Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Crinkling plastic and a dull thud wake me from a dead sleep. I crack my eyes open, unsure of what torture the sickness will inflict on my body when I do so. Will it be my head? My nose? If I swallow, will a searing fiery pain make its way down?

The pressure in my nose has subsided only a little. I sniff. The nostril that was clogged this morning is now clear, the sickness moving on to the other one. I groan, cracking my eyes open to the bright midday sun.

A beautiful Boston day. Summer will do that to the city. During the winter months, clouds descend over the city and make a home until summer forces its way in, waking Boston from deep hibernation.

But even though it's summer, my body wears this sickness like it's the dead of winter. My skin flashes with heat, but a shiver ripples across my body.

Closing my eyes again, I roll over and slide my arm out across the mattress. Lennon's side of the bed is still empty.

Sadness mixes and mingles with my sickness. The memories of my conversation with Roe and the absence of Lennon have my heart constricting once again.

It's difficult to love someone but not have the ability to fix them. Love can make you powerful while also making you weak. A beast with two faces. The hero and the villain. A paradox not seeking to be solved.

I want to save Roe, but I can't. I want to love Lennon, but it's difficult when he keeps me at a distance.

I open my eyes again and press my hand to my forehead. Sticky with sweat, my skin is on fire. I pant and stare at the far wall on Lennon's side of the room.

A large, brown, wooden dresser stretches from one wall to the other. Lennon's dresser. I've seen him pull socks and underwear from the top drawers when he gets dressed for work, thinking I'm still asleep.

I gasp when I see the items covering the entire top of the dresser. Items that weren't there before.

With my broken heart and weakened body, I force myself to crawl out of bed. Searing pain radiates in my bones as I tug on the throw blanket at the foot of the bed, wrapping it around my shoulders.

I walk the few steps over to the dresser and eye every item. Bottles of water enhanced with electrolytes. Every brand and type of flu medicine in both liquid and pill form. Headache and pain medicine. A heating pad. Ice packs. Chicken noodle soup. Saltine crackers. Ginger ale. I lose track of what's in front of me. It's as if an entire pharmacy has been delivered to not only my doorstep, but my bedroom.

With watery eyes, I gasp when I see a book sitting at the end of a dresser. It's a romance novel—one I haven't read yet. I find myself smiling through my fevered state, wondering if I ever told Lennon I liked to read romance novels. I can't remember a time when I did. I flip the pages of the book before placing it back on the dresser.

Pulling the blanket around me tighter, I venture out of the bedroom for the first time since coming home. I step over my abandoned pink blouse and black dress pants, not having the energy to pick them up.

I'm wearing only Lennon's T-shirt from last night and my panties. When I came home, I saw his shirt laid out across his dresser and felt the pull inside me, telling me to wear it.

Unsure if anyone is here, I slowly walk down the hallway, peeking into the kitchen before fully committing to entering. I'm standing at the foot of the hall as Ray sets two large tote bags on the counter. He begins emptying them, placing bags of vegetables and meat on the counter.

He twists his head in my direction when he sees me.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Harding. I tried to be as quiet as possible. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's…" I croak, pausing long enough to attempt to clear it without screaming out in pain. "It's okay." I nod toward my bedroom behind me. "Did you get all that stuff for me?"

"I picked it up." He nods, moving to the refrigerator. He organizes the items and places them in their proper place before shutting the door and turning around to face me. "But your husband asked me to go to the pharmacy and pick up everything you might need."

My eyebrows shoot up, and my jaw drops. I point my thumb back over my shoulder. "He asked you to buy all that?"

"Yes," he says resolutely. "He wasn't able to break away from his meeting this morning, but he wanted to make sure you had everything you might need so you were well taken care of."

A tear slips from my eye. I quickly wipe it away, not wanting Ray to see the effect Lennon's unexpected gesture has on me.

My husband brought the entire pharmacy to me.

