart and kissy emojis?
I feel sick to my stomach, and it has nothing to do with the pandemic raging across the globe.
When I hear a soft knock on my door, I jump. Brushing the tears from my face, I turn to see Blake standing in the doorway, watching me with heavy eyes. His face is so pale, and he looks like he's ready to collapse any minute.
"Hey."
Oh, yikes, his voice sounds like he joined a band of toads and sand grinders.
I clear my throat, hoping I don't look or sound like I've been crying. "Hi."
I'd ask how he's feeling, but it's pretty obvious he feels like crap. Besides, I keep thinking of the other girl on his phone, and I'm somewhere between raging and feeling guilty for snooping through his device.
He looks around slowly, frowning as if he's both confused and a bit dazed. Then his tired eyes meet mine. "What are you doing in here?"
I shrug, putting on an air of nonchalance. "I didn't want to bother you while you rested."
I almost ask if I can get him anything, but again, that text holds me back. I sit still instead, clenching my fists into the sheets.
He opens his mouth, but when he takes a breath, he starts coughing, covering his mouth with his arm. He sounds like his lung is ready to come out, and he doubles over when the fit lasts nearly a minute.
Forgetting my anger, I spring top my feet and go to him, looping my arm around his waist. "You need to lie down. Come to bed, and I will bring you some medicine. Then I'll make you some soup."
He leans on me, and I nearly fall over from his weight. It feels like I'm hauling a sack of bricks as I lead him back to his bed, and I toss his arm off once he sits. I claim a vacant spot at the edge, keeping as much distance between us as I can.
Blake watches me, furrowing his brows. "Am I so repulsive that you have to sit all the way over there?"
He looks miserable, and a huge part of me feels guilty. I swallow, averting my gaze to the comforter. "No."
"Then what is it?"
He coughs again, worse this time than before. Then he curls into a ball and groans, clutching his pillow. "Frack, I hate being sick."
I slide off the bed and move to the door. With my back to him, I say, "I'll be right back."
I say nothing else as I go to the kitchen, where I go through the non-perishables I left on the counter when his order was delivered. Then I go through his pantry and refrigerator, where I pull out everything I need to cook celery soup. It's not the same as chicken, but this is my comfort food, and one I make well.
Once that's underway and the mixture is boiling, I open the medicine and grab a bottle of Gatorade before bringing it to his room and setting it on the nightstand. Blake looks at me through red-rimmed eyes, blinking slowly as he frowns.
He doesn't say anything as he sits up, hunched over and taking shallow breaths. Taking the bottle of Gatorade, he struggles with the cap, but can't seem to get it open, and he tosses it on the bed. He grabs the medicine that I've careful measured instead, and tossing it back like a tequila shot. A set of sneezes follows as well as another coughing attack. Finally, he leans against the headboard and closes his eyes.
Wordlessly, I unscrew the cap on his drink and place it in his hands. He doesn't try to drink it, and I sigh, bringing it to his lips. "You need to drink this," I whisper, brushing a sweaty lock of hair aside.
His face is still burning, and a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead and cheek. He stinks, like he went to the gym and didn't shower for two days.
I'm about to find a washcloth so I can soak it in cool water when he grabs my wrist, closing his hand around it in a surprisingly strong grip. "Wait."
I meet his gaze, which threatens to incinerate me with its intensity. "Why are you avoiding me?"
My heart beat quickens, and I instinctively flinch. I know he isn't my mother or that he won't hurt me, but the fear of abuse doesn't abate. After years of finding myself the recipient of her beatings, my first reaction is to flee, but I can't because he's still holding on to me.
Drawing a shuddering breath, I stammer, "I'm n-not avoiding you. I'm trying to multitask so I can make your food."
"Yet you refuse to look at me, and you keep trying to maintain your distance," he growls. His voice is low and raspy, and I can tell he'd raise it if he could because his eyes are filled with anger and confusion.
