Chapter Twenty-two

Scarlet

The bed frame creaks, and I startle awake. I sit up, goosebumps covering my arms, and blink in the dark.

“Wes?” I whisper, feeling the mattress shake beneath me. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in Weston’s bed. I’m on top of the covers and he’s underneath, and we’re on the opposite sides of this king bed.

The sheets rustle, and I see the outline of Weston’s large body moving. Red hot fear pulses over me, and my heart immediately starts racing. I reach for Wes, hand landing on his shoulder.

“Scarlet?” he croaks, throat dry. “What’s wrong?” He sits up too fast and winces. I squeeze my eyes shut, having a hard time blocking out the memory.

“I thought you were having a seizure.” A chill rips through me, causing me to tremble.

“Why would you think that?”

The words want to come out, and the fear I had before of him judging me, of being looked at differently—as unworthy—is gone. “When my sister was little, she got really sick with a bad fever.” I wrap my arms around myself, shivering harder. “Our mom was too drunk to care or take her to the doctor. Her fever got so high she started convulsing. It still scares me to this day.”

It’s hard to read Weston’s expression in the dark. He feebly sits up and puts his hand on my arm.

“You’re freezing.”

“And you’re still hot.”

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling back the blankets. My fingers shake as I move in, sticking my feet under the warm sheets. Wes wraps his arms around me, and his warmth goes right down to my very core. “That’s why you’re so worried.”

“Yeah,” I say in a small voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” My eyes flutter shut, and I put my hand on top of Weston’s, apprehensively bringing it around me. He wiggles in a little closer while keeping a careful distance at the same time. If I scoot back a mere inch or two, my ass will press against his cock. My body craves it, but now’s not the time. He’s sick and needs to rest.

“If I would have known you were scared like that, I would have gone to the ER.”

“Just to appease me?”

“Just to put your mind at ease.”

I close my eyes before I run the risk of having them get glossy. “Thank you,” I whisper so quietly I’m not sure he can hear me. “And be warned, if Jackson spikes a fever, I’ll be even more paranoid.”

“I will too,” Wes agrees, tightening his grip on me. “That’s one ER trip you won’t have to pressure me to take.”

“I should check your temperature again,” I say but don’t make a move to get up. “I don’t even know what time it is. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s three-thirty, and you need to sleep. There’s a good chance you’re already sick and it’s just a matter of time before the symptoms hit you.”

“I have a pretty strong immune system,” I tell him. “That’s one good thing that came out of having a drunk for a mother. She wasn’t a good housekeeper, and I think it helped me build up a strong immunity.”

“I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” Wes admits.

“You know what? I don’t either.” I open my eyes, looking around the dark room. I can’t see Wes, and even if I roll over and look him in the eyes, his expression will be hard to read. It doesn’t make sense, but there’s something safe about the dark. It hides the truth, and sometimes the truth hurts. “I say things like that with sarcasm and dark humor, but it’s not really funny, is it?”

“Sometimes you laugh so you don’t cry.”

“I think that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” he mumbles, lips brushing against the back of my neck as he talks. “At least not for tonight.”

I roll over in his arms and brush his wavy hair back out of his face. His cheeks are warm, and his forehead is even hotter. If it really is three-thirty, then he should sit up and drink some more cold water and take another dosage of Tylenol.

But his arms are locked around me and he’s drifted back to sleep. I bend my leg up, hooking my ankle over his calf, and run my fingers through his hair, lulling myself back to sleep.

*

“Daddy?”

My eyes wake up before my mind, and I can’t make sense of the small figure standing before me for a good three seconds. I’m still in Weston’s bed. His arm is still draped over me.

And Jackson is standing at the side, looking curiously at the both of us.

“Hey, buddy,” I whisper. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, and I’m so tired. I want to go back to sleep. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I had a bad dream.”

“Want me to tuck you back into bed?”

He shakes his head. “I want Daddy.”

“Daddy’s not feeling too well,” I softly explain.

“Is that why you’re in bed with him?”

It is one-hundred percent why I’m in bed with him, but I still cringe. “Yeah. I’ve been taking care of him.”

“Is Daddy okay?”

“He will be.”

Wes stirs behind me, and his hand slides along my side.

“Daddy?” Jackson asks, climbing onto the bed.

“Jackson,” Wes murmurs, eyes fluttering open. “Shit,” he says under his breath. Shit is right. We’re in bed together, though I don’t think Jackson is jumping to conclusions. He has no idea what being in bed together can imply.

“Can I watch videos on your phone?” Jackson asks.

“Yeah, this morning you can.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

Wes feels around his nightstand for his phone, unlocks it, and gives it to Jackson, who takes it back into his room.

“Don’t judge me.”

