Page 49 of Ripped

I nod. “Okay, I will. Thanks, Mom.”

We hang up and I take a couple deep breaths. I need to calm the fuck down. Donnie needs me.

He isn’t dying. He probably just got caught in that freak rainstorm earlier. That would explain the pile of wet clothes on the floor. He’s going to be fine. And even if he gets worse, even if I have to take him to the hospital… one thing at a time. I have to focus on right now.

Mom said fluids, clean clothes, and clean linens. I go downstairs and dig out the Gatorades Donnie always has stocked in the fridge. If electrolytes are good for hydrating after a workout, they have to be good for hydrating after a fever, right? Feels like the same principle to me. I line up the bottles on the nightstand and go to the walk-in closet.

I flick the light on and take a half-step back. Damn, this walk-in closet is bigger than some New York apartments I’ve been in. Clothes hang in neat rows. Shoes are on display in a column of shelves. Bags line the shelves near the ceiling. One side of the closet has more athletic wear than any one person should own. The other side is filled with suits. Expensive-looking suits.

Donnie said he still has a lot of Roger’s clothes. I didn’t realize that “a lot” means all of them. I move toward that side of the closet and run my hands along the shoulders of the jackets. The hangers are all evenly spaced out.

Roger feels bigger than life in my head. Smart, charming, self-assured, sweet. He worked on Wall Street at a high-profile job that raked in piles of cash, so much that Donnie’s got more than enough to live off of now. He hosted fancy dinner parties. He wore brand names that I’ve never even heard of. He renovated old houses in New York until they looked like magazine spreads.

Me? I’m calling my mom because I got freaked out by a fever. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, then run my fingers through my hair. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as when Donnie does it.

I need to pull myself together and be the adult that Donnie needs me to be. Not just today, not just to nurse him back to health. Roger left big shoes to fill, and I’m not saying I’ll ever be able to fill them completely, but he was someone Donnie could depend on. He was a partner to Donnie. I need to be that—someone Donnie can depend on, someone he can partner with.

There’s a stack of linens and bedding in the corner and I grab a set. A quick check of the drawers reveals Donnie’s stash of PJs. I bring them all into the bedroom right as Donnie groans.

“Connor?”

I dump all the neatly folded fabric on the armchair and rush to his side. He’s flung the covers off, thrashing around with a grimace on his face.

“Hey, I’m here.”

He groans and rolls toward me, flinging his arm in my direction. His eyes are screwed shut. I don’t think he’s awake.

“It’s okay.”

I brush the damp hair off his forehead. “What’s okay?”

“Roger says it’s okay.”

My breath catches in my chest. What—did he—no, he’s dreaming. He’s definitely dreaming. He didn’t somehow read my mind, confer with his late husband, and then come back to reassure me that I don’t need to measure myself against Roger. We’re not in a movie. Donnie is not Whoopi Goldberg.

“Donnie, wake up.” I give him a little shake, but he rolls onto his other side.

His entire back is wet with sweat and so are the sheets he’s lying on. He shivers and doesn’t stop. I’ll have to wait until he wakes up to help him change, but in the meantime, I pull the covers over him and tuck them around his body.

Donnie sighs in his sleep. I lay down next to him, scooting in as close as I can with the blankets between us. I gently rest my hand on his side, measuring the rise and fall of his breathing, each one a sign that he’s going to be okay.

I wish I could’ve known Roger: the person Donnie fell in love with, the person he built a life with. Donnie wouldn’t be who he is today if it wasn’t for Roger. If it wasn’t for Roger, I wouldn’t have this chance to know Donnie, to live in this house, to love him.

My heart somersaults in my chest.

I love Donnie.

I take a breath and poke at the feeling inside me. I’m pretty sure it’s love. I’ve never felt it before, not like this. It has to be love, right?

I like how it feels. Big and strong, yet delicate and soft. I feel like I can conquer anything with it and I feel extremely vulnerable at the same time. It has to be love.

Donnie shifts toward me in his sleep. I arrange myself the best I can with all the blankets. It kinda feels like I’m hugging a furnace. There’s nowhere else I would rather be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DONNIE

My mouth tastes like arse. Not the good kind of arse. The bad kind where every breath makes me want to gag.

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