“I’m okay, Wes, just tired.” Her voice is barely a whisper as she tries to downplay how sick she is, but it’s not going to work on me.
“Grey, you’re more than just tired. How long have you been feeling like this?”
My eyes move over every inch of her, looking for any sign that she might pass out again. I’d bet my Jeep that’s sitting in storage back home that she’s dehydrated too. She starts to sit up but seems to think better of it.
“A couple days, I think. I’ve felt off this whole trip, but it didn’t really hit until today’s flight. I was too busy to really take note of how bad I felt.” She squints and shields her eyes, like the light in her room is too bright. I extricate my hand so I can go pull the shades closed, wanting to dampen the late afternoon light streaming in.
“I’m going to get you some water. Where do you keep your medicine?”
When she doesn’t answer right away, I whip around to make sure she’s still lucid. The fist in my chest relaxes slightly when our eyes lock.
“I don’t get sick. I don’t have anything here.” The helplessness in her voice cracks my heart.
“Okay, sweetheart. I have some. If I leave for a few minutes, will you be alright?”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“Yes, I’ll be fine.” She pushes herself up to sit and when I move to help her, she holds out a hand. “No, really, I’m okay. I just need to get out of my uniform.”
My worry about her passing out again wars with the realization that she needs privacy. It’s not like I can help her change—that’s definitely not my job—but I don’t want to leave her alone either.
“Let me help you. I mean, not to change, but I can help you move around,” I say, injecting more bravado into my voice than I feel at the moment.
“I’m not an invalid, Wes,” she snarks back at me. Snark is good, right? You can’t be snarky if you’re in bad shape. She must see something on my face or sense how on edge this has me, which makes her take pity on me. “But as I see your masculine, caveman side is coming out, I’ll humor you.”
Now she’s making jokes. The vise around my heart releases a little more. She’s okay. She’s going to be okay.
“Can you grab a pair of joggers and a T-shirt from that second drawer for me?” She inclines her head toward the dresser on the opposite wall from her.
“You’re going to let me rifle through your drawers?” I raise an eyebrow at her as I follow her instructions. Pulling the drawer in question open, I see neatly stacked clothes—all leisurewear or pajamas in various shades.
“Just that one,” she says with a laugh, but it’s weak and turns into a cough that racks her body. I grab the first things I can get my hands on and rush back to the bed. Laying them next to her, I put my hand on her forehead.
“Okay, let me help you to the bathroom, and then I’ll run next door to grab what you need, yeah?” I say as I reach my hands out. She takes both in hers, and I barely notice the jolt of energy when we touch because I’m solely focused on how warm she is. She drops one hand to grab her clothes, and I take the opportunity to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer. I haven’t been this close to her since that first day on the plane, pressed to her body, feeling her breath tangle with mine.
We’ve made a distinct effort to draw some boundaries since then. It’s obvious that in order for us to maintain what has so far been an easy friendship, we need to keep our distance. Now as she melts into my side, the things I’m feeling are as far from friendly as it gets.
This is not the time for that.
The tile is cold on my feet when we reach the bathroom, and I can only imagine how much colder it must be for Joss.
“Do you have slippers or something?”
She looks up at me and peels away from my side. The loss of her touch is like a punch to the gut. She leans back against the counter, her small hands resting on the lip behind her.
“In the closet. Youcan…”
I’m already moving to grab them before the sentence is out of her mouth. I’m back in a flash, a pair of teal fuzzy slippers in my hands. They make me want to laugh, they’re so ridiculous. She smiles when she sees them.
“Thanks,” she says, then lets her eyes flutter closed as I make quick work of helping her into them. When I fit the first slipper around her foot, she chuckles, and I draw my gaze up from where I’m positioned, wanting to absorb that sound. “You’re like prince charming, except my slippers are made of fur instead of glass.”
She’s right, the only glassy thing here is her eyes. They’re glazed with exhaustion, even under her attempts at levity.
“You okay? You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”
My stomach clenches at the memory of her sliding down the wall. I stand and swipe the back of my hand across her forehead, then graze it down her cheek where she catches it with her own.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
