Page 83 of The Write Choice

My heart shatters right there. I’m not sure she even knows what she’s saying, but that makes it all the more truthful. “Fuck, Cat.” I press her head into my chest. She uses the opportunity to nestle closer. “I’m so sorry. You’re right, and I’m sorry.”

“Careful,” she warns a little playfully, her eyes drifting closed. “Hearing I’m right is a major turn on.” She smirks.

I chuckle, though her teasing does little to soothe my heart. If I hadn’t already made a promise to myself to be better for my family from now on, I would do it now. This strengthens my resolve to send that memo and keep strict watch over my hours. She shouldn’t have to feel like this. I’m going to make sure she never does, ever again.

I kiss the top of her head, breathing in her rose-and-paint scent that’s now mixed with sticky sweat. “Come on, Cat. Let’s get you to bed.”

Chapter 24

Katie

Brandon is a damn hero. Even though he sends the kids to Daniel’s, which would personally be my last choice, he has the forethought to get them out of the house. For two nights, he’s at my beck and call. He makes sure to give me cold medicine I can take, and it works like a dream. He dozes off and on with me for two days, but he’s at the ready no matter the hour. I’m vaguely aware of him checking in with Daniel to make sure the kids are alive, but I don’t have the energy to talk to them on the phone, so I take him at his word that it’s going well. He doesn’t even complain when I insist on sleeping curled up against his side, even though I know I’m a human space heater on a good day, so I must be a furnace with this fever.

He doesn’t leave my side. He’s glued to me, like he needs to know how I’m doing every second. The worry is a little overboard, but it’s sweet.

At one point on Saturday evening, he turns on a movie in the bedroom. I don’t remember what movie it is, but he sits with his back against the headboard and his arm around me. He’s still wearing the soft yellow t-shirt he put on when we went to bed the night before, and he’s slipped on some sweatpants. I look up at him, studying him for a moment. His beard is untrimmed, and his rusty hair falls in loose waves to his shoulders. He hasn’t taken a moment to shower in over twenty-four hours, but he’s easily the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

He looks down at me and notices my staring. “Do you need something, baby?” he asks gently.

“No.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. I just love you.”

The corners of his mouth turn up. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then nods sagely. “Yep, you definitely still have a fever.”

I give him a little shove. “I’m not saying that because I have a fever.”

“I know.” He squeezes me tighter, and before I know it, I’m dozing off again.

Luckily, my fever breaks sometime in the early hours of Sunday morning, and I fall into a deep sleep after that. When I wake up in the morning, I check the clock to find it later than I expect it to be. I must have needed that sleep. Either that, or it’s much easier to sleep when the kids aren’t bursting in your room at the crack of dawn. Maybe both.

Brandon is nowhere to be seen, which feels odd after him being attached to my side for two nights. I listen for a second, but I don’t hear him in the bathroom. He must have gotten up and left me to sleep. I smile softly at the thought. I don’t remember much about last night aside from how awful I felt, but I know he went above and beyond taking care of me, and I feel giddy at the thought.

My stomach rumbles, which is probably a good sign. I wrack my brain trying to remember what I’ve eaten the past day or so. I remember Brandon bringing me food, but I don’t remember eating much of it. But then, I catch a whiff of myself and cringe. Shower first, then food.

I shower quickly, and by the time I’m dressed, Brandon still hasn’t come back in the room. He must have realized my fever broke and decided to take a few minutes to himself. I can’t blame him. Caregiving is exhausting.

I pull on some leggings, a sweatshirt, and my favorite fluffy socks and make my way downstairs. Brandon is sitting at the island, his back to me, sipping some coffee.

“There you are.” I grab a banana off the counter and peel it. I take a bite and speak around the mouthful. “Should we get the kids? I bet Daniel and Mac are going, well, bananas.” I laugh at my own joke.

“How are you feeling?” He doesn’t turn around to face me, which is weird, but I shake it off.

“Much better, thanks to you. No more fever, and that shower felt like heaven.”

“Good. Because I have something to ask you.”

“That sounds ominous,” I joke again, but it falls flat. My heart starts picking up speed. “Is everything okay? Is it something with the kids?” My voice is starting to sound panicky.

At that, he does turn around. His expression is serious, almost pained. “The kids are fine.”

My relief only lasts for a second. “Okay,” I say slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Have you been drinking, Katie?”

I stare at him in silence, trying to get my mouth to work. I blink rapidly, trying to absorb what he’s saying, but I can’t. “I’m sorry, what?” I finally ask.