“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “I turned it off so it wouldn’t disturb you. You weren’t in any state to talk to people anyway.”
“No,” I say. Did Derek really not call? “Thanks.”
“Are you hungry yet?”
“I think I’m starving, but it’s hard to tell,” I say. My stomach feels empty, but very raw. “I’m a little bit scared to eat anything.”
“I’ll get you some soup,” he says. “We’ll start off slow.”
“Brax, you don’t have to do that,” I say.
He shrugs. “It’s fine. I’m hungry anyway.” He walks away before I can say anything else.
I check again to see if there’s any way I’m not seeing Derek’s calls. I puked in his car, and ran off to my apartment with my hand clamped to my mouth, still vomiting. It was pretty obvious I was sick. Would he really leave me here and not call to see if I’m okay? That seems unlikely.
Still, I wonder what’s going on, so I bring up his number and hit send.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” I say. “Are you busy?”
“Just prepping for the game tomorrow.” He sounds irritated.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just … I haven’t talked to you for a while. My phone was turned off, so I’m sorry if you tried to call.”
“I didn’t.”
“You didn’t try to call?” I ask.
“No.”
“Derek, you saw how sick I was. You didn’t wonder if I was okay?”
“You puked all over my brand new car,” he says, “and it’s not like you’ve called me to apologize.”
My mouth drops open. I cannot believe what I’m hearing. “Are you serious? You’ve been waiting for four days for me to call you to say sorry I puked in your new fucking car?”
“Well, shit, it was gross,” he says. “I had to spend three hundred dollars getting it detailed, and they couldn’t fit me in until yesterday. I couldn’t even get in the car, it smelled so bad.”
“I’ve been so sick I couldn’t get out of bed,” I say, my voice rising. I don’t want Braxton to hear us fight, but I’m so mad I can’t help it. “I couldn’t make it to the bathroom without help. And you’re worried about your goddamn car?”
“I didn’t know you were sick,” he says.
“Because you didn’t call to find out. Besides, wasn’t it obvious?”
“Son of a bitch, Kylie, I thought you had too much to drink. You and that fucker Braxton were pounding shots like you were at a goddamn frat party.”
“I had two shots, asshole,” I say. “Two.”
He’s quiet for a second. “It seemed like it must have been more.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I say. “And I’ll pay you back for the stupid car detailing.”
“No, no,” he says. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I honestly had no idea. I thought Braxton got you drunk, and it pissed me off. I didn’t know you were sick. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. I’m not going to tell him it was Brax who took care of me. It will only piss him off, and I don’t have the energy to fight with him right now.
I look up and see Braxton standing in the doorway. He has a tray with a steaming bowl of soup, a glass of ice water, and a little stack of saltine crackers. There’s no way he had time to heat up soup while I’ve been on the phone. That means he made it for me before I woke up.
Holy shit.
“I’m glad you’re okay, babe,” Derek says.
I stare at Braxton. His stubble is thicker than usual and he’s wearing the same clothes he had on at the bar the other night. He’s literally been here this whole time, hasn’t he?
Vaguely, I remember begging him not to leave me the first night I was sick. And he didn’t. Brax stuck. I’m stunned—and extremely confused—because what I’m feeling is not a feeling I should have for Braxton.
“Kylie?” Derek says.
“Sorry, I’m still really tired. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay, bye babe,” Derek says.
Braxton’s eyes are on the floor as I hang up. I can tell he knows who I was talking to. When he looks up at me, I see something I’ve never seen on his face before. Pain.
I’ve seen him in physical pain. I was with him after his motorcycle accident. His leg was mangled. He kept it in pretty well, but I saw it in his eyes while I sat with him in his hospital room.
But this pain is different. It’s deeper. More personal.
No, he can’t be in pain over me. It has nothing to do with Derek, or sleeping next to me in my bed these last four days. He’s only doing what a best friend does. That’s why we’re so great together. We take care of each other.
We are great together.
Fuck.
A new thought bursts through my mind, ravaging my brain with its truth. But it isn’t new at all. It’s a thought I’ve had for years. I just keep pushing it away, ignoring it. Looking at Braxton, standing in my doorway with a tray of soup he made for me, I can’t make it stop. I can’t get it out of my mind any more than I can ignore how it’s felt to have him with me these last four days.
I’m completely, totally, madly in love with him.