Page 88 of Romancing the Grump
“Nathan?” I call as I make my way forward. I’ve been walking with purpose up until now, anxious to find him, but my steps slow as I approach the door.
I can’t just barge into Nathan’s bathroom, can I? Even if he is sick. He could be naked, for all I know.
But then, hedidtext me.
And if he needs help, then does it matter if he isn’t wearing any clothes? I can be an adult about this. I can handle whatever this is.
I knock softly on the door and call his name one more time. “Nathan? It’s Summer. Can I come in?”
I hear a soft groan from inside, which finally gives me the courage to nudge open the door.
My heart sinks when I finally see him.
Nathan is curled up on the floor in front of his shower. His head and shoulders are on a bathmat, but the rest of him is on the cold, tile floor. At least he’s dressed, wearing a t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms.
I hurry forward, dropping my keys and my phone on the bathroom counter before crouching down beside him. I lift my hand to his forehead, which is definitely hot, and his eyes flutter open.
“Hey,” I say softly as I slide my hand over his hair.
His eyes close again, and his tongue darts out to lick his dry, cracking lips. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I roll my eyes. “Why? Because you’re doing so well on your own?”
He shifts, lifting his head the slightest bit, and the pungent smell of vomit reaches my nose. “Because there’s barf in my hair.” His voice is barely above a whisper, his words rasping on the way out like he’s having a hard time thinking them, much less vocalizing them.
My heart squeezes, even as my brain starts cataloging the challenges of our current situation. Nathan is probablyherebecause he wanted to take a shower, then realized he wasn’t strong enough to do it.
But how amIsupposed to help?
This man is enormous. Even if I could help him up and get him into the shower, what would I do once he’s there? He’s on thefloorbecause he can’t hold himself up. But I can’t just help him back to bed with vomit in his hair.
I sink back onto my heels and attempt to think logically, but then Nathan shifts and groans, shivering like he’s cold.
Okay. I’m in over my head here.
I rub a hand over Nathan’s head, pushing his hair back away from his face. “I’m going to help, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I stand and reach for my phone, sending Lucy a quick text.
Summer
Can you talk? Kind of an emergency.
She calls me seconds after the text lands. I move back into Nathan’s bedroom to answer.
“Hey. You okay? What’s going on?” she says as soon as the call connects.
“Um, can you tell me how to decide if I should call an ambulance for the very sick, very feverish hockey player I just found curled up on his bathroom floor?”
“Okay, slow down,” Lucy says. “And take a breath. You’re fine. We’ll figure this out.”
I didn’t even realize I needed to breathe until Lucy reminded me, and I do as she asks, pressing my hand to my belly, focusing on the reassuring feeling of air going into my lungs and expanding my chest.
“Breathing,” I say. “I’m breathing.”
“I assume we’re talking about Nathan?”
“Yeah. The team doctor said he has the flu. I think he was trying to get into the shower because he’s covered in vomit.”
