I worried that she was going to leave now that she knew the truth, knew just how messed up I was. But she didn’t.
Her voice was closer when she spoke next, and when I opened my eyes, her face was only inches away. “It is. And it’s all his fault.”
“Shane—”
“I get it now,” she continued, speaking over me. “I always knew there was something more behind why you sometimes get so angry you can’t control it, but I didn’t know what. Now I do, and I get it.”
My chest clenched and my stomach dropped. My breathing escalated as a sweat beaded up on my forehead. “Are you—” Jesus, even thinking it made me feel like I was going to be sick. “Are you done with me?”
Her brow pinched in confusion. “What?”
“You know the truth now. You know how fucked up I am. Why I do the shit I do. So are you done with me?” My skin grew clammy. The thought of losing her, of having her take away the only light in my life . . . it fucking killed.
“No,” she breathed. I saw her amber eyes go wide before I lost sight of them when she rested her forehead against mine and squeezed them shut. “God, Jens, no. I’m glad I know the truth because it helps me understand you better. I’m not done with you. I’m not sure I ever will be.”
The effort was brutal and my body screamed in objection, but I managed to lift my arms and wrap them around her, pulling her warm body even closer. “Good,” I said quietly. “’Cause I don’t ever want you to. I love you, sunshine.”
She shifted her position, resting along my side with her head on my shoulder and her arm laying across my waist. “I love you too, bunny.”
I rolled my eyes, even though I secretly loved that nickname. We lapsed into silence, and a few minutes later, I fell asleep with my girl pressed against me.
Chapter Sixteen
Shane
I’d known I was in trouble when I woke up Saturday morning and the heaviness in my limbs had turned to stiffness, making it almost painful to move. When I managed to peel my eyes open and saw the numbers on my alarm clock read a good three hours later than I normally woke up, I’d made the mistake of trying to jump out of bed and rush so I could get ready and go pick up Brantley.
That was when it had hit me: the stuffy head that pounded like I had a marching band inside of it, the body-wracking chills, the aches that started in my scalp and radiated all the way down to my toes.
The night before hadn’t been a fluke or the effects of not eating. It had been a precursor for something bigger. I had the stupid freaking flu.
I did my best to downplay it when I’d called Caroline and asked if she wouldn’t mind bringing Brantley to me since I was still feeling a little off, and my car was still at Bad Alibi from the night before. She’d agreed happily, saying she’d have Scooter bring my car to me.
After I got off the phone, I attempted to shower, which only helped to deplete the rest of what little energy I had. I’d only just struggled my way into a pair of yoga pants, a long T-shirt, and a cardigan—because, you know . . . fever—before the front door flew open and my little hurricane came rushing in.
I pasted on a smile and willed my body not to keel over dead as I promised my aunt up and down that I’d be just fine and I didn’t need to her keep Brantley for the day. We already missed so much time together thanks to my job, I wasn’t willing to give up any more, sick or not.
As it was, I already asked too much of my aunt and uncle. The last thing I wanted to do was take advantage of their generosity or, God forbid, have them start resenting me for leaning on them so much. So I did the best I could for Brantley, all while feeling like death warmed over. By Saturday evening I regretted not telling Caroline the truth. By that night, after I tucked my kid into bed, all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and cry myself to sleep, that was how miserable I felt.
Now it was Sunday morning, and I was convinced I was on death’s door, getting ready to ring the bell. I hurt everywhere. Even my eyelids hurt. I had aches in muscles I hadn’t known existed. My body shook so bad with fever that my teeth rattled, and no amount of Tylenol could get it to break.
Brantley was doing his best to stay quiet as he played, knowing his momma wasn’t feeling good, but my boy liked to suck every bit of goodness out of life each day, meaning he was busy, he was energetic, and he was loud. Even when he tried not to be.
A knock sounded on the door, pulling his attention from the Avengers movie I’d put on the TV for him. “I’ll get it!” he shouted, jumping up from his place on the floor where he’d been camped out, lying on his little belly with his chin in his hands and his feet swinging in the air.
“Brant, no. What’d I tell you about opening the door?” I pushed up to sitting on the couch and the whole room started to spin. “Whoa.” I held my hands out for balance before giving in to gravity and collapsing back onto the cushions. “Okay, you can open it this one time, but ask who it is first.”
I took big, steady breaths, trying to stave off the nausea rumbling in my belly, watching as my son rushed to the front door and smooshed his face against it like it would help him see through the paper-thin wood. “Who is it?” he yelled louder than necessary.
“Hey, bud. It’s Dad,” I heard Jensen return, and I nearly started bawling in relief. Until right then I’d forgotten all about him picking Brantley up for a visit today. Maybe if I got a couple hours of sleep I’d feel well enough later to get up and drive my ass to the pharmacy for some flu meds.
“Daddy!” Brantley swung the door open with a whoosh, nearly colliding with the screen door in an effort to get to his father. “You’re here! You’re here!”
Jensen got the screen open before my kiddo maimed himself and picked him up with a laugh. “Careful, kid. You’re gonna give yourself a concussion.”
“What’s a cuss-shun?”
Jensen gave him a bright white grin that, even in my state—halfway between alive and dead—I couldn’t help but appreciate. “Nothing, bud. You ready to learn how to ride your bike?”
“Yeah!” Brantley squirmed to be let down, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he bolted toward his room. “I’mma get my helmet!”
It was only once he was out of the room that Jensen turned his attention to me, and the smile that had graced his face instantly fell. “Jesus, sunshine. You okay?” He rushed over to the couch, taking a seat on the coffee table and leaning in so he could place his hand on my forehead. “Fuck. You’re burning up.”
“So, it turns out I misread the signs my body was giving me Friday night. I have the flu.” As soon as the words left my mouth I was hit with a coughing fit, because of course there’s nothing sexier than hacking up a lung—and possibly some other nasty stuff—in front of a hot guy.
“Okay, get up. I’m takin’ you to the doctor.”
“It’s fine,” I lied, pushing his hands away when he tried grabbing at me. “I’ve got this. While you and Brant are gone, I’m gonna take a little nap then go get some medicine. I just need to rest.”
He scowled down at me like I was a petulant child. “That’s such a crock. You need a doctor, Shane.”