CHAPTER 18
Stepping into Asher’s bedroom, I take a moment to study him as he sleeps. I never realized what a fierce expression he always kept on his face but now that he’s relaxed and not aware of anyone watching him, he almost looks vulnerable.
Which is not a word I’d ever use to describe Asher Knight. And if I did, he’d take great offense to it. In the past month, I’ve come to understand some important truths about him.
He’s bossy, arrogant, and a control freak. He’s strong and determined. The vibe around him is always one of authority, and when he wants something, he takes it.
I also found out just a few days ago that he has an incredibly surprising softer side, as evidenced by the way he took care of me Friday night when I was sick. I didn’t think he had something like that in him, and it absolutely goes against everything that our relationship stands for. He went one step further by helping to push my case forward to get Hope back. True to his word, his attorney is filing the motion today. It will be served upon Nelson and his attorney, and I’ve been tense all morning waiting for a phone call from him.
I woke up feeling so much better on Saturday morning, which was a relief, because that meant I would get my time with Hope. But I was feeling a tad guilty when I noticed that Asher had a bit of a cough as he was leaving.
“I hope you didn’t get sick from me,” I’d told him from the doorway as he walked down my porch.
He waved me off. “Just a tickle in my throat. I’m fine.”
When I came into work this Monday morning, I found Asher in bed with a fever, sweats, and a deep congestive cough. I immediately hooked him up with some tea. Because he had no cold medications in his apartment, I ran out to the pharmacy to grab the necessities.
I dosed him up and ordered him to sleep, which is really the best sort of medicine. His body was fighting off some nasty stuff because he didn’t even try to argue with me.
But now it’s close to lunchtime, and he needs to eat and hydrate. I carry a tray stacked with chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some Gatorade. It’s time for him to take more Tylenol, too, if he’s still hot.
I set the tray on the side table and turn to the bed. I can’t help but stare just a moment more because in sleep, he looks boyishly handsome. And even though he’s sick, he’s incredibly hot. He’s kicked off all the covers, wearing only a pair of briefs that make me drool.
Touching a hand to his forehead first, I note it’s cooler to the touch. He doesn’t stir so I gently shake him by the shoulder. “Asher… wake up.”
His eyes flutter open slowly. Dazed, he looks at me. “Hey.”
“I want you to try to eat something, and you also need to also drink some Gatorade.”
“Not hungry,” he says with the same froggy-sounding voice I had a few days ago. Yup… fairly sure I got him sick, and it was probably because he held me through the night. It’s an odd feeling but one I don’t hate. While he shows me no other physical affection except when we’re having sex, I can’t help but think it must mean something, right?
I have no intention of coddling him through his illness. Instead, I intend for him to follow my directions to get better quicker. Due to my compromised immune system, I’ve unfortunately had too many of these illnesses the last few years, I know the best way to knock them out.
Grabbing his pillow, I give it a little jerk as I order him, “Sit up so I can put this tray on your lap.”
“Rather have you on my lap,” he croaks, but there’s no power or punch in his words. This cold is whipping his butt. It’s not a serious offer.
Pity. I do miss sex with him.
Thankfully, he doesn’t fight me and manages to haul himself up to lean against the headboard. I put the tray on his lap, then open the Gatorade bottle while he picks up the spoon and pokes around at some of the noodles.
“What time is it?” he asks.
Turning to his table, I start picking up discarded tissues, an empty glass that had had ginger ale in it from earlier this morning, and a box of Nyquil gel caps. “Almost noon.”
“I need to get into the office,” he mutters, then has a coughing fit.
“I’d advise against it.”
He glances from me to his soup, dipping his spoon in before guiding it to his mouth. When he swallows, he points the spoon at me. “You’re awful bossy. I think it’s because you know I’m too sick to spank you.”
God… he spanks so well.
“Tell you what,” I suggest. “You eat your soup, drink all the Gatorade, and then promise me you’ll close your eyes and lay there for fifteen minutes afterward. If you’re still awake, you can go to the office. My bet is you’re going to fall back asleep.”
Asher nods, a small tell that he agrees with me. He gamely tries another spoonful of the soup.
I turn for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Hannah,” he says roughly.
I glance at him over my shoulder, smiling at the expression on his face. He hates being helpless and yeah… I do feel a bit powerful right now. “Repaying the favor,” I say.