My knees feel weak, but I'm unsure if it's from my fever or from Lennon.

I leave Ray in the kitchen and shuffle back to the bedroom. Dropping the throw blanket on the floor, I inhale another shiver. Reaching for the book, I shove it into the crook of my arm and grab the heating pad, a bottle of water, and two of the pain pills before climbing back under the sheets. This time I lay in the middle, resting my head on Lennon's pillow.

After plugging in the heating pad, I swallow the pain pills before settling in and cracking open my new book.

I don't even make it through the first page before my eyes grow too heavy to stay focused. And when I fall asleep, the pain in my body is almost erased by Lennon's presence surrounding me.

When I wake up again, darkness has descended upon my bedroom. A moan escapes my throat when a large hand slides along my bare thigh, inching toward the hem of Lennon's T-shirt I'm still wearing.

"Holy shit, Laurel. You're burning up."

I open my eyes to find Lennon's deep blue ones staring back at me. It feels like it's been forever since I've seen them.

"I know," I groan.

My throat isn't as painful as it was earlier, but the echo of it still lingers. I swallow, hoping it will soften the heat.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lennon pleads, the corners of his mouth turning down in a frown.

"You've been so busy at work," I whisper. It's easier and less painful to whisper. "This week was too important for me to bother you."

"You're my wife, Laurel." His fingers lift the hem of his shirt I'm wearing, his fingers circling the side of my ribs. "It's my job to make sure you're taken care of and that you're protected." Guilt settles in his expression. "But I'm sorry I couldn't get out of my meeting earlier. I came home as soon as I could."

I look behind him to the cornucopia of medicine and gifts sprawled out on the dresser. I'm still in shock. Although I haven't seen much of him lately, knowing he took the time and effort to make sure I had all the medicine I would need stirs something deep inside me. A hole I didn't know existed started to fill when I saw the pharmacy in my bedroom.

When you've been used by so many others throughout your life, especially when that someone is an ex-husband, the sweet gestures are more apparent. David would never have done anything like this for me.

I look back at Lennon.

"Thank you for bringing the pharmacy to me." My shoulders quake with a gentle laugh, and I give him a small smile.

A grin spreads across his face, lighting his eyes. "Since I couldn't be here to take care of you, I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed to get better."

He pauses, the corner of his mouth curling into a playful smirk. "At least until I got here."

"I was beginning to think you were avoiding me," I admit. "You haven't really touched me since the day of the wedding."

I expect him to deny his distance, but he doesn't. He swallows, shifting his eyes to the side before looking back at me. "I didn't want you to think that just because we were married now, I thought it meant I could touch you whenever I wanted. It wasn't part of our agreement."

"Oh, that makes sense." I nod apprehensively.

He hooks his fingers under my chin. "But that doesn't mean every second of not touching you hasn't been complete and utter torture."

Heat blooms across my cheeks. "It's been torture for me, too," I confess. "You force me to sleep in this bed with you while you lay next to me in those fucking gray sweatpants."

"What's wrong with my gray sweatpants?"

"Please." I roll my eyes, refusing to believe he's never heard about what women think of men in gray sweatpants. "You can't tell me you don't know." When he doesn't answer, arching his eyebrows waiting for me to elaborate, I giggle. The motion makes my chest hurt. "They leave nothing to the imagination, Lennon."

"Huh." He juts his smooth bottom lip. "I owe you an apology, then. That must have been torture."

I laugh again as lines form in the corners of his mouth as he smiles.

Gathering what little strength I have, I place my hand to his chest, pushing gently. "You shouldn't be this close to me. I might be contagious."

"I don't care." His velvety voice glides over me like a soft blanket, pulling me closer. "Besides, you're contagious even when you aren't sick."

My pulse quickens at his words. My teeth chatter. With cold as ice toes, I slide them between his legs, attempting to warm them up.

"I think you have a fever," he points out. All I can focus on is the tiny circles he's drawing on my skin.

