When he stops, I flush the toilet, rinse the cloth again and press it to his forehead.
“Thanks,” he whispers weakly.
“Don’t talk, just rest.”
“I’m just—”
“Shh…” I whisper, and brush his hair back with the cloth. I check his pulse, finding it beating double time. “You need to go to the doctor tomorrow,” I say.
“I actually have a checkup at noon.”
“Good, I’ll take you.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to protest, then heaves again. When he finishes, I urge his head away from the toilet and reposition myself beside him against the wall, so he can rest on my shoulder. We stay like that for a bit, then he heaves once more. I wait a long while, and once I’m sure he’s cleared his stomach, I slowly stand.
Tired green eye full of something I’d never seen before, something that very much resembles vulnerability, blink up at me.
“Where are you going?” he asks, a strange edge of panic in his voice as it breaks.
“To get you a glass of water, I’ll be right back.” Guilt eats at me as I dash downstairs to the kitchen. Cole should have been resting, not having crazy monkey sex with me. I grab a glass, and take the water jug off the counter and fill it. I put it back into the fridge and hurry back to him.
His smile is weak as I enter, but the way he’s so happy to see me gives me a weird title thrill.
“Rinse your mouth with this.”
He takes the glass and does as I say, then lets his head roll back and moans.
“Headache?”
“It’s subsiding.”
“Stomach?”
“Much better,” he whispers into the darkness.
I run the cloth under cold water again and dab his body with it.
“That feels so good, Nina.”
I slide back in beside him and we rest against the wall. I take his hand and hold it, wanting him to know he’s not alone. I brush my finger over his hard calluses, note the strength in his hand. He’s a big tough guy, probably the toughest guy I know, yet the way he touched me last night… So sexy and gentle.
We’re quiet for a long time, then I break it and whisper, “Want to hear something messed up?”
He nudges me with his shoulder, and I’m relieved to see him coming around. “Always.”
“When I was a little girl, I liked getting sick. Jess had the flu once, and I was determined to go to her place to catch it.”
He chuckles, and rests his head back on my shoulder. “Yeah, that’s messed up.”
“It was the only time Mom was nurturing. She would stay home from work, put cool cloths to my forehead, make me my favorite kind of soup, and even snuggle me on the sofa. Tomorrow, I’ll make your favorite soup,” I say, but he goes completely quiet.
“Will you snuggle me on the sofa, too?”
There is a new strain in his voice, and I fear he’s going to be sick again. I angle my head to see him, and his eyes are squeezed shut, like he’s working hard not to fall apart. Gone is the Cocky Cole Cannon the world goes crazy for. In his place is another version of him, one who, on a few occasions when he didn’t think I was watching, I glimpsed in my youth.
I have no idea what’s going on, so I simply link my fingers through his and give him a moment. Silence falls heavy, the only audible sounds in the bathroom our breathing, and I try to quiet mine even more, not wanting to disturb him as he takes a few deep breaths. Unease and apprehension weave their way through my blood, and I want to ask if he’s okay, but his lips open and his gaze meets mine.
“I’m sorry you had to get sick for attention, Nina. That’s…not right.”