Page 29 of The Closed Off Captain

I cringe. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, and it won’t happen again.”

“Thanks.” He walks away, and I want to stay quiet. I really do. “Did you tell everybody?”

He turns back to me. “What?”

I forge on. “Did you tell everybody about it after it happened? Was it like a huge team joke how I asked you out my first day of work?”

“No.” His voice is sharp. “I didn’t tell anybody about it, Chloe.”

I can’t believe I’m bringing this up four years later, but I’m still burning from embarrassment from tonight. So even though this is against rule number five, I have to know. “Then how does everybody know?”

“Simmons saw what went down that day,” he says quietly. “He told everybody before I even made it to the locker room.”

Simmons played with the Green Thunder only for two years; his second year was the year I started working for the team. “Oh.”

“I canned the talk as soon as I heard, but it was too late. Everybody knew.”

“And now, it’s a great joke. It’s fine; it really is. I was young and stupid.”

“Because you asked me out.”

I look up at him. “What?” I ask in confusion.

“You were young and stupid because you asked me out. Now you know better. Right?” His words have a harsh edge to them.

“What do you mean?”

He palms the back of his neck. “Never mind. I need to go do a few things; I’ll be back. Lock the door behind me.” He’s out of the room a moment later, leaving me to stare after him.

I really don’t want to think about any of this anymore, and I have work to do. So, I do what I do best...work. I block out the world around me and zone in. Gunner’s still not back when I decide I can’t stay awake a moment later. I head into the bathroom and take a shower and then change into my silk shorts and tank top set. Thankfully, it’s this one and not one of my nighties I packed. It doesn’t take me long to get ready for bed. Before I leave the bathroom, I listen for Gunner. When I’m pretty certain he’s not in the room, I open the bathroom door and make a beeline for the bed. I throw the covers over me and then still my racing heart. I make sure I’m as far to the side of the bed as I can possibly be. And then I close my eyes and try to sleep and wonder how in the world I landed myself in the spot where I now have to share a bed with the man I’ve been avoiding for four years.

I wake up and know instantly I’m going to be sick. I don’t even glance at the clock as I stand up and make my way on shaky legs to the bathroom. I close the door and manage to throw on the light switch before I hit my knees beside the toilet. My stomach cramps hard, and I spend the next few minutes alternating between going to the bathroom and throwing up...and regretting all my life’s choices. And then the door opens, and I think I might die. Thankfully, I’m currently hovering over the toilet and not sitting on it. The cramping hasn’t completely eased, and I rock back and forth with my hands on my stomach.

He doesn’t say a word, but I feel him pull my hair out of the way and put a cool cloth on my neck. I can’t even lift my head or manage a thank you, because I’m so sick. I want to tell him to leave, but I can’t get the words out. “You don’t need to be here; you need to sleep,” I manage to finally get out at some point. He doesn’t say anything, and I keep my head down on my arms.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Can I help you back to bed?” I really want to, but I’m afraid I might get sick again. But I know I don’t want to stay on the bathroom floor all night. Sometimes, the cramping will ease if I can just lay down and rest.

“Yes,” I manage to whisper. I push my head up from the toilet and try to push off the toilet. Strong arms come around me and help me stand.

“Want me to carry you?” he asks.

“No.” I would forever be mortified. He keeps a steady hand on my elbow and helps me back to bed. As soon as I lay down, I curl into a ball and close my eyes and will my stomach to relax. I hear Gunner moving around, and then the lights go out.

“Wake me up if you get sick again.”

“Okay,” I say softly.

I feel the bed shift, and then it goes still. I’m too sick to dwell on the fact that he’s in bed now with me. Instead, I try to think of the most pleasant thoughts I can think of and just completely let my stomach relax. When it still doesn’t calm down after a little while, I push back the covers and try to find my purse in the dark. The light comes on, and I blink; but it helps me find my purse. “Thank you. Sorry.” I dig out my bottle of ibuprofen and use the water bottle on my nightstand to throw them back. I crawl back into bed a moment later, and he turns the light out again. It takes at least thirty minutes before my stomach starts to relax and then I’m finally able to sleep.

I wake to the sound of my alarm blaring. I quickly grab my phone and shut it off. I roll onto my back and fling my arm over my eyes and still when I hear a grunt. It all comes rushing back.I’m in a bed. With Gunner...and I threw up during the night, and I’m pretty sure I just hit him with my arm. “Sorry,” I whisper. I don’t look at him; I can’t. I try to think through my choices.

“Are you feeling better?” His voice is so low, it practically rumbles the bed.

Don’t think about his sexy, morning voice. Be professional. “Yes.”

“Good.”

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