My eyes fall shut, and I smile. “You really are worried, aren’t you?”
“I am.” She takes my temperature. “And I have good reason to be. Your fever went up.”
“That’s probably because I’m covered up.”
She presses her lips into a thin line, not convinced. “You can get brain damage from high fevers.”
“They have to be higher.”
“Wes,” she stresses, hand falling to my thigh. I’ve imagined her here, in my room…in my bed…touching me so many times before. But not like this. Still, having her here is nice. “It’d be one thing if you woke up with a really high fever and we waited it out. But this has been going on for over a day. You probably have the flu. People die from the flu. And you could give it to Jackson.”
Dammit, she knows exactly what to say to make me bend.
“Fine. If I still have a fever in the morning, I’ll go in to the doctor.”
“Thanks.” She brushes my hair back again. “Lay down. I’m bringing you a wet rag and some cold water.”
“You don’t have to,” I tell her, though that sounds heavenly right now. “And I don’t want you to get sick.”
“I’m already exposed. Jackson too.”
“He’s probably the one who gave this to me,” I say with a smile. Then my headache intensifies, and I squeeze my eyes shut, laying back down. Scarlet leaves, coming back a minute later. Ice clinks against the sides of the water glass, and she makes me get up and take a drink before gently pressing the wet rag to my forehead.
I don’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this. Daisy was never very maternal—obviously—and while she cared and really did love me for a while there, so much of our time was spent fighting or ignoring each other that it’s hard to remember the good times.
“Do you have another thermometer?” she asked, picking up the rag and flipping it to the cool side. “Because the forehead one won’t work now.”
“Yeah, there’s one in Jackson’s bathroom.”
“It’s not a rectal thermometer, is it?” she jokes.
“That’s actually the kind I prefer.”
She laughs and runs her fingers through my hair. I’m feeling a little out of it thanks to the fever. I’m not going to kiss her again because I’m sick, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I confess what I’m feeling.
Because right now I know that I’m starting to fall for her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Scarlet
The bed frame creaks, and I startle awake. I sit up, goosebumps covering my arms, and blink in the dark.
“Wes?” I whisper, feeling the mattress shake beneath me. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in Weston’s bed. I’m on top of the covers and he’s underneath, and we’re on the opposite sides of this king bed.
The sheets rustle, and I see the outline of Weston’s large body moving. Red hot fear pulses over me, and my heart immediately starts racing. I reach for Wes, hand landing on his shoulder.
“Scarlet?” he croaks, throat dry. “What’s wrong?” He sits up too fast and winces. I squeeze my eyes shut, having a hard time blocking out the memory.
“I thought you were having a seizure.” A chill rips through me, causing me to tremble.
“Why would you think that?”
The words want to come out, and the fear I had before of him judging me, of being looked at differently—as unworthy—is gone. “When my sister was little, she got really sick with a bad fever.” I wrap my arms around myself, shivering harder. “Our mom was too drunk to care or take her to the doctor. Her fever got so high she started convulsing. It still scares me to this day.”
It’s hard to read Weston’s expression in the dark. He feebly sits up and puts his hand on my arm.
“You’re freezing.”
“And you’re still hot.”
“Come here,” he whispers, pulling back the blankets. My fingers shake as I move in, sticking my feet under the warm sheets. Wes wraps his arms around me, and his warmth goes right down to my very core. “That’s why you’re so worried.”
“Yeah,” I say in a small voice.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” My eyes flutter shut, and I put my hand on top of Weston’s, apprehensively bringing it around me. He wiggles in a little closer while keeping a careful distance at the same time. If I scoot back a mere inch or two, my ass will press against his cock. My body craves it, but now’s not the time. He’s sick and needs to rest.
“If I would have known you were scared like that, I would have gone to the ER.”
“Just to appease me?”
“Just to put your mind at ease.”
I close my eyes before I run the risk of having them get glossy. “Thank you,” I whisper so quietly I’m not sure he can hear me. “And be warned, if Jackson spikes a fever, I’ll be even more paranoid.”
“I will too,” Wes agrees, tightening his grip on me. “That’s one ER trip you won’t have to pressure me to take.”
“I should check your temperature again,” I say but don’t make a move to get up. “I don’t even know what time it is. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“It’s three-thirty, and you need to sleep. There’s a good chance you’re already sick and it’s just a matter of time before the symptoms hit you.”
“I have a pretty strong immune system,” I tell him. “That’s one good thing that came out of having a drunk for a mother. She wasn’t a good housekeeper, and I think it helped me build up a strong immunity.”
“I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” Wes admits.
“You know what? I don’t either.” I open my eyes, looking around the dark room. I can’t see Wes, and even if I roll over and look him in the eyes, his expression will be hard to read. It doesn’t make sense, but there’s something safe about the dark. It hides the truth, and sometimes the truth hurts. “I say things like that with sarcasm and dark humor, but it’s not really funny, is it?”
“Sometimes you laugh so you don’t cry.”
“I think that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life.”
“You don’t have to anymore,” he mumbles, lips brushing against the back of my neck as he talks. “At least not for tonight.”
I roll over in his arms and brush his wavy hair back out of his face. His cheeks are warm, and his forehead is even hotter. If it really is three-thirty, then he should sit up and drink some more cold water and take another dosage of Tylenol.
But his arms are locked around me and he’s drifted back to sleep. I bend my leg up, hooking my ankle over his calf, and run my fingers through his hair, lulling myself back to sleep.
“Daddy?”
My eyes wake up before my mind, and I can’t make sense of the small figure standing before me for a good three seconds. I’m still in Weston’s bed. His arm is still draped over me.