He looks tired.

“What time is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“About two in the morning. Here, take these.” He hands me two small white pills and water and then takes my temp again. “One hundred even. It’s coming down.”

“I’m a sweaty mess,” I mutter in disgust.

“Do you want a shower?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go.” He pulls the covers back and helps me to my feet, but I’m wobbly with weakness.

Fuck, I hate feeling like this.

“A bath it is.” He smiles down at me and scoops me into his arms.

“I thought I dreamed you,” I whisper and bury my nose in his neck.

“That explains why you were telling someone they were sexy and talented and wonderful in your sleep.” He winks down at me and I can’t help the small smile that finds its way across my lips.

“That explains it,” I agree. He sets me gently on the toilet while he runs the hot water in the tub, pulls the soaked t-shirt over my head, helps me out of my panties and scoops me back into his arms so he can lower me into the water.

“It feels cold.” I frown at him.

“I can’t give you a super hot bath, honey. I’m trying to break your fever.” He scoops up my dirty clothes and tosses them into my hamper. “Where are you pajamas?”

“Sleep shirts are in the top drawer of my dresser. Panties are in the second drawer down.”

He nods and leaves the bathroom and I just push my hands through the water, watching it fall over my knees. He’s really good at this taking care of someone stuff.

“Where did you learn to be a caretaker?” I ask him.

“I took care of Meg for a long time.” He shrugs and smiles down at me sweetly, that piercing catching my eye, and I can’t help but remember what he can do with that little piece of metal. He holds up another Nash t-shirt. “What’s with all the concert t-shirts?”

“I see a lot of concerts.” I look back down at the water, embarrassed that he’s seen all of my Nash shirts. “I always get a t-shirt and use them for pajamas.”

“You have quite a Nash collection.”

“They’re my favorite,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed again. “Happy now?”

“Getting there,” he whispers and kisses my forehead. “Come on, baby, let’s get you back in bed.” He scoops me out of the bath and I gasp at the cold air that feels even colder on my over-heated skin.

“So cold.” I watch him wrap a towel around me as I start to shiver. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” He asks.

“That you’re taking care of me.”

“I’m not sorry about that.” He briskly dries me and slips the soft cotton t-shirt over my head, lifts me in his arms again and delivers me to the bedroom. “I am sorry about the other night, Samantha. Jesus, I am so sorry. I would never use you.”

“I know. I’m sorry too. I’m so mean when I’m scared,” I whisper and snuggle down in bed. He brushes his fingers through my hair, rhythmically, gazing down at me softly.

“I’ll sleep in the spare room,” Leo offers and starts to stand, but I grab his wrist to keep him next to me.

“I don’t have a spare room.”

“This is a two bedroom apartment.” He frowns down at me and I offer him a small smile.

“I converted the other bedroom into a closet. No bed there. Sleep here.” I yawn, sleep pulling me back down. “Where’s my cat?” I ask.

“He’s been following me around. I fed him. Just sleep.” I feel the bed dip as he climbs under the covers behind me and pulls me against him, his arms around me, fully clothed, and let sleep take me over.

***

Sunlight is spilling over my face as I wake and look about the room. I’m in bed alone again, aside from Levine, curled up at my feet, snoring.

I feel better. I don’t feel like a night out on the town, but I think my fever has broken and I don’t need to throw up.

Progress.

I can hear someone playing my piano and I smile. Leo is still here.

I use the restroom, brush my teeth and drape a throw blanket around my shoulders before I go find him sitting in my living room, in the same black t-shirt and jeans from last night. His feet are bare and he has a pen gripped in his teeth.

His hair is standing on end from his fingers.

Leo is here.

I cross to him and kiss his head. He shifts to the left, making room for me on the bench, and I join him.

“Hi.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He leans down and kisses my forehead twice, checking for fever and must be happy with what he feels because he backs away and grins down at me.

“Better. I don’t want to be in bed anymore.” I look down at his long-fingered hands resting on the piano keys.

“Okay, hang out with me.”

“What are you playing?” I ask.

“Something new.” His brow wrinkles as he concentrates on the keys, playing a soft melody that I’ve never heard before.

God, he’s so talented.

“I didn’t know you played the piano,” I murmur.

“Not well, but I don’t have my guitar here.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” I whisper and lean my head on his shoulder as he plays.

“Yeah, I did. I thought about taking you to the ER there for a while.” I look up into his stormy gray eyes in surprise. “But you came through.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We sit in companionable silence as he plays the melody. Every so often he’ll stop and write something down, or switch the notes to suit him.

It’s fascinating.

“I can’t get the hook,” he grumbles, fumbling over the song. He stops and backtracks and tries to play it again, but he’s still not hearing it.

But I do.

I start to hum it and his eyes shoot down to me in surprise. “You play it,” he says and pulls his hands away from the keys.

And I pick up where he left off, playing what I hear in my head for the hook of the song.

“Your turn,” I mumble and lean my head back on his shoulder as he mimics what I just played and smiles down at me.

“You never stop surprising me.” He kisses my head and keeps playing, humming along.

I’m completely content here, sitting on my piano bench, with this complicated, moody man. As the song comes to a close, he rests his hands in his lap and leans his cheek on my head.