Chapter 21

I can't sayI've thought about what it would be like to actually share a shower with Summer Callahan, mostly because I'm not a masochist and I know better than to think about something that's never going to happen.

And yet, here we are. Sharing a shower in the un-sexiest way possible. Nothing like a little vomit in your hair to really crank up the mood.

I'm not sure if it was the spray of the water or the feel of Summer's hands moving across my scalp, but at least for the moment, my head is clear. I don't remember texting Summer, but I don't remember much about the last two hours. No matter how embarrassing it was to have her see me at my worst, I'm glad she didn't listen when I asked her to leave. The truth is, I'd still be on the floor without her help.

I've never been this sick.

I've never been close to being this sick. When I basically crawled from my bed to the bathroom to vomit only half-successfully into the toilet, I could have crawled into hell and it would have felt like an improvement.

Behind me, Summer massages her fingers into my scalp, the scent of my shampoo filling the damp air around us. It feels so good, so amazing to be warm, and I recognize keenly that having this woman—of all women—washing my hair for me is an experience I ought to remember forever. Unfortunately, I'm too preoccupied to truly enjoy it because it's getting harder to hold my head up.

I will never understand how a body can go from feeling fine one day—though I was a little more tired than usual at practice earlier this week—to feeling like death the next. I slump against Summer, and she lets out an oof as she shifts, bracing herself against my weight.

I try to sit up again, but she holds onto me, her free hand reaching over my shoulder and splaying across my chest as she tugs me back against her. "You're fine," she says. "I was trying not to get myself soaked, but it's too late for that now, so just relax. I've got you."

Oh, geez. I didn't even think about getting her wet, but she's still fully clothed. Or, mostly fully clothed? I caught a glimpse of a tank top, maybe, when she was helping me into the shower.

I want to tell her she can borrow something of mine.

I want to thank her for showing up.

Apologize for being so rude.

Tell her she can absolutely go as soon as I'm back in bed and there's no risk of me falling over and injuring myself—something the team trainers and the rest of the Appies would likely appreciate.

Instead, I just slump against her, leaning my head on her chest as she sprays warm water over us both.

After my hair is cleaned and conditioned, she hangs up the hand sprayer so it's hitting my chest and gently massages my shoulders. I do not have words for what this feels like. It's not sexual, which is hard to believe because I'm basically naked under a towel and she's wet and her hands are on my body. But it is sensual. Despite my beleaguered state, I feel every touch, every press of her fingertips against my skin.

"You know," she says, "It's okay to let people take care of you."

I understand what she's saying, and I don't disagree. But only when you're in a position to take care of someone back. Which I'm not. Otherwise, it's just selfish. It's taking and taking without giving in return. No one deserves a one-sided relationship.

"It's okay to…"

Her words trail off, like she's nervous about saying them, and I lean into her touch, hoping it will encourage her.

"It's okay to let people in," she finally says. She slides her hands across my shoulders and down to my biceps, then draws them upward, her thumbs hitting the spots on my trap muscles that are always sore.

Hockey is killer when it comes to backs and shoulders, plus I ache all over from whatever virus has taken over my body, and her hands feel like magic. I let out a low groan, leaning into her touch and closing my eyes.

Finally, after several more minutes, she slides my hair to one side and leans down, her hands on my shoulders as she presses a lingering kiss to the curve of my neck.

We've kissed a few times now, but always in front of a crowd. Always when there's a purpose, some reason bigger than just the two of us. But something about this tender gesture hits like a bolt of lightning right to my heart.

I said I didn't want a relationship, and I don't. Yes, there's been attraction—I'm not stupid enough to deny it—but I've worked hard to keep myself from imagining what it would feel like to let Summer in.

I haven't let myself imagine what it might feel like to love her.

But Summer is cracking me open, and now I can't stop the thoughts. It must be the fever, because my brain is inventing scenarios in record speed, taking snatches of possibility and knitting them together into clear images in my mind.

Summer here, in my apartment, curled up next to me on the couch, leaning up to kiss me simply because she can.

