Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

MACY

W ood helps me up and I manage to get my supplies out in the bathroom, only knocking half of them on the floor.

"Oops." My mouth is dry. I'm thirsty. I need to pee.

Wood picks everything up off the floor. "How can I help?"

I realize I've been zoning out, my eyes going in and out of focus. I need to pee. Maybe lie down. That sounds nice.

"Mace!" Wood snaps his fingers in front of my face and I focus on him again.

"Test strip. Finger prick," I say. I'm sleepy.

"Keep your eyes open, Mace. Stay with me." Wood gets out my device, a new lancet, and testing strip. He even washes his hands like he's going to do it for me.

I sigh. That's nice of him. He's cute. I wish he wasn't so cute.

"I can do it," I say, blinking slowly.

"Are you sure?"

"I've done this every day since I was fourteen. I could do it in my sleep." Sleep sounds so nice. My head hurts.

Wood seems to be in a rush. I poke my finger and get the blood droplet to come out, but my hands are a little shaky and like slow motion, so Wood puts the strip to my finger to absorb the droplet. He shudders but keeps his eyes open.

The meter beeps and then reads four hundred sixty.

"Oh that's high," I say. "That's not good." My eyelids are so heavy, and I need to pee and I'm smiling but I don't know why I'm smiling.

"What's your ideal level? Was it one-ten?"

I nod. "I think I should take a nap."

"Not yet. I promise you can later. But you're hyperglycemic. We have to take care of that first."

"Hyper—gly—ce—mic. Did you googley that?"

"Did I—did I googley? Yes." He chuckles. "I did google that. I need you to focus for me, okay?" He leans down and touches my chin. His face is so close I want to boop his nose. Probably shouldn't, though. That would be weird.

"Each unit of insulin lowers your blood sugar by fifty, right?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay." Wood is already drawing insulin. "So, you need seven units."

"That was quick math. Are you good at math? I wouldn't have guessed you're good at math."

He smiles as he wipes a little area of skin on my lower belly clean. "I was always good at math, and computers. We can talk more about that later, okay?"

"Okie dokie."

He pinches the little piece of skin he cleaned, just above the waistband of my black panties. My lacy black panties. Why am I wearing sexy underwear? I have a vague recollection of putting them on last night for a reason but everything feels fuzzy.

It occurs to me that these panties leave almost nothing to the imagination, and I should be mortified, but by the look on his face, Wood is mortified enough for the both of us. Or about to throw up. But not because of my see-through panties, because of the syringe he's holding.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, taking a shaky breath.

I'm not sure what he's talking about. Then he pushes the needle into my skin and presses the plunger down.

Oh yeah, yeah. That.

He winces as he takes it out. "Are you okay?"

I nod. Then lie down on the floor. This rug is comfy. How do rich people even have nice bathroom rugs? I've slept on mattresses less comfortable than this rug.

"Should I call someone? 911? Should we go to the hospital?"

I shake my head. "I'll be fine."

"How long will the insulin take to work?" Wood asks, biting his lip.

I shrug. "Five minutes. Twenty. I need to pee."

"Okay." He helps me off the floor and to the toilet. And by helps , I mean he lifts me under the armpits while I flop limply like a child.

"Don't leave!" I say.

"I won't."

"But don't look!"

He turns around, crossing his arms while I pull down my panties—oh yeah, these are a thong, he's definitely seen my butt today, then—and go to the bathroom.

"All done," I say after I flush, realizing much too late that saying it aloud was redundant.

I'm less wobbly getting to the sink, but Wood is still watching me, arms out, like I could fall at any second. As soon as I finish washing my hands, he swoops me up into his arms. I yelp and cling to his shoulders. He doesn't seem fazed.

I gaze up at his ridiculously chiseled jaw. "You're less blurry now."

He looks down at me while he carries me into the bedroom, smiling his stupid, gorgeous smile. But it looks strained.

"You have pretty teeth. Very straight. Did you have braces?"

"No. Never had braces."

I roll my eyes. "Of course you didn't. You are and always have been the perfect physical specimen."

He tilts his head and squints. "Are you sure you're feeling better?"

"I had braces for five years. Five."

His chest is warm. My face is pressed against his chest. He doesn't seem to care, so I don't either. I press my face against him harder.

"I bet you looked adorable with braces." He lays me down gently on the bed and then pulls the quilt up over my legs.

"Not even a little bit," I say.

