Bittersweet (Redemption #3) - Jessica Prince Page 0,59
she wouldn’t mind bringing Brantley to me since I was still feeling a little off, and my car was still at Bad Alibi from the night before. She’d agreed happily, saying she’d have Scooter bring my car to me.
After I got off the phone, I attempted to shower, which only helped to deplete the rest of what little energy I had. I’d only just struggled my way into a pair of yoga pants, a long T-shirt, and a cardigan—because, you know . . . fever—before the front door flew open and my little hurricane came rushing in.
I pasted on a smile and willed my body not to keel over dead as I promised my aunt up and down that I’d be just fine and I didn’t need to her keep Brantley for the day. We already missed so much time together thanks to my job, I wasn’t willing to give up any more, sick or not.
As it was, I already asked too much of my aunt and uncle. The last thing I wanted to do was take advantage of their generosity or, God forbid, have them start resenting me for leaning on them so much. So I did the best I could for Brantley, all while feeling like death warmed over. By Saturday evening I regretted not telling Caroline the truth. By that night, after I tucked my kid into bed, all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and cry myself to sleep, that was how miserable I felt.
Now it was Sunday morning, and I was convinced I was on death’s door, getting ready to ring the bell. I hurt everywhere. Even my eyelids hurt. I had aches in muscles I hadn’t known existed. My body shook so bad with fever that my teeth rattled, and no amount of Tylenol could get it to break.
Brantley was doing his best to stay quiet as he played, knowing his momma wasn’t feeling good, but my boy liked to suck every bit of goodness out of life each day, meaning he was busy, he was energetic, and he was loud. Even when he tried not to be.
A knock sounded on the door, pulling his attention from the Avengers movie I’d put on the TV for him. “I’ll get it!” he shouted, jumping up from his place on the floor where he’d been camped out, lying on his little belly with his chin in his hands and his feet swinging in the air.
“Brant, no. What’d I tell you about opening the door?” I pushed up to sitting on the couch and the whole room started to spin. “Whoa.” I held my hands out for balance before giving in to gravity and collapsing back onto the cushions. “Okay, you can open it this one time, but ask who it is first.”
I took big, steady breaths, trying to stave off the nausea rumbling in my belly, watching as my son rushed to the front door and smooshed his face against it like it would help him see through the paper-thin wood. “Who is it?” he yelled louder than necessary.
“Hey, bud. It’s Dad,” I heard Jensen return, and I nearly started bawling in relief. Until right then I’d forgotten all about him picking Brantley up for a visit today. Maybe if I got a couple hours of sleep I’d feel well enough later to get up and drive my ass to the pharmacy for some flu meds.
“Daddy!” Brantley swung the door open with a whoosh, nearly colliding with the screen door in an effort to get to his father. “You’re here! You’re here!”
Jensen got the screen open before my kiddo maimed himself and picked him up with a laugh. “Careful, kid. You’re gonna give yourself a concussion.”
“What’s a cuss-shun?”
Jensen gave him a bright white grin that, even in my state—halfway between alive and dead—I couldn’t help but appreciate. “Nothing, bud. You ready to learn how to ride your bike?”
“Yeah!” Brantley squirmed to be let down, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he bolted toward his room. “I’mma get my helmet!”
It was only once he was out of the room that Jensen turned his attention to me, and the smile that had graced his face instantly fell. “Jesus, sunshine. You okay?” He rushed over to the couch, taking a seat on the coffee table and leaning in so he could place his hand on my forehead. “Fuck. You’re burning up.”
“So, it turns out I misread the signs my body was giving