B,
Eight weeks! We’re coming home in eight weeks. I hope. You never know, but it’s soooo close I can almost taste it. I miss you, loser. Oh! I almost forgot. I heard one of the guys say his daughter has a VLOG. Maybe you, Jess, and Milos should look into it? Kind of goes with your movie review … you still suck though.
#butsomeonehastoloveyou #weneedmorecookies #majoreatsthemall
Bennett Brannon
Washing dishes sucks about as much as a menstrual cycle. Anniston said the guys would wash them, but after seeing how hard they work all day with their jobs and workouts, I feel a little guilty staying home and watching them scrub pots and pans after a long day.
I only offered once, and they jumped on the idea like I was selling Girl Scout cookies—the caramel ones.
Vic dashes past me, throwing, “See ya later, B,” at me before I can respond. He’s obviously running late. Mason clomps down the stairs about five minutes later, dropping the F bomb as he hurries past, snagging a protein bar off the counter, Killer right behind him. “We overslept,” he tells me, shoving half the protein bar in his mouth and dropping a piece to Killer, who doesn’t even chew it.
Come to think of it, I didn’t hear them going for their morning run. I’ve gotten so used to the early morning noise that I’ve learned to sleep through the grumbling hotties. “Where’s Cade?” I holler at Mason’s back as he runs for the back door.
“Don’t know. Gotta go.”
Something feels off, and it’s not because I fell asleep on Cade last night and woke up tucked into my bed this morning like that’s where I fell asleep all along.
Something feels really off.
Maybe it’s that their routine is broken or maybe because it’s silent in the house. I assumed everyone was outside. Turning off the water and wiping my hands on the towel, I head upstairs, checking Tim’s room first. It’s not locked. I knock, and he opens the door, looking out of sorts. His sandy hair is sticking up, giving him that freshly fucked look. I know that’s not the case, the empty room confirms it, but still … how unfair. Hair that naturally looks good when you wake up should only be saved for women. Men don’t deserve freshly fucked hair.
“Everything okay?” I ask with a smile, trying not to look at those yankable golden locks.
He nods and rasps out a broken, “Woke up late.”
I tip my chin in acknowledgement and elaborate on what I know about the situation. “Cade didn’t get up in time to wake everyone up.”
Not that Tim has anywhere to go. He stays with Cade most days and helps around the plantation. No one has confirmed it for me, but I think he struggles with his hearing loss.
Tim looks behind me and then mutters that he’ll be out soon. I nod and move to the next door in line. Hayes. I knock, but no one answers. Pushing open the door, I brace for an eye full of nakedness, but he isn’t in there.
What the hell is going on around here?
I pull my phone out of the waistband of my shorts—yeah, I’m classy like that—and text Hayes.
Are you okay?
He responds immediately with a selfie of himself sandwiched between two women. The caption under the picture says, Very much okay, B.
He’s incorrigible but seriously adorable.
I type out a response while heading to Cade’s room.
Cade didn’t get the guys up this morning. I haven’t seen him.
Hayes calls me instead of texting back. Obviously, he’s just as concerned about Cade missing his routine as I am.
“Hey,” I breathe shakily into the phone.
“Have you checked his room?” Hayes doesn’t even bother to greet me. “On my way now,” I return, rapping lightly on Cade’s bedroom door.
When Cade doesn’t come to the door, I grow even more concerned. “He’s not answering. Maybe he’s out in the barn? I haven’t been outside yet.”
“Is his door locked?”
I try the handle. “Yes, it’s locked.”
“Fuck!”
Hayes’ response sends a shooting pain straight to my chest. “What do I do?” I plead, trying the handle again like it might somehow magically open now when it didn’t a second ago. I hear keys jingle on the other end of the line. “I’m on the way, but in the meantime, go to Anniston’s room. She keeps a set of keys in her bedside table.”