"Hmm." I nod in agreement. "I don't even know how I caught it. Maybe at the wedding? But it's June. I didn't think the flu was common in June."

"It's usually not." He lifts the corner of his mouth into a smile. "But then again, nothing about this month has been normal, right?"

"Right." I get lost in his eyes. My insides melt from them. Or it could be my fever. "I feel terrible," I admit.

I blink and run my tongue across my lips. It's impossible not to want to kiss him when he's this close. My eyes fall to my hand on his chest, covering the Beatles lyric tattooed into his skin.

His eyes cast down, following my hand.

" Hey, Jude was my mother's favorite Beatles song," he whispers. "It's the reason why my brother is named Jude and I'm Lennon. I'm named after her favorite song writer. He's named after her favorite song. I can't remember a day that went by where my mother didn't sing at least one Beatles song."

"It's a beautiful song." I give him a warm smile. His admission wraps around me and comforts me. He's giving a piece of himself I've never seen before. The vulnerability has reappeared, and I can see it in the way he looks at me. The way his hand continues to draw delicate circles on my heat-flushed skin. "What happened to her?" I ask, swallowing my nerves. "Your mother."

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he doesn't look back at me. Instead, he's lost, looking off in the distance. A different type of ache settles in my bones.

"She died six years ago." His voice is so small, so distant, I almost think I didn't hear him. The words take a few seconds to catch up to me before his admission settles in the air between us. Something tells me he doesn't talk about his mother often, if at all. Me bringing up the tattoo on his chest has forced him to talk about her.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my hands continuing to roam over his chest, touching every single tattoo. My apology is twofold. One for bringing up his mother. Another for him losing her. It's clear she meant a lot to him.

He doesn't speak another word. His jaw twitches as he keeps his mouth closed, shutting down the conversation before it's barely began. Guilt washes over me. Lennon doesn't open himself up very easily, and I'm afraid if I begin asking too many questions too quickly, he'll start to pull away. Just like he has since our wedding day.

I decide to open a part of myself to him, testing the waters.

"Three years ago, my parents went on vacation to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary." I swallow the heat rising in my throat, pausing every few words to catch my breath. I adjust my head on the pillow and tip my chin higher, looking up at Lennon. His eyes dart downward, staring into mine while his finger continues drawing invisible circles on my skin. "My father had pretty much taken my mother wherever she wanted to go. I don't think there was a country or continent left they hadn't visited. Being the adventurous woman she was, my mother wanted to go mountain climbing. My father wasn't too thrilled with the idea, and neither were me and my siblings. I mean, none of us were the outdoorsy type. We all grew up in the city, Boston specifically."

Lennon lets out a light laugh, understanding.

"I guess my mom was itching for a new kind of thrill or adventure," I continue. "All her kids were out of the house, and she'd spent years as a stay-at-home mom. Of course, she organized all my father's business dinners and fundraising galas, but she never had a career for herself. I think maybe she was searching for what she loved outside of her family. Wanting to make her happy, my father begrudgingly agreed to the mountain climbing trip. They were on their second day of the trip when I got the call from one of the members of the group that they were climbing one of the crests when a large boulder broke loose above them. My mother's line got stuck on a branch sticking out from the stone, and my father went to go help her. They tried to move out of the way in time, but they didn't make it."

A tear slips from my eye, warming my already heated cheek. Lennon's thumb catches it, his eyes filled with more sadness than they were earlier. I've never talked about my parents' death. No one in the family speaks of it, their loss too great for all of us to accept. But not only was it difficult losing them, but thinking of the fear and pain they must have felt has been entirely too much to bear.

"I'm sorry you lost them." Lennon breathes. "I can't imagine what that must have been like."

My eyes fall to his mouth, spilling words for me more delicately than I've ever heard from him before.

"I know this doesn't take away the pain of losing them," he whispers. "But your father went to rescue your mother, risking his own life in the process. True love is selfless. And if that isn't the purest form of true love, then I don't know what is."

