Sloth (Sinful Secrets #1) (57 page)

I JUST GOT THE NEWS THAT
Cleo’s angel marrow is engrafting. I kiss her head and pull her against me, even though she’s sleeping. After the orgasm I gave her this morning, she was zonked. When she wakes up an hour later, I’ve got her chicken pizza waiting on the table.

She hangs another sparrow as she eats the pizza.

I watch from the love seat by the window. “What’s that one say?”

“You might think it’s cheesy.”

“Try me,” I tell her.

“Okay, it’s by this author named Louise Erdrich. Honestly, I don’t know her, but I saw this one on Tumblr, and I love it. Ready?” She holds up the unfolded paper. “It says, ‘You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on Earth. You are here to risk your heart.’”

I blink as heat fills my chest and throat. “Is that what you think?” I ask softly.

“Of course.” She laughs, and rubs her hand over my beanie.

I’m tired as fuck today, like every day lately, but I’ve got discipline left over from my football days. I drag myself over to the stationary bike... and ride until my chest and throat ache. Cleo tries distracting me by reading dumb news from a gossip web site.

When I’m done, she helps me down and wipes my face with a cool towel. I fucking love this girl so hard.

I tell her that.

She reaches up to touch my bald head, which for some reason, she’s decided that she loves. We watch a
Game of Thrones
episode while I struggle with my 30-pound dumbbells. I try not to feel like a loser when I don’t finish the workout. Too tired.

I sleep so much the next few days.

One afternoon, after a nap that lasted all morning, I wake up with a temporary tattoo—a blue butterfly on the inside of my wrist—and Cleo blowing bubbles, cackling as she waves the bubble wand above me. “Are you high enough to appreciate them?”

I laugh. “Are you?”

I’ve been taking tincture every day. Willard knows and doesn’t care. He says whatever works. And it does work. I’m weak regardless, but at least this way, I’ve been able to avoid the opiate painkillers. Either way, I won’t remember most of this when months pass by, but at least with the marijuana tincture, I’ll be able to enjoy it.

Later, as we lie in bed watching HGTV, my mind cycles back around to that though. I realize why it stood out.

…when months pass by.

I stroke her arm and tentatively offer her a tiny glimmer of the hope I’m feeling right now. “When we get out of here,” I whisper to her hair, “I’ll take you all over New York.”

It’s the first comment he’s made about us leaving here. I take it as a good sign, and I’m glad I do. We have a great night, wrapped up in each other’s arms, sharing the silly ghost stories that scared us most when we were little kids. It’s perfect time—and so damn short.

The next day, Kellan gets the mouth sores I’ve heard so much about. His mouth and stomach hurt so much he’s shaking in my arms as he tries not to move his mouth. Within a few hours, Willard brings the pain pump back.

But I know what to do for him this time. I know what comforts him. And I know how to wait.

I read:
Gone Girl
, a few more things from the prolific J.S. Cooper, and a book called
Night Owl
by M. Pierce. I touch myself under the covers, rubbing the sole of my foot over Kellan’s leg, as if that will make him more involved.

A whole week passes in this state: Kellan sleeping, giving me dazed, creepy looks, and leaning on me like a California redwood as he lurches to the restroom.

I get good at origami sparrows. After the aching quiet of his first few days asleep, I accept losing him to the Dilaudid again. Because I really think I’m going to get him back.

FOR EIGHT DAYS, KELLAN SLEEPS.
On the ninth day, his mouth and throat seem better, so Dr. Willard starts to wean the pain pump.

The following few days amaze me. Kellan’s blood counts started going up while he was on his Dilaudid vacation, but until Dr. Willard cut the dose, I didn’t get a chance to see him doing better.

After a week spent mostly in bed, I thought he’d be too weak to even move—and he
is
weak. We walk down the hall the first night he’s awake again, his arm intertwined with mine, and have to stop a lot of times for him to catch his breath.

He has to wear a face mask when we leave the room, so I can’t see his mouth, but I’m pretty sure he smiles almost the whole time. We make a big show of looking at the pictures on the wall, and when we’ve walked enough to see them all, he stops and tucks my hair behind my ear as he catches his breath.

“You’re pretty.”

I tug his gray beanie down around his ears and kiss his chin. “You are.”

His happy eyes look sleepy. We walk back to his room with our arms around each other, Kellan’s free hand pushing the IV pole. Arethea whistles as we reach the door.

“The two love birds,” she teases, in the soft Brazilian accent that I’ve come to love. She smiles at Kellan, then touches his cheek. “Up and moving. Onward, onward!”

She comes into the room with us, and when she leaves, we stretch out on the bed together. I tug Kellan’s beanie off.

I swear, his lack of hair makes his eyes stand out more. All the weight he’s lost hones his features in the best possible way—showing off his beautiful bone structure. No one has ever looked so perfect. Now that he’s awake again and able to reciprocate, I can’t keep my hands off him.

Our next endurance exercise is the following morning, when we go down the hall to the kitchen to cook eggs and toast.

Kellan insists on eating a few bites, even though all he’s required to eat today is TwoCal and three cups of yogurt. We walk the halls for longer than I would have thought possible. Kellan tells me where he grew up... in this cottage overlooking the ocean. He tells me about a trip he took to Georgia with his family when he was little. About his first kiss—a girl named Molly, in the coat closet in his first grade class—and about his peewee, middle school, and high school football days.

All day, he tells me all about himself. He’s straightforward in a way he’s never been before.

He falls asleep just after lunch and I tuck the fleece blankets around his shoulders, then curl up beside him. I’ve gotten used to napping, too.

I wake up to find him leaning his cheek in his palm, watching me. I lift my head and realize his other hand is stroking my hair.

I stick my tongue out. “You watched me while I was sleeping?”

“Only fair.” He smiles.

I run a finger over his cheek, where the bruises from the wreck are almost gone. “I guess so. I could probably sculpt you now. I drew you lots.”

His eyebrows lift. “Is that right?”

I smile and nod. “You want to see? I’m not much of a sketch artist, but you might get a laugh.”

“Yeah, let me see.”

I go to the desk for my portfolio, and when I open it, I find three yellow legal pads. They’re filled with Kellan’s handwriting. I whip my head around toward him.

“What are these?”

I look back down and notice a sparrow tucked into the briefcase. It’s folded badly. “You did this?” I laugh.

He just smiles, and I bring the things back to the bed. “Shall I unfold it? Did you write on the inside.”

His mouth twitches a little with his tired smile. “Check and see.”

I unfold it to find a quote I wrote myself.

Followed by Kellan’s familiar penmanship.

I look up at him through tears in my eyes. “That’s beautiful. I love you too.” I wrap my arm around him and he wraps his arms around me. His hand cradles my head against his chest. His lips come down on my hair.

“Those notebooks are yours. You don’t need to read them right now. But they’re yours. I wanted you to have them.”

I lift the notebooks out. I was wrong at first glance; there are three of them, not two, filled completely, back and front of every page. I blink back tears. His tongue laps my skin.

I cover my face. “Sorry, I’m being stupid.”

His hand rubs over my hair as his voice rumbles near my ear. “Tell me why.”

“It makes me sad that you were lonely.”

He laughs, a rich chuckle. “Cleo baby... Don’t do that. I’m trying to say it helped. Writing to you. Made me better. That’s what you are. You’re my medicine.”