"I'm worried." It's mostly true, because I am. I don't want him to get worse, and if I get sick too, it'll be difficult to take care of us both. My concerns over his text are on the back burner, something I can address later once he's feeling better and I can safely leave. No matter how much I want to confront him, I have to wait until I can go home without exposing Dad to the virus. He is my top priority.
"Well, stop."
He's irritable, and I don't blame him. Unfortunately, so am I, and I tear my hand away, scrambling backward. "Easy for you to say. My dad isn't healthy, you're ill, and I can't flip my anxiety off like a switch."
He scowls, but doesn't say anything or try gripe or try to coax me back. His eyes are still burning into me though, even after I retreat to the kitchen. It's silly because he's probably going to forget about it in a few minutes, but I can't shake the image of his glare.
This is his house, and I've been rude. There is no excuse for my attitude, and I should make more of an effort to be polite. Once I'm safe to return home, I will. Until then, I'll keep away and hold my temper in check.
I return to the soup, stirring it occasionally as the vegetables soften and the smell of spice fills the house. The food smells delicious, and my mood begins to lift. This is my comfort food, one of the few things I can eat that makes me happy when I'm down.
When it's done, I spoon a generous helping into a bowl and it some crackers on a plate. Then I bring it to Blake, who's half sitting, half slumping on the bed, staring at his phone. When I come inside, he looks up. The anger has dissipated, replaced by a softer expression as he holds his device up. "Have a seat. I want to talk about this message."
Fear pricks my heart. What I did was stupid, and I deserve anything he says, even if it's to tell me to go.
I take a seat at the edge again, wringing my hands in my lap. I open my mouth and close it. I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry for being nosy and that I'm angry, though it might be premature and unwarranted. So I wait silently to see what he has to say.
When I don't do anything, he drops the phone and sighs. Then he scoots toward me and takes both of my hands in his. His skin is clammy and his face is paler than Casper, but he somehow manages a smile. "Okay, I think I know what's bothering you. I saw the text message."
"I'm sorry," I blurt out, trying to pull away. He keeps his hold on me before I can flee, and words tumble out of my mouth. "I swear, I wasn't trying to snoop. Your phone rang, and then the text came right after that. I didn't mean to look.
He snickers, which turns into a cough. He's forced to release me as he turns his head to hack into his arm. When he recovers, he says, "That's Ajay's sister. She was the woman who cheated on me, and the only reason I haven't blocked her is because Ajay doesn't know. He'd understand if I did, but she's family, and I don't want to create a rift between them."
Shit. I knew my anger was unjustified, and now I feel like a bitch for judging him. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "I'll get my things and go."
"Oh, stop," he commands, pinning me beneath his gaze. "I'd kiss you and say it's okay, but I don't want to get phlegm all over you."
"I appreciate that."
His lips pull into a grin. "I need you to trust me. I'm not a womanizer, and I'm not going to yell at you for a mistake. But I would ask you to speak to me first. I can't defend myself if I don't know why you're angry, and it's unfair to assume the worst about me before knowing the full story."
Damn it, now I feel even worse. And I deserve it, I know I do, but it sucks feeling this way. It's worse because I have always been let down, and I don't know how to lower my guard. Yet what can I say when he's done nothing worthy of my wrath?
"I'm a judgy person," I mumble, burning with shame. "It's so hard for me to open myself up after a lifetime of being hurt."
He pulls me close, stroking my hair. "Kelly, I'm not those people. I will never disrespect you, nor will I intentionally hurt you. What you can count on is that I'll be consistently horny, and I'll punch the first man to say or do anything impolite."
Did he punch his douchey friend at the bar when he insinuated I wasn't worth Blake's time? I'm kind of dying to know, but it's not my place to ask.
I bite my lip and curl into him, ignoring the fact that he smells like a locker room.
"I don't deserve your kindness," I begin.
