Page 28 of Unexpected Company
I climb beneath the blanket, every part of me aching. From my throat to my head, to every inch of skin on my body. Even my teeth hurt.
Garrett hands me two paracetamol, which I swallow with water and a wince as they go down. “You sleep, and I’ll make something for lunch.” He makes to leave and I whimper, reaching a hand towards him.
“Gare,” I call out. He pauses at the entry to the room, one hand coming to rest on the door frame while the other fiddles with the hem of his chunky knit cardigan.
“Short stack?”
I swallow, thickly.
“Can you hold me?”
God, the whine in my voice should be embarrassing, but my body feels like it’s breaking at the seams and right now I couldn’t give a shit how I sound.
Garrett steps closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he sits next to me. He cards a hand through my sweaty, rain damp hair and I scoot over, making room for him. Lying down, he slides an arm beneath my shoulder, pulling me closer, both our heads on the same pillow.
“Thank you,” I rasp.
“Anytime.”
My eyes flutter closed, and Garrett’s lips brush my forehead. I wrap an arm around his middle and try to sleep. But sleep won’t come. It’s right there, but I’m still trembling. Hot and cold. Shivering and sweating.
Fuck, being ill sucks.
“Closer,” I mumble, pulling on Garrett’s cardigan.
“Sweet thing, any closer, and I’ll be on top of you.”
Hmmm, that soundswonderful.
“Yes, that,” I say. “Lie on top of me.”
He laughs under his breath.
“I’ll squash you.”
I rub my cheek against his coarse beard.
“Don’t care,” I mumble. “Closer, Gare Bear. Closer, please.”
Garrett lets out a breath. It sounds very much like the one Liam makes when he thinks I’m being ridiculous. And maybe I am being ridiculous. But Ineedthis. Need him.
He pulls me impossibly tighter, then flings a leg over my lower half, before manoeuvring himself so that one side large of his frame is blanketing me.
His weight is crushing.
It’s perfect.
Chapter twelve
Garrett
I’ve never felt as needed or wanted as I do right now, wrapped around Roman. Holding him while he shivers and whimpers, lost in fever ridden dreams. We’ve been in this same position for hours. I dozed for a while, but his constant noises had me on edge, waking up to check his breathing, and run a hand over his clammy forehead.
The sheets beneath us are damp, as is his shirt. My own is not faring well either – cuddling a furnace for hours has me coated in a sheen of sweat.
Slowly, I extract my numb arm from beneath him, opening and closing my hand to push away the tingling pins and needles, then lift my leg off his hip. He whimpers, rolls onto his side and reaches out a hand, searching for me like a life raft.
I take his sweaty palm in mine, place it on my cheek, and rest my forehead against his.