Summer at a hockey game, wearing my jersey for real instead of just for Parker's publicity stunt, cheering for me louder than she cheers for anyone else, meeting me after the game to kiss me her congratulations.

Summer meeting my mom, my sister and brother, crouching down to say hello to my nieces, making everyone feel better just for having seen her smile.

And of course, a scenario I don't have to imagine because I'm living it right now. Summer in my shower, her hands on my body, her lips on my skin.

My head throbs, and a shiver runs through me, despite the warm water running over me, and I let a little more of my weight shift onto Summer.

She holds me steady, then squeezes my shoulders. "You have to take care of the rest of you on your own, okay?" Her voice is close to my ear, her words soft. "Can you do that?"

I nod, understanding that she needs to leave but wanting her to stay at the same time. If I had even an ounce more strength in my body, I'm not sure I could keep myself from pulling her onto my lap right here, water streaming over us, and taking her mouth with mine.

Instead, I reach up and catch Summer's hand, pulling it to my lips. I kiss the side of her wrist, then the knuckle above her thumb. I press the back of her hand against my cheek. "Thank you," I say softly, lifting my gaze to meet hers.

Her hair is damp, and her cheeks are flushed, and I'm pretty sure she's never looked more beautiful.

As soon as she's gone, I drop the towel from around my waist and do a very meager job of cleaning the rest of my body. It's a good thing Summer washed my hair, because I'm one hundred percent certain I would never have been able to hold my arms up long enough to do it myself.

I turn off the water and find a clean, dry towel hanging on the hook outside the shower door. I run it over my hair, then wrap it around my waist before leaning against the wall to catch my breath. When I finally make it to the bathroom door, Summer meets me there with a second towel, which she drapes over my shoulders, then ushers me to my closet, where she's put the second barstool from the kitchen.

She thought of everything.

She's here, taking care of me, and she thought of everything.

"Okay, so…I don't know where anything is, but if you give me instructions, I'll retrieve whatever you need, then leave you to get dressed," Summer says, her hands perched on her hips. She's still in her tank top, her wet tank top, and I can see gooseflesh up and down her arms. She's probably freezing.

"What about you?" I say as I lower myself onto the stool.

"I've got a sweatshirt. I'll grab it and change once you're settled."

I don't have the energy to argue with her, so I point to a pair of joggers and a t-shirt on the shelf of my closet and tell her where to find a pair of boxers for me. The drawer might as well be a mile away for how terrible I'm feeling. If I'm not in my bed soon, I'm going to fall over. Summer has already done enough for me today. I can't bear the thought of her trying to hoist me off the floor for a second time just to help me into bed.

I get dressed as quickly as I can, leaving the t-shirt behind. Mostly because it fell onto the floor and that felt really far away, but also because Summer's still here, and she just washed vomit out of my hair. Going shirtless might not completely erase her memory of that, but it can't hurt.

When I finally emerge from the closet, she's standing next to the bed, water and a bottle of Tylenol in her hand. I stumble over, collapsing into the bed with a groan.

My head throbs from the effort, but at least I'm down and clean and…wait, did she change the sheets?

"Not so fast," Summer says as she nudges my legs, which are still hanging off the edge of the bed. "You need to hydrate. And I have drugs to bring your fever down. Come on." She nudges me again. "You've made it so far. A little more work, and you can finally sleep."

I roll over, pulling my feet onto the bed and shifting so I'm under the covers. I'm not sure my bed has ever been made so neatly.

I prop myself up on my elbow and take the bottle from Summer, then hold out my palm, where she drops three pills. I eye them warily, not wanting to repeat what happened an hour ago, when my body decided to expel everything it possibly could. She must sense my hesitation because she nods toward a bucket that's sitting next to my bed. It looks like the bucket I use when I wash my car, so I'm guessing she pulled it out of my garage.

"Just in case," she says.

Great. So great. Nothing beats talking about literal barf buckets with the woman you're—actually, I don't know what we are. We're something, if my epiphany in the shower is any indication, but I'd rather think about it with a clear head before making any formal declarations.

