Page 30 of Love and Other Chances

I nod, appreciating the excuse to focus on something other than him. I swallow the pills and several gulps of the sports drink beforereturning to the soup. Brooks takes the bowl from me when I’m done, and I hear water running in the sink followed by the clank of the bowl in the dishwasher.

My energy is drained from sitting up and eating. Propping my head on a throw pillow, I pull my legs up onto the couch, shivering. Brooks returns to the living room, and I motion to the love seat.

“Will you hand me that throw blanket?” I ask.

“No,” he answers.

“What? Rude.”

“I know you’re cold, but your fever is super high, Teegan. You can’t trap your body heat in with a blanket,” he states, firm yet gentle. “Do you have an extra bed sheet somewhere?”

“Yeah, in the hall linen closet,” I say. “But I’d rather have the blanket. I’m freezing.”

“Sorry, can’t do that. But I’ll get a sheet if you sit up and drink the rest of that energy drink.”

“You’re so bossy,” I grumble, but I sit up to grab the drink. Brooks walks down the hallway and returns with a flat sheet. He makes good on his threat and doesn’t hand it over to me until I’ve chugged the rest of the bottle.

I dramatically flop back down on my pillow and hold out my hand. “There! I drank it. Now give me the sheet.”

Brooks spreads the sheet over me, making sure it covers my feet. His nearness makes my heart flutter, and I wish with every fiber of my achy being that I did not look like the plague right now. When he leans in to tuck the sheet around my shoulders, I get an inhale of his mountain spring body wash scent.Why does he have to smell so good?I mentally whine. I close my eyes, willing myself not to whimper out loud.

He settles back into the love seat, and we watchTrollsin silence, apart from an occasional laugh from Brooks. I fight the heaviness in my eyes to stay awake, but I lose the battle by the time Poppy and Branch reach Bergen Town.

As I slowly regain consciousness, I recognize the sounds of the secondTrollsmovie before I drag my eyes halfway open. I’m disoriented but notice two things.

One: I am blazing hot. Apparently while I was asleep, my blood morphed into lava and is incinerating me from the inside out.

Two: My arm under my head is stretched the short distance between the corner of the couch and the loveseat, my fingers wrapped around Brooks’ hand propped on the cushion.

And it’s the smallest, biggest comfort.

No. No, Teegan!

I combine the withdrawal of my hand from his with a full-body stretch, avoiding any acknowledgment of the contact. The loss of his comforting touch focuses my senses on the lava flowing beneath my skin.

Kicking the sheet off of me, I abruptly sit up—too abruptly. The hammer inside my skull protests the movement, and I fall back to the pillow. “I’m so hot,” I sputter.

The feather-light touch of Brooks’ fingers returns to my forehead. “Yeah, your fever is back in full force,” he says, concern deepening in his voice. “It’s been three hours—you need more medicine.”

Brooks moves from the love seat, and I hear the rustling of grocery bags. I manage to slowly ease myself to a sitting position. My sweatshirt feels like a heating blanket now, so I pull it off over my head.

The air hits the skin around my tank top with cool relief. I hear Brooks’ sharp intake of breath in front of me. Looking up, I see him shake his head briefly before closing the gap between us. He holds out two green capsules to me, along with a glass of water.

“Nighttime cold and flu medicine to bring down the fever and pain. Hopefully it will knock you out too, once it kicks in,” he says.

I accept the medicine and quickly swallow it. Even the couch is making me feel hot, so I slip to the floor, plastering my face to the cool surface of the coffee table. My hair is stringy and sweaty, sticking to my neck and shoulders.

“I want to take a cold shower,” I mumble. My brain tells my limbs to crawl to the bathroom, but my muscles are still on strike.

“That’s not a good idea,” Brooks says gently. “Having wet hair when the chills come back would only make you feel colder.”

“I’m never going to feel cold again in my life,” I say, eyes closed. “I’ve turned into the lava monster fromMoana.”

Brooks huffs a laugh. “I’ll remind you of that declaration next time you beg me for a blanket. Hold on.”

He retreats down the hallway, and I hear water running in the bathroom. When he returns, he takes my hand briefly to slip off the hair tie perpetually available on my wrist. I sense his presence behind me on the couch before he asks, “Can you hold your head up for just a minute?”

I raise my head, a “why?” poised on my tongue. His fingers slide across my scalp, gathering up sections of my hair one by one.

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