Maybe once I tell him, he’ll realize everything he thought he wanted earlier was nothing but a pipe dream. That a future between us is exactly what I thought it would be…
Impossible.
He smooths my hair back from my face and presses his palm to my forehead.
“You’re really hot,” he grumbles, tone laced with an edge I can’t discern. “Are you sick? Did you catch something?”
Water turns on, but I ignore the sound of it, focusing on the feeling of his hand pressed against my warm skin. He feelsso good.
And of course, my stomach chooses that exact second to full Exorcist again. I sob into the toilet, and my cries only grow louder when he softly picks up my hair, bundling it at my nape and rubs my back.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, never letting up his kindness. “I’ve got you, darlin’. I’m not going anywhere, Georgia. I’m here, and I’m not letting you die.”
And then I realize I’m begging him to leave me to die on my own between coughs and heaves.
When I’m finally done, he flushes the toilet for me and softly grips my chin, dragging my tear-stained face up to meet his gaze.
“What happened?”
“I ate French fries,” I mutter, feeling miserable. “I’m just having a flare-up.” Swallowing thickly, I drop my eyes, unable to see the rejection in his. “I can go home if—”
And then he’s dragging my eyes right back up.
“Look at me.” In the moonlight, I catch his face harden a split second before he grinds out, “You try to leave this house, and I’ll throw you over my fuckin’ shoulder and tie you to my bed.”
I blink rapidly, mouth opening and closing at the vehemence in his tone. At the threat that should send me running for the hills but has a different part of me warming instead.
“Pretty sure tying me to your bed is the last thing you want right now,” I say dumbly. “Really bad idea.”
Kade’s lip lifts in the hint of a smirk, but it drops just as fast. “Don’t joke right now, baby. I’m seconds from losing my mind.”
Squinting, I whisper, “Why?”
His shoulders fall an inch, and he tugs on his hair before pushing to his feet. I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t, just busies himself at the sink. When the water cuts off, he pauses, head falling.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hands braced on the vanity. “I did this? Made you sick?” He shakes his head and gives me a pained look. “I’m so sorry, Georgia. Recipe said homemade was safe. Took a while, and you fell asleep at the island before they were finished. Put you in my bed and you didn’t even budge, but…”
My cheeks burn. “I got up and ate them.”
He was asleep on the couch, and I leaned against the island, watching him sleep while I munched on delicious homemade fries he’d left to cool on the counter. I’d still been so drunk and craving something that sure as fuck wasn’t carbs, but a hell of a lot more dangerous and I…
“I dipped them in your rocky road ice cream,” I whisper, face red hot.
Before my diagnosis, it was my favorite. And going down, it still was. Coming back up, however… Not so much.
Reaching out, I squeeze his leg, the material of his sweats soft beneath my hand. “I did this, Kade. Not you. Sometimes, I forget. Shouldn’t, but it happens, and I pay the price.”
In all honesty, I don’t think I truly forgot, but the alcohol was speaking for my stomach—and hormones—and I let myself be weak in one way so I wouldn’t be weak in another.
He still looks tortured, so I add, “The fries were delicious and I really appreciate you going to so much trouble. But you didn’t do this. I promise.”
After a long moment, he sighs and drops to a crouch next to me. A warm wet cloth is pressed to my cheeks, my lips and jaw. It takes me a second to realize he’s cleaning me up—caring for me, in the only way he can, and my eyes sting.
This man iskilling me.
“What can I do?” he murmurs, breath ghosting across my damp cheeks. “Need to fix this.”
This, notme.
