Page 63 of Bagging the Blueliner
Bad Decision:I don’t need you to take care of me.
I’m very aware. I want to. Please?
Bad Decision:You’re a giant pain in my ass. You know that?
Do you know how hard it is to pass on the anal joke you just set up? But because you’re sick, I’ll let it slide. Oh damn, I set myself up there.
Bad Decision:Ugh. Boys.
The code, Hannah.
Bad Decision:Fine. It’s 0523.
Typing in the four-digit passcode to open her front door, I decided to spare her the lecture on how using her birthday was a serious security risk. When she was better, we could talk about it. Right now, my main focus was ensuring she was okay and doing what I could to make her more comfortable.
Entering her apartment, I was shocked by how small it was. Hannah had grown up spoiled, everything handed to her, but here she was, living in a tiny apartment downtown instead of staying in the mansion her parents owned in the suburbs. I could respect that she wanted to be independent enough to sacrifice the life of luxury she’d always known.
“Hannah?” I called out gently.
“In the bedroom,” she croaked out in reply.
As if her raspy voice wasn’t enough, a chest-rattling cough bounced off the walls of the small space.
This place was barely bigger than an efficiency. The only thing keeping it from being labeled as such was the wall between the living space and the single bedroom. Dropping the takeout bag on her kitchen counter, I riffled through her cabinets until I found a bowl. Checking drawers until I located a spoon, I carried my offering to her bedroom door, knocking softly.
Hannah gave a stuffy sigh. “I don’t think you should come any further. I’m really sick, Cal. You don’t want this.”
Fuck getting sick. Her admission of how bad she felt, combined with how she sounded, and I knew I couldn’t leave her alone.
“I told you. I’m willing to take the risk. I’m coming in.” I gave her sufficient warning before turning the doorknob to her bedroom.
The first thing I noticed was that the room was too warm. Then, I saw Hannah, and my heart dropped. She was propped up slightly on pillows buried under a mountain of covers. Dark hair was plastered to her sweaty face featuring pink cheeks, her eyes glassy.
“Oh, baby,” I breathed out.
Managing a weak smile, she said, “Told you.”
“Would it make you feel better if I admitted you were right?”
“I require it in writing. That shit needs to be framed.”
“See, you can’t be that bad off. You still have some spunk,” I teased, even with the tightness in my chest.
“I’d have to be dead to lose that.”
“How about you try to eat some of this soup, and then I move you upstairs.”
Hannah shook her head slowly. “My body hurts. I don’t want to move.”
Frowning, I silently debated taking charge and taking her to my place anyway, but she didn’t need to waste her limited energy fighting with me.
“Okay. But the soup is non-negotiable.”
Rounding the bottom of her bed, I sat on the edge, noting she was wearing one of my T-shirts. Placing the bowl of soup on her nightstand, I touched her clammy skin. I couldn’t stop my sharp intake of breath. “Shit. You’re burning up. Did you take anything?”
“Nuh-uh. Tried to get up once but got lightheaded.”
Stubborn girl couldn’t take care of herself but resisted help. She was her own worst enemy.
