When he’s settled under the blankets, I tell him to open up and the thermometer reveals that his temp is steadily climbing. But it’s still not where I would like it to be. “Do you need anything?” I ask him while I clean up the trash.
“No, thank you. You’ve done enough.”
Here we go again. As if I didn’t hear him, I ask, “How about something to eat? You hungry?”
He just stares at me for a long moment, then ever so slightly bobs his head up and down.
“You think you can pace yourself this time?”
He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”
In the kitchen, I pace circles like fucking Theo. The little shit has worn off on me. What am I doing? I give my ponytail a few tugs, annoyed and confused about what the right answer is. It’s times like this that I wish I had someone to talk to so I could run this past them and ask for advice. But I have no one. Only Theo. And I don’t have to call him for advice. I know what his answer would be. It makes me cringe just thinking about it.
Fuck it. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can do whatever I feel like. And I feel like helping this man. If I die, I die. I’ve lived a good life.
Feeling satisfied in my decision, I load my shirt with a shit-ton of junk food and throw it down on the man’s bed. Cade looks at me like a deer in the headlights.
I shrug. “What? I’m hungry too. Thought we could pig out and watch the game. Well, I’m going to pig out. You are going to eat slowly.”
He smiles and lifts up to rest against the headboard.
“Stay under the blankets,” I scold.
“I am.”
He really isn’t. All his organs that need to be warmed are above the blankets. But I’ll let him stay like that for a little while. He’s over the critical stage.
I cut on the TV and turn it to the channel that is broadcasting Theo’s game. He isn’t pitching tonight, but he’s there somewhere watching the opposing team like a hawk. I open a bag of chips and pass it over to Cade. “Here you go. Nice and slow, remember?”
He nods but sticks a handful in his mouth anyway. Fucking men and their food. I roll my eyes at his behavior and with a mouthful of food, he tries to apologize. I cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s good. If you weren’t here, I probably would just tilt the bag in my mouth. Just chew and swallow. Wouldn’t even have to worry about my hands getting dirty.”
He laughs and starts to choke.
“Careful, Gorgeous,” I warn, grabbing him a bottled water.
He swallows hard as I pass him the water, which he chugs.
We sit in silence, enjoying the monotone of the announcers. Between the two of us, we (mainly me) massacre several bags of chips and two Lunchables. Not the best dinner, but hey, it’s my day off. The game ends, declaring the Red Sox the victor. Prayers out to Theo’s team. He will be one grumpy boy tonight.
With a big yawn, I stand and start to gather the remains of our feeding frenzy. “You need anything else before I head to bed?”
“Can I keep watching TV?” he asks hesitantly.
“Sure, but I want you to get some rest, too. Your body needs to recover from you almost freezing to death.” I tsk him a little, remembering his terrible decision to sleep in a ditch.
He nods, looking a little frightened. Ah. Night terrors. Been there done that. Dr. McCallister can fix that. I finish cleaning up and hand him the remote. Reaching for the sedative I stashed away earlier, I sit beside him.
“I’m going to give you something to help you sleep tonight.”
His eyes go wide. “I’ll be okay,” he blurts.
Rubbing his arm, I explain, “I know. But I have this crazy suspicion that you probably haven’t slept more than a couple hours at a time for years now. That’s not good for your body or for healing.” He’s shaking his head vehemently, but I don’t allow him to interrupt. “And I bet you suffer from nightmares.” Going still, his eyes widen in disbelief. Yeah, mama knows.
Possessiveness tingles up my spine. Internally, I tell myself to maintain a professional distance from this train wreck of a man because he honestly makes me want to pack him in the car and drive him away from every bad thing that has ever happened to him here. Why hasn’t anyone helped him? Is his family looking for him?
Stroking his arm, as soothingly as possible I say, “Trust me, Cade. You need sleep. This will help you sleep a dreamless night. Will you trust me?”
Without looking at me, he nods his head in acceptance.
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep, okay?”
“Okay.”
Cleaning the now empty IV port, I push the needle in and slowly feed the medicine. It takes about ten seconds before his arm relaxes and ten more seconds before his head falls back. Scooting him over, I lie down beside him, turn on HGTV and wait for his body to completely go lax.
Half an hour later, Cade is snoring softly in my ear. I turn off the TV, pull the blankets taut over his chest, and exit the room quietly.
What the fuck did I get myself into?
