Page 50 of What About Us
I tip my head back toward her bedroom, trying like hell to not notice how that towel hugs every curve of her body and the wet curtain of her hair hanging down her back. “They’re on the dresser.”
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she says.
I close the door behind me and head downstairs to start her soup and make a few phone calls.
An hour later, her soup is gone, her blood sugar is within normal range, and she’s sound asleep on the couch next to me with her feet resting in my lap. I lean over and gently remove her black-framed glasses, before folding them up and setting them on the coffee table. She lets out a contented sigh and snuggles deeper into the fuzzy purple blanket covering her. The Transporter plays quietly in the background, but I barely notice.
Running a hand over my face, I let my head drop back against the thick cushions of the couch. An incoming text vibrates my phone on the coffee table, and I grab it quickly so it doesn’t wake her.
I read the text, and I’m immediately hit with guilt. She will most likely be pissed at me when she finds out what I did. But that doesn’t matter. The only thing that does is getting her what she needs so she’s well. And if that means she’s mad at me, then so be it.
Wren texted a while ago to let me know she and Hank picked up Paige and took her back to the ranch to hang out. I don’t like the thought of leaving Finn when she isn’t feeling well, but now that her blood sugar is where it should be, she should be fine.
I carefully lift her feet, so as not to wake her, and slip off the couch. Heading into the kitchen, I find a notebook and a pen to write her a quick note, letting her know I’ve gone to the store and I’ll be back shortly. When I was warming up her soup earlier, I noticed we were out of a few things, including the hummus and protein crackers she likes so much. I quickly make myself a list and include those items as well as some other stuff Paige has been asking for, then grab my keys, phone, and my wallet and head for the garage.
Chapter 16
Finnley
When I open myeyes, it’s quiet. I’m on the couch, covered in my fuzzy purple blanket, and I feel better. A lot better. My limbs still feel slightly weak when I push myself up to sit, but the dizziness and lightheadedness is gone, and I’m not cold anymore. All good signs. My head feels a lot clearer now that the insulin has had time to do its job, and despite the soup Hudson made me, my stomach growls.
I’d never admit it out loud, but that was scary as fuck. I wish I could remember what happened in the garden, but I can’t. I had to have passed out because, one minute, I was pulling weeds, and the next, Shelly—one of the guests at the B&B—was helping me to my very unsteady feet. My vision was blurry, and I couldn’t see the phone clear enough to call Hudson myself. So, there was no way in hell I could have driven myself home, even if I could have walked to my car.
Swinging my feet over the edge of the couch, I wait a few beats to make sure I can stand without falling down. I’ve had that happen before, and that’s what makes me so thankful Hudson is here, helping me undress, bringing me clean clothes, and making me food.
Tears spring to my eyes. Had this happened any other time, I would have been alone. Sure, I could have called Wren, or even one of Hudson’s sisters, but there is nothing like having your best friend come when you need them. The only thing better would be my mama, if that was possible.
I sniffle and smile at the memory of him calling me ‘baby.’ I don’t know why that makes me happy, but it does. I always feel so safe with him, and today was proof that I can always count on my best friend to be here when I need him. Not that I have ever doubted that.
I look around and listen for any sign of movement. When I don’t hear anything, I call out, “Huddy? You home?”
Standing, I gingerly make my way into the kitchen. Crossing to the cabinet, I take out a glass and fill it with ice and water. When I turn back to the island, I see his note. I consider texting him and asking him to pick up something for dinner, but it’s then that I hear the garage door opening.
A few minutes later, he steps through the door into the kitchen, with grocery bags over each arm.
“You’re up,” he says, crossing the space and setting down the groceries to run a hand over my back. He still has that look of concern on his face from earlier. I love how safe and cared for he makes me feel with such a simple touch. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I say with a small smile and pull open one of the bags to peek inside.
“I got you some of those protein crisp things you like and more hummus.” He turns to the fridge and starts to unload the bags. “Hank and I picked up your car, too.” He pulls out my keys and sets them on the counter.
“Thank you,” I say. “We could have grabbed it later.”
He shrugs, looking back at me over his shoulder. “No problem. You want a sandwich or something? I’m going to make myself one.”
“Sure.” I take a seat across the counter from where he’s still putting away groceries. When he gets to the last bag, he pulls out a small, white paper sack and slides it across the counter toward me, then turns back to gather ingredients for sandwiches.
“What’s this?” I ask and pick up the small sack. When I flip it over, I recognize the logo from the pharmacy in town. It’s stapled shut.
Pulling on both sides of the bag, I open it up and look inside. Four insulin pens stare back at me from the bottom of the sack.
My eyes drift up until they meet his. His expression is soft, but his body language suggests he knows I’m not going to be happy. His shoulders are back, his jaw set like he’s ready for a verbal confrontation.
I ask again, “What’s this?”
“It’s insulin.” He sets a loaf of bread down.
Irritation creeps up my throat and something—not quite shame, but close—quickly follows. “I can see that.” I try to swallow around the lump of emotion in my throat. “How?”
