Page 51 of The Guy in the Alley

“Just shut up, Ben.” I retrieved my keys when we finally got up, and I ushered him over to the door.

He took a step toward the foldable bed in the alcove, and fuck that.

“No, you’re coming with me,” I told him. “Ziggy can sleep there. I’ll bring him water and something to eat soon.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Who’s Ziggy?”

Oh. Yeah, he wouldn’t know the name, would he?

“It’s the name of the dog,” I replied, ushering him inside. “He used to belong to a guy who slept in the alley from time to time. He died last month.”

Ben frowned to himself, and I guided him to the bathroom as soon as I’d shut the door on Ziggy. Which, yeah, made me feel like a scumbag, but I had my priorities. I’d make it up to him later.

“He wagged his tail when I called him Pippen,” he muttered.

“Well, who wouldn’t.” I flicked on the lights in the bathroom and sighed. We’d sure as shit been here before.

Ben winced, his breathing labored. “But…he also wagged his tail when… Fuck. When I called him a rodent.”

I snorted and left him at the counter so I could turn on the water. “Take your clothes off and get into the shower. I’m gonna get you juice, water, and whatever WebMD advises.”

“Trace, you don’t have?—”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Annoyance flared up, and I left the bathroom.

Fucking jagoff.

Not just him. Me too. For still being worried, for still caring.

For still missing him.

I could too easily imagine him sitting in the dark somewhere, going through various Chicago teams as he tried to figure out Ziggy’s name. All alone, in the cold, with no food in his stomach. Constantly worrying about his son, about the future…

I blew out a breath and did a quick Google search, and I hadn’t been far off. We needed to get lots of fluids in him. Sugary drink, check. Water, check. Something salty too. I reached for the pretzel sticks, but that couldn’t be enough if he’d barely eaten.

In the end, I brought a little bit of everything with me back into the bathroom. It was the first time his nakedness didn’t faze me, and that said it all. The fucker had my chest in a vise of worry.

I checked the time again. Fifteen-ish minutes to go.

I lifted my gaze just as he walked under the water spray, and I noticed he was shaking. Like, really fucking shaking.

I swallowed hard and couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed the orange juice and walked right over there, and I didn’t care I got wet.

“Please drink this right now.” I handed him the juice carton, in which there wasn’t much left, and I snatched up the body wash. I wanted him under the covers within the next few minutes. “Can you tell me if it’s the flu, hon?”

“I d-don’t know.” He took a gulp of the juice, then another and another. It was weird seeing him with a beard, even though it wasn’t very long. “It probably is.” He shuddered violently as I began washing him. Baseball stats, baseball stats, not thinking about my hands being back on his body, just baseball stats. “Angie was sick last week.”

“Angie…?” Who the fuck was Angie?

“My cousin.” He took another swallow, and I decided not to analyze my relief. I need help. “She helped me find the dog shelter and paid for the exam—wait.” He went rigid, panic visible in his eyes. “What date is it?”

I furrowed my brow. “The 16th. Saturday.” Had he missed the whole damn city turning green?

“Oh, thank fuck.” He let out a breath, eyes welling up, a sight that shocked me so much that I missed the juice carton slipping from his fingers. It landed on the floor with an echoing thunk. “Goddammit—sorry. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, a bit dazed, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

“What’s with the date?” I kicked the carton aside, then rubbed more body wash into his skin. The water was washing it off too quickly, but I didn’t want to pull him away from the warmth.

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