I give him a small smile, my heart growing a thousand times bigger. To my father, my mother was the love of his life. I'd always hoped to experience that kind of love. It makes me happy knowing Lennon could feel the love they had for each other just from that one story.

I slide my hand across his hardened muscle and wrap it around his neck. I scooch closer, entangling my legs with his, and I don't say another word. Nothing else needs to be said.

"Fuck, Laurel," he breathes, pressing his lips gently to my forehead. "I'm not kidding. You're on fucking fire."

He stops drawing circles on my skin and wraps his arm around me underneath my shirt. He pulls me close, pressing the tips of his fingers into my flesh. The pain I woke up with only minutes ago is starting to disappear with his touch. But I guess in the time it took me to tell him the story of my parent's death, my fever has reached a pitch. His eyes widen as they search my face.

"When was the last time you took medicine?" he asks, concern laced in his deep voice.

"I don't know." I close my eyes and breathe him in. "I don't even know what time it is."

"Here," he says, pulling himself away from me, panic rising in his voice. His leg unravels from mine. "You should take some more."

"No." I quickly tug him back. "This is making me feel better. Being with you is making me feel better."

Lennon is the cure to my weakened soul. Every touch is a remedy for my broken heart and my injured body.

The grief surrounding Roe's cancer vanishes momentarily when I'm in his arms. Life isn't as ominous and tragic when he's with me. He's a light in my world of darkness.

My husband rolls back to me, returning his hand to the same place as before. Spreading his fingers across my back, he massages me. Tiny bursts of electricity spark across my skin, my fever accelerating.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

I nod, closing my eyes and bringing my forehead to his mouth. He kisses me again, his hands moving faster with every breath. My pulse quickens.

"More than okay." I start rolling my hips, begging to have him closer.

I keep my hand pressed against his chest, my fingers resting over the lyrics on his chest.

Take a sad song and make it better.

Today has definitely made it to the top ten worst days of my life, and Lennon is making it better.

I lift my leg and wrap it over his. Slipping his long, muscle-filled leg between mine, his thigh presses against my hot center. I rock my hips again as his hands continue exploring my body.

"I like my shirt on you, Mrs. Harding," he whispers. His chin is resting on the top of my head. I can't see his face or his gorgeous blue eyes, but I close mine, imagining the fire that must be in them when he makes his confession.

"I like wearing your shirt," I muse. "It's soft and it smells good."

I don't even care if I sound creepy at this point. I haven't felt this good since I came down with this stupid fucking flu.

"It smells like me." His voice lowers, his chest vibrating against my mouth. I press my lips to it, kissing the tattoo on his hardened pec.

"Exactly."

Moving his hand from behind my back, he glides it around my ribs to cup my breast. His thumb grazes over the small pebble. A small whimper escapes my chest. I thought my fever was cooling off, but I was wrong. So fucking wrong. My entire body could combust from Lennon's touch.

"Are you sure you don't care I'm this close to you?" I ask him. I'm writhing more beneath him, rocking my pussy over his leg. I need to feel him. I want to feel him inside me.

"No," he groans, his hard as stone cock pressing into me. He hooks his other hand under my chin, lifting me to look up at him. "But I've never had sex with someone with a fever. I don't want to make you feel worse."

"Impossible."

"As painful as this is to fucking say," he grunts. "And trust me when I say painful, I mean excruciatingly painful, I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Please," I beg. I don't care how weak or pathetic I sound. "Please, Lennon…"

"Laurel." My name falling from his gorgeous mouth incinerates my insides. He doesn't often call me by my first name.

"Please," I beg again. "I need to feel you inside me. It's been too long, and I'm too sick to care how pathetic I sound. I think you're the only medicine I need right now."

My lower belly blooms with heat. It's hard to discern how much of the heat across my body is from my sickness or from my proximity to Lennon. I think even if I weren't sick, I'd still be just as hot.

