Page 28 of The Try Line

I can't get back to sleep, but I can't open my eyes. Even the gloomy daylight from outside feels like it's burning into my retinas and making soup out of my brain. I'd think this was a migraine. I have them sometimes, but I have chills despite sweating so much the sheets are soaked. I can't be hungover. I didn't drink enough to even use the booze as an excuse for my idiotic behavior last night.

I should probably get some water. My tongue feels plastered to the roof of my mouth. But the movement sends an intense throbbing through my skull. Later. I'll try again later. The thought of having to get up to do something as simple as go downstairs to search for pills and water makes me unreasonably agitated. I dry heave, not even bothering to lift my head, wincing as the involuntary movement makes it feel like all the blood vessels in my head are exploding.

Sometime later, a loud thudding at the door that rivals the thudding in my head pulls me out of blessed unconsciousness.

"Go away," I mumble, my face half shoved in a pillow, cradling the temple that is throbbing the hardest. The sound of my own voice reverberates through me.

More thudding, then the door handle jiggling. Did I lock the door? Good. Jason can fuck off right now. I'm not in the mood. Besides, what happened to avoiding each other, making a rotation to go downstairs so we don't have to lay eyes on one another? Fuck thatand fuck him. He's probably only here to bitch about his schedule idea, but I think I left my phone in the basement last night.

He pounds on the door again, and this time I can hear him shouting. I'm trying to fall back asleep, ignoring the incessant jiggling of the handle, when the door crashes open. I barely crack an eye open, noticing that it's dark except for the fucking laser beam of light coming from his phone.

"Turn that off," I whine, and cover my face.

"What is wrong with you?" Jason asks, but it’s not in a combative way. I must be sick, because it sounds like he's concerned.

"I'm fine," I mumble. "Headache," I add, because I know he won't fuck off if I don't give him something.

"You're burning up," he says, touching his cool palm to my forehead. I want to sigh and lean into his touch, but I have just enough self-respect not to. It helps that I can barely move. "It's like ninety degrees in this house. Why the fuck are you wrapped in blankets?"

Am I? I am hot, but I'm also shivering. Was I feeling cold? He peels the blankets off me, and I feel the cooler air hit my skin. It helps me breathe some, but his nearness does not.

"I can take care of myself," I grouse, trying to keep my voice low so I don't worsen the pain in my head. If I don't move at all, don't talk too much, and can keep pressure on the right part of my head, it's tolerable.

"You're soaked with sweat, and you've not left your bed for nearly twenty-four hours."

"So? Not like there's anywhere to go. And you have the house to yourself, so you don't have to be disgusted by me." Oh, great, so I'm going to be loose-lipped as well as woozy.

"Come on, we need to get you up."

I protest, but the big lug practically lifts me out of bed like some dainty princess. I'm over six feet tall and two hundred pounds, not some delicate invalid. I push out of his arms, but the change in position has a strong wave of vertigo pulling me to the ground and pain shooting through my skull like I was just violently shaken.

"Fuck, man. Sorry. I've got you, okay? Just keep your eyes closed and lean on me."

I want to scoff, but I can't do anything other than hiss slow breaths through my teeth to keep from puking. In the bathroom, Jason strips my clothes off and lets them fall to the floor. I want to tell him to put them in the hamper so Janel doesn't fuss at us, but I don't have the energy, nor do I want to hear his opinions on the matter. I notice that my dick is flaccid for once. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, considering the circumstances.

I keep my eyes closed and pray that I can just lie down again, but I hear Jason turn the shower on. I'm leaning against the shower door while he rustles around, and then I'm being shuffled into the shower. Some of the cold spray hits my side and I tense, but then force myself to relax so I don't make my head hurt worse. Jason positions me against the wall at the back of the shower where the spray isn't hitting me directly, and then I feel a cool cloth on my forehead. I open my eyes slowly. The light from his phone gives off just light enough to see each other, pointed away so the beam of light isn't painfully jarring.

Jason rubs the cloth over my forehead, cheeks, and neck. It's so familiar, a slight, involuntary smile pulls at my lips.

"I know what you're thinking about," he says, chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

I sigh and allow myself to lean against him. I'm weak in more ways than one. I'm barely holding myself up, but also, I just want to be close to him.

“I can’t believeyouremember,” I say with a weak laugh.

CHAPTER 13

JASON

"Of course I remember." I’m doing my best to clean him up and cool him down while not letting the full blast of frigid water hit him. Although, after the initial shock, it feels kind of nice. If not for the obvious pain he's in, I might force him under the spray just to wake his ass up.

Janel called me earlier today and said she couldn't get in touch with him. I assured her he was alive and well, even though I hadn't actually laid eyes on him. I'd heard him throwing up in the early hours of the morning and assumed he'd had a lot more whiskey than I did. He didn't seem at all drunk last night, but I was distracted. Very, very distracted. It didn’t sit well with me that he might have been inebriated last night; I'd been considering knocking on his door to apologize when my phone rang.

"He's probably trying to sleep it off," she said, surprising me. Had he told her he'd gotten drunk? "If he's still in bed, I'd wager he has a migraine. With this crazy weather pressure and the stress he's been under, it would make sense."

"Stress?" I asked.

The silence on the other side of the phone was a loud indication that I was the cause of said stress, but I don't know how to react to that. To my knowledge, she knows nothing about what happened all those years ago. She has no idea that he was the reason I packed up and moved across the world. But it doesn't take a genius to figure out that something happened.

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