Page 59 of Almost True
“End of the hallway.”
I moved as quickly as I could without jostling her too much and nudged the door open. As curious as I might’ve been about her bedroom, this was not the time to enjoy the details. I spotted the bathroom and took her in, setting her down by the giant tub.
“You’ll need to get undressed and get in there. I’ll start the water and get out of here, but you’ve got to stick with it and don’t turn the heat up.”
She frowned like I’d said something truly awful, but asked, “You’re not coming with me?”
I coughed, taken off-guard. “Uh, no. Not today—er, no. No. If you want me to come back and help you wash your hair or anything, I can, but…” I glanced at the giant shower with glass panes boxing it in. Rain shower heads in two places and enough room in there for two people, but that was not happening. There would be no way to keep her covered and help her, and I—
“It’s fine. I can do it. I’ll do it.”
Every word sounded exhausted and pained. I wanted to hold her, to help her, but this was one of those times when I couldn’t help her. Not without crossing a line I wasn’t sure she’d be okay with in the light of day without a raging fever and headache.
“Okay. Yell if you need anything, and if you’re not out in fifteen minutes, I’m coming in.”
A little smile perked up at one corner of her mouth. “That a promise?” She wiggled her brows.
Little feverish beast was taunting me. I chuckled, letting some of the tension and worry for her leak out with my breath. “Sure, Maddie. That’s a promise. Now go cool off.”
And in the meantime, I’d make sure everything else was ready so she could get to bed and sleep this off. I’d call John and see if he could stay with Luca, and I’d let Anthony know she was sick just in case I was missing something on her schedule.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
Maddie
Six hours after the shower of doom, as I’d lovingly come to think of it, I woke feeling less horrid than I had since we’d gotten back from the hike. This meant I still felt run over by a truck, but I could tell my fever had broken fully. The sleep had been a drug of its own, and while I still felt like someone had smashed my brain in a book and my throat hurt, I wasn’t practically delirious, which I took as solid progress.
On the bedside table sat a tall glass of water, my phone, and a note from Aidan that said, “Let me know when you’re up. I’ll be downstairs.”
My cheeks heated at the memory of him coming to find me in the shower. I’d heard him crack the door and ask if I was okay, but I couldn’t make myself speak. I’d huddled into the far corner of the shower after hurriedly scrubbing my body and washing my hair. I’d been shivering so violently, I couldn’t stand, so I curled into myself and let the spray of the water rain down until Aidan appeared and turned it off. He had his back to the shower. “I have a towel here. Can you stand?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so bad, and just now, I couldn’t summon words. He couldn’t see anything but my bare shoulders and knees and wet hair matting down my back. Fortunately, I’d wedged myself into the corner next to the wall so he hadn’t seen my butt pancaked against the glass—at least I’d spared myself that indignity.
“Do you want me to get you?” he’d asked after my silence.
“Yes,” I’d whispered, trying to spare my throat from any unnecessary pain.
He’d held up the towel and approached before draping it around me and tucking his hands in so he pulled me up and against him. In some other scenario, me being sopping wet and separated from Aidan by only a towel would be quite an event, but all I felt in that moment was relief to be off the cold shower floor and into his arms.
“Well, you definitely cooled off. Let’s get you into some dry clothes and you can sleep it off.”
And then he did, preserving my modesty at every turn. He’d found the clean clothes, not blanching at bringing me underwear and socks along with them. He seemed impervious to the intimate elements of taking care of me, and I was miserable enough not to allow myself to think about them.
But now? Hours later and a little less battered by fever and an aching everything? Embarrassment and no small amount of dread sluiced through me, sudden and violent. This was not the way I’d wanted this to go, and while I couldn’t do anything to change what’d happened, I needed to apologize. No doubt he’d felt obligated to take care of me. I was here, alone, with no family and friends who were all busy with their lives. Aidan wasn’t the kind of person who would just abandon a friend, or whatever I was, in their time of need.
But this couldn’t go on. He’d done more than enough, and I didn’t think my heart could take much more of his kindness. I already liked him too much. This all felt so much like the kinds of fantasies I used to spin. Not just kissing and closeness, but caring and sharing mundane things like getting sick and running errands. Hard to pretend I wanted any other version of life.
I took the stairs slowly enough that when I padded into the living room on shaky legs, Aidan didn’t notice me. He sat on one end of my overstuffed couch with a lamp on. My heart tripped at the sight of him in glasses with thin wire frames as he tapped away on a laptop that rested on the arm of the couch. He looked so focused, I hated to interrupt him. But when my slippers hit the hardwood of the kitchen right next to the living room, he startled and bolted off the couch.
“I didn’t hear you moving around, I’m sorry. How are you?” He pressed his hand to my forehead, searching my face and surveying my body like looking me over would tell him my pain level or speak of any new ailments.
“I’m okay. A lot better than earlier, for sure. I think the fever’s gone, and I might actually be a little hungry.” Amazing, considering how horrible food had sounded for the last twelve hours, but I’d take it. I rarely lost my appetite, even when sick, so that alone told me how bad I’d been.
“That’s good. I made soup and it’s ready whenever you are. I got some bread as well, if that sounds okay. You can take more medicine since the doctor wanted you to get a second dose in today, or you can wait a bit.” His hand on my back steered me toward the bar.
“That sounds amazing. Thank you.”
He helped me into the seat, which wasn’t necessary, but I could appreciate that I’d been a basket case earlier, so he expected me to need his help. When he dished up chicken noodle soup from a pot on the stove, it clicked that he had made soup. Not like, opened a can and dumped it in to heat it, but this was actual homemade soup.