A thin film of sweat coats my skin as Lennon moves his hand from my breast to the side of my face. I love when he holds me like this. It reminds me of our first kiss. Well, not exactly our first kiss. That kiss was six years ago in the back of his car.

This type of kiss reminds me of our first as husband and wife.

"Only if you do something for me first." Our faces are so close, I feel like I'm stretching to reach him. He holds back, using his hand on the side of my face to keep me just out of his reach.

He doesn't allow me to answer. Placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, he pulls away from me. The air he leaves behind is cold. Shivering, I curl myself into a ball and wrap the sheets around me. I watch as Lennon leaves the bedroom. He returns a few minutes later with a glass of ice water. He sets it down on his nightstand and walks over to the personal pharmacy he brought home. After finding what he's looking for, he turns around and holds his hand out to me.

"Please take these." Another smile emerges across his mouth. "I know you said I'm the only medicine you need, but just in case..."

Although his words are playful, there's sincere concern woven into his blue eyes. Clouded by the darkness in our bedroom, his worry is still obvious. I do as he says and pull my arm out from under the sheet, uncurl my fingers, and hold out my hand.

"Fine," I mutter. "If you insist."

He drops two pills into my palm. I sit up enough until my head is upright, then pop the two pills into the back of my throat. Lennon hands me the glass of water. I drink nearly all of it, not realizing how dehydrated I must be. The water is cool and soothes my throat on its way down. I sigh, still shivering with a fever as I slither back under the blankets.

I watch him as he climbs into bed beside me. Shadows and darkness cover his entire body, and I'm sad I can't see him clearly from here. I still feel like there's so much of Lennon to explore. So much I still don't know, both inside and out.

Hope deflates in my chest when he doesn't return to the same position as before. He's only inches away from me now, but he doesn't link his legs with mine or lift the hem of my shirt to touch me.

"Feel better?" he softly asks.

"A little," I admit. "I didn't realize how thirsty I was."

"Good." Still not moving to touch me, he twists, shifting to face his nightstand. He reaches inside the glass, pulling out a cube of ice.

I inhale a sharp breath when he reaches his hand out, placing the cube of ice on my neck, directly on my pulse.

More goosebumps spread across my skin. Part of the ice melts, a trail of water gliding down my neck and over my chest.

"Does this feel better?" he asks, delight mingled with the concern in his voice. He inches closer to me again, but still not close enough for my legs to wrap around him.

"Yes." I quiver. It's a conundrum being both hot and cold. My body is melting but I can't seem to shake the shiver refusing to give up.

After holding the cube against my pulse for a few seconds, he reaches behind him and grabs a fresh cube. He lifts his hand and slinks it back under my shirt. I hiccup a sharp breath when he circles the fresh cube around my hardened nipple.

"How about now?" His voice has grown considerably deeper, as if the thrill of my reaction is now a conquest he must explore. Each new destination with an ice cube pushes him further. I must admit, though, his ice cube trick is working.

"Definitely," I moan, my eyes fluttering. I can't decide whether to keep them closed or open, focused on the fire in Lennon's gaze.

He glides the ice cube over my nipple, coating my breast in cool water. I turn away from him and lay on my back, facing the ceiling. I arch my back as he drags the ice cube to my other breast, repeating the same motion. He's coating my fevered body in iced water.

Once the second ice cube has melted, he reaches for another one. This time, he doesn't hesitate before placing it between my thighs and slipping his hand under the front of my black lace panties. He parts my folds with the tip of the cube, pressing it firmly against my swollen clit.

I arch my back again, sucking a breath in between my teeth. Lennon's mouth is against the hollow of my ear.

"What about now?" He growls.

"Lennon," I whimper, unable to describe how I'm feeling. I know I'm still sick. I know the illness is still coursing through my bones and veins, wreaking havoc, but something about being touched this way when I feel like dying inside makes me feel alive.

