Chapter SIXTEEN
FINN STRETCHEDout on the bed and blinked a few times in the dim light of the bedroom. It took a moment to focus, but once the numbers came into view, the digital alarm clock showed it was nearly six. He felt weighted with exhaustion but dragged his heavy body into a sitting position and tried to shake off the lethargy. He peered closer at the clock. The little green lightwas displayed against the “p.m.”Six in the evening! I’ve slept the whole day?
The memories came back in a rush: the signs of a migraine coming on, the pain gradually worsening until Finn could hardly think by the time he arrived home.
He looked around the room. The bed was rumpled, the sheets puddled on the floorboards at the foot of the bed. The bedside table held a full glass of water anda bottle of his pain medication. His pile of paperbacks was on the floor, the small tower balancing a bowl that sat on a folded towel. Finn scowled in confusion, the small movement reminding him of the faint headache that remained.
Finn picked up the pill bottle but decided he’d take some Nurofen rather than the stronger stuff he used during the onset and peak of each episode. Thankfully themigraines were few and far between, so much so that he hadn’t refilled his prescription in ages and was lucky there were enough pills to see him through. He looked at the bottle in his hand again and gave it a slight shake before opening and staring in confusion. The bottle had been opened but was nearly full.
“Oh, you’re awake.” Mitch spoke softly, but his voice still caused Finn’s heart torace as he looked to the door in surprise.
“Ah. Yeah,” Finn managed to respond, his own voice rough and his throat dry.
Mitch moved into the room. “I wondered when you were going to emerge. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Finn took a sip of water, as much to soothe his throat as to get his jumbled thoughts in order. “Tired more than anything. Confused.”What is Mitch still doing here?
“You’vebeen in bed since Monday night, and it hit you hard. It’s no wonder you feel like shit.”
Finn snorted. “Like I’ve been run over by a Mack truck. And today is?”
“Today’s Wednesday.”
Jesus, I’ve been down for two whole days.
He stood and wobbled slightly on his feet. Mitch immediately took his elbow, and in a move that felt natural, started guiding him toward the door. Finn allowed himself tobe led from the room, not even questioning where they were going.
“You need to take it easy and give yourself a few days to recover,” Mitch said. They stopped at the bathroom door. “You take a shower, clean up, whatever it is you need to do. But maybe don’t lock the door.” Finn raised a brow. “That way I’ll be able to come in if you need anything, or if something goes wrong,” Mitch said in answerto his unasked question. “Just call if there’s anything I can do, okay?”
Finn nodded, unsure how to respond to Mitch’s kindness and the warmth that filled his chest. It was overwhelming to have someone show that much care and worry about his well-being. Finn blinked to hold back the tears. Mitch smiled, then headed to the living room, giving him some privacy.
Finn grimaced at the sight thatmet him in the bathroom as he stared at his reflection. The mirror on the cabinet door was streaked, but even that couldn’t be blamed for his washed-out appearance—pale skin, unwashed hair, and uneven stubble across his jaw. He had enough presence of mind to groan at the thought Mitch was seeing him look like this. But then memories flooded back, visions of Finn kneeling in front of the toilet andMitch cleaning him with a damp washer. Finn leaning into Mitch’s soothing touch, seeking comfort in his arms. The flood of embarrassment wiped out the warm feelings thinking of Mitch’s tenderness elicited.God, what must he think of me? A vomiting mess, weak as a kitten, falling apart in his arms….
Finn turned abruptly, peeled off his briefs, and turned on the shower. He stepped in, allowingthe water to wash away two days of staleness and wishing he could scrub away his feelings. He was a mess—wrung out, emotional, and obviously not thinking clearly. The hot water pounded on his back as his emotions swirled in turmoil.
But no one had ever looked after him like that before, not since his mum died, and that was years ago. Since then he’d managed fine on his own. So why the yearningfor more of that comfort? Finn usually pushed people away, and it grated on him when he wasn’t treated like a grown man who could stand on his own two feet. So why now was he wanting someone to lean on? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop his thoughts, but immediately a vision of Mitch appeared behind his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes in a flash as frustration surged through him. He turnedoff the water, grabbed a towel, and briskly toweled dry—better to focus on the mundane task of getting ready and not the bullshit emotions he seemingly couldn’t control.
Twenty minutes later, clean-shaven, fresh smelling, and dressed in comfy track pants and a T-shirt, Finn entered the kitchen and headed straight for the drawer where he kept his medications. He shook a couple of Nurofen intohis palm and accepted the glass of water Mitch passed to him, moving to the table when Mitch nudged him in that direction.
“It’s not much. I wasn’t sure how up to eating you’d be, whether you’d have an appetite, but it’s important you eat, given the medication.” Mitch gestured to the pills resting in Finn’s palm. “I kept it simple, so hopefully it’ll stay down.”
Mitch’s gentle smile helped clearaway the brief moment of embarrassment at the reference to his throwing up. The grilled cheese on toast looked surprisingly appetizing, and Finn was suddenly ravenous. “Thanks. It looks great.”
Mitch brought his own meal to the table before fetching two mugs of tomato soup. Tears prickled as Finn thought of his mother doing the same thing—making him soup for an afternoon snack on a cold winter’sday.
God, I really am falling apart.
He looked down and focused on swallowing the pills, hoping Mitch couldn’t read the emotions that no doubt showed on his face. By the time he met Mitch’s gaze again, he felt more composed.
The simple meal was delicious, and it was only when he was half-finished that he wondered where the food had come from.
“The fridge.” He nodded toward the old Kelvinator,a relic from the sixties or seventies. “There wasn’t much in it. And certainly no cheese. Where did this come from?”
“I did a little shopping. I left when you were sleeping, but you’d just had some pills—the last of the bottle—so I figured you’d be out for a couple of hours, otherwise I wouldn’t have left you alone.” Mitch sipped his soup. “There’s a great little shopping center down the roada bit, although I guess you know that. Chemist, butcher, greengrocer. It didn’t take long to get what I needed, and there’s plenty left over.”
“You went shopping?”
Mitch raised a brow. “Sure. How else was I going to get food?”
