“I’m just saying that could be why she’s so difficult to get to know, and why she’s
not quick to make friends.”
I cross my arms over my chest and frown.
“I don’t think she has a lot of friends,” Meg murmurs, and I silently agree.
“I don’t need her shit,” I state again, firmly.
“Okay, so then why are you so pissed?” She asks. “You would typically flip her the
bird and go about your life.”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, Leo.” Meg’s eyes are as soft as her voice, and she smiles gently
at me, and I know I can’t fool her.
“She’s different,” I mutter with a scowl.
“Go apologize.”
“It’s going to take more than that.”
“Leo, if you pursue something with her, are you ready to tell her everything about
before?” My stomach clenches at the thought.
Fuck. That should never touch her.
But, I remember her reaction at the story of my surgery, how she just held me, the
first person to do so since my mom died, and my chest suddenly feels heavy.
“Not yet, but she’s the first person since you who I would consider telling.”
Meg’s eyes go wide, and to my horror, fill with tears. She blinks them away quickly.
“Okay.” She nods. “Don’t make me regret telling you this…”
***
~Samantha~
I’m dying. God is finally punishing me for being such a bitch, and is killing me slowly.
I deserve it.
My stomach heaves again, and I’m not sure if it’s because I have the flu, or if I
can’t stop thinking about the horrible things I said to Leo the other night. The horrible
things we said to each other.
It’s clearly best that we don’t see each other again. Any relationship between us
would be toxic.
I’m an idiot.
No it wouldn’t because he’s not really an asshole and I’m not really a bitch, we’re
just two people who have baggage and don’t trust anyone.
More heaving.
Jesus, what is coming up? I haven’t eaten anything since dinner at Luke’s house on
Saturday. There’s nothing left in me except my internal organs.
Although, I’m pretty sure I just threw up a kidney.
I wash my face and rinse out my mouth for the fortieth time today and look for a clean
sleep shirt. I sleep in concert t-shirts. They’re soft and big and comfort me. And
today I need a Nash shirt.
I may never see him again, but I want him wrapped around me.
I pull a large, grey t-shirt out of my drawer and slip it over my head. The band’s
photo is on the front, Leo in the center. It’s been washed a millions times since
I bought it during their first major tour, and it’s my favorite.
I slip into another pair of clean panties and move toward the bed when someone starts
pounding on the door.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I pad through the apartment to the front door and open the door without looking through
the peephole and almost pass out at the sight of Leo.
Leo.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as my stomach rolls again.
“You’re sick,” he murmurs and smiles hesitantly, like he doesn’t know how I’ll react,
and then his eyes lower to my t-shirt and his smile widens.
It’s so fucking good to see him, but before I can say a word, my stomach heaves again.
I throw my hand over my mouth and run for the bathroom.
There goes the other kidney.
I hear shuffling around in the kitchen and then in my hallway and briefly wonder what
in the world he’s doing, but I throw up some more.
Finally, it stops, and I feel Leo move behind me and scoop my hair back and secure
it into an elastic. He lays a cold cloth on my neck and rubs his big hand up and down
my back.
“Are you okay?” He asks softly.
“It’s stopping,” I whisper. “I need the bed.”
“Come on, I’ll help.” He takes my hand to help me to my feet, stands guard while I
rinse my mouth again, and then scoops me into his arms and heads for my bed.
“You shouldn’t be here, Leo. I’m a mess and I can’t talk to you when I’m like this.”
I rest my head on the soft cotton t-shirt on his shoulder and enjoy his warm, strong
arms around me. He kisses my forehead and frowns down at me.
“Your temp is still high. Did you take some Tylenol?”
“I don’t have any,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed. I’m just so weak, I can’t keep
my eyes open.
“I brought some.” He tucks me into the bed and leaves the room, returning quickly
with a glass of water and pills. “Take these, and then I want to take your temp.”
I comply, too weak to argue. I should kick his ass out of here, but I’m too weak for
that too.
He takes the water from me and sticks the thermometer into my mouth, sitting at my
hip on the side of the bed. His fingers are trailing down my cheek and then my neck,
softly, soothingly. He’ll put me to sleep.
God, I just want to sleep.
“One-oh-two,” he mutters and exhales deeply. “Too high, sunshine. The Tylenol should
work. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours for more and to take your temp
again.”
“Don’t need you to stay,” I whisper. “Don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I’m not leaving, and you’re too weak to kick my dumb ass out of here, so deal with
it, sugar.” I feel his lips on my forehead again and then nothing as sleep finally
claims me.
***
“Wake up, baby. Sam, wake up.” A cool cloth is being rubbed on my forehead and Leo’s
smooth voice is calling to me. “Sam, I need you to take more medicine. Wake up.”
I open my eyes and there he is. He wasn’t a dream. His eyes look worried, and his
hair is messier than usual.
He looks tired.
“What time is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“About two in the morning. Here, take these.” He hands me two small white pills and
water and then takes my temp again. “One hundred even. It’s coming down.”
“I’m a sweaty mess,” I mutter in disgust.
“Do you want a shower?” He asks.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go.” He pulls the covers back and helps me to my feet, but I’m wobbly with
weakness.
Fuck, I hate feeling like this.