As he would his fingers, Lennon circles the ice cube over my clit. I moan again, bucking my hips to the ceiling.

"Please," I beg, turning my head to the side. I open my eyes and stare into his. He stares back at me, watching me with piqued curiosity. I can tell he's enjoying watching me like this.

"Tonight is about you, Mrs. Harding." He removes the half-melted cube from between my legs. "Tonight is all about making you feel better."

Our bedroom is covered in shadows. I watch him as the small amount of light causes his eyes to flicker.

My mouth pops open, and I'm gasping for air as he places the half-melted cube between his teeth. His lips wrap around the cube, sucking on the end. Moving himself over my body, he slides off my panties, pulling them down my legs. He tosses them over his shoulder, then parts my legs. He bends forward and hovers over me.

I gasp when a drop of water lands on my stomach. My shirt is pushed up, exposing my wet breasts to the cool air. Arching my back again, Lennon leans down, looking up at me as he places the cube against my lower stomach. With my legs bent, my thighs are at either side of him. He lowers himself until his head is between them. Turning, he drags the cube down the length of my inner thigh, flicking his hungry gaze up to catch my reaction. A deep moan escapes my throat, and I bite down on my bottom lip.

I can't keep my legs still. My entire body is buzzing in anticipation. Lennon drags the ice down my thigh, from my knee until he brings it to my hot center. He teases my folds, running it down the length before using his fingers to open me. The cube has melted to half the size it was when Lennon first started. When he places the frozen cube to my clit, I'm met with both ice and fire. His lips are warm, but the last bit of ice on his tongue is cold as he slides it over my swollen bud.

I place my hands on his head, threading my fingers through his hair. I grip on the ends, tightening my thighs around his face as he continues to work his icy-hot mouth on me.

The rest of the ice cube doesn't last long, and neither does Lennon's gentleness. His soft, delicate tastes are now firmer. He sucks and licks and bites my clit. I can't stop moving under him, my mind growing hazy. My legs tingle as I buck my hips. I'm losing control.

Lennon is quick to slide his arms under me. He grips onto my hips, keeping me pressed against his mouth. My blazing flesh molds between his long fingers as his voice rumbles from his chest, vibrating against me.

"Lennon, I'm coming." I want to say more but my throat won't let me. I move my hands from his hair and stretch my arms out at either side of me, grasping onto the sheets. Anything to anchor me to the earth. I feel like I'm going to float away. I've never been touched when I've had a fever. Honestly, the last thing I could think about eight hours ago was being touched. But with Lennon, it's different. It's almost as if my body knows this is what I needed.

My chest expands, and my thighs press against Lennon's head harder. One more lap, suck, and bite, and I'm coming against his mouth. Digging his fingers deeper into my flesh, he holds me against him as I ride out my orgasm. Bursts of electricity shoot across my skin.

My legs finally relax, and Lennon pulls himself away from me. He places a gentle kiss on the outside of my folds, then another on my hip, then another along my ribs. After kissing one of my nipples, he's made his way back up to my face.

"How do you feel now?" he asks, dragging his finger down the length of my cheek.

My chest is still rising and falling as I try to catch my breath.

I lick my lips and grin. "Better."

My eyes are heavy, the fever having gone down. My entire body is wet both from ice and fire.

"Good." He chuckles. "Now, get some sleep." He leans forward and kisses me for the first time in days. His lips are warm and soft. They comfort me in a way I wasn't expecting.

But when he lays beside me and silence fills our bedroom, my thoughts wander back to his question earlier of why I didn't tell him I was sick.

"I want to tell you something first," I whisper. Softer than earlier. My throat is still sore, and my body is still warm and buzzing from Lennon's touch. But I know the tone of my voice isn't just from being sick. It's because I'm sharing another piece of myself with Lennon.

"What is it?" he asks, resting his head on his pillow. His tattooed arm is stretched out beneath me.

