He was kneeling in front of the toilet, forearms propped on the bowl as he retched.
Oh, no… The roiling in my stomach forced me back for a moment to inhale the fresh air of his room before returning to the bathroom.
I would not pity puke; I would not pity puke.
I crouched next to Trey. He was shirtless. Sill in his black athletic shorts from earlier and trembling with a line of saliva trailing from his mouth to the bowl of the toilet.
“Trey…”
I brushed a hand against his scalding forehead. Waves of brown hair fell in heaps over his bloodshot eyes.
He straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he inhaled an unsteady breath. “Sorry, May. Just give me a minute. I can be ready soon.”
I scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
I left his room and entered the primary space where Williams and Larson had returned to their game.
“Where’s your barf bowl?” I asked and, as I suspected, I didn’t need to explain myself. Williams pointed to a cupboard door. I opened it to find one large, stale, pea green plastic bowl.
The family barf bowl,everyone has one.
I snatched it and hastily returned to find Trey right where I left him. I fell back to my crouch beside him. “You got more in you, or can you stand?”
He looked at me then, red irritation in the whites of his eyes enhanced the vibrancy of the green. “May, I promise I’ll be fine. Please, go sit on my bed for a minute.I’m already feeling a little better. We can go over your homework and anything—”
I stopped him by placing a soothing hand on his cheek.
He leaned into my touch, his eyes fluttering closed.
What I would give to touch him like this all the time…
Stop it.
I stole my hand away, making him look at me again. “Let me take care of you, for once.”
Trey watched me, exhaustion drooping his face.
He opened his mouth, and I shut down his case before he could exhale. “Trey. Please. Let me do this.”
Finally, he slumped, which I considered as his surrender.
“Thank you. Now, let’s get you into the shower and get control of that temperature.”
He stood with me when I beckoned and followed me to the shower. When he shucked his shorts down his legs, I left the room, ignoring the pang of curiosity begging me to look.
While he showered, I tidied the bed, readying it with a cluster of pillows. After which, I pulled out a pair of black sweatpants and an over-sized, old school pride tee from his dresser drawers. I took the ensemble of clothes, including the underwear I snatched from the top drawer, and folded them into a neat stack.
“Trey?” I called with a few knocks against the ajar door.
He grunted.
I pushed the door open a fraction more, keeping my eyes on my toes. “I have some clothes for you to change into. Can I put them on the counter for you?”
“Yes. Please.”
Tentatively, I stepped in, placing the stack of loungewear onto the bathroom sink counter. I strained to keep my eyes glued to the ground, even as the showershut off.
“I’ll just leave them right here,” I said, eyes still downturned. I nearly facepalmed myself because—duh—I literally just told him I was going to leave them there.