Closing the door, I head into the kitchen. My goal today is to clean all the windows in the apartment and dust the baseboards. I started coming up with projects like this to fill my time, as keeping his place clean and doing some errands for him doesn’t always keep me busy. I know our sexual escapades together are considered “work time” for me, but I never want to be looked at as someone who doesn’t work hard.
I’m startled when I enter the kitchen to find Asher’s sister standing at the big center island. Christina is just setting down her purse and keys there, so it’s obvious she just arrived.
“Hey,” I say with a warm flush rushing over my face. I feel like I’ve been caught doing something naughty, having just left Asher mostly naked in his room, despite my noble actions of caring for him when he’s sick. Probably latent guilt for having been ogling the sick man just moment ago.
“Hey,” Christina says with a smile that is etched with worry. “I tried to call Asher this morning, but he didn’t return my call. I called his office and they said he was home sick, so I just came by to check on him.”
I throw my thumb over my shoulder toward his room. “He’s in bed. I just gave him some soup and Gatorade.”
“Well, that’s sweet of you,” she replies. “Thank goodness you were here to see to him.”
“It’s my job,” I murmur with a small bob of my head. I move around the island, then squat in front of the sink cabinet where the glass cleaning supplies will be.
It’s silent so I dare to peek up at Christina, who is now smiling down at me with what I would describe as a “knowing” look.
Oh my God. Does she know I was just ogling her almost naked brother?
My cheeks heat a little more and I open the cabinet, sticking my head inside to root around.
“I’ll just pop in to see if there’s anything I can do for him, but it looks like he’s well-tended here.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply vaguely, keeping my head inside the cabinet so I don’t have to converse with her.
I hear Christina move out of the kitchen, assume she’s into the hallway, and I pull back with glass cleaner in one hand and paper towels in the other.
I’m not sure why I want to hide the nature of my relationship with her brother, but I never wanted to be the maid or secretary the boss banged. It seems seedy.
An unbidden laugh wells up inside of me as I realize how ludicrous it is to feel that way, given the fact I actually am banging him and I’ve been paid money to do it, too, which is far worse.
I make it no further than finishing the first full window in Asher’s living room, when Christina comes back in.
Instead of going toward her purse in the kitchen, though, she heads my way. To my horror, she plops down on the couch. She even curls her feet up under her as if she’s settling in for a good long while.
“He’s almost done eating,” Christina informs me as I turn to spray cleaner on the next window.
“That’s great,” I mutter in reply, but offer no more.
“He said you ordered him to take a nap after.”
“Um… yeah,” I admit, using paper towels to wipe the windows down.
“No one,” Christina says in a voice that’s tinged with awe, “and I mean no one, orders Asher to do anything.”
My entire body goes warm. I realize Christina has guessed far more about our relationship than I could have ever given her credit for.
I slowly turn around to face her, prepared to lie and deny.
When I meet her gaze, I’m stunned to see pure joy reflected at me.
“This is great,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper as she leans forward on the couch.
“What’s great?” I ask quietly, glancing to the hallway that leads to Asher’s room, then back to his sister. Can he hear us?
I take a step closer to her just so we can keep the conversation on the down low.
“You and Asher,” she says smugly.
I shake my head and hold my hands out, one still clutching paper towels. “No, no, no, no. You’ve got the wrong idea.”
“I don’t,” she says with a tip of her chin upward. “You’re taking care of my sick brother, who is half naked in his room, and you’re ordering him around, which can only mean you have him by the short hairs. I know my brother, and he would never, ever let anyone cater to him like this.”
The deer-in-the-headlights look is all I can manage in return.
“And I think it’s wonderful he’s let someone else in,” she goes on, still whispering. This tells me she very much doesn’t want her brother hearing this.
Five seconds ago, I was all lie and deny, but now I do sort of a double take on the situation. She’s piqued my interest.
“Let someone else in?” I ask for clarification.
My body takes an unconscious step toward her, clearly showing my curiosity. I should just go back to work and ignore her, but really… am I going to pass up a chance to get some insight into Asher? Not if she’s willing to offer it up without demanding something in return, and she seems like she’s willing to dish with me.
“He’s just been so closed off from everyone since Michelle died.” Her voice is mournful, but I’m not sure if it’s from losing Michelle or her brother in the process.
“He told me she killed herself,” I murmur, feeling a heaviness in my heart for Asher.
