19. Chapter 19

"All right?" I ask Phillip, who's been staring at the inside of his small kitchen for the better part of two minutes. Scott and I just finished moving him into his new apartment, and although the teen was on board with the switch in location, he seems withdrawn now that we're finished.

"Um, yeah," he says, turning around. "I can't believe you guys did all this."

"It was the least we could do," Scott replies.

Phillip shakes his head, looking around the living room now. He had a couple pieces of cheap art we hung on the walls, but the apartment is still pretty bare.

"Sometimes it feels like no one cares," he says quietly. "But…"

He doesn't finish his sentence, but the look Scott gives me tells me he understands perfectly. It's all too easy for queer kids to fall through the cracks. Sometimes their families turn them away or are apathetic to their struggles. Sometimes they simply need to know they're not alone. That there are people out there who understand what they're going through on a personal level. It's why Scott created the community center in the first place. He wanted to help those kids and young adults any way he could. And he does.

"We're here if you need us," Scott tells him. "And I promise you, there's always someone who cares."

Phillip nods, but he doesn't say a word.

Scott and I leave him to get settled in his new home, having left housewarming gifts in the form of some groceries in his fridge. The kid was living on ramen.

Scott stops me when we get outside the building. "Any response from the landlord?"

"Not yet, but I'll let you know once I hear anything."

Phillip's lease was a month-to-month rental agreement, so it was easy enough to terminate. Usually, it would require a thirty-day notice, but the landlord accepted an early termination when I served him papers for the compensation of illegally obtained rental fees. I've yet to hear whether or not the man is going to fight us on it. All Phillip wants is his money back. Hopefully, we won't have to go to court to get it.

Scott gives me a nod. "Keep me in the loop. And Teddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring your husband to the Halloween party this year."

With that, Scott claps my shoulder and heads off. There's no way he could have known how much that innocent comment would sting. Kipp and I might not even be husbands once Halloween rolls around. It's not a thought I want to linger on.

I'm halfway to my car when my phone rings. My melancholy lifts as I see the name onscreen.

"Kipp?"

"Heyyy."

I freeze. "What's wrong?"

"Um, so, nothing is wrong wrong. Like, not seriously wrong. I just don't feel so hot."

"Are you sick?" I ask, hustling into my car.

"Well, considering I've been kneeling in front of a toilet for the past half hour, yeah, I think I might have come down with a little something. Maybe."

"Shit. I'm sorry, sweetheart. Are you at work?"

There's a faint, "Yeah."

"All right. I'll be right there."

"Teddy, you don't have to—"

"Kipp. I'll be right there."

He sighs, his tone much more light when he mumbles a teasing, "Yes, Daddy."

I shake my head, fighting a smile. "Glad to see your humor is still intact."

"It's the one thing that hasn't vacated my system," Kipp says, deadpan.

I snort, even as my chest pangs in sympathy. "Hold tight. I'm on my way."

Kipp mutters a sincere, "Thanks, Teddy," and then the line goes dead.

I swing by a convenience store first, grabbing some anti-nausea meds, Gatorade, and saltine crackers. It doesn't take long after that to arrive at Kipp's office. What I'm not expecting is the immediate recognition from the stranger at the front desk.

"Oh my gosh!" the woman says, standing up and rushing toward me. "You're Teddy."

"Guilty," I say, offering my hand.

She waves me off, pulling me in for a quick hug before linking her arm with mine. "Kipp's office is just down this way. I'm so glad you're finally here! We've been dying to meet you."

"Is that so?" I ask in some amusement.

"Gosh, yes. Kipp is just the sweetest person—of course, I don't have to tell you that. We're all so happy he met the one."

There's that sting again, but I give the woman a smile as we enter what looks like a bullpen of sorts. There are desks scattered around, a few private offices with closed doors, a large copy machine, and a bulletin board that takes up an entire wall. It's plastered in pictures of cats, of all things.

"Everyone," the woman on my arm calls. "Teddy is here."

Heads swivel our way, and before I know what's happening, I'm surrounded by a good dozen people welcoming me and peppering me with questions. It's an absolute whirlwind, and my first and foremost thought is that Kipp must fit in perfectly here.

It takes a couple minutes for the excitement to die down, but as soon as I'm able, I step away with the woman who first welcomed me. "Could you show me where the bathrooms are?" I ask her. "Kipp called me in because he's not feeling well."

"Oh no!" she says, looking around like she's just now realizing he's not with us. "The poor thing. Come on. Restrooms are right this way."

She leads me down another hall, and when we arrive at the bathrooms, I knock on the only closed door. "Kipp?"

A few seconds later, the lock turns, and Kipp appears, looking pale and more disheveled than I've ever seen him. His hair is a mess, his shirt is wrinkled with one corner pulled free from his pants, and if I didn't know better, I'd almost think he was drunk. Whatever he picked up, it clearly hit him hard.

"Sweetheart," I murmur, stepping forward to wrap an arm around his waist.

"I'm kinda sweaty," he says.

I kiss his damp forehead. "Don't care. Come on. Let's get you home."

"Thanks, Teddy," he mutters. When he sees his coworker in the hall, he gives her a weak smile. "Marsha, could you let Carly know I'm heading home early today?"

"Of course," she says, standing aside as we pass. "You just focus on getting better, sweetie."

Marsha heads back into the bullpen as I lead Kipp toward the front door, keeping pace with his slow gait.

"Doing okay?" I ask.

He nods, but it's a measured thing. "I think I'm sick, Teddy."

"Yeah," I say with a huff. "I think it's likely."

"I might get you sick."

"If you do, you do."

He groans as I get him settled in the car.