I sigh and swallow the pills, draining half the bottle of water in the process. Or…not just water? It tastes like Liquid IV, and it's all I can do not to guzzle the entire thing. I collapse back onto the pillow, letting Summer take the bottle and set it on my nightstand.

Wordlessly, she moves back to my closet and disappears inside. When she reemerges, she's wearing a pair of my pajama bottoms, rolled down at the waist and swallowing her whole, and a hoodie that must be hers because I've never seen it before.

I've always liked Summer's height, her long legs, but she still looks like a miniature person wearing my pajamas. I like her wearing them. I like her here, in my space, taking care of me.

She stops a few feet away from the bed. "I'm going to borrow your dryer, if that's okay."

I nod. "The laundry room is the first door on the left. Just before the kitchen."

She nods and moves toward the door.

"Will you come back?" I ask, and she pauses her steps, turning and meeting my gaze. There's a question in her eyes, like she isn't quite sure she can trust why I'm asking. Which isn't surprising since less than half an hour ago, I was barking at her to leave.

Finally, she lifts her lips into a small smile. "Yeah. I'll come back."

I close my eyes to wait for her, and I must fall asleep because what seems like seconds later, Summer is beside me again, her hand brushing over my forehead. I lift an arm and beckon her toward me.

Slowly, she settles onto the bed, propped up slightly on the headboard, lying on her back. I wrap my arms around her waist and drop my head onto her chest, immediately deciding this is my new favorite place. Right here in my bed, with Summer beside me.

But then, I have a sneaking suspicion my favorite place might actually be anywhere Summer happens to be.

I don't know what's happening. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, or what I'm going to think when I'm healthy again and can think about things with any measure of circumspection. I just know I'm too tired to fight.

And it feels so good to have her hold me.

"Thank you for coming over," I mumble into her shoulder. "For everything."

She strokes a hand down my damp hair. "I'm glad you texted me."

I lift my head to look at her. "I really don't remember sending that text. What did I say? Hopefully nothing stupid."

"You just texted one word. Help. Why didn't you call when you first started feeling sick? I had to call Parker to even find out you had the flu."

Lying like this, I can hear her voice through her chest and feel her heart beating under my cheek. Her fingers thread through my hair, slowly working through the tangles. I should have brushed it after I showered, but that would have required the last of my energy, and I needed that to get back to the bed. Not that I mind Summer making it her job. Anything that keeps her close, that keeps her touching me, I'm here for it.

"I didn't call because I knew you'd come. I didn't want to make you sick."

"Nathan, that's silly. You're supposed to call your—" Her words cut off, and she clears her throat before finishing. "You're supposed to call your friends," she repeats, emphasis on friends. Pretty sure that isn't how she was going to finish the sentence the first time around.

Was she going to say girlfriend?

The possibility thrills me and terrifies me at the same time. It's not like she hasn't used the word before. But we don't have an audience right now, and nothing about the way she's touching me feels fake.

Summer goes on to tell me about calling her sister, about deciding I wasn't quite sick enough for her to call an ambulance. I was clearly too out of it to realize any of this was happening, though I do have vague memories of her helping me out of my clothes. But everything before the shower is pretty fuzzy.

"I think I'd like to meet your sister," I say as soon as she finishes her recounting of events. "Not for the same reasons Dumbo and Tucker do," I quickly add. "Just because she's yours."

"Thank you for clarifying," she says, a smile in her voice. "She's always everyone's favorite twin."

"Why is that?"

"Because she's nicer than I am."

"You're nice."

"I know, but not like Lucy is. I'm…I don't know. I can be a lot. I have strong opinions, and I'm not afraid of saying them."

"I like that about you," I say. "But I might not be the best judge."

"Yeah? Why is that?"

"Because I like everything about you."

Summer doesn't respond, but her hands keep stroking my hair, her fingers pressing into my scalp in gentle, soothing motions.

I should say more. Tell her what I'm feeling. Admit that maybe I'm not so opposed to the idea of relationships after all. But in my current state, I'm not sure I trust my words. My mind is too foggy, my exhaustion too heavy to fight.

So I just hold on to her.

I hold on and hope that eventually, I can figure out how to be enough.

How to be what Summer deserves.