I’m already sprinting down the hall to Anniston’s master bedroom. Her door is unlocked and I’m digging through her nightstand before Hayes can give me further directions. “I have them,” I say, out of breath, already heading back to Cade’s room.
“Good girl. Now, B—” Hayes takes a deep breath and what comes out of his mouth next nearly drops me to the floor. “Whatever you find in there, know it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have stopped him.”
My fingers falter and I nearly drop the key. “What are you saying?”
Hayes sighs, the engine of his car nearly masking the sound. “I’m saying we aren’t supposed to lock the doors. The fact that it’s nine o’clock and Cade hasn’t been up and has his door locked … it’s not good, B. I want to prepare you. Suicide is always a concern for guys like us. It’s hard for us to adjust to the normality of everyday life. Especially with the demons Cade has.”
I don’t know when I started crying, but here I am, scared shitless to open this door, with tears pouring down my face. All I can say in response is, “No.” Cade cannot be dead. We were making progress. He was happy.
Wasn’t he?
“I’ll call you back,” I tell Hayes against his protests, and hang up.
Whatever you find, B. It was not your fault.
But for some reason, I feel like it is. How did I miss that he wasn’t up this morning? Maybe if I had noticed earlier, we wouldn’t be in this situation.
Slowly, I push open Cade’s door. It’s dark, his blackout curtains pulled closed. The good news is, blood isn’t splattered on the wall and he’s not hanging from the ceiling fan, but he’s probably a considerate jerk and slit his wrists in the tub so Anniston wouldn’t have to do a whole lot of cleaning.
Oh God.
His bathroom door is closed. Bile rises in my throat, and I feel about ninety-nine percent sure I’m about to puke on the carpet.
“Cade,” I whisper in the dark. Why am I in the damn dark? I pull out my phone, pressing the icon for the built-in flashlight. The only thing awry in his pristine room is his bed. It’s not made like he usually keeps it. The sheets are in knots and hanging off the bed, pooling onto the floor.
A groan pulls me from my inspection of his bed. “Cade,” I rush out, opening the bathroom door without knocking.
What I find will forever haunt me.
Cade is curled up on the tiled floor, his arms wrapped around his head as if he’s trying to crush it between his hands.
“Cade.” I approach him slowly since I’m not sure what’s going on. Is he sick? Is he having an episode? I don’t know. I feel out of my element here. Maybe I should call Hayes or better yet, Anniston.
“Go away,” he groans, his face twisted in obvious pain.
My chest feels heavy as I ignore his rude-ass response and inch closer. “I can’t do that.”
His body spasms and he lunges for the toilet, dry heaving. In between bouts of nausea he growls at me to leave again. I act like I don’t hear him and turn on the faucet, grabbing a rag from the cabinet and running it under the cool water. When he crumples to the floor in a ball of pain, I make my move and press the rag against his neck.
“Please go away, B,” he whines, but I barely register it. All that is going through my head is that he’s not dead. He didn’t want to die. I feel like I lost twenty pounds of worry as I watch him writhe on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, already assessing as much of him as I can see. “Do you have the flu?”
He groans but manages to get out, “My. Head. Hurts. So. Bad.”
His head?
He moans, curling in on himself again. It’s a pitiful sight that makes me want to put my arms around him and take away every bit of pain he’s feeling, but I know he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Cade is not a man that wants to appear weak. Sometimes though, even heroes need saving.
“I’ll call Anniston,” I tell him quietly, already dialing her number.
“No,” he grits out after another wave of pain takes him. I ignore him and step out of the bathroom.
“Breck? Everything okay?” Like Hayes, Anniston spares me no pleasantries, so I do her the same.
“Something is wrong with Cade,” I blurt out.
In hindsight, that was probably the wrong way to start the conversation because she damn near shouts at me to explain, and I quote, “Very fucking quickly.”
“I mean, I think he’s sick.”
That settles her down a little and I continue to tell her about his condition.
“Check and see if he has a fever,” she instructs me. I enter the bathroom and Cade is where I left him, on the floor, a beautiful, broken mess.