“That’s the last thing I’ll do,” I tell Wes. “You’re sick. A little screen time isn’t going to hurt anything.” I sit up. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Wes blinks a few times, face tight. I can tell he doesn’t feel well.  I reach over and grab the thermometer to take his temp again.

“Still high.”

“How high?”

“Hundred and two point eight.”

“Dammit,” he mumbles.

“I should probably take you to the doctor now.” I grab the glass of water and hand it to him. He takes a drink and shakes his head.

“It’s not open yet. Doctor, not ER, remember.”

“Oh, right. Lay back down then.”

“You too.” He sets the water down and snakes his arm around me, pulling me back to him. We lay back down, and I rub his back until I fall asleep, not waking for another hour. I slip out of bed and into my room to change out of my PJs and into black leggings and an oversized gray sweater. Jackson fell back asleep, and I carefully take Wes’s phone from his hands, turning it off as I walk back into Weston’s room.

I gather up the damp rag and the water glass, take them downstairs, and then go back into my room to run a brush through my hair and brush my teeth. Going back into Wes’s room, I slip under the covers with him, heart going a million miles an hour.

I’m worried about Wes. Whatever virus he has is hanging on strong with no signs of leaving. But I’m also feeling more for him than I have before. Realizing how scared I am of something bad happening to him, of him being really sick, makes it pretty much impossible to deny that I more than like him.

He’s making me believe in love, and I think I’m falling for him.

*

“Thanks for coming over,” I tell Owen, shutting the door behind him.

“No problem,” Owen says, looking concerned. “Wes must be really sick to willingly go into the doctor.”

“He’s had a high fever for three days now.”

“Oh, shit.” Owen unzips his coat and steps out of his shoes. Jackson is finishing his breakfast and gets so excited when he sees his uncle he almost spills his milk.

“Hey, Jackson!” Owen calls. “Ready to have some fun?”

“Yeah!”

“I’m going to teach you all about cars and picking up women.” Owen’s face tightens when he sees Wes sitting at the table, hunched forward with his head in his hands.

“Thanks for getting up and coming over,” Wes mumbles.

Owen pulls out the chair next to him and sits, looking at his oldest brother with worry. “Of course. And you look terrible.”

“I still look better than you.”

Owen laughs. “You wish. Take care of yourself, bro. And I get to have some fun with my favorite nephew. We don’t spend enough one-on-one time together, do we, buddy? What do you want to do first?”

“Brush teeth after breakfast,” I suggest, and Owen nods. I grab the keys to the Jeep and put on my coat and shoes. Wes moves slowly on his way to the car, and I keep looking over to check on him as we go to the clinic.

Wes rests his head on my shoulder as we wait, and when the nurse calls his name, I look at Weston.

“Do you want me to stay out here?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he says. I don’t think much of anything matters to him right now. He’s pretty damn sick. I loop my arm through his and walk with him into the examination room.

Not surprisingly, he’s dehydrated, and the doctor wants to send him to the hospital for a bag of IV fluids and monitoring until his fever goes down. Wes doesn’t even argue, which lets me know just how shitty he’s feeling at this point.

“How far is the hospital?” I ask, unlocking the Jeep as we walk through the parking lot.

“About twenty minutes,” he tells me, moving slow.

“Can you tell me how to get there or should I program it into the GPS?”

Wes gives me a look. “I’m sick, but I still know how to get to the hospital.”

“Just making sure,” I say with a smile and try to rush forward and open the car door for him, but he beats me to it. “Are you going to call Owen?”

“I’ll text him. Hopefully this shit doesn’t take long,” he grumbles. “I’d be fine if I went home, you know.”

I start the Jeep and shake my head. “Why must you perpetuate the stereotype and be so difficult? Though you’re not complaining nearly as much as the average man.”

“Being sick is too time-consuming.”

“I totally agree. It’s a huge inconvenience. But taking care of yourself—like going to the hospital—will speed up your recovery. Who knows? Maybe by tomorrow, you’ll feel a lot better because you got treatment. And if you didn’t…”

“I would have suffered miserably for weeks.”

“There’s that overdramatic attitude I was looking for.” I take my eyes off the road to look over and see the small smile on his face. He’s quiet the rest of the way to the hospital, and we end up waiting over half an hour before we’re taken back into a room in the ER. Things drag again after that, and it’s been over an hour before he’s finally given an IV and meds.

“Thanks for coming,” Wes says, looking into my eyes for a quick second before diverting his gaze to the floor. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” I say softly, shifting my weight. I’m sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to the bed. “But I’m glad I did.”

“Me too.” He starts to reach for my hand but is stopped by his IV line. My heart skips a beat, and I get to my feet, words burning in my throat. Words that want to come out. Words I’m not entirely sure I know the meaning of.

“Scarlet,” he starts and pushes himself up. My lips part and my heart pounds away in my chest, so loud I’m sure Wes can hear it.