Closing my eyes feels nice. I snuggle down into the pillows. His chest was better.

"Ah, there she is."

I blink, adjusting to the light in the room. I must have been asleep for a while. It looks like midday.

"How are you feeling?" Spencer's dad, Charles, adjusts his wire-framed glasses as he comes up to my bedside.

"I feel much better, thanks." But I'm not looking at him, I'm looking around the room, Bex and Livvy are sitting at the other side of the bed, looking at me anxiously. Jake is behind Bex, his hand on her shoulder.

Spencer and Saundra are whispering by the doorway. Spencer looks my way and my stomach twists into knots. I hate that he's here, seeing me like this. Knowing that I messed up. I didn't take care of myself last night. He told me not to drink too much and I did, and that look in his eyes as he looks down his nose at me—he doesn't even have to say, "I told you so."

I wish he wasn't here.

It's weird, going from wanting someone around all the time—desperately, even—to not at all. All I know is every time I feel better, he makes me feel worse.

The only person I want here, I realize as I keep scanning the room, is the one person I'm looking for. Wood.

He's over by the window, looking out at the water, wearing the sweats he slept in. It's weird, I don't like how far away from me he is. I want him next to me. I want to hold his hand.

Charles is going on about if I want him to check my vitals or if I'd be more comfortable going to the hospital.

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine. I have everything here I need. I know how to manage."

Spencer shoots me a look again.

"I'll just rest a little longer," I say.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Bex grabs my hand, her blue eyes glistening.

"I'm fine. Sorry I ruined the morning."

She waves me off. "Nothing is ruined."

"All right, everyone out. Let's let the young lady rest," Charles says as he pats me on the shoulder then ushers everyone out the door.

"Wood," I call out. He stops and turns before he gets to the door. "Not you," I say. "I want you to stay."

The tiniest, lopsided smile forms on his lips. He comes toward me, and just like that, the knot in my stomach disappears.

What happened this morning after I got out of bed is blurry. I was disoriented, out of control. But he helped me. I remember that.

I remember feeling weak and drowsy, and I couldn't see straight. Not enough to give myself an injection properly.

Wood did it. He dealt with blood and needles, and he didn't hesitate even though he was probably feeling lightheaded himself.

The bed dips when he sits on the edge. I reach for his hand, and he takes mine eagerly. He squeezes it, and I squeeze back.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey." I smile. He smiles. My heart is beating hard. "Thank you for saving me."

He shrugs. "I didn't do anything special. Just what anyone would have done. I was kind of scared shitless the whole time, though." He chuckles. "I'm glad you're okay. That's all that matters."

"It is a big deal. To me."

We sit quietly for a minute, my hand in his. My pulse like a drum in my ears. I swallow, my throat dry and thick.

"Did… did something happen last night?" I ask, finally.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just that I woke up in your shirt and…you said you put it on me after… Did we… Did something happen between us last night?"

"Oh! No, nothing happened like that."

"Okay. Good."

"Are you relieved?" he laughs.

"Yes. But maybe a little disappointed, too."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

"I mean, our conversation before we left for dinner when you were talking about—" I'm not sure how to put it without disintegrating from embarrassment. My face is already red hot.

"The good fiddle-sticking, yes," Wood finishes for me and I'm grateful for it.

"Yes, that. Well, you were right. I haven't really ever had a good fiddle-sticking. Around the third course, I sort of got the idea in my head to ask you about maybe, um, showing me the good fiddle-sticking you were talking about."

His eyes soften and his lips curl up slightly.

I don't know how I'm still talking at this point and not hiding under the covers. "I know, it's silly. I was so nervous about asking you I just kept drinking and, well, obviously, that backfired on me, and I didn't go through with it."

He shifts on the bed to face me more. "When we came back to the room, you did try to seduce me."

"I did?" I think I've stopped breathing. It keeps getting worse.

"Well, that's what you said you were doing. I didn't realize that's what was happening."

"You didn't realize? I was that bad at it?" I bury my face in my hands.

I want to die. Smother myself with a pillow. I haven't breathed in several seconds. Maybe I can just keel over and be done with it.

"Mace, no." He peels my hands away from my face and holds them in my lap.

Wood smiles at me with his beautiful teeth and his pretty eyes and perfect tan skin and I want to disappear. The only bright side is I don't remember making a fool of myself last night.

"I didn't catch on because I'm an idiot, and I didn't think it was even in the realm of possibility."