“Cade.” Why am I acting like I’m approaching a wild animal? “Anniston wants me to check for a fever.” If I wasn’t watching for a reaction, I would have missed the slight shake of his head. Too bad.
“Put me on speaker,” Anniston demands.
I do, and Cade clutches his ears. “Turn it down,” he begs me.
I do, and Anniston speaks quieter and less aggressive than she did with me. “Cade, let B check if you have a fever.”
He grunts out a “No” like the stubborn ass he is.
Anniston sighs, obviously wishing she was here to handle the situation herself. “Tell me what’s going on, Gorgeous, and then B and I will leave you alone.”
We will?
Cade mutters that he’s nauseous and his vision keeps getting blurry, and paired with the headache from hell, he’s not in the mood to argue with us. Even sick, he’s keeping his asshole attitude intact.
“B, take me off speaker.”
I whisper to Cade that I’ll be right back. He may have mumbled a thank you or go away. I couldn’t tell.
“B, I think he has a migraine,” Anniston says.
“Does he get them often?” I ask. I’m curious because, well, I’m a sponge with anything concerning Major Jameson. I soak up any info they have to offer.
“No. Never. Has he been sleeping?”
I think through the past week with him occasionally falling asleep on the sofa, the guys insisting on not waking him. But I don’t know if he fell asleep with me last night. I’m guessing no. But I can’t speak for the majority of nights, so I’m going to go with optimism. “I think so,” I report to Anniston. I mean, I don’t sit up all night and watch him. Okay, just that one time. It was only for like an hour and he was in a common area. That’s a free pass.
“So, no dreams?”
“Maybe a few,” I amend.
She sighs and then inhales a big breath. “Okay, Breck. I’m calling in a prescription to the pharmacy. Send one of the guys to get it and then figure out a way to get Cade to take it. He’ll fight with you because it will knock him out, but make him get it down.”
I absorb her instructions like I’m about to disarm a bomb in a few minutes. “Okay. What do I do in the meantime?”
“Turn the air down and get the room colder. See if he’ll shower and drink a cup of black coffee. The steam and caffeine will dilate the blood vessels in his head. Pull the curtains closed and keep it dark and quiet. Maybe he’ll fall asleep …” She hums for a second and then says, “You can always try to massage his pressure points. Do you know how to do that?”
Not really, but I can Google.
“Yeah, I think I can manage.”
Anniston sighs, and I hear Theo say, “We’re not going home. Breck can handle him.”
Have I mentioned that I love Theo?
“You’re right,” she tells Theo before addressing me. “You got this, B. I’m calling in his prescription now. Have Hayes or Tim go get it. Call me back if you have questions.”
I hear Cade groan. “I will, I promise.”
Theo whispers for Anniston to, “Wrap it up.” His voice sounds kind, like he knows how hard it is for her now that she’s worried.
“I am,” she says to Theo and then whispers, “Text me when you have him settled,” before hanging up.
I want to say no as the jealousy bubbles up, but I don’t. She’s so used to taking care of Cade that I can understand it’s hard to let go and allow someone else to do it.
I find the thermostat in the hallway and turn it down to sixty-five before knocking on Tim’s door. He answers, damp from a recent shower.
“Cade has a migraine. Anniston called in some meds to the pharmacy. Can you pick them up for me?”
He nods, leaving the door to grab his keys from his nightstand. He steps out wordlessly and kisses me on top of the head before trotting down the steps. The love this family has for each other gives me all the feels which will make it harder for me when I have to leave in a week.
With a last-minute call to Hayes, I head back to the bathroom and kneel next to Cade, ignoring the “Leave me alone,” he garbles out.
“Anniston called in something for your head. She said you need to take a hot shower to help dilate the blood vessels.”
He moans, squeezing his head again, and I realize he’s going to need a little nudge. I turn on the hot water in the shower, the steam filling up the small bathroom.