“A bath it is.” He smiles down at me and scoops me into his arms.
“I thought I dreamed you,” I whisper and bury my nose in his neck.
“That explains why you were telling someone they were sexy and talented and wonderful
in your sleep.” He winks down at me and I can’t help the small smile that finds its
way across my lips.
“That explains it,” I agree. He sets me gently on the toilet while he runs the hot
water in the tub, pulls the soaked t-shirt over my head, helps me out of my panties
and scoops me back into his arms so he can lower me into the water.
“It feels cold.” I frown at him.
“I can’t give you a super hot bath, honey. I’m trying to break your fever.” He scoops
up my dirty clothes and tosses them into my hamper. “Where are you pajamas?”
“Sleep shirts are in the top drawer of my dresser. Panties are in the second drawer
down.”
He nods and leaves the bathroom and I just push my hands through the water, watching
it fall over my knees. He’s really good at this taking care of someone stuff.
“Where did you learn to be a caretaker?” I ask him.
“I took care of Meg for a long time.” He shrugs and smiles down at me sweetly, that
piercing catching my eye, and I can’t help but remember what he can do with that little
piece of metal. He holds up another Nash t-shirt. “What’s with all the concert t-shirts?”
“I see a lot of concerts.” I look back down at the water, embarrassed that he’s seen
all of my Nash shirts. “I always get a t-shirt and use them for pajamas.”
“You have quite a Nash collection.”
“They’re my favorite,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed again. “Happy now?”
“Getting there,” he whispers and kisses my forehead. “Come on, baby, let’s get you
back in bed.” He scoops me out of the bath and I gasp at the cold air that feels even
colder on my over-heated skin.
“So cold.” I watch him wrap a towel around me as I start to shiver. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” He asks.
“That you’re taking care of me.”
“I’m not sorry about that.” He briskly dries me and slips the soft cotton t-shirt
over my head, lifts me in his arms again and delivers me to the bedroom. “I
am
sorry about the other night, Samantha. Jesus, I am so sorry. I would never use you.”
“I know. I’m sorry too. I’m so mean when I’m scared,” I whisper and snuggle down in
bed. He brushes his fingers through my hair, rhythmically, gazing down at me softly.
“I’ll sleep in the spare room,” Leo offers and starts to stand, but I grab his wrist
to keep him next to me.
“I don’t have a spare room.”
“This is a two bedroom apartment.” He frowns down at me and I offer him a small smile.
“I converted the other bedroom into a closet. No bed there. Sleep here.” I yawn, sleep
pulling me back down. “Where’s my cat?” I ask.
“He’s been following me around. I fed him. Just sleep.” I feel the bed dip as he climbs
under the covers behind me and pulls me against him, his arms around me, fully clothed,
and let sleep take me over.
***
Sunlight is spilling over my face as I wake and look about the room. I’m in bed alone
again, aside from Levine, curled up at my feet, snoring.
I feel better. I don’t feel like a night out on the town, but I think my fever has
broken and I don’t need to throw up.
Progress.
I can hear someone playing my piano and I smile. Leo is still here.
I use the restroom, brush my teeth and drape a throw blanket around my shoulders before
I go find him sitting in my living room, in the same black t-shirt and jeans from
last night. His feet are bare and he has a pen gripped in his teeth.
His hair is standing on end from his fingers.
Leo is here.
I cross to him and kiss his head. He shifts to the left, making room for me on the
bench, and I join him.
“Hi.”
“Hey. How are you feeling?” He leans down and kisses my forehead twice, checking for
fever and must be happy with what he feels because he backs away and grins down at
me.
“Better. I don’t want to be in bed anymore.” I look down at his long-fingered hands
resting on the piano keys.
“Okay, hang out with me.”
“What are you playing?” I ask.
“Something new.” His brow wrinkles as he concentrates on the keys, playing a soft
melody that I’ve never heard before.
God, he’s so talented.
“I didn’t know you played the piano,” I murmur.
“Not well, but I don’t have my guitar here.”
“You didn’t have to stay,” I whisper and lean my head on his shoulder as he plays.
“Yeah, I did. I thought about taking you to the ER there for a while.” I look up into
his stormy gray eyes in surprise. “But you came through.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We sit in companionable silence as he plays the melody. Every so often he’ll stop
and write something down, or switch the notes to suit him.
It’s fascinating.
“I can’t get the hook,” he grumbles, fumbling over the song. He stops and backtracks
and tries to play it again, but he’s still not hearing it.
But I do.
I start to hum it and his eyes shoot down to me in surprise. “You play it,” he says
and pulls his hands away from the keys.
And I pick up where he left off, playing what I hear in my head for the hook of the
song.
“Your turn,” I mumble and lean my head back on his shoulder as he mimics what I just
played and smiles down at me.
“You never stop surprising me.” He kisses my head and keeps playing, humming along.
I’m completely content here, sitting on my piano bench, with this complicated, moody
man. As the song comes to a close, he rests his hands in his lap and leans his cheek
on my head.
“Did you write the whole thing while I slept?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Leo?”
“Yeah, sunshine.”
“So not a one night thing,” I whisper.
He chuckles softly and drapes an arm around me, pulling me closer to him.
“I’m glad you’re catching up.”
Chapter Seven