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I got out of bed and headed toward the door, stopping to listen when the noise came again. Hazel. She was sick.
Running through the house, I flipped on the lights as I went, heading for the small bathroom. And that’s where I found her, slumped on the tile, sweaty and pale.
I dropped to my knees beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Get out of here, Remy.” She swatted at me. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“I’m—” She gagged before turning toward the toilet and vomiting.
Worried, I pulled her hair away from her face and rubbed her back.
“Get out!” she yelled, still heaving.
“No,” I gritted out. “I’m here and I’m not leaving.”
I hopped to my feet and pulled a washcloth from the drawer. I wet it and went for her face with it, but she snatched it from my hand.
“Please leave,” she pleaded, wiping her face with the cool cloth. “I’ve got to clean this up.”
“No way.”
I squatted and slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back, just like when I’d carried her into the cabin. She was so tiny in my arms, the weight of her barely slowing me as I strode to the living room. Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized she was wearing only a T-shirt. Her bare legs were slung across my arm.
I laid her on the couch and grabbed a blanket, desperate to help. Witnessing how sick and helpless she was in that moment flipped some kind of protective switch in my brain.
“What do you need?”
She slumped back against the cushions. “Nothing. Just give me a minute.”
I tugged the cool washcloth from her hand and draped it across her clammy forehead. “Okay. I’m going to clean up the bathroom, and then I’ll be back. Don’t get up. Holler if you need me.”
After dealing with the bathroom, I returned to find Hazel curled up on the couch, sipping water from a glass.
“I told you not to get up,” I scolded, my fists planted on my hips.
Into her glass, she murmured, “I’m not good at taking orders.”
“You don’t say. What can I get you? What do we do now?”
“We don’t do anything. I’ll make some peppermint tea and take my supplements and try to get back to sleep.”
I huffed a sardonic laugh. Why couldn’t she just let me take care of her? “I’ll make tea.”
“I got it.” She stood, draping the blanket back over the couch. “It’s passed. I’m fine.”
I followed her into the kitchen, keeping my line of sight above her shoulders. Taking the kettle out of her hand, I gently nudged her aside. “You are clearly not fine.”
“Are you always this domineering?” she asked, giving me some serious side-eye.
I stepped back and held my hands out in front of me, not wanting to upset her any more. She was clearly embarrassed. “Just trying to help.” I took a seat on one of the stools at the island, taking a moment to fully process that my wife was standing in the kitchen wearing only a T-shirt.
It was gray and faded, and I couldn’t comprehend the words written on it. I think they were English, but I couldn’t tell when her bare legs wereright there.
The shirt hit halfway down her thighs, and my brain was in overdrive, wondering whether she had panties on.
I dropped my chin and studied the countertop as she turned to put the kettle on the stove, depriving myself of seeing the hem inch up as she reached into the cabinet for a mug. I had to be strong. I couldn’t be ogling my wife in the middle of the night like this.
