Page 65 of Weathering The Storm

I watch him for a moment. Wondering how long he’s been awake waiting for me, and how he still manages to be the most captivating man I’ve ever laid eyes on when he’s been through hell and back.

“Hey,” he says softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” I croak, my throat dry.

I’ve spoken too soon.

The moment I sit up, my body can’t seem to remember that we’re no longer out on the ocean. The room rocks back and forth, up and down. My stomach clenches into a tight, hard knot.

Holy fuck, I’m going to throw up, I realize in just enough time to grab the trash can beside the hospital bed and hold it up to my face.

It’s been a while since I ate anything. Stomach acid and burning bile is all my stomach expels, but the room keeps rocking back and forth. And I keep heaving.

I’m still face down in the trash can when I feel a warm, solid hand on my back, rubbing my shoulders. Nick stands by patiently, soothing me until the last of the convulsions have stopped and the shivering has subsided.

And then, because he’s the best man to have ever walked the face of the Earth, he goes to empty the trash can in the bathroom.

When he returns, it’s with a clean waste basket and two cups of ice. Both of which, he hands to me. He heads for the brown paper bag sitting beside the landline and pulls out a package of peanut butter crackers and a can of ginger ale.

“Here.” He opens both and sets them on the tray table beside the bed. “To settle your stomach.”

I take a sip of the soda and nibble on a cracker, feeling the sharp and sudden inclination to bury my head in his chest and find out if there’s a way for me to live inside him. It wasn’t long ago when I was sure I wouldn’t live at all.

“Thank you,” I say.

He nods, laying the shopping bag on top of the bed now and pulling out items while he talks. “Got you a toothbrush too. I think I found the soap you like. Also, a couple pairs of clothes, and some socks and shoes for when they discharge you. Or if you’re cold. Are you cold?”

He says it like he’s haunted by the thought of me ever being cold another day in my life. Like he’s been waiting for me to wake up just to ask me, and I don’t doubt that’s the truth. I know what it’s like to be loved and to be wanted, but Nick makes me feelprecious.

“I’m good for now.”

That doesn’t seem to ease the furrow of his brows.

“I promise. We do live in Alaska, though. I’m going to get cold again.”

“No, you’re not. I’m not letting that happen.”

I scoot over in the bed, heating packs tumbling to the floor as I pat the sliver of space beside me. “Come here.”

His eyes land on the IV, the blood pressure monitor, and the tubes sticking out of me before they ever land on my face. “There’s not enough room.”

“We’ve made do with ‘not enough room’ before, haven’t we?” I give him a small smile. “Come on. If you wanna keep me warm, this is how you’re gonna have to do it.”

That does the trick. He slides in under the scratchy sheets, both of us pushed to the edges of the bed. He smells clean—like bar soap and fresh clothes—while I can feel the crust of dried seawater on my skin, but that doesn’t stop him from folding me into his arms.

“So did you walk out of here in the suit or the hospital gown to get all that stuff?” I ask. No matter the answer, my heart’s already giving devoted little pulses at the thought that he would trek out in the snow to make me a little bit more comfortable.

“It’s twenty degrees. Like I’d walk around with my ass hanging out.”

“Mm. You’d be doing a public service.”

And here I thought his cheeks couldn’t get any redder.

“Full transparency, I also got stuff for the other guys.”

As if that’s supposed to make the gesture mean anything less. All it does is remind me what a good person he is.

“And you rubbed their backs while they threw up, then crawled into bed with them?”