Christina nods. “He found her. In their bed. While he won’t talk about it, I think he blames himself.”
“Why would he do that?” I ask, horrified.
“Asher can do anything. Fix anything. But I think he feels like a failure for not recognizing she was in crisis.”
“It’s not always visible,” I say. I know this because I had a friend—not close, but a friend just the same—who killed herself in high school. I’d been stunned. The day she did it, she hadn’t seemed sad or depressed at all. Our school counselors talked to us candidly about suicide and depression, telling us it just isn’t as transparent as people would like to think.
“I know that,” she says. “And he probably does deep down, but still… I think he wanted to remove himself from any attachments going forward. He moved out of their house and into this apartment. Since then, he’s not taken a single interest in developing friends or a romantic relationship.”
“We don’t have a romantic relationship,” I feel compelled to admit.
She smiles slyly as she pushes off the couch. Stepping into me, Christina says, “You have something, and that’s good enough for me right now.”
Right now?
What does that mean?
I have no clue because she turns and heads to the kitchen, snagging up her purse and keys. I get a beautiful smile from her when she turns back to me. “Maybe you and I could have lunch sometime. Talk some more.”
“Um… yeah,” I mumble, but that thought terrifies me. I don’t want to do anything to overstep my bounds. The last thing I want is Asher pissed at me.
With a wave, Christina breezes right out the door. I stand there for almost a full minute before I jolt with the realization I’m at work and have shit to do.
I return to the windows and finish the living room.
After, I head to Asher’s bedroom, completely satisfied when I see him conked out. After I quietly gather the tray from the table, I leave the room. I just manage to pull the door shut with one hand while balancing the tray on the other, when my phone loudly rings from my back pocket.
I snatch it out, quickly answering the call without even seeing who it’s from.
“Hello,” I say quietly as I head toward the kitchen.
“Hi, Miss Madigan?” a female voice says.
“Yes?”
“This is Anne Marie calling from Dr. Yonkowski’s office. It’s time to schedule your bi-annual follow up with him.”
There’s no stopping the chill in my veins at the reminder, despite the fact I probably have nothing to worry about. “Has it been six months already?”
“Sure has,” she chirps. “You been doing all right, honey?”
“Um… yeah. Had a few colds this year—one just last week. Otherwise, I feel great.”
“Your immune system is going to struggle a bit,” she says, telling me something I’m already aware of. “I recommend zinc.”
“Zinc. Got it.”
“Okay, let me pull up the doc’s schedule,” she says, and I can hear her fingers tapping on a keyboard.
She offers me up some dates, the soonest of which is three weeks away. That’s fine, though, as this is just a regular follow-up and there’s no urgency.
She promises to send me a printed reminder letter before we hang up, but I still put it in the calendar on my phone.
Monday, November 19, 2:00 PM
Las Vegas Hematology and Oncology.
I make a mental note to myself to let Asher know I’ll need off early that day, assuming he still wants me then. I fully expect there to come a day when he gets tired of this relationship, and all I can hope is that he’ll keep me on cleaning his apartment until I can find something to compensate.
My thoughts then turn back to Dr. Yonkowski, the oncologist who treated me after I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma three years ago. It was caught so early that I was one of those lucky, lucky people who fall into the ninety-percent survival rate. So far, I’ve been doing great. I have to see Dr. Yonkowski twice a year now and I tend to get sicker a little easier with colds and such, but mostly, I couldn’t ask for anything more.
Well, hitting the five-year mark will be a total high-five moment with myself. Maybe I’ll buy myself a cupcake on that day.
There would be no one else to celebrate it with me. Hope was only two when I was diagnosed, and she never knew or understood what happened. I drove myself to all my appointments, often with Hope in tow. Nelson couldn’t be bothered to attend with me because, as he’d said on so many occasions, “It’s just stage 1 cancer. It’s totally curable.”
That wasn’t exactly true but still, it was the best prognosis I could have hoped for. I downplayed everything with my mom and brothers, assuring them Nelson was being supportive. Otherwise, they would have stormed Vegas. Frankly, they just couldn’t afford to.
So, I was on my own and I went through it alone. I came out on the tail end knowing I could handle anything. Being diagnosed with cancer and fighting it alone with no support taught me more about myself than I could have ever hoped for. It gave me the courage to finally walk away from Nelson, knowing I had nothing to be scared of. I’d already conquered the ultimate fear.
I’m a better person today because of it.