Allie drops the blankets and grabs for the phone. I hold it up above my head, and that’s when I see the desperation in her eyes. She’s still trembling slightly, but despite her weakened state, she forces herself to jump, clawing at my shirt to reach the phone.
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
“Hello?” the voice on the phone chirps. “Sir? Are you there?”
I end the call and put the phone back in my pocket.
She didn’t forget to pay her bill.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m still catching up since I got the job. Things were tight before then.” She picks her blankets back up, hoisting them around her body. “I don’t need your pity.”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t pity you.”
“Not everyone was born with diamonds dripping from their cribs. Some people struggle, Ashton. It’s called life.”
“I know,” I say softly as I turn toward the cabinets and open one.
“What the hell are you doing now?”
I don’t answer her, instead taking out a container of chicken stock and a bag of rice. I make a mental note to replace everything I take just in case she’s planning to use it for something else. I cross over to the fridge and find that it’s still cold when I open it. That’s good. The electricity hasn’t been out for too long. I find almost everything I need, then rummage around until I find a pot and a cutting board. I pour the stock into the pot, setting it to boil. Luckily, her gas hasn’t been cut off, so her range still works. Then I set to work, chopping carrots.
Allie stands frozen in place, eyes wide, as she silently takes in the scene before her. Seems I have a way of making the little spitfire speechless these days.
“You need to go lie down,” I say as she hobbles over to me. She looks exhausted.
“Ineedyou to stop messing around in my kitchen,” she rasps, but it turns into a coughing fit.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. She can’t make anything easy. “Allie, I swear to God if you don’t lie down, I’m going to make you,” I say in the firmest tone I can manage.
“Make me?” she scoffs. It’s a question, but I choose to take it as an invitation.
“Sure thing, Chaos,” I reply, bending down and scooping her up into my arms. She gasps, but her arms circle my neck instinctively. I don’t even think she realizes that she did it. Even so, her legs make a feeble attempt at kicking.
“What the fuck, Ashton. Put me down.”
“You told me to make you,” I reply innocently as I walk over to the couch.
“I didn’t—fucking hell.” Her protests die when we get to the couch, and I gently place her down on it. I move the blankets around, tucking them under her so she’s nice and snug. I chuckle when I look down at my handiwork and see the angry-looking burrito staring back up at me, her eyes smoldering as they usually do when she’s pissed.
“Stalking, breaking and entering, kidnapping,” she says, ticking off each item as if she’s tallying something. “And now unnecessary bondage.Notthe sexy kind,” she adds. “Just want to keep it all straight for when I make my report to HR.”
I squat in front of her and lean in. “Would you rather the sexy kind?” I whisper. “If you’re going to HR anyway, we might as well make it worth it.”
Her eyes turn into thin slits, her lips pursing like she can’t decide whether to be enraged or turned on. The way she shifts her hips and lowers her eyes makes me think it’s the latter.
“What? No comeback?” I ask as I stand back up. “You really are unwell. Lucky for you, I have a fail-proof cold remedy.”
“Cold remedy?”
“Yep. Nana’s lemon chicken soup.”
She groans and turns over, burying her head in the cushions of the couch.
I get back to work and half an hour later, the soup is ready. I pour some into a bowl, placing it on the tray I found along with a glass of water, a spoon, and a napkin. When I walk into the living room, Allie has ripped all the blankets off and is snoring softly, one leg hooked over the end of the couch, a slight sheen of sweat above her brow. I put the tray on the coffee table and kneel in front of her, resting the back of my hand against her forehead. Shit, she’s burning up.
After rummaging around in her bathroom for what feels like hours, I finally find a washcloth. She is definitely not what I would call tidy, and nothing is where you would think it would be. So I’m not completely surprised when there are mostly makeup and skincare products in the medicine cabinet. Thankfully, there is also a bottle of Tylenol, but when I pull it out, a little plastic baggie drops to the floor.
As I crouch down to pick it up, a small voice in the back of my head tells me not to look at it. To put it back on the shelf and not give it a second glance. Unfortunately, my brain doesn’t send the memo to my hands in time, so I lift it up to my line of sight anyway. Several small white rectangular bars stare back at me. I don’t even have to look at the imprinted letters on the sides to know what they are. I’ve seen my mother dry swallow them enough times when she thought no one was looking.
