The memories that bombarded me just then were bittersweet. Years ago when we’d been living together, Jensen had a special knack for taking care of me. I wasn’t known to be the best patient when I didn’t feel well, but he had this ability of anticipating what I’d need before I needed it. He took care of me in a way no one else ever had. My aunt was a born caregiver, but she didn’t have anything on the man I’d loved.
I thought that part of my life was long past, so having him here now, knowing exactly what I needed before I knew myself, was overwhelming. This brand of sweet and thoughtful was too much to handle. And it hurt because I knew it wasn’t mine to have, not for the long run. It was a one-time thing, and the knowledge of that freaking killed me.
As if sensing my melancholy, Jensen leaned forward and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear before bringing his hand down to rest on the side of my neck, his thumb brushing back and forth against my jaw. “Hey. Everything okay?” he asked tenderly. “You got pale all of a sudden. You feeling sick again?”
A tidal wave of feelings I couldn’t control crashed over me. I was going under, gasping for air, but no matter how hard I kicked or flapped my arms, I kept getting sucked back down.
I managed to fake a smile that felt stiff and brittle as I lied, “No, I’m good. I just . . . I think you’re right, staying here is probably best. I’m still a little out of it.”
He regarded me with a closeness that left me unsettled and a little worried he’d seen right through me to the truth I was desperately trying to keep buried deep. “You sure?”
“Positive,” I replied brightly.
I got the feeling he wasn’t buying it, but he let it go anyway. “All right. Well, I’ll finish getting Brant ready, and we’ll head out in a bit. But you have my number.” I did, I’d begrudgingly traded numbers with him shortly after he returned home and started seeing my boy regularly, just in case of emergencies. I’d never actually used the number before. “You call if you need anything, okay?”
“Will do.” I definitely wasn’t calling if I needed anything.
They headed out a short while later, leaving me alone in a quiet house with nothing to do but think about Jensen and all the crazy things he made me feel.
Oh man, I thought, sighing as I shoved myself deeper into my pillows. I’m in big trouble.
Chapter Eighteen
Shane
After my boys left and I found the energy to move into the kitchen, I sat at the little table tucked into the minuscule breakfast nook and scarfed down my breakfast taco and some coffee while berating myself for thinking of Jensen as my boy.
Once my belly had some nourishment and I was properly caffeinated, I took a quick shower to wash off the grossness of the past day and a half, then climbed right back into bed with my hair still wet. I’d tried reading for a little while, but when I’d gotten to a particularly steamy scene in my romance novel and began picturing the couple in the story as Jensen and me, and he started doing some really naughty things to me, I quickly shut my Kindle down and tossed it across the bed. I took a little nap after that, but he managed to invade my dreams as well. When I came awake with a gasp just as things were getting good, I decided sleeping was out of the question.
Between all of that I’d checked my phone relentlessly. I’d gotten a text from Jensen shortly after one. It had been a picture of him and Brantley with their faces smooshed together, both of them cheesing for the camera with the caption “All good here. You better be in bed.” I’d stared at the picture for so long it almost drained my battery, then, before I could think better of it, I saved the photo and made it my wallpaper.
I kept waiting—i.e. hoping—for more messages, but they didn’t come. When I wasn’t staring at my phone, willing it to ping with a new message, I was typing and deleting about a million replies.
Finally sick of myself, I’d plugged the phone into the charger and tossed it onto my nightstand.
I grabbed the remote and turned on the tiny television I had in my room. I flipped carelessly through channels before landing on a show that instantly caught my interest. Now I was deep into my binge of Yellowstone and well and thoroughly obsessed to the point that when Caroline had stopped by earlier with lunch from the diner in town, I’d shushed her while we sat on my bed and ate together. I didn’t even bother stopping her when she “cleaned” my aura, too engrossed in the show to care. When she left a short while later, I distractedly waved her off without once pulling my eyes from the screen.
“Oh Beth, you sassy little badass,” I said to the television.
In the middle of season one I’d made the decision that I wanted to be Beth Dutton when I grew up. Only without some of the cussing because, you know, I had an impressionable kid and all that jazz.
I was so consumed by the drama unfolding between these fictional characters that I didn’t realize Poppy and Farah had shown up until one of them spoke from their place in my doorway.
“What are you watching?”
I let out a startled shriek and launched my remote in their direction. Thankfully my aim was shitty due to still being a little sick, so I missed by several feet.
“Jeez!” Poppy exclaimed, her big blue eyes coming to me as she straightened from her crouch. “I hope that’s not how you treat everyone who comes by to help you.”
“Of course not,” I said with an exaggerated frown. “Only the people who scare the shit out of me. You have no one to blame but yourselves.”
She held her hands up in surrender. “Hey, we tried knocking. We even called your name when we came in. Not our fault you got sucked in to some—” She looked at the TV and sucked in a gasp. “Is that Yellowstone? God, Rip is so hot!”
“Right?”
Farah let out a light laugh as she bent to retrieve my remote and moved closer, handing it back to me. I quickly paused the show so I wouldn’t miss anything good. “So how are you feeling, honey? Any better?”
I propped my pillows against the headboard and sat back against them, patting the comforter for them to sit. “I’m feeling a lot better. I’d probably still be praying for sweet, sweet death if Jensen hadn’t forced me to go to the doctor.”
My friends shared a look that was part smug, part giddy school girl.
“What?” I asked, my gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of them. “What’re those faces about?”
“Nothing,” Poppy answered with a shit-eating grin. “It just seems like you and Jensen have really been getting along the past few days.”
I shot her a scathing look and crossed my arms over my chest. “There’s nothing going on with me and Jensen besides the fact that we share a kid.” And why the hell did saying those words make me feel like I wanted to throw up again? “And we’ve only been getting along because I’ve been delirious with typhoid fever most of the time.”
Poppy threw her head back on a laugh, sending her silky hair flying. “Wow. Someone’s a drama queen when she’s sick.”
“You’d be dramatic too if you were on the brink of death,” I grumbled. “I’m lucky to be alive.”