Page 64 of Honey Undone
“I don’t get sick,” I said to her and pushed on the door with my shoe.
“Everyone gets sick,” she grumbled, her voice raw and she turned away to cough it clear.
“Not me,” I said.
And I wasn’t lying, I couldn’t remember the last time I was properly sick. Even my stomach was made of steel. Tested true by the amount of times that Todd had actively given the entire Nest food poisoning and I was the only player left standing to clean up the puke bowls.
I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
Let me take care of you.
I knew that she was trying to hold me at arm's length for a reason, what this was… whatever we were. Neither of us had expected it to happen and unlike me who’s goals started and stopped with the Hornet’s baseball season. Adeline had plans and I hadn’t been a part of them until a few weeks ago.
I wasn’t stupid. She was scared of getting attached and I didn’t blame her. We were at the age when chasing our dreams and making the hard decision to let some die was on the forefront of everything we did. And Adeline had massive dreams.
I’d made peace with the idea that rugby came first, and I knew that somewhere along the line it probably meant that the sport and her future in it would play a trump card over our situation-ship.
I was a big boy, I could handle it.
She wiggled her toes on the tiled floor and I watched a shiver rattle through her. She looked so tiny when she was sick and all I wanted to do was scoop her up and curl around her in bed until she was back to normal.
“Let me in, Adeline,” I coerced.
Those sick and exhausted hazel eyes turned vicious at the demand but she relented and the door swung open gently. She padded backward in her tiny shorts and sports bra, her body littered in bruises that I had to constantly remind myself were part of the job.
Moving through her dark apartment I set the bag down on the counter, leaving it behind for a brief moment. She locked the door again and as soon as she was in reach I had her face in my hands, she grumbled at the contact but I felt her body relax into my touch.
“You’re really warm.” My tone dropped, and one of her eyebrows perked up in response. “Back to bed,” I said, pressing my lips to her hot temple. Another string of groaned unintelligible words followed before a dim, warm light flickered on and lit up the countertops along the kitchen wall. She eyed me for a second, her brows furrowed as she took me in.
“Bed,” I demanded when she remained still, her whole body trembling from the cool air of her apartment.
I watched her wander across, taking in the wide space. Everything was open except a door that no doubt led to the bathroom off the main entrance. The living room was drenched in dark colors and vintage artwork, with a T.V. and record player against the far wall. Nestled against a large row of windows was her bed opposite of the massive sectional that took up the open space perfectly.
I unpacked the groceries as she crawled back into her covers and pulled them up around her face, closing her eyes completely unbothered that I was moving around her kitchen. It took me a second to orient myself in her kitchen but eventually I found everything I needed to make her dinner. After a little while the smell of simmering vegetables pulled her from her exhausted, sick state and she was glaring daggers at me from her pillows.
“You’re grumpy when you’re sick,” I laughed, filling a mug with soup and grabbing a spoon for her.
She didn’t respond but she pushed up in the bed and curled back against the headboard with a pillow under her arm and the blankets pooling around her waist. I watched as she pushed the sweaty waves away from her neck and tucked them into a bundle out of her way.
Her hands shook as she took the mug and for a moment I considered holding it for her and just feeding her myself but the look on her face told me that I shouldn’t even try. She brought the hot soup to her nose and inhaled slowly, her chest rising in a shuddered breath as her eyes started to water.
“This smells amazing,” she mumbled and brought the mug to her lips without bothering the spoon. “What is this?”
“It’s avgolemono,” I said, resting against the side of the bed on my knees and bracing myself with my elbows on the mattress. “Lemon chicken soup.”
“What is that Italian?” She huffed, taking another sip. I could get used to grumpy, sick Adeline in all the best ways. Her brows were crumpled together in a cranky line and her jaw was tight in frustration, hating being on the outside of something. I loved how bothered she got when she wasn’t the one with the answers, always having to be the smartest person in the room.
“Greek,” I corrected her.
“Oh, so the Greek god crap isn’t a rumor… wait, Jensen isn’t a Greek name,” she added before drinking more broth.
“It’s not, it’s Scandinavian,” I said, “My mom’s side of the family is very big, very loud and very much Greek…”
“Is this her recipe?” Adeline asked me, finally reaching for the spoon in my hand to fish out some of the vegetables.
“No, that’s Ya-Ya’s, no matter how often my mom likes to claim it's not,” I laughed and her eyes flickered over to me, silencing the sound, “What?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, “It’s just nice hearing about your family.”
