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He took the glass from her when it was empty again and filled it, but didn’t hand it back. “I’ll carry it for you.” He grabbed the pills as well.
He’d already determined she would go back and rest. It wasn’t as irritating as she’d thought it would be. She was shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. The first step toward the hall had her vision dimming at the edges. Her body had had enough.
His arm was suddenly under her hand, and she gripped on tight enough not to fall. She had no idea what he’d done with the water or pills; her focus had narrowed onto the soft, dark hair along his muscled arm as she tried to breathe. “Help me?” she asked.
Malcolm hesitated. “Can I lift you, Jami?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, figuring it was better than collapsing at his feet.
His arms slid around her and she was up. Having a man like Malcolm’s hands on her brought to mind the fact that she still wasn’t wearing any pants. The cast covered most of one leg, but his hand warmed the skin of the other where he gripped her thigh. She turned her head to hide her burning cheeks against his chest. His scent wove around her. Maybe it was cloves.
“Here you are,” Malcolm said, lowering her to the bed without lingering. “I’ll go back for the glass.” And he left just like that. As if he’d been carrying nothing more than a sack of rice.
Jami glanced down at her hands, surprised by how pronounced the veins looked beneath the skin. When had she become not much more than skin and bones? A bag of rice might weigh more than her. That was a bit of an exaggeration, but the doctor had mentioned she was too skinny for her own good. Jami had been too out of it to focus on the truth of the doctor’s words.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand beside her. Jami reached for it, seeing the missed notification from Malcolm’s text and the name of the caller she’d been expecting. She answered, holding the phone up to her ear. “Andrew.”
“Where are you, Jami? I’m here at the hospital worried sick.” His voice shook. “You weren’t well enough to leave yet, my sweet. You must know that.”
“I just need rest. I can do that here.” Jami stroked her thin fingers over the soft comforter trapped beneath her legs.
“Where is here? Jami, everything you had is gone. You can’t go home.” His voice softened in her ear. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you. I can take care of you. Finally, you can let yourself be treated the way you always deserved.”
“I took care of my sister and my father after the accident. I can take care of myself, Andrew.” Jami looked up as Malcolm reentered to drop off her glass of water and pills. He glanced at the phone and left again.
“I know how strong you are, Jami. Is it so selfish of me to want to take care of you anyway?” His words had become a strong whisper in her ear.
“It’s the opposite of selfish.” Jami bit her lip, remembering all he’d done for her over the years. Andrew was the reason she hadn’t fallen apart when her sister took off for parts unknown. He was the reason she’d been able to go to the group counseling sessions. Andrew hadn’t cared for her father himself, but he’d provided a temporary nurse to help on those days. Jami had been worried about the cost. Andrew never added up the money he spent to help her. That was all something she did. “I couldn’t stay in the hospital, that’s all.”
“Understandable. But would my place be so uncomfortable for you?” His tone held that husky quality she’d begun to dread. “You’ve always seemed to like it when you stayed with me.”
She’d never liked the sprawling house, if she were honest with herself. He’d always surprised her by sending a car for her and a nurse for her father. Then he’d lavished her with food and wine and attention. So much so that when he had touched her, she felt unable to turn him down and hated herself for it. Prostitutes got paid more, but Jami doubted men whispered how loved they were, how perfect, while they sank inside them.
“Taking care of you is much more for me than you, I admit. Will you indulge me?” he asked.
The habit of letting him have his way pulled at her. “I—”
A loud thump interrupted what she would have said, sounding almost like it came from above her. Jami’s gaze followed the noise as whatever had fallen was dragged across what must have been the attic floor. The pulled-down ladder in the hallway confirmed her thought.
“Jami?” Andrew asked, in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t the first time. “Are you all right?”
Malcolm’s foot looked huge on the ladder’s rungs as he descended from the attic. She refocused on the phone call.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. I need to do this on my own.”
He surprised her by letting out a small chuckle. “If I could see you right now, I imagine you’d have that stubborn tilt to your chin.” The words reminded her of how well he knew her. “Will you at least tell me where you are? I can have some things sent over.”
Malcolm lowered a large box labeled ‘Celia’s clothes’ just within the bedroom doorway. “To help cover those chicken legs of yours,” he said, but his gaze didn’t stray from her face when he winked before leaving the room again.
“Was that a man’s voice, Jami?” Andrew asked in her ear.
Jami glanced down at her skinny legs. They did look a bit like a chicken’s, she decided.
“My sweet Jami, unable to respond?” His tone was that playful one that held a hint of a warning. She’d misread that voice more than once, and it usually led her down a route of apologies and self-loathing.
“He’s a friend’s cousin. He stopped by to help with a few things, that’s all.” Jami frowned down the hallway, hearing more sounds from the kitchen next.
“That you truly believe that is telling,” Andrew said. “It hurts me how trusting you can still be with strangers.”
