Page 42 of Tides of Discovery
“But what happens...” He swallowed hard, wincing. “What happens when this is over? Our thing. Who’s gonna take care of me when I’m sick?” His words slurred together, but the underlying fear was crystal clear.
The question hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. He thought we’d just…stop. That if our arrangement ended, we’d be strangers. That I’d walk away from him completely.
“Jack, no.” I set the washcloth aside and leaned closer, my chest tight with something that felt dangerously close to panic. “We’d still be friends. We’ll always be friends.”
His eyes drifted closed, and for a moment I thought he’d fallen back asleep. Then he made a small, noncommittal sound that could have been agreement or dismissal.
“Jack?” I tried again, my voice cracking slightly. “You know that, right? Even if things don’t work out, I’m not going anywhere. I care about you too much to just disappear.”
But his breathing had already evened out, fever pulling him back under, leaving me sitting there in the dark wondering if he’d even heard me—and terrified that maybe, deep down, he didn’t believe it was true.
Sleep was elusive, my mind replaying Jack’s fever-induced words. How much should I read into his fear that we would no longer be friends?
I dozed fitfully and woke at the slightest sound from Jack’s bedroom. Around three, I heard him retching and immediately went to check on him.
“Water,” he rasped when he saw me in the doorway.
I brought him a bottle and helped him sit up to drink it. His fever had spiked again and his skin was hot to the touch. I gave him more ibuprofen, then sat with him until it began to take effect. His body gradually relaxed as the fever subsided.
“You’re really staying all night,” he murmured, half-asleep again.
“Of course I am.”
“No one’s taken care of me like this since I was a kid,” he admitted. His voice slurred as sleep approached. “Not since my mother died.”
The simple statement broke my heart a little. “Get used to it,” I told him softly, not sure if he was still awake enough to hear me.
“S’nice,” he mumbled, eyes closed. “Like having you here.”
“I like being here,” I whispered, but he was already asleep.
The next morning, Jack was markedly better. Still sick, but the fever had broken, and he could sit up in bed without help.
“You look more human today.” I handed him a plate of toast and placed a cup of peppermint tea on his bedside table.
“Feel more human,” he said, his voice still rough but stronger. “Thanks to you.”
“You’d have done the same for me.” I knew he would have—that was just who Jack was: my best friend and, now, maybe something more.
“In a heartbeat.” The sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. “But seriously, Cooper. Thank you. For staying, for everything.”
Something warm and achingly tender spread through my chest at his words. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair back from his forehead. “Just focus on getting better, okay?”
“Okay,” he whispered, gratitude and some stronger emotion in his eyes I couldn’t decipher.
“I should probably head out soon. Need to shower, change clothes. But I can come back later.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” he said. “I think I can manage from here. The fever’s down, and I can actually stand up without the room spinning.”
“If you’re sure,” I said, reluctant to leave despite his assurances. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”
“I will,” he promised. “Really, Cooper. Thank you.”
On impulse, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a gesture that was half caretaker’s check for fever, half something much more affectionate. “Get better,” I murmured. “The Coffee Cove isn’t the same without you.”
Jack’s smile was soft, true. “I’ll do my best.”
As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I couldn’t help cataloging the changes in our relationship over the past week. From an impulsive kiss to The Boyfriend Bargain to this domestic caretaking—each step blurred the lines between friendship and possibly something deeper.
