It’s nearing twenty after and he still isn’t outside. Anger and embarrassment trickle through me at the reality that he stood me up. I should go knock on his door and wake him up, but I really don’t want to face him. Perhaps it’s just better to leave things the way they are and continue ignoring one another.
When I arrive home from my run, I shower and dress quickly and then begin wandering through the house searching for something to organize or clean—something to fix. Unfortunately for me, my mother is the biggest clean freak in existence; even our spice cupboard is alphabetized and organized based on sweet and savory spices for cooking. My parents are still on vacation celebrating their anniversary, and Kendall left for Vegas yesterday so the house is empty. I contemplate calling one of my sisters, but I really don’t want to discuss my relationship status, and that seems to be the only thing they want to discuss lately.
I begin scrubbing the kitchen table and chairs, spending extra attention on the ladder backs only to realize my efforts seem fairly futile tainting the gratification I’m seeking.
The doorbell echoes and I drop my lemon-scented rag and pray it’s someone to distract me, and not Max.
Disappointment floods me when I open the door to find Landon. “Hey, Ace. Sorry to bother you. Is Max over here?”
“No, I haven’t seen him.”
“Weird. I talked to him last night and he said he was going running with you this morning so he’d be up early for me to come by and get the keys to the house in San Diego.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t go with me this morning.”
“Huh?” Landon scratches his head as he turns to look back at the Millers’. “I’ve been trying to call him and ringing the damn doorbell for like ten minutes.” My heart rate begins to noticeably increase. Could he be hurt?
I follow Landon next door, leading him into the backyard, recalling Max mentioning a window back here with a broken latch that he could fit through. Luck’s on my side when I shift a window and it slides open.
“Start calling you MacGyver,” Landon teases, climbing in after me.
“Ah, keys!” He grabs one of three single keys sitting on the entry way table. “He’s probably just passed out. He said he was really tired yesterday. Give him hell for me,” Landon says, pocketing the key. “I’ve got to run, the furniture guys are going to be there before me.” He crashes his chest into my face in a chaste hug and then retreats out the front door as I debate checking on Max.
I deliberate for a good five minutes before deciding to go upstairs. Once I’m outside of Max’s closed bedroom door it takes me another few minutes to regain my resolve.
I softly knock on his door. Silence greets me and I feel the panic begin to rise in my chest, a result of the few horror movies I’ve endured, I’m sure.
I slowly push down on the lever, praying I don’t see anything that will make me want to bleach my retinas. I push the door open just wide enough to peek in, and a wave of Max’s scent greets me before I see him in a tangled heap on his bed. Thankfully alone.
Slowly, I take a few steps closer and notice that he’s covered in a sheen of sweat. Reaching the side of his bed, I gently place my hand to his forehead and feel the heat of his fever.
I spend most of the day reading as Max sleeps and occasionally incoherently mumbles. I wake him up twice to take something for his fever.
“What time is it?” I look up to see Max looking pale and pained as he squints, trying to focus on me as I stand from the beanbag chair.
“Nearly eight. How are you feeling?” Although I’ve been here all day, I suddenly feel like I’m intruding as I rest my e-reader on the chair.
Max turns to look out the window, and I realize he’s not clear if it’s morning or evening. “Shit, Ace, I’m sorry,” Max groans, lifting a hand to run it over his face. “You should go. I threw up like four times last night. Didn’t you get my text?”
I’d looked at my phone more times than I care to admit this morning checking for any missed calls or texts. It’s pretty obvious why I never received them.
My mind wants nothing more than to retreat at the mention of puke; there are few things I hate more, but my traitorous body only steps closer to him.“It’s time for you to take these again,” I say, opening the pill bottle I’d left on his night stand and shake a couple of pills into my palm. I hold them out with the glass of ginger ale. Max looks at me a brief moment before accepting them.
“Again? How long have you been here? How’d you get in?”
“A while,” I admit vaguely. “Landon came by looking for you, and I remembered you telling me about the sunroom. I figured you wouldn’t be on the other side with a shotgun.” I grin and Max gifts me with a low, throaty laugh.
“Really though, you should go. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“Max, your mom’s out of town all week. Landon’s staying in San Diego, and Jameson is being an ass up in Washington. I’m not leaving. I’m going to go get you something to eat. Here’s the remote and your phone. I’ll be right back.”
He slowly moves to sit up. “You know, you’re kind of bossy when you want to be.”
“I’m one of five girls, what did you honestly expect?”
I return to find Max looking half asleep, watching a baseball game. “I’m sure nothing sounds very good right now, but you should eat a little.”
His eyes widen as he looks from the tray I set in front of him. “You made me soup?”
“Actually I heated soup up for you.” I wink at him and take a seat at the foot of the bed. “Even a few crackers would be better than nothing.”
“I really am worried you’re going to catch this. You wash your hands and disinfect everything so much your immune system will be under siege.”
“You should try it. Maybe you wouldn’t be so sick.” Max gives me half of a grin and reaches for the toast, dunking it in the soup and chewing it slowly. He only makes it through half of the piece before he stops, and I remove the tray as he slumps down half asleep.
I get myself situated back in the beanbag chair and immerse myself into the story.
“I want you to stalk me, Ace,” Max whispers.
My eyes flash to his which remain closed. I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate, desperate for him to continue. Is he asking me to love him? My head drowns in possibilities and thoughts, and before I can think of how to prompt him, he’s softly snoring.
It takes Max three days of sleeping, throwing up, and feeling miserable to start feeling better, but when I wake up on Tuesday morning he’s already awake, quietly lying beside me. He’d asked me to lie with him to watch the movie I’d put in last night saying my body heat felt good since he was still experiencing mild chills. He’d fallen asleep nearly instantly, and went full-fledged Kendall on me—wrapping a leg over one of mine and hooking his foot around my calf. I’d tried to move, but it kept stirring him so I thought I would just sit there and read a bit and move once he rolled away. Apparently I fell asleep too.
“Hey,” I whisper. “You look more like you this morning. How are you feeling?” I feign casual, like waking up in his bed is nothing to freak out about.
Max’s lips are a little dry, and his skin looks a little sallow from being sick, but he’s still unbelievably attractive. I watch as his mouth turns up in a small grin and feel my breathing stop again. “I feel a lot better this morning.” Max’s stomach growls, making me smile in relief as I sit up. “I’m going to get something to eat. What can I get you?”
“Why don’t you sit up and I’ll get you something to eat. Then we’ll see how you’re feeling.”