Chapter 20

twenty

Wrenlee

Cash’s music is growing on me—ish. Devils Heartbreak is good. Actually, by the crowd they amass every time they play, they’re more than good. Probably great, even. But they aren’t my style. I’m not really drawn to songs with lyrics about bad family drama, a son never measuring up, a mother never present, never loving. Of cutting words that haunt deep in the night, slicing clean, a wound bleeding. I don’t want to connect with family trauma. I’d prefer to shove my head in the clouds with a romantic country song, or maybe even some Carrie Underwood girl-power, then the angry-sad I feel when I let myself listen to Cash’s lyrics.

Still, I can appreciate the following they’ve garnered for themselves. I can also appreciate a night out with Candace. She’s quickly becoming a friend. Maybe even a good one.

I wonder if when this game between me and Cash is over, I’ll be able to keep her for myself.

Sitting back in my seat, I set my hand over my stomach, swallowing hard. It’s not the first wave of nausea that hits me, but it is the strongest so far. My stomach is cramping hard, and I’m starting to feel warm.

“You good, girl?”

“Honestly?” I press my lips tight against another roll of nausea. “I don’t think so.”

Concern twists Candace’s expression. “Flu?”

“I was fine earlier.” A cramp has me pitching forward, elbows slamming on the table as I catch my head in my hands, wincing. “I don’t know, maybe the flu.”

“Are you going to be sick?”

“I can’t tell,” I moan. “Probably.” Gathering my strength, I pull myself from the booth. Sweat slicks my spine even as I shiver. “I’m going to get a taxi home.”

“Not in your state.” She follows me from the table, flinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’ve got Ian’s keys. We’ll take his car.”

My belly pitches and pebbles rise on my skin. “I might get sick in it.”

She waves me off. “He has the money for a detail.” As we pass the bar, she snaps her finger at the bartender and calls, “Mindy, babe, can I bum a few paper bags from you?” Candace winces at me. “Just in case.”

Mindy, a stunning girl with pixie-like features and bright violet hair cut short tosses a stack of paper bags onto the bar. Candace snatches them between deep blue painted talons as Mindy appraises me with one brow raised. “She okay?”

“Probably the flu.” Candace studies me again, then asks, “You eat anything weird? Could this be food poisoning?”

I shake my head. “Just a latte at the library with a girlfriend.”

But if this was from the latte, Alice would be just as sick. I’m suddenly annoyed with myself for not getting her number so I could text her and check in.

“Before coming here?”

I nod, grip the bar, and fight another wave. Every part of me feels weak and hot. “Yes.”

“Cash her man?” Mindy asks.

“Yep,” Candace replies.

“Maybe you should tell him. I think she might need, like—a doctor or something.”

I wave off the mention of a doctor. “I’m just sick. A flu.” I blink hard. My vision is wonky. I want to lie down. “Maybe food poisoning. Doesn’t matter. Can you take me home?”

Candace holds eye-contact with Mindy for a beat before she agrees, “Sure, babe.”

“We’re calling an ambulance if you don’t stop vomiting!” Candace shouts through the door I’ve closed and locked.

I’ve been sick in my life, but never this sick. There’s nothing in my stomach left to vomit, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still trying. My body is bent over the toilet bowl and I’m heaving small amounts of bile between dry convulsions. My head is pounding in a way that is not natural and I just want to lay down on the floor and absorb the cold from the tile into my overheated body, deep into my bones.

I either have the worst stomach flu in the history of mankind, or it was the breakfast sandwich I’d eaten around ten that somehow gave me food poisoning, because I know it wasn’t the latte. People don’t get food poisoning from a latte. Bad sausage, however, is a possibility.

I’ll never eat another breakfast sandwich in my life, I swear, as another cramp rolls through my body. This time, my body doesn’t convulse with the need to expel more of what isn’t there. A sheen of sweat sticks to my skin as I fall back against the wall, so hot, I want to peel my clothes from my body and lay against the cool tile floor. The desire is strong, but the energy is weak. I don’t think I could undress myself if I was given three wishes to see the task complete.

Deep voices sound outside the bathroom door and the knob rattles violently. I’m so tired, my eyes drifting open and closed as my heart pounds fast and hard in my chest. It’s an ominous beat, kind of like a drum in a jungle. Foreboding floods the space, or maybe it’s my mind, before I hear a pop and the door swings open. Cash stands big and blurry in the doorway. I can see Candace and the others behind him, smaller, blurrier blobs, but I know it’s them. Still, even through the blur, I can see the worry etched into Cash’s face. It burrows like spurs in those dark eyes as he moves quickly to cross the distance between us.