“Let me help you into the shower,” I beg, my voice a soft plea. He turns and swallows, grimacing in pain. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”
This man and his persistence. “I’m afraid not.”
He tries rolling his eyes but it must hurt because he sucks in a sharp breath and closes them. “Turn out the light,” he moans.
I do what he says save for the canned light in the shower. I can’t have him falling, can I?
“If I let go of my head, it feels like it will explode.”
I nod like I understand what he’s feeling, but I don’t. I’ve never had a migraine before. “What do you need me to do?”
“I …” It’s like he gags at the thought of what he’s about to say but maybe it’s the nausea. He tries again. “I need help to get my clothes off.”
Oh.
To say I’m not eager to strip this man down, even in his weakened state, would be total bullshit. I will take what I can get, and if this is the only time I see Cade Jameson naked, then I will live on the memory for years to come.
“Okay. I can help you with that.” I refrain from adding, “With my teeth.” I feel like he wouldn’t appreciate the humor in our current situation. He pulls his tired body up into a seated position, his eyes pinched closed, his hands fisted at his temples. “Let’s get your shirt off first,” I suggest with a whisper.
He folds over on his knees in obvious pain and mutters out, “I’ll just shower with my clothes on.”
Since he’s being ridiculous, I do what any girl in my position would do. I grasp the hem of his t-shirt and lift it up his back, not even paying attention to the scars that discolor his skin. Without acknowledging what I’m doing, Cade pulls his hands from his temples so I can pop his head through his shirt.
“Do you think you can stand?”
He makes a noncommittal noise I take as a yes. I stand first and check the water temperature before I slide under his arm and help him ungracefully to his feet. We stumble but are finally able to lean against the wall for some extra support. Cade is trembling from what I assume is pain and I pray I never experience a migraine of this magnitude.
“I think I can get my pants,” he says. I wait as he tries removing a hand to slide his pajama pants over his hips and stops, sucking a painful breath through his teeth. Without asking, I place my hands on each side of his hips, letting him know my intentions. When he doesn’t protest, I slide the elastic band over the slight curve of his hip before cresting over his delicious behind. It’s even better than I imagined. Smooth and rounded, and perfectly sculpted by hours of hard work. I pick up the pace so he doesn’t think I’m the kind of girl who takes advantage of a horrible situation.
When he’s standing bare, his front unfortunately facing the shower, I clear my throat and ask, “Can you do the rest?” I wouldn’t be opposed to helping him wash his hair or scrub the hard to reach places if need be.
“Yeah. Thanks,” he mutters.
It was worth a shot.
“I’m gonna go make you some coffee. I’ll be back. Don’t lock the door.”
I fly down the stairs and use the single serving coffee maker, cussing at it the whole time about being a slow ass. It’s barely beeped that it’s finished when I snatch the cup and run up the stairs, spilling burning drops of liquid over my hands. It’s as cold as Frosty’s asshole when I enter Cade’s darkened vampire lair. I place the cup of coffee on his nightstand and knock on the bathroom door. The shower is off.
“Cade. Do you need help?”
He opens the door in only a towel, and I stare. Sue me. His body is a glorious work of art, all scars and honor. I’ll tell you one thing, my blood vessels are pumping just fine … to my vagina.
I guide Cade by the hardened bicep to his bed through the darkened room until his legs hit the mattress. “Sit,” I order in a raspy tone. He does, and I hand him the cup of coffee. “You need to drink some of this. I’m sure it tastes like straight-up ass but Anniston says you need to.”
He lifts a brow and manages, “You’ve tasted ass before?”
He’s fine.
If he can crack a joke, he’s okay, but he’s in a towel, and damp, so I’ll stick around and make sure. Just in case he needs help to get dressed. Yes, I’m courteous like that.
“You’re so funny. Drink it.”
He takes a few sips and makes a face. “I told you. Tastes like ass, doesn’t it?” He hands me the cup and closes his eyes, breathing deep.