“Weston,” I say back with a smile, shuffling closer. I take his hand, and he links his fingers through mine. He circles his thumb along the soft flesh on the inside of my wrist. I bring my free hand forward, brushing his hair back behind his ear.

There’s nothing romantic about this moment. We’re standing in a crammed ER room while Wes gets IV fluids due to dehydration. And yet I’ve never felt something more intimate. Then again, I know nothing about love.

I bring my hand down and cup his face. Wes closes his eyes and leans his face into my palm. He tightens his grip on my hand, and I can feel his heart racing along with mine.

And then someone knocks on the door. I drop my hand that’s on Weston’s face but keep a hold of his hand.

“Hey.” Archer pulls back the curtain, and Wes takes his hand out of mine. “I saw your name in the system. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Wes tells his almost brother-in-law.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say ‘fine,’” I tease.

“I didn’t read your chart,” Archer says. “What’s going on?”

“He’s had a high fever for three days and finally let me take him to the doctor this morning.” I give Wes a telling look and then smile.

“There’s a nasty virus going around,” Archer tells us. “The ER has been busy.” He pulls out the little rolling stool I’ve always been too afraid to sit on. What if the doctor came in and yelled at me? “Are you being admitted overnight?”

“No,” Wes says. “And I won’t stay even if they say I should. I’ll be fine at home.”

Archer and I give Wes the same dubious look.

“This virus is serious. It’s put a few people in the ICU already. Take care of yourself so you can take care of Jackson,” Archer tells Wes, using his you better listen to me because I’m a doctor tone. Wes just grumbles in response, and Archer tells him he’ll check back later if we’re still here. He’s off to perform another surgery.

“Oh shit,” Wes says after Archer leaves.

“What?”

“I didn’t tell him not to tell Quinn.”

“You think he will?”

Wes raises an eyebrow. “I know he will.”

“That’s not a bad thing. They’re concerned about you because they care.” Like I do.

“Once Quinn knows, she’ll tell our mother.”

“That’s not a bad thing, either,” I press. “It’s nice the way you guys all look out for each other.”

His eyes meet mine, and something passes between us, something unsaid, something I can’t describe, but it’s in that moment it’s like he knows.

He knows I’d give anything to have a family like his.

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s really nice, and I shouldn’t complain about it. I don’t like people doting over me.”

“Well, you’re still a big, strong man even when you’re lying here in the hospital, you know.”

His eyes narrow into a playful glare, and then he sighs. “I know. It’s more that I don’t want to burden others.”

“Taking care of people you care about isn’t a burden. People like doing it, and it makes you feel good.”

“Does it make you feel good?”

My mouth goes dry, and I forget how to breathe for a second. If his hand was still surrounding mine, there’d be no way to deny just how good this is making me feel.

“Yes,” I whisper. “It does. Because I care about you.” I swallow hard and inch closer to the bed. The moment is becoming too intense, and suddenly I’m hot and sweat breaks out along my hairline.

Someone else knocks on the door, and this time I’m thankful for the interruption. Because I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before, and I’m not sure what to do with all these fucking feelings. Moving back to the chair, I pull out my phone and text Corbin, asking for an update on Dad.

The nurse leaves, telling Wes to try and rest and she’ll be back in half an hour to check on him.

“You don’t have to stay,” Wes says, looking tired.

“I’ll probably wander around and see if I can find something to eat.” He’ll be more likely to fall asleep if I’m not in here. “Are you allowed to eat?”

“No one told me no.”

“I’ll bring you something.” Standing, I fight back the urge to go to him, brush his hair back, and kiss his forehead.

“Hey,” Wes says, catching my hand as I walk by. His fingers walk up my wrist, and a shiver runs down my spine. I inhale sharply, knees weakening. How can he affect me so much with just his fingers on my wrist?

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, Scarlet, for everything.”

I put my free hand on top of his hand and close my eyes in a long blink. “Of course, Wes.” I look into his eyes. “Get some rest so you get better. We still have N*****x to binge.”

His lips curve into a small smile. “That’s good motivation.”

*

I take a drink of ice water, debating pouring it over my head while I sit in the middle of the hospital cafeteria. After practically running out of the room, I hid in an elevator with my back against the wall until my heart stopped pounding.

I don’t know what is happening to me…even though I really do.

But I won’t say it. I don’t believe in love. My heart isn’t capable of it.

My phone buzzes in my purse, pulling me out of the reverie I was in. It’s Quinn, and I’m sure she’s calling to check on Wes.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Scarlet. Are you with Wes?”

“Not currently. I went to the cafeteria to get some food.”

“Oh, okay. How’s he doing?”

“He’s looking better.”

“Thanks for taking him. Wes doesn’t go to the doctor willingly.”