"There's a bag by your feet if you need it," I let him know.

He groans again, leaning his head back against the seat. "Let's just…not talk about it."

I dutifully keep my mouth shut as I get into the car and drive us home. Inside, I get Kipp set up on the couch, a blanket beneath him that he insisted on because I'm gross, Teddy, and another over top of him to keep him warm. I have him take some of the anti-nausea meds and drink some water, but when I pop the top on a Gatorade, he groans again.

"Teddy…"

"Do you need the bathroom?" I ask.

He curses. "Think so."

I whisk him that way, and the moment we reach the doorway, Kipp falls to his knees and hugs the toilet. I rub his back, wincing as he heaves.

"Don't look at me, Teddy. I'm hideous."

"Never," I assure him, brushing his damp hair off his forehead.

He makes a pitiful sound, trying to hide his face. "You're never going to want me again after this."

"Impossible, sweetheart."

His huff is incredulous, and I hand him a wet cloth that he uses to wipe his face. After that, I give him some mouthwash, which he spits into the toilet.

"Want to know a secret that's not really a secret?" I ask, running my thumb along his ear.

He meets my gaze hesitantly.

"I like taking care of you," I say softly.

"But not like this," he says, forehead creased.

"Even like this."

He makes a sound of disbelief, and I know I can't explain it to him without giving myself away. Without telling him how much I care for him. Without saying I want the privilege of looking after him for a very, very long time.

Instead, I help him to his feet and down the hall.

"Let's try this again," I say, giving him some more meds once he's seated.

He downs the small amount, followed by some Gatorade this time. I get him settled between the blankets before sitting down beside him.

"What was with the cats?" I ask, hoping to distract him from how he's feeling.

"Huh?"

"The cats on the bulletin board."

Kipp huffs a laugh. "That was my idea, actually. I figured it'd be a good morale booster. Everyone likes cats, right? So if you're stuck on some code you can't figure out or are having a difficult day, you look over, and bam. Cats. Instant mood lift."

"That's a good idea," I tell him, brushing his hair behind his ear.

He shrugs one shoulder. "It's kinda silly, but it works."

"I don't think it's silly at all, Kipp. I think it's smart. From what I could tell, you've cultivated a really good working environment. Everyone seemed genuinely happy in the brief few minutes we talked."

"It's not because of me," he defends.

"But you're part of it. Stop selling yourself short."

He huffs when I give his ear a tiny pinch. "Thanks, Teddy. For…everything."

"My pleasure," I say softly.

"I'm dying," Kipp moans some time later. "That's what this is. I'm sick with death."

"I think it might be food poisoning," I tell him, rubbing his back as he reclines against the outside of the bathtub. We've been at this for several hours, alternating between lying on the couch and rushing Kipp to the bathroom so he can empty the contents of his stomach. I don't think he has any contents left.

"Poisoned," he croaks. "I didn't think that'd be the way I'd go, Teddy."

"You're not going anywhere. You'll be just fine."

After Kipp heaves up the tiniest something into the toilet bowl, he looks over at me. "Teddy? What's that?"

I check the bowl, glad, not for the first time, for my steel stomach. There are brown flecks amongst the clear liquid from his Gatorade. "That's dried blood. Okay, up you go."

Kipp groans as I help him to his feet. "Where are we going?"

"The hospital."

"Nooo."

"Yes. Sorry, sweetheart. It's likely just irritation from throwing up, but I'm not taking any chances."

Kipp moans as I help him clean up, get dressed in fresh clothes, and head down to the car. But he doesn't once try to stop me. That, in itself, tells me volumes. He leans his head against the window as I drive, the streetlights and other cars brightening the otherwise dark streets. There's a bag at his feet we don't talk about.

When I pull up to the emergency room, Kipp looks over at me. "Niko should get my sex toys."

"What?" I ask, completely mystified.

"If I die. He gets my sex toys. It's what bro-friends do."

"Kipp…"

"And I don't have a huge savings, but what I do have should go toward something nice. Like charity. Oh, the LGBTQ+ center."

"You're not dying," I assure him, getting out of the car and heading around to his side. He leans his weight on me as I help him out.

"If you haven't noticed, I tend to joke around when I'm uncomfortable."

"I've noticed," I say softly.

He nods a little. "I'm just not feeling so good right now."

My chest clenches tight. "I know, sweetheart. That's why we're here. Let's get you better."

"Okay," Kipp says tiredly.

The walk into the hospital takes a minute, and when we arrive, I'm fully prepared to lie about who Kipp is to me so that I can stay with him once he's admitted. But then I realize… I don't have to lie at all.

He's my husband.

With Kipp's help, I fill in his paperwork, and the receptionist tells us it will only be a minute before we're brought back. Considering he's vomiting blood, I'm not surprised there won't be a long wait.

Kipp leans his head on my shoulder once I reclaim my seat beside him. His emergency bag is in my pocket, just in case.

"Teddy?" he says, eyes closed. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his usually bright complexion waxy and pale.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I'd do it again, you know."

Jesus. He sounds drunk.

"What's that?" I ask, holding his hand between my own.

"Marry you."

I draw in a breath, my heart trying to beat out of my chest.

"I've never wanted to marry someone before," he says. "I never saw someone standing next to me in front of the mountains. But you'd look nice there."

I swallow down the lump in my throat, knowing I can't hold Kipp to those words. He's not himself. He's practically delirious with fluid loss and exhaustion.

But hell, how I wish he'd say them for real.

"I'd be proud to stand up there with you," I tell him, meaning it, even if he doesn't remember the words come tomorrow.

He hums happily. "My husband."

I clear my throat. Kiss his temple. Squeeze his neck. "For however long you'll have me."