couldn’t even look at her. I didn’t know if I could ever look at her. I couldn’t even imagine walking her down the aisle at Brandon’s wedding next week.
Kristen: You okay?
I shook my head at my phone and tossed it on the mattress.
No. I’m not fucking okay.
I’m done.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Kristen
I held a bag of In-N-Out and knocked on the door. I checked my watch: 1:15 p.m. It took Josh a while to open it. When he finally did, I saw he hadn’t been kidding—he really was sick. He looked like shit.
His face was expressionless, like he felt too crappy to react to my unannounced visit. Red eyes and a rumpled shirt, like he’d been sleeping in his clothes. Messy hair, like I’d gotten him out of bed.
I smiled. “Hey. Surprise.”
Ugh. I’d missed his face so much.
So much.
When Sloan told me Brandon was home, my heart had leapt in my chest. They were supposed to come home late tonight and Josh had work tomorrow morning, so I wasn’t supposed to see him for three more days. Usually I’d just ride it out and wait for him to come back over. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wait three more days to see him when I knew he was at home. So I broke my own rule and invited him over. And once I found out he was sick, I broke another one of my rules and went to him.
He didn’t move to let me in. He just stared at me.
“Uh, can I come in?” I asked, looking around him into his apartment.
He stood there for another few seconds, then pushed open the door and walked silently back inside.
I followed him in, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He couldn’t still be hungover, two days later. Maybe the strike team and the trip had finally caught up to him. He must have been pretty worn down.
The apartment was dark and stale smelling.
“You didn’t reply to my texts so I decided to make sure you were alive,” I said, looking around, feeling an instant urge to throw open windows and start cleaning. “This place looks like you’re losing a game of Jumanji. What the hell happened in here?”
He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest, watching me as I put the bag of food down. I walked over to him and put a hand on his cheek to feel if he had a temperature. He closed his eyes at the contact and breathed through his nose, grimacing like it hurt to have his head touched.
“You don’t feel hot. Do you have a headache?”
He opened his eyes and stared at me.
I had to be honest—I’d hoped for a happier reunion. I thought…
I don’t know what I thought. I shouldn’t be thinking anything. I shouldn’t be hoping for anything either.
“Stomach?” I asked.
Silence.
“Voice box?”
He flexed his jaw. “It’s not a good idea for you to be here right now,” he said flatly, his voice cold.
I gave him a crooked smile. There was nowhere I’d rather be. I didn’t give a shit if he was contagious. “What hurts?”
It took him a moment. “Everything.”
I snorted. “Wow. A man cold. Okay, I’m equipped to deal with this. Come on. Get in bed.”
“Kristen, you should go. You should look for another carpenter,” he said.
“Wow. Are you dying?” I laughed, opening up my purse and taking out my Aleve. I shook two into my hand and handed him the Coke I brought him.
“It’s funny that you bring up getting a new carpenter.” I handed him the pills, and he stood there looking at them in the palm of his hand, passively.
“Guess who showed up at the butt crack of dawn this morning begging for his job back. Miguel.” I shook my head. He’d seen my carpenter ad on Craigslist. “Lost his job at Universal.”
I put my hands on my hips and peered around his apartment. God, it was a mess. Clothes everywhere. His duffel bag from Vegas was still plopped next to the bed. He probably had two weeks of laundry to do.
Looks like it’s my time to shine. This place was getting an exorcism. I’d get on it as soon as I got the patient in bed.
I turned back to him. “I don’t even want to know what that dude did to get fired. He was always a little creepy. Like, Silence of the Lambs, ‘it puts the lotion on its skin’ creepy. And he came over, and I was in nothing but a