Page 58 of Goodbye Again
I make a quick sound of affection and sink lower on the crisp, white pillow. “That sounds delicious.” Then I realize something. “How did you get in?”
“You left the door unlocked.”
“Oh.” I grimace. “Good thing you aren’t a killer.”
“I paced for a solid ten minutes before I went up, hoping you didn’t have a man up there.” There’s a facetious tilt in his smile, and I scrunch my nose.
“I haven’t had time for that,” I admit, though it seems to cloud the clarity I was hoping for.
He smiles and nods, leaning back in the chair, his elbows propped on the armrests and his hands rest on his thighs while he nervously taps his thumb. I don’t know if hospitals make him nervous or if it’s me and the horrid condition I’m in.
“You can go home, JP. Get some sleep.” I offer a smile, hoping it masks the emotion squeezing my throat. His kindness tonight was unexpected, yes, but I realize how sick I am and how quickly it got so bad that I was lying on the floor, waiting for death to take me.
His hand squeezes my leg. “I’m going to go take care of Kevin, and then I’ll go home and sleep.”
I sit up straight. “Oh my God! He’s probably miserable. I didn’t even take him out after this morning!” Panic roils through me. “He probably pooped in the hallway. That’s the only place he has accidents. But it’s been like twelve hours since I let him out, so he probably couldn’t help it, and the whole apartment is going to smell like shit—”
“It’s okay,” he cuts in. “I texted your dog sitter.”
“Kenna?” My mouth drops.
He smiles, running his hand over my leg. The soothing gesture feels both familiar and comfortable, but the way my heart is shaking terrifies me. I want him, but I can’t have him exactly how I want him, and it shoots a frustrating dagger through my chest. “She went over and walked him but said she couldn’t stay overnight.”
“Okay, um, I can call my friend, Lena, and—”
“No, it’s fine. I can do it. I already texted Claire and Lena and told them what happened,” he says.
“So you just blabbed my business all around then?” I accuse, but I’m joking, and he knows it.
“I stole their numbers and texted them,” he responds, and I cock an eyebrow. “I didn’t read your texts, but they’re clearly worried, and you should let them know you’re alive.”
My eyes become slits as I listen to him. “Okay, Sherlock Holmes, how did you even get on my phone?”
“I used your face.” He shrugs.
I realize how much my delirium rendered me mostly unconscious for the last few hours. I smile, shaking my head. I haven’t had anyone like this in my life. Even when I dated Steven for years. He was very hands off with his care. Sent flowers and texts, but never sat with me when I was sick. I excused it as giving me space to rest and heal, but this—with JP sitting on the hospital chair with sleepy eyes and rumpled t-shirt—feels closer to love.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Your purse is there—I grabbed it on the way out—and your phone is plugged in here.” He gestures to the bedside table, and my mind spins as I realize all the steps he completed to take care of me—most of which I have no recollection of. I only remember being lifted off the floor and carried to his car. He smiles and leans over me to kiss my forehead. “I’m going to go get Kevin and take him to my place. Is that okay?”
My throat swells, and tears prickle behind my eyes. I blame my emotions on feeling like complete crap. I nod, unable to speak.
JP brushes his thumb under my eye, taking my tear into his hands. “Don’t cry, Jules. You’re already dehydrated.”
I snort out a laugh, and he offers me a shy smile, putting his dimples on full display.
“You’re going to feel better in no time.”
“Not dying yet,” I add, laughter still hanging onto my words.
“I mean, I almost pulled the plug, but...” he says, and again I laugh.
He freezes, smiling and taking me in for a moment before standing and kissing my forehead again. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
After he leaves, the nurse returns to check on me and take my blood pressure. “It’s climbing. That’s good,” she says, smiling.
“I’m definitely feeling less weak,” I add, as she types something into my chart.
