Page 145 of Out Of A Fix

Checking Tatum, who was passed out on the couch with Wink, I made sure both were snuggly under the blankets. I set the alarm, scanned all the camera feeds, and cranked the heat up. The rain hadn’t abated, the sound very soothing, and I was certain it helped everyone sleep better. I was hoping it was a twenty-four-hour bug, and with Luke’s fever breaking, the worst, I was sure, was over.

It was not over.

It took a couple more days, but by Thanksgiving morning, Griff and Dar were both strong enough to go up the stairs and take proper showers. Luke took a long shower as well, and I stripped the bed, put the buckets back in the garage, and decided that my chair and ottoman would live in Luke’s bedroom from then on.

“Our bedroom,” he corrected me as I brought him breakfast in bed. He did not enjoy his plain oatmeal, sliced bananas, or applesauce. For lunch he got broth and rice and pretzels.

“I will eat turkey and gravy and the yams with the marshmallows and squash and⁠—”

“Oh, Daddy.” Tatum, who had carried in a blue Gatorade for him, snickered. “You can’t have any of that. Your tummy won’t like it.”

He stayed in bed and watched football while the rest of us praised Viola’s amazing cooking skills right around four.

“I’m not happy!” Luke made sure we all knew, yelling from our bedroom.

On Friday, Viola decided her son could have turkey and dumplings, and he kept it down. We were all happy for him, because honestly, he was a terrible patient.

“I didn’t hear that much whining from the kids,” I told his mother.

“He’s always been the worst,” she commiserated with me.

It was nice of her.

Saturday morning, Darwin and Tatum joined me as I drove Viola and John to the airport. At the curb, they both hugged me as well as the kids. I hadn’t anticipated that. I was sure Viola would, but John was a surprise. And yes, he’d invited me to their home for Christmas, but the fact that he felt compelled to take me into his arms was special.

“He really likes you,” Darwin said from the back seat, because Tatum had called shotgun. “I didn’t know if he would.”

“I knew,” Tatum chimed in. “Everybody likes Nash.”

“That’s true,” Darwin agreed quickly. “But now can we talk about Chinese, because I truly, from my soul, cannot eat anymore turkey.”

At the light, I turned to him. “Are you kidding?”

He whimpered. “Did you know that turkey’s not my favorite?”

“From your soul?” I asked him. “Dramatic much?”

“Come on, man,” he moaned. “I bet Dad would love a little egg drop soup.”

“And chicken fried rice,” Tatum added. “How can that be bad?”

It couldn’t, so we went and picked some up from their favorite place in the city. I enjoyed watching them order, making sure Griff, who was not there, got his regular. When we got home, Luke almost cried, he was so happy, and he was strong enough to sit at the dinner table. After lunch, we started watching The Mandalorian, because that was Tatum’s alternate pick, and no one wanted to watch anything about serial killers.

That evening, once I’d checked the gas stove—couldn’t be too careful with those burners—made sure the house was locked, set the alarm, and made sure the cameras were all up and running, I got into bed next to Luke.

He was immediately all over me, his hands, his mouth, and I rolled over on top of him, pinning him to the bed.

“You’re thinking something stupid,” I told him.

He refused to look at me, and I saw his throat working and his jaw clenching.

“You’re thinking, If I don’t hurry up and give this man some sex, he’s gonna change his mind, because taking care of sick, barfing people is not what he signed up for.”

He rolled his head on the pillow and stared up into my eyes.

“What you’re missing is, you’re all mine. I’ve never had people who were mine to take care of before.”

Heavy sigh from him.