Page 33 of Before I Loved You

It’s been a week since Sarah stood me up after my game, and not knowing what I did wrong to make her leave is killing me.

Why would she go through the effort of coming to my game to then disappear right after, ignoring my texts and calls?

I don’t get it.

Not one fucking bit.

“Aw, poor Sarah,” Natalie murmurs, sitting on the love seat beside the couch.

“What?” I sit up in a panic, tossing the ball to the floor. Was I talking out loud?

She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “Are you okay?”

I mold into the leather couch, sliding a hand over my face. “Yeah, sorry. Just tired.” I rest my feet on the ottoman, trying to appear casual. “What was that you were saying about Sarah?”

She looks down at her phone in her hands. “We were supposed to go out tonight, but she just canceled. Said she’s not feeling well.”

Sarah’s sick?

And alone.

I don’t like this.

But why don’t I like this?

People get sick all the time.

But what if she’s so sick she can’t get out of bed? Or what if she caught one of those rare flesh-eating bacteria? Just last week, I saw a story on the news about a guy who tried on a new shirt at the mall and then lost both of his arms a week later. Oh God. This isn’t good.

“Maybe I should bring her some soup,” Natalie ponders, tapping her chin.

I straighten, gripping the edge of my seat. “I was heading out anyway. I can stop by with some soup.” Natalie’s eyes focus on me, her brows pinching together. She’s on to me. “If you want,” I add, shrugging my shoulders to feign indifference.

“You wouldn’t mind?” she asks.

“No.” I stand abruptly, not giving her a chance to make more out of this than it is, which is just a guy bringing a girl soup. “I’ll go to that little deli nearby and grab some chicken noodle soup,” I say over my shoulder as my fingers grab my keys on the entryway table, and my legs book it out of there.

After picking up some soup, it occurs to me that I don’t actually know what Sarah is sick with. And after convincing myself that it’s not a flesh-eating bacteria and probably just the common-day cold, I stop by the pharmacy and get a bit of everything: tissues, a thermometer, pain reliever, cough suppressants, vitamin C, and a bag of chocolate candies.

Because, obviously, chocolate makes everything better.

Thirty minutes later, I tap my knuckles against her door, which soon opens, revealing Sarah in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, looking extremely surprised to see me.

Can’t say I blame her.

“Umm, Paul. What are you doing here?” She wipes her hand across her damp forehead and pushes her hair out of her face. Her normally iridescent eyes appear slightly bloodshot and puffy like she’s been crying.

A wave of fierce protectiveness washes over me.

“I was at my house when Natalie was there and said you weren’t feeling well. I was heading out anyway, so I thought I’d pick you up some soup.” I reach inside the bag to pull out the warm container.

“You…you went out to get soup for me?”she asks, confused.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “You should smell this. I don’t know what they put in it, but the aroma is mouthwatering. Had me salivating the whole drive here.” I chuckle. “My mom always makes me this kind of soup when I’m not feeling well.”

Her face softens, and a half smile appears.

I peel back the lid and bring it close to her face so the fragrance surrounds her.

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