Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Rest. I’ll handle everything else. Don’t get up without me. You could fall.”
She studied me, and I waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, I turned and headed for the door.
“Dean?”
I looked back at her. “Yeah?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You need help,” I replied, then left her to rest.
Telling her that seeing her sick like this scared the shit out of me wasn’t going to help our situation. I was human, so I should be concerned for her, but it was more than that. And I didn’t have the correct words to explain it when I didn’t understand what it was myself. I just didn’t want her to be sick.
fourteen
brielle
My eyes opened slowly, and I expected the pounding of my head to greet me along with the pain in my chest from the endless coughing. When I felt neither, I glanced around, then decided to slowly attempt sitting up. I managed it, and still, nothing. I wasn’t even nauseous.
I looked over at my phone, and the time said it was eight in the morning.
I had slept all night. I hadn’t woken up with coughing spasms.
Pushing back the covers, I stood up and started to walk to the bathroom to relieve myself when my eyes landed on Dean. He was under a quilt from the closet, and his head was on one of the sham-covered pillows I put on my bed when it was made up. He looked exhausted.
How is he sleeping on the hard floor? And why?
Last night, he had slept on the expensive sofa. I knew it was much more comfortable.
I moved quietly into the bathroom and closed the door behind me.
If he hadn’t shown up when he did, I didn’t know what I’d have done. He had bought me groceries and kept me fed. He had made sure I had my meds at the right time. It was impossible to dehydrate with him constantly bringing me Gatorade or water. There was one point when my fever had gotten so high that I was sure that him being here was a hallucination.
Walking over to the shower, I turned it on and waited until the water was warm before taking off my clothes and stepping into the stream. The water felt wonderful. The past few days, I hadn’t been able to stand for long, much less get a shower. I stepped back once and sat down on the small built-in bench. If the water would stay warm without eventually running cold, I could stay in here all day.
There were so many things I needed to do today. Calling and checking in with Cam was the first thing.
I’d gotten a couple of texts from him, and I could only respond that I wasn’t feeling well and would call him once I was better. Clara called me once, and I wasn’t able to answer—my head was pounding. She texted next, and I managed to update her on my condition. I hadn’t told her Dean was here with me though. She’d read too much into that. Heck, I was reading too much into it. At least in my dreams, I had. He’d kept showing up.
When I’d had moments of clarity, I’d convinced myself that he was being a friend, although the idea of Dean Finlay being my friend was so odd. Adjusting to the fact that my landlord was famous had been difficult enough to wrap my head around. Him taking care of me while I had COVID was so unexpected.
Standing back up, I began the process of bathing myself and washing my hair. My legs needed shaving, as did other parts, so I took my time in doing it all. I didn’t want to overdo it and end up back in bed again today. I knew there were bills in the mailbox, waiting on me. My electricity, car payment, and water bills were all due to arrive this week. The more I thought of all I needed to do, the more stressed I felt myself getting.
I finished in the shower sooner than I had intended and was drying off when there was a knock on the bathroom door. The door didn’t lock, and I quickly wrapped my towel around my body before it slowly opened up. Dean stood there, looking sexy and disheveled.
That wasn’t fair, but then was life ever really fair? The man was fifty-three. He had slept on the floor, possibly all night. Why did he not have pillow creases on his cheek or swollen eyes? Why didn’t his hair look like a bird had taken up residence in it?
“Good morning,” he said in a raspy, deep voice from sleep.
“Good morning,” I replied, holding the towel tightly around me.
My hair was wet and dripping down my back, but I wasn’t about to take the towel to dry it with Dean standing there, looking at me.