Page 57 of Family Bonds: Alana & Brennan
Mental inventory of his body said the fever was gone. In the middle of the night he remembered waking up covered in sweat and ditching it all off of him.
He sat up in bed, his ab muscles screaming at him to lie the fuck back down. It was like the longest, hardest, workout of his life. All from bending over the John while exorcizing the beast in his belly.
He moaned when he stood up, tested his balance and assessed it was pretty decent. The worst must have passed.Since he didn’t remember puking up anything blue, the empty Gatorade bottle told him he kept that all down.
Definitely a plus. Now if he pissed blue, there’d be a serious problem.
After he went to the bathroom, and thankfully it was the color it should be, he turned the shower on, then picked up his toothbrush. Just the taste in his mouth alone was enough to make him want to vomit again.
If the past thirty-six hours had been the worst of his life, the five seconds under the hot spray might be the best.
He moaned again, this time in bliss as the water washed away his sore muscles and sweat.
He dunked his head, washed his hair, rinsed, and lathered up his body with soap.
Ten minutes of standing under the hot spray revived him enough to feel almost human when he finally shut the water off.
Since he hadn’t brought a change of clothes in with him, he wrapped the towel around him to return to his room, his hair standing up in all directions from being towel dried.
The minute he walked out of the bathroom door he came face to face with Alana.
His jaw dropped, stunned by the unexpected turn of events.
Both of them had their mouths open. Him from mortification, hers looked to be appreciation as her eyes moved over his mostly naked body. A tiny towel he was holding together with one hand didn’t count in his mind.
If he weren’t feeling so weak, he might be tempted to seize her and take her to his room.
Yeah, no. It probably stunk just as much as he had when the water hit him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
His mind was racing with facts. She’d shown up with a care package. He’d told her to leave, but she said she wanted to make sure he was all right.
In the middle of the night, she’d come in and checked his temperature again with his daughter’s thermometer. He remembered the beep, opening his eyes and then closing them again.
She’d shaken him awake to drink more and take two more Motrin. That was the last thing he remembered in terms of her.
Jesus, did she check on him while he lay spread out on the bed in only his sweats trying to cool off?
“I heard you moving around and came up to see if you were okay,” she said.
“I get that, I meant still here. I thought you would have left?” He looked into his room and noticed it was dark outside the window. “What time is it?”
“Its four a.m.,” she said. “I planned on leaving this morning.”
His fingers tightened on the towel, her eyes moving from his chest back to his face. His cheeks were itching, he had to shave on top of it, but all he cared about was getting clean.
“I’m going to put some clothes on.”
She nodded. “Do you want to eat?”
“I’ll see how I feel when I get downstairs. The fever is gone at least.”
When she turned and went downstairs, he retreated to his room and closed the door.
He opened a drawer for underwear and a pair of jeans. He’d rather put sweats back on but already embarrassed himself enough in front of her.
Once he had put on his pants, he grabbed a cotton shirt and pulled it over his head, running his hands through his hair to put it back in place.