I try to protest when he lifts me into his arms bridal style, but I’m too weak to let even a moan loose. My head lolls against his chest and my body is deadweight in his arms. He doesn’t seem bothered by it as he moves into the hall, muttering something to Tav about calling his dad and getting the number for a doctor.

Then we’re in a bedroom. It’s not mine, because the walls, trim, and door are painted a deep, dark, rich green. I don’t have the chance to take in much else before we’re in another bathroom. It’s just as dark as his room, but the walls aren’t green, rather, a rich dark brown. The shower is shiny black tile and glass, and the floor is white and black octagonal tiles that are warm on my feet when he sets me down. As soon as he releases me, my body sways. Cash curses, catching and steadying me.

“Gonna get you clean, baby, yeah?”

I nod, not quite coherent enough to understand all that his words will entail, only knowing that I want the final result. I can smell the sick on myself, and humiliation stings painfully in my cheeks.

Cash’s hands start to move, gripping the hem of my shirt first and tugging up. He bares my belly before I get my wits enough to catch his hands and shove them down. “Wait.”

He pauses, eyes connecting with mine. I blink, trying hard to focus beyond the desire to drop dead on the floor.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs gently. “Let’s get you clean, yeah?”

I shake my head, swallowing hard. “You can’t see me like that. Without clothes.”

Something odd crosses through his expression. It’s not lust, not desire, not anger. It’s—I think it’s patience.

“I won’t look.”

“Cash.”

“We’ll leave your bra and panties on,” he proposes.

Nerves tingle in my belly, causing another cramp to squeeze my insides violently. Crying out, my body pitches forward and a tear leaks from the corner of my eye as I plant my palms into his solid chest to keep upright. A sob breaks free. “I want to sleep.”

When I don’t vomit, the chills roll in. It’s not long before I’m shivering violently, so violently my teeth chatter loudly in the quiet space.

Cash’s hands move again to my shirt, and this time I don’t stop him as he tugs it over my head. Then they’re working the button of my jeans, the zipper. His hands push them from my hips and before I know it, I’m standing in my bra and panties. It’s the first time a man has undressed me, and he’s done it because I’m splattered in vomit.

How romantic.

The tears come harder, burn hotter, even though the shivers have amped up to a kind of violence I imagine those know before they freeze to death.

Cash sets the water and guides me beneath the stream, leaving me only long enough to strip down to his boxers. Then he’s under the spray with me, holding me as I shiver and weep. I’m a mess, but the band of his strong arms hold me together even though I feel the shard-like pieces of me quivering in place, threatening to fall into a heap at the tile beneath my feet.

Steam is rolling around us in billowing waves when Cash finally pulls away. He says nothing as he appraises me, my hair wet around my body as I stand in my new pink lace bra and panties, soaked to the bone and pale with sick. There is no desire in his eyes now, only that same worry I saw when he broke down the door in the bathroom.

Saying nothing, he grabs shampoo and lathers it in my hair. It smells like him, and I love it, even though it’s far from the feminine vanilla-scented shampoo I use. His fingers in my hair feel good, even though my head is pounding. My arms stay crossed over my naked midsection as he guides my head back into the water, rinsing the suds from my hair. When he lifts the body-wash, lathering it between big rough hands, I know I should tell him I’m capable of washing myself, but I’m so tired, the task feels monumental. So, I don’t protest as he scrubs me down, rinsing me carefully before he turns off the water and bundles me in a towel. Still dripping wet, he carries me to his bed and sets me down. Then he disappears into his closet, reappears in a pair of black sweats that hang low on his hips, showcasing a ripped torso and bronze skin, clutching something white in his hands.

Then he walks out of the room, leaving me feeling on the brink of death on the edge of his bed.

Thankfully, it’s seconds later that Candace appears in the room. Worry barbs every word as she comes to stand before me. “Cash said you need help getting dressed.”

A whole new rush of tears burns behind my eyes, because Cash just let the cat out of the bag by calling her in to help me. If he were my boyfriend, I would have been comfortable with him dressing me, right?

“I can do it.” I drop the towel and reach for the shirt, but Candace swats my hands away.

“You can barely sit upright.” She unhooks my bra quickly, gathering the shirt and shoving it over my head. “You’re hardly able to sit, never mind dress yourself.”

“I’m so tired,” I mumble. “I’m so cold.”

“I know, babe.” Her words are gentle, but her eyes are bright with concern as she guides me into Cash’s bed, her hands moving to the band of my panties and pulling the wet material down my legs before she pulls the blankets up around me. “Go to sleep. We’re all here.”

My mind whirls with excuses to tell her as for why she’s the one who dressed me and not Cash, but I’m too sick—too tired to come up with anything that makes sense. So, I just say, “Thanks.” And then I’m overwhelmed by black.