Page 119 of A Major Puck Up

His responses to the media were clipped, his jaw rigid. When they asked if he planned to replace War with Camden for the rest of the season, I could practically see the fire in his eyes.

Stupid fucking reporters.

That’s what he wanted to say.

After that, I spent a dumb amount of time scrolling the internet, looking for posts about him, only to discover that there is an entire fandom dedicated to finding a wife for Gavin Langfield and a mother for Vivi.

The number of women shamelessly using hashtags like #mommylangfield and #marrymegavin is sickening.

And yet I can’t help but wonder if he would entertain any of them. He certainly used to. The thought of him with anyone else makes my stomach lurch violently.

I’m hiding in my room, already in bed for the night, when the door to the suite opens. I drop my phone face down, hit with a ridiculous fear that he’ll catch me searching his name. Even though I’m behind a closed door and the man hasn’t come close to me willingly since we broke up. That’s not changing tonight, I’m sure.

A loud thud makes the wall shake, and when it’s followed by a groan, I jump out of bed and rush out my door. In the living room, Gavin is hunched against the wall, his head hanging and his shoulders rolled in.

“Are you okay?” With my heart in my throat, I shuffle toward him, and as I get closer, the sheen of sweat coating his face makes my pulse take off. “Shit. Gavin, you look awful.”

He merely groans without raising his head.

I flatten my palm to his forehead, and as the heat registers, I suck in a breath. Shit, shit, shit. “Let’s get you changed, and I’ll call down for some medicine.”

“I—” He looks up at me, his eyes hazy. “I can. You go—don’t want you sick,” he stammers, his voice barely a whisper.

He’s so weak he doesn’t fight me when I lift his arm and slip under it, then guide him toward his room. When we’ve shuffled over to his bed, I turn him around so he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress. He sways, so for several seconds, I hold him by the upper arms. Once the movement stops and I’m sure he won’t fall over, I call the front desk and ask for a fever reducer. Then I run a lukewarm bath. It’s what my dad always did when we were sick. Whether it really helps, I don’t know, but he’s covered in sweat, and I can’t have him sleeping like that.

When I come back into the room, Gavin is lying on his side, still in his suit, eyes shut and knees pulled up.

“You have to stay awake for me,” I plead, settling next to him but being sure not to touch him. He’s told me to keep my distance, but if I don’t get him up, he can’t take the medicine, and I can’t get him into the tub. “Gav,” I say softly, giving in and pressing my hand to his forehead again.

He groans in response to my touch, but he doesn’t recoil. I swipe softly at the perspiration coating his skin and rake my fingers through his damp hair to get it off his face.

He lets out a whimper. “Don’t stop,” he rasps.

God, the way those words steal my breath. I do it again, digging into his scalp, spreading my fingers wide and then closing them again.

This time he moans in response.

I lean down so my mouth is next to his ear. “Gav, let’s get you in the bath, okay?”

He moans again and opens his eyes, and now we’re just staring at one another. His eyes are bloodshot and smudged with dark circles. Even so, he’s still the most breathtaking person I’ve ever seen.

“Can you get up for me? I really think a bath will help.”

He swallows and gives me the smallest of nods, but his eyes don’t leave mine, and he doesn’t get up, like he’s been entranced.

“You can go. I’ll be fine.” His voice is like sandpaper, scratchy and rough.

I ignore the shiver it sends down my spine. It’s not the time to be turned on. “No. I don’t trust you in the bath by yourself.”

“You can’t?—”

“Gavin,” I huff, “I’ve seen every inch of you. I swear I’m not going to try anything.”

He grunts and closes his eyes. “Fine.”

My heart screams as I push away from him. Already, I miss his proximity, but I have to get up so I can help him. For a few short seconds, it was like we were lying in bed together. Just like we used to. Heads on the same pillow, talking late into the night about everything and nothing at all.

Gavin splays one hand on the mattress and pushes, but his arm shakes as he tries to rise, leaving me vindicated in my push to help him.

---