Page 28 of Solo

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” says a voice in the darkness.

I feel the mattress shift and, suddenly, I’m bathed in light. It takes a little time for my eyes to adjust. When the blurriness clears, I realize I must still be dreaming. There’s no other reason I would find myself in bed with Drew Markham.

“It’s me. It’s Drew,” he says calmly. “Markham,” he continues, just in case I’ve forgotten who he is.

“Wha—w-where am I?” I ask as I take in the unfamiliar room, my voice coming out in a whisper. I’m in a bedroom, in a bed. When I look down, I realize I’m not dressed anymore. At least, not in my own clothing. I’m wearing a white, button-down shirt that must belong to him. No underwear. And then it hits me.

I gasp when I find Markham is squatting down next to me. When did he get out of the bed? Did I dream that? Wasn’t he just next to me?

“Miss Brenner, you’re in my bedroom,” he says quietly, moving his hand to feel my forehead. Oh, now I know I must be dreaming. Drew Markham doesn’t have a compassionate bone in his body. At least, not where I’m concerned.

“Your fever broke, but then you got a terrible chill. You asked me to come into the bed with you. To warm you.”

“Are you real?” I ask him softly, my entire face and body pulled tight in fear and anxiety.

“Am I real?”

“I mean—I…I can’t tell what’s a dream or a hallucination or…”

I think I see a glint of humor in his eyes.

“Yes, I’m real.”

It occurs to me that if it is his shirt that I’m wearing, then it would follow that… Yes. He did. I remember it now. There were towels. Lots and lots of towels…

“Y–you…you changed my clothes,” I say, with a slight tremor in my voice.

He takes a deep breath, and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Yes. You were burning up and I had to get your temperature down. Fast.” He pauses and looks down at his hands in his lap. “I, uh, I put you in a tub of cool water to break the fever,” he continues, not looking at me. “Then I put that shirt on you and moved you to the bed so you’d be more comfortable. I didn’t see anything—I didn’t see you. There was a towel on you the whole time, even in the water. I slept in that chair,” he informs me, pointing his chin in the direction of a big chair and ottoman where a pillow and blanket are still lying. “I wanted to keep an eye on you. Then you woke up after a few hours, trembling with cold and you begged me to get into bed and warm you up.”

The heat. Oh, I was on fire. And then the water was like a wonderful dream.

“I had to get in the tub with you because there was no way you could sit up on your own. But you were in a towel the whole time,” he repeats. “I never saw you. And I was dressed—in my boxers,” he’s quick to tell me.

I nod my head, recalling this timeline.

And then there was the shivering. He’s right, I was practically convulsing with the cold. That was when something warm wrapped around me.

Oh. My God. I begged him to get into bed with me.

I put a hand to my temple, which feels as if it’s about to explode, and am struck by a wave of fatigue. It hits me with such force that I have no choice but to let my body drop back against the pillows. I grunt at the impact.

“Are you…are you all right?”

I consider him carefully. Even in my haze, I see what a risk he took in helping me. He touched me. Bathed me. Dressed me. And then he got into bed with me. We both know that I could spin this into something that would be very, very bad for him. I could probably have him fired. And wouldn’t that be fine payback for every nasty thing he’s ever said or done to me.

“Miss Brenner? Please don’t be upset, I just didn’t know what else to do,” he’s pleading.

Markham looks totally at a loss, staring at me as if I might burst into flames or worse yet, tears, at any time.

The sense of gratitude that I feel right now is so overwhelming that I gather what little strength I have left and sit up again. My arms wrap around his waist and my head finds his chest.

“Thank you,” I say into his sweatshirt.

I feel him tense up for just an instant, and then he relaxes, using one of his hands to pat my back gently. I don’t know how I would even begin to explain this to him. This overwhelming relief that’s washing over me in waves. For the first time in more years than I can count, I’m not wholly responsible for my own well-being. Someone is taking care of me and it feels so good—my gratitude is so immense—that I can’t control the sobs that rack my body as I cling to this man that I detest.

“It’s okay,” he says softly.