I want to tell him about Roe. The pain and weight of her diagnosis is taking a toll on me, and keeping it to myself is eating me alive. Living with a secret is a solitary existence. Especially one as dark and emotional as Roe's. My insides are tangled, pulling, and constricting around each other. Woven into knots I know will never come undone.

But I keep this secret to myself. I won't break my promise to my sister. Even if it's devouring me.

Instead, I tell Lennon a secret that is mine to share. One he deserves to know.

"I've been married before." I freeze. Holding my breath, I wait for his reaction, not knowing what to expect. My eyes bounce back and forth between us in the shadows. I still haven't been able to make sense of his feelings toward me. It's hard to discern which acts and roles he's playing as the contractual husband, or what he does because he cares for me. Right now, I feel like he cares for me, but there's still nagging doubt living in the back of my brain.

"You have?" he asks, raising a brow. Surprise is written all over his beautiful face. I bite down on my bottom lip, expecting him to start asking other questions, but he doesn't. He simply lets me tell my story.

"We met in college. In Torts class, to be exact." I sigh, the memory of my short-lived marriage to David no longer affecting me physically. Not like it did even a few months ago. Talking about my previous marriage is like reciting a vague memory from my childhood. The inner workings in my heart have changed. Parts have been rearranged and replaced. I keep my eyes locked on Lennon's chest. "One day he surprised me by asking me to marry him. I figured he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He was an expert at convincing everyone he had a good heart. We were only married three months before I found out how he used me to get to my uncle's firm. It started with him asking me to get a meeting set up with my uncle to get hired on as a low-level attorney. Frederick hired him, but one day, I came home and overheard him on the phone with one of his buddies we went to school with. He was explaining the entire plan he'd concocted since the day we met. I stood down the hall, in the doorway of our bedroom, with my hand over my mouth. He laid out the whole plan as if he were executing a bank heist. The next morning, I kicked him out and filed for an annulment. David and I were only married for three months."

Lennon stays silent as I watch my hand move up and down against his chest in tandem with his breathing. He hasn't said a word, and for a moment, I'm worried I've freaked him out. Bad thoughts seep into my mind. Maybe Lennon doesn't want a wife who's been married before. Maybe he'll search for a way to get out of our marriage before our year is up.

Fear rolls in like an uninvited guest.

I inhale a sharp breath and look back into his eyes, answering his initial question of why I didn't tell him I was sick. "I'm no stranger to being used, Lennon. It's hard for me to trust others when they've only ever seen me for their benefit rather than my own."

My confession settles between us, heavy and weighted.

There's the truth of it. The only reason Lennon and I married in the first place was for his benefit. Mine only came later. For Roe. But his initial proposal was self-serving.

"That's why I didn't tell you I was sick," I confess, shrugging. "I never had a husband who cared before."

Lifting his free arm, he places his thumb on my lip, staring at his own finger as he traces my flesh. "Everyone has always assumed I've had a black heart, and I don't care about anyone but myself. And after what you just told me about your marriage with David, I don't blame you for not telling me. Your silence just worried me. That's all."

"Oh." I nod, tucking my bottom lip under my teeth.

Lennon pulls his hand away. "But now you do," he adds, lifting my chin.

"Now I do, what?"

"Have a husband that cares."

My heart hammers away in my chest. I look at the mountain of medicine behind him and then into his eyes. I can't help but smile.

"Are you going back to your office?" I ask , sniffing. The pressure behind my eyes and in my nose returns. Reality of my condition slowly creeps back in, the humming of my orgasm now completely gone.

"Fuck, no," Lennon says, tucking my hair behind my ear. "This is the only place I need to be right now, Mrs. Harding."

Wrapping his arm around me, he pulls me toward him until I'm pressed against his chest.

With heavy-lidded eyes, I read the lyrics tattooed below Lennon's heart one last time and allow sleep to take hold, dragging me under.