Page 76 of Knot Only His

“I need the toilet,” Jagger says, walking closer to where Harlow is.

“Not this one, buddy,” Parker says. “Come on.”

When Jagger leaves for the bathroom, she reaches under her shirt, shifting uncomfortably, rubbing at her chest. “Sorry, I’ve got to get this nipple bar out. It’s been bothering me all day.”

“Maybe it’s infected,” I tell her. “That would make you feel sick.”

Wincing, she removes it, throwing it straight in the trash. “I’ll have to buy a new one tomorrow.”

Oliver lifts Harlow off the bathroom floor, her body limp against his chest. He sets her on the counter, steadying her with one hand while I rummage through the cabinet.

I unwrap a new toothbrush, squeezing paste onto the bristles. “Open up.”

She parts her lips, letting me guide the toothbrush inside her mouth. Her eyes flutter closed as I gently brush her teeth.

“Can you take over?” I ask Oliver.

“I can do it,” Harlow moans.

“Let me,” Oliver insists.

I head to the bedroom, fluffing pillows and pulling out the silk pajamas we bought her just in case she needed them. The soft fabric slides through my fingers as I return to find her spitting into the sink.

“These might help you feel better,” I say, offering the pale blue set consisting of shorts and a camisole top.

She touches the fabric, then shakes her head. “I can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

“I need to go home to Freya.” Her voice is weak, just a whisper.

“Sleep it off first,” I tell her. “Once the painkillers kick in, I’ll drive you home myself.”

Tiny footsteps pad into the bathroom. Jagger appears in his rocket ship pajamas, rubbing his eyes.

“Night, night, Harlow.” He wraps his arms around her legs.

She manages a smile, ruffling his hair. “Sweet dreams, buddy.”

Parker scoops him up. “Time for bed, champ.”

After they leave, Oliver and I help Harlow to change into the fresh clothes.

And then we watch as she tries to settle into the nest.

For thirty minutes we sat on the floor beside her, watching her toss and turn in the nest, her skin glistening with sweat despite the cool air.

Oliver strokes her hair while I monitor her pulse. It’s too fast, too erratic and we are starting to worry.

Oliver breaks the silence. “Can we sit by you on the nest and hold you? Just until you fall asleep?”

“We just want to help you feel better,” I say softly.

She hesitates, her fingers twisting in the sheets. Tears leaking from her closed eyes. “Everything hurts. Make it stop.”

“Tell us what you need,” Oliver pleads, his voice cracking.

She whimpers, clutching at her chest. “I need...I need...”

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