He holds me at arms-length and smiles. "You do," he affirms in a heavy voice. "You aren't perfect, but neither am I."
Yeah, right. He's been nothing but a gentleman when he's not hiding my panties. "Okay, name one thing you've done that hasn't been acceptable for polite society."
His cheeks turn scarlet, and he clears his throat. "Uh, considering you just told me you're kind of judgy, I'd rather not."
Oh, now I really want to know. "Did you murder someone or do something equally as bad?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing like that."
"Was it illegal?" I still remember him evading that question last week, and it makes me genuinely curious. I don't want to find out that he committed a felony, but on the same note, it's probably better to find out now than later.
He nods. "When I caught Audrey cheating on me, I kind of lost it. I waited a few months before stealing her car and depositing it outside of Tucson. I didn't damage it, but I didn't return it to her either. She never put two and two together that it was me, and even if she did, I made sure there was no proof."
Oops. I can't say I feel bad for this woman. I'd be pissed if someone cheated on me too, and despite grand theft auto falling into the felony category, I'm not really bothered by it. The car wasn't destroyed, and at most, Audrey probably had to pay fees to have it towed. And given that Blake didn't tell her brother what a snake she was, it was much kinder than she deserved.
I shrug. "Okay, I guess that's more of an inconvenience than anything. Just promise me you didn't do anything else."
"Erm... okay, it's super childish, but I TP'd her house when she and Ajay weren't home, and then I used their hose to spray it down. Took them a couple of weeks to peel it off."
I giggle. "What are you, twelve?"
I can't help myself. It's such a juvenile thing to do, but again, it could have been worse.
He shrugs. "She broke my heart, and I found out on our anniversary when she blew me off. Her date tagged her on Snapchat. When hitting the punching bag didn't work, I went for a drive. Two days later and three states away, I was still angry. I stayed home, cried, screamed, burned all of our pictures, and I still couldn't calm myself down. I wanted to shred her clothes and destroy anything I could find, but I didn't want to be held liable for it. Once I knew I couldn't be blamed, I followed her to her boyfriend's house, hotwired the car, and left it on the road. It cost me a fortune to take a Lyft back to Phoenix, but to was worth it if I could hurt her, even if it was in making her pay the impound fees."
Fair. I lean back into him and rub his back. "Not that I approve of breaking the law, but she sounds like a piece of work."
He shrugs. "She begged me to take her back shortly after that. Ajay asked me about it, but didn't press me for the truth when I told him to drop it. I don't forgive cheaters."
"Nor should you," I agree.
When I notice him shivering, I break away and nod at the cooling soup on his nightstand. "Okay, I really think it's time for you to eat and rest. We can talk more about this later. And I really am sorry I invaded your privacy. That was inappropriate."
He pushes himself backward until the bed frame is supporting him and rests his head against the wall. With droopping eyes, he murmurs, "I have nothing to hide from you. Just promise me you'll communicate how you're feeling so we can discuss it first."
It's more than reasonable, and my heart swells with nothing but admiration for him. He's been kind to me, despite my actions, and I'm grateful.
I take the steaming bowl and carefully set it on the bed, pushing the spoon and plate of crackers at him. "I promise. Now please eat. I don't want you to get worse."
"Will you stay with me?"
I grin. His request is so meek and sweet, there's no way I can deny it. "Yes, now stop putting this off, or I'll be forced to ground you."
A small chuckle escapes from his throat. "When I get better, the first thing we're going to do is roleplay with you in charge. You're hot when you're bossy."
Holy moly, how do I answer that? I don't know the first thing about roleplay and fantasies that aren't vanilla, but I nod anyway. I don't mind learning if he's the one to teach me, and in a few short minutes, I've fallen for him.
"Alright, you naughty boy. Food first, then rest. And when you're feeling better, we'll explore your sexy fantasies."
He rewards me with a smile before sipping at his soup. His eyes twinkle, promising a good time later. "I can't wait."