The door cracks and I turn and see Tim with a bag.
His medicine.
I mouth thank you to Tim before taking the bag and closing the door, already opening the bottle. Hovering under the bathroom light to read the label, I see he only needs one pill every four hours. I fill a glass of water and take it to him.
Immediately he says, “No.”
“You need it,” I argue with the idiot who’s doubled over in pain.
“It’ll put me to sleep.”
“Which is exactly what you need.”
He disagrees and tries to stand. “Please,” I beg, stopping him by putting my hand on his bare thigh. “Please don’t make me watch you writhe in pain anymore. I can’t take it.”
I fully expect him to tell me to leave then, but he hesitates, eyeing the pill in my hand and then my face. “Please,” I plead one more time. It’s hard to watch someone you care about in pain. He sighs and takes the pill from my hand, swallowing it dry. I hand him the water and he takes a small sip then hands it back.
Placing it on the table, I motion for him to lie back. Cade’s hands go back to his head and he folds over his knees again. “Stay with me?” he begs into his lap.
Say what?
Did he just ask me, of all people, to stay with him? The man who asks me if he can give me a ride home every day? The man who just told me to go away about a billion times wants me to stay?
Holy shit.
A self-respecting woman would tell him no. I helped him and now he needs to rest, but like I said, even heroes need saving sometimes, and I just put my cape on.
“Are you sure?” I need confirmation he actually asked and it wasn’t the pain talking.
“Please don’t make me ask again.”
Humility will get you everywhere. Especially in my panties. “I’ll stay,” is all I’m able to get out.
He mumbles out a quiet, “Thank you,” before folding his almost naked body into the bed. He’s shivering, and I wonder if it’s truly a migraine, but then I remember it’s like below zero in here and he’s damp and in a towel. I lift his comforter up off the floor where he kicked it earlier, and pull it up to his shoulders. I slide in next to him awkwardly. I’m not sure what the hell I plan on doing while he rests. I can’t turn on the TV or play on my phone because of the light and noise. Cade groans into his pillow. “My head is fucking pounding.”
I remember Anniston saying something about pressure points but I don’t want Cade to know I’d have to Google it in order to try and do it. Kind of lessens the faith. “I can massage your shoulders,” I offer. “I don’t know much about pressure points but maybe it’ll help until the medicine kicks in.”
I do know how to massage some damn shoulders. I’m not totally worthless.
Cade doesn’t jump at my offer and I don’t take it personally. He’s not thinking clearly with the pain and all.
“That would be nice. Thank you,” he finally rasps out.
Two thank yous in less than ten minutes. Times are changing, folks!
“You’re welcome,” I say.
Oh my word. You’re welcome? I am such a loser.
Instead of commenting, Cade rolls flat onto his stomach and holds his pillow over his head.
Easing the comforter off his shoulders, I start in the middle of his back, kneading and pinching slow circles as deep as I can into his tense muscles. He never says if it feels good or if it’s annoying the shit out of him but I keep going because for once he doesn’t seem to be in as much pain as before. Hours pass—okay, it’s about fifteen minutes, but my fingers ache and my shoulders hurt from the awkward angle of trying to massage Cade’s back from the side of the bed. It would have been much better if I could have sat on his butt. What? It’s more ergonomic.
Slowing my circles, I pop the fingers in my hand, rolling my wrist in a stretch. When Cade doesn’t protest, I look closer and notice that his arms are limp and not flexed at his head like before. His breathing is slow and even.
He’s asleep.
I pull the blanket up to his shoulders and ease the pillow off his head, taking a minute to just stare at him. It’s rare that I get a chance to just all-out gawk at him, so I take this minute as a reward for dealing with his shit all week and not poisoning his food like he deserved.
His face, dusted in dark hair, seems peaceful, and I hope that means he’s not stuck in a horrific nightmare. Watching his back rise and fall with every breath, I realize that under the hard exterior is a man who will one day change the world.