I lean back and smile. “I noticed. Did you happen to call your mom and tell her Wes is sick?”

Quinn laughs. “I know better.”

“Wes said she freaks out a little.”

“That’s an understatement.” Emma starts crying in the background. “I gotta go, but thanks for looking out for my brother. Can you text me an update later?”

“Yeah, I will. Give Emma a hug for me.”

“I will. Bye!”

I hang up and finish my food, then grab a drink and a snack to take up to Wes. He’s asleep, so I quietly slip in and try to get comfortable in the chair next to the bed. The nurse comes in a few minutes later, looks him over but doesn’t wake him, and then all is quiet again. I read a book on my phone and end up drifting off, not waking until the doctor comes back in to look Wes over.

His fever went down to a manageable level, and Wes can go home.

“You’re still sick,” the doctor tells him. “Rest the remainder of today and take it easy tomorrow.”

“I will,” Wes agrees, eager to get out of here. The doctor leaves, and a few minutes later a nurse comes in with discharge paperwork.

“Is your girlfriend driving you home?” the nurse asks, going over the standard questions.

I look at Wes, who hesitates but doesn’t take the time to correct her. Maybe it’s because he’s too tired to bother, or maybe because he’s pretending we’re together too, like I am.

I grab Wes’s coat, taking it to him once the nurse leaves.

“Thanks again,” he tells me.

“You’re welcome. You look better already.”

I text Quinn as we’re walking out, letting her know Wes is on the mend and is heading home. Logan is at the house along with Owen. They’re both wearing jeans and gray T-shirts, making it hard to tell them apart.

Jackson has his play doctor kit out on the coffee table and immediately leads Weston to the couch for a check-up.

“Did you mean to dress alike?” I ask the twins, going right to the bathroom to wash the hospital germs off my hands.

Logan and Owen look at each other and then down at their own clothes.

“I didn’t even realize it,” Logan admits with a laugh. “It’s a twin thing, I guess.”

“That’s funny and very interesting at the same time.” I join everyone in the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch. Wes bends his legs up, giving me more space.

“Well,” Owen says, giving his twin a look. Logan widens his eyes and ever so slightly shakes his head. “You’re in good hands here. We gotta head out and get the bar ready for tonight.”

“Thanks, guys,” Wes says, sounding like he’s about ready to fall asleep again.

“No problem.” Logan gives Jackson a hug goodbye. “Take care of your dad, okay?”

“I will,” Jackson promises.

“Thanks for looking out for Wes,” Owen tells me quietly before they leave. Jackson cuddles up with Weston on the couch, and I slip upstairs for a quick shower. When I get out, I hear voices coming from downstairs. I pause by my bedroom door, recognizing Mrs. Dawson’s voice. Towel drying my hair, I quickly get dressed and go downstairs.

Wes is still on the couch, looking tired and a little annoyed by his mother’s presence. She’s fussing over him, taking his temperature and removing the blanket Jackson had covered him with.

“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” I say.

“Scarlet, hi.” She stands, setting a Tupperware bowl on the coffee table. She comes over and gives me a hug. “Thank you so much for making my stubborn son go to the doctor.”

“You’re welcome. I wanted him to go yesterday, but he swore he’d be better.”

“I would have been,” Wes counters, and I laugh. Mrs. Dawson looks from Wes to me and back again.

“I brought chicken noodle soup. Is anyone hungry? I can heat it up.”

“I am, Grammy!” Jackson exclaims but makes no move to get up and away from the cartoons he’s watching. Mrs. Dawson goes into the kitchen, and I move closer to Wes.

“Make her leave,” he whispers.

“She’s just worried.”

Wes rolls his eyes. “I have the flu, not a rare jungle disease. I’ll be fine, really.” He sighs. “I’m tired.”

My heart lurches in my chest, and I want nothing more than to crawl under the blanket with him, run my hands up and down his muscular arms until he falls asleep.

“I’ll try to speed things up,” I promise.

“Thanks.”

Going into the kitchen, I plug in the coffee pot.

“Tired, honey?” Mrs. Dawson asks.

“Yes. I was worried about Wes and didn’t sleep much through the night,” I admit before I realize how that sounds. He’s my boss.

Instead of looking shocked, Mrs. Dawson’s face lights up. “I’m glad you’re here for him.”

“For Jackson?”

“For them both.” She takes the lid off the Tupperware. “Weston’s always been the strong, responsible one. The last few years haven’t been easy on him, though he’ll never admit it. It’s nice seeing him happy again.”

Is she saying what I think she’s saying? “Well, I’m sure it’s because he doesn’t have to worry about Jackson’s schedule as much anymore.”

Mrs. Dawson gives me a wink. “Sure. That’s all it is.”

Yes, she is saying what I think she’s saying. And dammit, I want it to be true. In fact, I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life.