Page 31 of Love and Other Chances

“You know how to braid hair?” I ask, voice shaky.

“Well, I’m not going to win any cosmetology awards,” Brooks responds, a tease in his voice. “But I watched you braid enough hair to remember the basics.”

“Oh my goodness, I forgot about that,” I murmur. One of the girls on dance team with me had thick, lush locks that were perfect for intricate braiding styles. She was kind enough to humor my obsession with braiding her hair at every party or social event we ever attended. “Kelly had the best hair ever.”

“She hadlonghair,” Brooks corrects.

“Right. Same, same,” I say.

“Not same. Having waist-length hair doesn’t make it thebesthair,” he states.

“Tell that to Rapunzel,” I quip.

“Pretty sure she liked the non-cursed short style that Flynn gave her better,” Brooks quips back. He twists the hair tie back and forth around the end of my braid, silencing me. When he’s done, I feel a cold, wet washcloth press against my neck.

“Mmm, that’s perfect,” I murmur, returning my head to my arms on the coffee table.

Brooks tucks a missed strand of hair behind my ear. Even though my eyes are closed, I feel his tangle of emotions in the slightly lingering touch of his fingers against my skin.

This is not good. This is not distance.

“You really need to hydrate. Can you drink some more water?” Brooks asks, voice thick with those muddled emotions.

I nod my head but keep my eyes closed as long as possible. Sitting up, I accept the glass of water from him, draining it. I immediately shut my eyes again. The lava in my veins is slowly cooling, although there’s a different kind of heat competing with the fever.

“It would probably be a good idea for you to lie down in your bed now. You’ll sleep better if you’re more comfortable,” Brooks says. “Can you stand if I help you up?”

“I can stand on my own,” I respond, pushing up onto my knees. The movement offends my muscles and my brain, so I pause to brace myself on the coffee table.

“Just let me help you, Teeg,” Brooks says, reaching down to take one of my elbows and holding his other hand out to me. I reluctantly place my hand in his and allow him to pull me up to stand. He intuitively waits a moment for my balance to calibrate before leading me down the hallway to my room.

“How’d you know which room was mine?” I jest, trying to alleviate the intimacy of this moment.

“The pink comforter gave you away,” Brooks replies, laughter in his tone. “The comforter I’m taking away.”

“Fine. I don’t want it,” I say with a small toss of my head.Oof. Bad idea.

Brooks steers me toward the hallway bathroom and removes the washcloth from my neck. “I’m going to take the comforter off and get the throw blanket from the couch to put next to you if you get cold. No burrowing under layers, though.”

I use the bathroom and trudge to my room, falling onto my comforterless bed. A moment later, Brooks is beside me, pulling the flat sheet over me and placing the throw blanket near my feet. “Get some sleep,” he whispers. That medicine must be doing its job because I don’t even remember him leaving the room before I’m asleep.

The sound of an alarm disturbs my very vivid, very odd dreams. I’ve nearly fallen back asleep when I feel a hand gently shaking my shoulder.

“Teegan? It’s been three hours—you can have more ibuprofen now to keep the fever down. But you need to eat this toast first so your stomach doesn’t getupset.”

My bedside lamp clicks on, interrupting the darkness. I roll onto my back and cover my face with the crook of my elbow. “I don’t want toast.”

“But I sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on it.”

I crack one eye and see Brooks holding a plate and another sports drink. “Okay then.”

He helps me prop up against my headboard and hands me the plate. I manage to eat one piece of toast, but I’m too tired to eat the second. “Can one be enough?” I plead.

Brooks clucks his tongue but takes the plate from me. “I knew you’d negotiate. But half a piece of toast isn’t enough. One piece will do.”

A smile turns up the corners of my mouth. I quickly take the medicine and drink several swigs of the electrolyte drink before settling back into my pillows. Brooks’ hand finds my forehead again, and I hear him murmur, “Still hot, but not as bad as before.”

The lamp clicks off, and his footsteps retreat from the room.

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