Page 111 of Worthy

“They’re brothers, and I believe there are three of them.”

“Looking at their album covers is cheating!” He swipes a foot across under the blankets and kicks me in the hip.

Pulling my hand away and rolling over, I pin his legs with my arm. “Settle down, you troublesome thing. If I have to listen to this music, it had better be putting you to sleep.”

My head is practically in his lap now, and he ruffles his fingers through it teasingly. Everything feels secret and strange in the dark, like it doesn’t matter what we do. “I think you secretly love them.”

“I don’t.” But as he drifts off and I start to sink in and out of awareness, still resting on top of his legs to keep him still, I have to admit that they’re actually pretty damn good.

Chapter four

Jamie

I intended to move after Kota fell asleep and sit at a polite distance, reading my book and answering work emails. But I kept putting off the moment that I had to sit up and lose the connection, his warmth, and the rise and fall of his breathing against my shoulder.

Sometime in the mid-morning, I wake up on my stomach with my neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle and my fingers still curled in the shape of Kota’s hand. Sunlight pushes its way under the closed blinds, sneaking across the carpet. The rumpled sheets on his side feel cold to the touch.

Worry knots my stomach as I stumble out of bed and pull on my trousers, wondering why I thought it was a good idea to undress and get into bed with him. “Kota?” The house stays completely silent.

When I hurry downstairs, I don’t see him anywhere. I’m about to turn around and check the third floor when I catch the loud rumble of Sable purring her heart out. Among the piles of junk that represent the slow loss of my ability to care about anything, I find Kota cross-legged on the living room floor with Sable in his arms. Sun pours between the open curtains and filters through his ginger hair, setting it alight as he looks up at me with a brilliant smile. I’ve only ever seen him in distress, and his happiness overwhelms me with feelings I’m not prepared for.

“Good morning.” He nuzzles Sable’s head. “You looked really sleepy, so I thought you should rest. You have such a nice cat.”

“Is Sable being nice to you? That’s a miracle you should not take for granted.” I run my fingers through my hair, wondering how it looks. Since I avoid letting hookups stay the night, I’ve never had someone around when I wake up to see my bleary face and hear the rough edges of my morning voice. It feels too intimate.

His grin widens as he tilts his head to catch the cat’s wild, golden stare. “You hear that, pretty girl? What do you think?” After a moment, his dark eyes flick back to mine. “She says you’re lying.”

“You seem like you’re feeling better.” When I look around for some kind of distraction, I see that he’s already brewed two mugs of tea. “Excuse me, what is this?”

“I made…” Trailing off, he deflates. “Oops, I didn’t even think. I was trying to do something nice.”

“It would be very nice if you asked me for help instead of disobeying your doctor’s instructions and straining your incisions.” When he hangs his head, I realize how much of an asshole I sound. “I apologize for my tone; that was unnecessarily harsh. But I’m still right.”

“You are.” He hugs Sable closer and hides his face in her side. If I tried that, I’d have all the skin on my body flayed off by her little claws. “I’m not very patient; I’m already frustrated that I can’t cook breakfast for you or help clean up.” Hesitating, he waits to see if he hurt my feelings by acknowledging the chaos around us.

Of course I’m not offended; I deserve much crueler words than that. Seeing his sweet, tousled form on the floor surrounded by my filth fills me with shame. The state of this place is inexcusable, but I can’t bring myself to ask for help, to let anyone see that the wealthy, successful thirty-nine-year-old is really just a confused child who lost his way in the dark. Brendan could have helped me understand my breakdown, because he was the only person who saw past my walls. Without him, I’m just drifting.

“I’m sorry.” Passing him a mug of tea, I watch him wrap his hands around the rustic blue ceramic and inhale the steam blissfully. “I planned to tidy a bit before you were up and about,” I lie, “but you refuse to stay put.”

He shrugs with an unrepentant grin, but his eyes are concerned as he watches me sit on the edge of the window seat. As if to embarrass me further, Sable tries to stick her head in an empty pizza box that’s been sitting on the floor for a week. Clucking his tongue, Kota picks up the box and holds it in his lap where she can’t reach.

“Look, I—” My wave of defensiveness dies when I realize, there’s nothing to say. “Please don’t tell Mallory about this,” I offer finally. This is a new low: begging my daughter’s friend who I’m inappropriately and intensely attracted to not to tell her that I’ve spiraled into a living disaster.

“It’s gonna be okay.” His gentle words confuse me. “I know it feels like a lot, but if we tackle one small section every couple of hours, it’ll be cleared up in no time.”

He struggles onto his knees, but can’t manage to stand up. I put down my mug and catch him carefully under the arms, lifting the slight boy to his feet. He’s almost as tall as me, but lanky like a colt. His dark, gold-flecked eyes study me so openly it hurts. I want to take his face in my hands and just touch the curve of his nose, his full lower lip, the swell of his cheeks, his countless freckles. “You’re not going to be tackling anything,” I comment, looking away. “You’ll be resting.”

He straightens up defiantly. “I figured I can fold clothes and pick up things that don’t weigh much. Then when you get fed up, I can supervise.”

His uncombed hair is sticking out in all directions, and I can’t stop myself from brushing it back off his forehead, my fingers slipping through the soft strands. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I could swear he leans into the touch, like Sable when she’s not angry with me. “You’re banned from all of that except supervising.” I drop my hand. “I won’t have your healing slowed down on account of my dirty laundry.” When he opens his mouth to protest, I give him my sternest look, the one Brendan called my intern-killer face. Kota doesn’t even flinch, just turns away with an attitude that tells me I haven’t won this argument.

“I looked for breakfast ingredients,” he muses, wrinkling his nose, “but you only have Raisin Bran.”

“My apologies, I’m not used to hosting. If there’s anything you want, write it on the notepad by the fridge and I’ll put in a delivery order.”

His eyes brighten. “We could just swing by the store later. I wouldn’t mind a little outing.”

“I’d rather not. What?” I ask sharply when he raises an eyebrow.

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