“I wanted to take care of you. Is that wrong?” he asks, looking nervous.
I shake my head, moving to the couch. I take my spot on the heating pad as he covers me in blankets. I know I will be sweating in about ten minutes, but it feels nice to be in a cocoon.
“I’ll bring you food.”
He hands me the remote before leaving the room. I smile as I flip through, not really caring what we watch. I settle onDrive to Survive, my favorite comfort show. It doesn’t matter how many times I have seen it, the sound of the cars zooming by does something to my nerves. It is peaceful to me.
When he comes back, he doesn’t say a word. He only hands me a plate and a glass of what looks to be a smoothie before disappearing.
When he comes back with his own plate and settles at the end of the couch, I look over at him.
“Why a smoothie?” I ask.
“Fruit has natural properties that help relieve cramps. It’s not a magic cure-all, but any little bit helps. After you eat, you can take the Midol I bought you too.”
My mouth drops open. He really considered all of this. It still has me wondering, why now?
I don’t ask, though. Instead, I take a bite of my pizza, moaning at how good it tastes. The pizza here in New York is good, but nothing beats a homemade pizza.
“Thank you,” I tell him as I chew.
“Anything for you. Now explain to me again about these race cars. Do we like this Max guy? He shares my name, so I want to like him. Or is it Daniel?”
I smile as I look at the screen. Max knows all about Formula One. He has even taken me to a few races for my birthday. So he isn’t being a dick by pretending not to know.
No.
He is allowing me to get my mind off my pain by gushing about one of my favorite things.
“Danny is my favorite, but he doesn’t race anymore. Now I like Lando or Max,” I tell him.
“Which one is the world champion again?”
That’s all it takes. A couple of questions has me relaxing as I eat my pizza and tell him all about the last year in the sport while the 2019 season plays on the screen. I tell him all the rumors and what has been confirmed. All about the WAGS and what they do.
Long after we finish the pizza and cake, I am still talking about all the little facts I know.
“If you devoted this much into hockey, I would have to worry Brantley would steal you,” Max admits.
“I could never work for him.” I scoff.
“You wouldn’t leave me, though. Would you?”
His question has me sobering up.
I have considered it. I should tell him that, but looking over, I see a vulnerability in his eye.
So I do something I hate more than anything. I tell a little white lie.
“Nope. You’re stuck with me.”
MAX
I don’t know if she just lied to me or if she has made up her decision and isn’t leaving after all.
I want to ask her. I even open my mouth to do so, but then she moves. She rearranges on the couch until her head is on my thigh.
All thoughts flee my head at the action.