Of course he doesn't see me as an object of sexual desire. We're friends, so I suppose it's okay. Comforting, even if disappointing. I hadn't thought about having sex with Wood, either. Until very recently.

"I wouldn't have let anything happen between us last night," he continues.

Oh. Don't have to rub it in.

"Because you were drunk. That makes consenting kind of iffy. It's a dealbreaker for me. Otherwise, I would have been down."

For the first time, I meet his eyes. "Wait—you would have?"

"Yeah. Why not?" He says it so nonchalantly, I don't think he understands the flip my stomach just did.

"Good thing I was drunk then," I laugh nervously. "It would have been a mistake, and the rest of the week would have been awkward."

"Would it?" He holds eye contact, his question sincere.

I think back to the way he kissed me the other night and now I'm thinking maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to do a bit more. A lot more.

"I don't know," I say.

"I don't think it'd be awkward. You haven't been properly fucked in at least six years. I know that for sure. I could fix that if you want. Let me make it up to you."

My cheeks heat. Is he saying what I think he's saying?

"Just for this week," he says. "I'm your pretend boyfriend. Everyone thinks we're together anyway. Why not have some extra fun? It doesn't have to be all fake. We're adults. There's no reason we can't if we want to."

"If we want to…have sex?"

"I'm not even talking about penetrative sex. Let me make you feel good. I'll make you come every night. It'll be all about you."

"I—" My throat is closing up. I don't know what to say. I swallow. Hard.

"You don't have to decide right now." Wood pats my knee and gets up from the bed. "Think about it, take all the time you want. I'm going to let you get some more rest. Should I send some food up for you soon?"

I nod. Still unable to speak through the lump in my throat.

"You good? Need anything else before I go?"

I shake my head no, my eyes rolling up to follow his movement as he leans in and presses his lips softly to my forehead.

"Rest up," he whispers, and then, with a light squeeze of my shoulder, he turns and leaves, giving me a grin big enough to show a dimple just before he latches the door shut.

What the heck just happened?

"You don't have to go tonight, you know." Wood stands behind me, looking at me in the mirror, buttoning his shirt.

I'm trying to put some product in my hair to make my curls less frizzy. They're supposed to be shiny and bouncy. Why aren't they shiny and bouncy?

"Of course I'm going to go. She's my best friend and I'm the maid of honor. I can't not go."

"It's okay to look after yourself instead of everyone else sometimes. Bex loves you. She'd understand. Especially after this morning."

"Well, I'm going, so we don't need to keep talking about it."

Wood sighs. "Okay. These take thirty minutes to an hour to take effect, so you'd better take it now." He takes a little white and yellow tube out of his pocket and hands it to me.

"You got me Dramamine?"

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

I've used the anti-motion sickness medicine before, but with the craziness of the weeks leading up to this trip, I hadn't even thought about getting some to bring with me.

I hold the little tube in my hand, my eyes starting to sting and my chest tightening.

"Why are you so good to me?" I ask, willing the tears to recede. "I'm a mess. I've been no fun."

Wood tilts his head, furrowing his brow. "I know you haven't been yourself. Give it time. I didn't come to have fun, I came to help and support you."

He means it. And it hits me that he's really the only person I have right now. Bex and Livvy are caught up in their new relationships. I don't have any family nearby. I don't have a boyfriend. The only reason I even have a place to live right now is because of Wood.

I finish getting ready, my hands shaking the whole time. My stomach is a ball of nerves. I'm afraid I'm going to throw up the Dramamine. I have no doubt Wood would rush in and hold my hair back if I did. The idea mortifies me at the same time it brings a little smile to my lips.

It's like my whole life I've been walking a tightrope with no net. Keep my balance or fall to my death. That sounds dramatic, but when you live most of your life knowing you have a condition that will absolutely kill you if mismanaged, the metaphor is spot on.

And for the first time, someone's thrown me a safety net. If I stumble, Wood is here, and I know in my gut he will catch me. Maybe instead of being out here on the rope alone, it's more like a trapeze. He reaches out for me, and I leap with complete faith and trust.

In actuality, I take his hand as we head for the door.

"You look beautiful, Mace. The most beautiful fake girlfriend anyone could have."

My nerves have morphed into full-on acrobats tumbling cartwheels in my stomach. I am an entire circus. But I'm going to say it anyway.

"Yes."

He quirks an eyebrow as he opens the door for me. "Yes? Yes to what?"

I squeeze his hand. "Yes to your proposition from earlier."