Page 40 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
My brother chuffs. “Ibethe’s helpless. That’s exactly how I’d play it if I had someone pretty to take care of me.”
“He’s not like you,” I growl. “He’s not lying or playing games. He’s sick.” I didn’t realize that I’d yelled the last part until I hear Van’s voice from the bathroom.
“Gen, what’s going on?”
I put the phone to my chest and peek around the door. The washcloth dangles in Van’s long fingers as his Adam’s apple bobs, concern etched onto his flushed forehead.
“Nothing, snookums,” I say entirely too brightly.
When Van’s blond brows pinch, I lift the phone into view. That seems to make sense to him, because he leans his head back, placing the washcloth over his eyes.
“Tell Joanna I say hi and that the soup was incredible.”
“Will do!”
“I hate when you use your chipper pageant voice,” Noah says when I put the phone back to my ear.
“I hate it too. Now pretend you’re a helpful member of society and tell me how I’m going to get Van out of the tub. Is there some sort of special fireman carry for water situations?”
“I am a helpful member of society,” Noah grumbles. “And I’m a much better man than I used to be. You, of all people, know that.”
“Noah, focus,” I hiss as quietly as possible because Van thinks I’m talking to Joanna. “This isn’t about you.”
I ignore his mumbled,“It’s never about me,”and memorize his instructions on how to safely lift Van if it comes to that.
“You can always call me back, and I can get him out. I’ll wear PPE so I don’t bring the flu back to the station.”
“If I’m truly stuck, I will.”
While Noah is mid-jab about how I must really like Van—since I never ask for help, and yet, here I am, calling him—I hang up on him.
“Joanna’s good?” Van asks when I lean against the bathroom countertop.
He mistakes my noncommittal hum for something else, sitting up slightly and tugging off the washcloth.
“If you want to tell her the truth as soon as we’re out of this…” His fingertips drum on the side of the tub. “This…situation, it’d be okay. Actually, if you’d rather I…” He stops again with a hard swallow. “If you want me to—”
“Let’s rinse your hair.” I perch on the edge of the tub, unable to take the pressure in my chest at the way Van looks like he’s being slowly eviscerated. “That made me feel better.”
It’s weird that I get nearly as much joy out of cradling Van’s head and running my fingers through his short silken strands as I did when he rinsed my hair days ago. Once he sits back up, I dry his face and hair with a towel before asking if he’s ready to get out. Then I roll up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, bracing my legs like Noah told me to, and lean down to wrap one arm around Van’s back.
“On three,” I say into his damp shoulder.
“Gen, I can get up by myse—”
“One. Two. Three.” I tug and then promptly slip on the floor mat that I’m not used to because it wasn’t there a few days ago.
My feet fly back while my chin juts forward, knocking into Van’s collarbone as I end up over the edge of the tub and atop of him in the cold water. Releasing his back, I push my palms against the side of the bathtub, but that only presses our bodies closer, our legs interlacing as my face ends up a mere inches from his.
“Um.” A shuddered breath leaves my lips open. “Sorry, I was trying to…”
All I can think about as that sentence drops off is that I’m grateful that I’m wearing leggings in addition to my sweatshirt, because Van is in nothing but a pair ofvery wetsleep shorts. His body is a chiseled inferno beneath me. It’s honestly surprising he hasn’t heated the water by conduction.
“It’s okay.”
Except, Van’s voice doesn’t sound like it’s okay. His body tenses beneath me—and not in awhat a delightful surprise you’re throwing yourself at me againkind of way. He seems genuinely uncomfortable.
“I promise I’m not usually this clumsy.”
