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“I appreciate the sentiment, Leland. But you haven’t had the privilege of seeing me fall apart. I hope you never have to see what I’m truly capable of.” I dove into a black hole when Cole’s mother died. A hole I hadn’t had to slink back into in some time. One I never wanted to live in again.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked drowsily.
“You should be resting, not trying to solve puzzles—” My words died on my lips when he swooped in to plant a warm kiss on my forehead.
Leland snuggled back into the sofa cushions as if what he’d done was no big deal. He must have been sicker than we initially thought. “Better?” he asked around a yawn.
“Not even close,” I breathed.
“Speaking about influence, I think I’ve been under Noon’s for too long. He thinks a forehead kiss can cure anything.”
“So hand holding and forehead kisses,” I said with a lightness I didn’t feel.
“Hey, you like holding my hand.” Leland scooted lower and turned onto his side, resting his head on the sofa’s arm. He looked young and innocent, and I had to remind myself that he was only twenty-five, and I had to warn myself not to hurt him too.
“Sleep,” I said, standing.
Leland hummed. “It’s still early. I’ll take a quick nap while you change.” He was snoring before I hit the top of the landing.
I took my time, knowing once I returned, Leland would wake up and pretend to be well enough to converse all night like we’d been doing lately. I showered, dressed in sweats and a tank, then perched at the end of my bed pondering what my next life choice would be, and who it would ruin.
It was well into the evening when I crept downstairs, the light of the fire guiding my way through the dark. As predicted, Leland stirred the moment I entered the room. He had a skill for feeling my approach, as if he were that in tune with me. To be fair, I could feel him advancing from a mile away too.
“How do you feel?” I asked, circling the couch and retaking my seat.
“Like a million bucks,” he said, the heavy bass of his voice deeper upon awakening.
“Liar,” I said, helping him untangle himself from the blanket so he could swing his feet to the floor. “Hungry?”
“No,” he said. His lips were red and puffy from either sleep or fever, and his hair needed to be brushed. He’d slipped out of his shirt at some point because it now lay damp with sweat on the floor, and he still seemed exhausted.
“Go back to sleep, Leland.”
“But—”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll sit right here until you wake up again. I’ll sit here all night if I have to.”
He flushed, looking adorable as he did so.
“I enjoy your company too,” I said. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Now sleep. That’s an order.”
“I kind of like it when you order me around.”
“I guess in sickness and in health applies to flirting too,” I said, and he chuckled as he hunkered down at the other end of the couch, stretching his long legs over mine.
“Now you’re trapped. I’ll know if you move.”
“I’m sure you’d know either way.” I kicked my feet up on the coffee table, preparing to shut my eyes for a beat as well, and between the light pattering of the rain, and the soothing sound of wood splintering in the fireplace, it didn’t take long for me to go under.
The howling of the wind jarred me from sleep sometime later. Rain pummeled the glass, as if begging to be let in, and the fire had burned down to pulsing embers, leaving the room stuck in limbo between light and dark.
I breathed deeply, stretching my neck from side to side before noticing Leland’s head on my thighs. He slept on his back with one foot on the floor and a hand jammed down the front of his cotton joggers. It scared me how much I wanted to be his hand.
Beads of sweat decorated his upper lip, and his bare stomach rose and lowered with his even breaths. I hadn’t known he was a wild sleeper, or perhaps the restlessness was a side effect of being sick.
I needed to move, to get the blood flowing in my numb limbs again, but I didn’t want to wake him. I also needed to check the time, because he probably needed another dose of medicine if the heat working its way through my sweats was any indication.
A bad idea brought a tremor to my hands, and I fisted them, pressing them into the sofa cushions.
