Page 95 of Illicit Desires (The Deepest Desires 3)

“Can you anyway?”

“You’re pushy as hell. How are you so close with Knox?”

“Because I’m pushy as hell.” Her lips tug into a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I know her,” is all I say.

“Yeah, I gathered that. But how?” She lifts my head, placing it in her lap as she scoots my sweat-slick hair away from my forehead, putting the washcloth back in place. She tenderly runs her fingers through my hair, patiently waiting for me to spill my guts.

Letting out a deep breath, I close my eyes, because if I’m going to tell her this story—a story nobody knows, but me—I’m not going to be able to look at her while doing it.

“When I was in high school, I was a wide receiver for my school’s football team. I was good—really good, actually—and was all set to go to WSU on a full-ride football scholarship. During my senior year championship game, I got injured on the field, and it ended my football career before it even began.”

I glance over at her before quickly averting my eyes to the floor. “I tore my ACL and had a tibial plateau fracture and had to have surgery. My leg was in a full cast, and I basically couldn’t take care of myself for a while. I’m not sure if Knox or Anderson has ever told you, but my parents are very hands off. They’re gonea lot, whether for work or traveling. After my injury, they didn’t want to stay home and take care of me, so they hired a live-in nurse to do the job while they vacationed.”

“Was Abby your nurse?”

“She was.”

She’s quiet for a moment, probably deciding which question is the right question to ask to find out what she wants to know. Finally, quietly, she asks, “So, what happened that made you freak out like that when you saw her?”

This next part is probably going to make her hate me, or at the very least, think less of me. It’s the part in my story that solidifies what an asshole junkie I am.

“After a few days of having her at the house, I started to notice she flirted with me. I was in a lot of pain, and I was pretty depressed about my football career going out the window, so I used her flirting to my advantage. Eventually we slept together, and I talked her into giving me higher doses of my medication.”

Katie’s fingers freeze in my hair, her body tensing beneath me.There it is.Someone is finally seeing the true me. The dark, sick fiend who manipulates nurses to their advantage.

“So you mean to tell me,” she seethes, voice low and venomous, “that the woman who was hired to take care of you when you were fucking injured, took advantage of you, had sex with you, and gave you more than your prescribed dose ofhighly addictivenarcotics?”

What she says and the bitter tone she’s using has me pausing for a moment. “Well… yes. But it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t her fault, it was mine.”

“Bullshit, Crew! You were the patient, she was your caregiver. That’s an absolute abuse of fucking power, and I have half a mind to fucking reach out and have her stripped of her license.”

“What, no!” I sit up way too fast, wincing as my head and muscles holler at me in pain, stomach rolling violently. I fling myself off her lap and my face is barely in the toilet before I’m hurling what little food and water I’ve eaten today.

I’ve spent so much time bent over this toilet this week that my ribs are tender to the touch and my throat feels like it’s bleeding, it’s so raw. I lay my head on the toilet seat, not having enough energy to move.

My head is tired.

My mind is tired.

My fucking body is tired.

I don’t want to do this anymore.It doesn’t seem to be getting better.

I sit there, with my head leaned against the cold toilet, for several minutes before footsteps sound.

“Hey, let me help you back to bed.” Anderson’s deep, gruff voice surprises me. Katie must’ve gone and grabbed him. He squats, throwing my arm around his neck, wrapping one arm around my upper back and one behind my thighs. Standing with ease, like he isn’t holding the weight of a grown man, he strolls back into the bedroom. My head lolls on his shoulder, feeling entirely too heavy to hold up.

Once I’m back in bed, under the covers, he ambles into the bathroom, returning with another cool, wet washcloth for my forehead. Watching him with tired, heavy eyes, he handles me with such care… such love, and my throat clenches. He loves me so fucking much, and I don’t understand why. There is nothing worth loving when it comes to me.

In thoughtful silence, he grabs his MacBook from the desk before returning to the bed and climbing in beside me. Somehow, I’m able to roll my body over so I’m facing him. If I wasn’t in so much pain and convinced I was dying, my heart would expand a little as I watch him turn Harry Potter on for me.

“You don’t have to stay here with me, Anderson,” I croak.

“I know, but I want to. I don’t understand what exactly you’re going through, and I can’t make it all go away, but I want to help in any way that I can.”

My mouth is dry, tongue feeling like it’s coated in chalk when I try to talk. “Thank you.”

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