lips.
I try to drink, but it feels impossible. I’ve never been this disoriented in my life, and I hate that she’s having to take care of me. I’m the protector, the one tasked with keeping her safe. She shouldn’t be here looking after me.
“I need my phone,” I mutter. “Need to call someone in while I’m sick.”
“I’m going to stay here with you.”
“Hired to do a job,” I pant. “Need to bring in another team member.”
Anyone but fucking Brooks. I can’t say the man would be as good at maintaining professional distance as I’ve done thus far.
Just the thought of him showing up and keeping her occupied in the other room makes my fevered skin heat even more.
“I’ll get your phone,” she whispers.
I moan with delight when a cool cloth is pressed to my forehead, and it doesn’t take long before I’m drifting off again.
Remington never brings me the damn phone, but she does wake me what seems like every fifteen seconds to force liquids and meds down my damn throat. At first, I growled at her, insisting that if she just left me the hell alone, I’d get better, but after the third time, I found it just easier to do what she wanted. The sooner I took a drink or swallowed some damn pills the quicker she would let me rest.
Chapter 10
Remington
I’ll be the first to admit that watching someone sleep is creepy as hell, yet I’ve been doing it for hours. I’m attuned to every moan, every grunt of discomfort that escapes from Flynn’s fevered lips.
I’m not the caregiving type. Not because I hate the idea of it but I’ve never been put in the position before.
Although I’ve been on the receiving end of help—most often when I got too drunk or took too many drugs—but my friends always turned to someone else when they were in the same predicament. It’s like they knew I wasn’t capable, like they weren’t safe with me, and I blame my own life choices for being in the position in the first place. Then I was grateful. I didn’t want that responsibility thrust upon me because let’s face it, I was never in a place well enough to help anyone. I needed help myself.
Today is different. Today I don’t want to focus on me. I don’t need attention in this moment. My only focus is making sure Flynn gets better even though the doctor’s insistence to get medical help echoes in my head like a Sunday morning church bell, the clanging and ringing a constant reminder that I may once again be making the wrong choice. Only this time, I’m not the one who will suffer if I’m wrong.
Early morning light filters into the room combining with the constant light from the suite’s hallway as he shifts in discomfort. He’s going to be sore as hell from sleeping on the couch, but I haven’t been able to rouse him enough to get him to the bed.
I have more than half a dozen alarms set on my phone, each one a reminder that I’m to medicate him or get him to sip fluids. I’ve grown accustomed in this short period of time that even if I’m dozing beside him in the chair, I wake moments before the alarm goes off. I have no idea how the protective behaviors set in so quickly.
I pause the alarm the second it begins, and this time Flynn actually flinches at the sound. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he’s been damn near comatose for a day and a half.
“What the hell happened?” he groans without opening his eyes, his face turning away from the miniscule light in the room.
“How do you feel?” I whisper.
He hasn’t said much the times I’ve woken him.
“Like I’ve been hit by a tactical force team.”
I give him a weak smile even though he can’t see it with his eyes closed. Most people would say a bus or a wrecking ball, but it’s clear this man has lived a different life than most people. His experiences make for interesting analogies apparently.
“Sounds painful,” I muse, my hand running over his face to test his temperature. “You’re not as hot as you were.”
“Only because I’m sick.”
Rolling my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling, I pull my hand away, enjoying the way he turns his head toward me in search of my touch.
“Don’t fret. You’ll be as hot as ever once you’re well.”
“Damn right,” he teases,