CHAPTER EIGHT
Leighton
It’s freezing cold tonight, temps dropping low enough that it’s gotten chilly in the house. I just checked the thermostat and it reads fifty-nine. Which wouldn’t be so bad if I knew how to work the heat.
Central heat wasn’t something we had at my house. Everyone assumes moonshiners are rich, and to an extent they are, but most of them are greedy, too. And instead of doing things like giving your kids central heat, you go out and purchase a sixty-thousand-dollar truck for a teenage kid who doesn’t understand responsibility and gets put in jail a year after getting it. None of my family has a sensible bone in their body, and they suffer for it.
My grandpa yells to anyone who’ll listen that he makes moonshine because his social security isn’t enough for him to live on, when the fact of the matter is, the man’s never learned to budget a day in his life. He has no savings, and he wouldn’t know what to do with it, if he did. Same goes with my dad and brother.
I’m not really sure where I get my sensible thoughts from. Maybe my mom?
I shiver, running through the house to find some warmer clothes to wear and to get my mind off of thinking about my mother. That’s a place I haven’t wanted to go for years, and definitely a place I don’t want to go tonight. Glancing through my chest of drawers, I see I have nothing to keep me warm for temperatures like this. A testament to how few nights we have this cold.
“I guess that’s what I have a husband for.” I shrug as I go over to his closet and open the door.
It’s not very often I go in here, basically only when I’m putting up his laundry or helping him get dressed for the day. The scent of his cologne that lingers on everything is prevalent here, and I like to take a second to let it wash over me. I’ll always, for the rest of my life, associate this smell with my husband. Snapping out of it, I rifle through the stuff he has there, before I find a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.
I’m shivering as I take my clothes off, leaving my socks on, and do a quick switch out of my outfit for his. Putting the hood of the sweatshirt up over my head, I sigh, finally encased by warmth. Tiptoeing back out to the living room, I take another look at the thermostat, trying to figure out how to turn the heat on. I feel inadequate, not knowing how to do this, when so many others probably do. Just another time where my upbringing failed me.
I hear boots on the porch and make a small sound of joy in my throat that Holden’s home. The door opens, with it spilling in the cold air. I clasp my arms across my chest to ward off the chill, thankful when he shuts the door.
The moment Holden turns around to look at me, I see a hunger in his eyes I’ve never seen before. I want to ask what it is, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and I’m frozen in the spot I stand.
“What?” I finally ask, self-conscious as hell.
“My clothes look better on you than they do on me. You look really fuckin’ good in my shirt,” he answers, his voice rough.
For the first time I get a good look at him; he’s a little pale and shivering himself. “I was cold and couldn’t figure out how to turn the heat on,” I explain. His eyes are a bit glassy, and I’m a little worried. “Are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”
“The house doesn’t have central heat because it’s an older one. I have gas logs in the fireplace, and when you crank it up, it’ll get the whole house warm,” he explains, making me feel better about not being able to figure it out.
“I’ll turn it on for us, because I’m freezing, too.”
I walk over to him, watching as he squats and opens the glass barrier of the fireplace and turns a few knobs, cranking up the heat. Immediately I can feel warmth coming from the area. “You’ll have to show me how to do that, so I can warm the house up before you come home if this happens again.”
“Tomorrow,” he hangs his head. “Tonight, I don’t feel like it.”
He’s shivering as he stands up, teeth chattering with the cold. “Holden, are you okay?” I ask again.
“I feel a little like shit,” he admits, leaning against the wall. I can’t tell if he’s doing it because he’s tired, or if it’s for support.
Reaching out, I grab hold of his waist and gasp. He isn’t freezing, he’s burning up. “You’re on fire.” I immediately take my hand and put it to his forehead, feeling the hot skin.
“I’m fine.” He tries to shake me off, but stumbles as he leaves the firm support of the wall.
“You’re not fine, and you may have dealt with this yourself before, but I’ll remind you, you have me now. If you’re sick, I’ll take care of you.”
His dark eyes run over my face, and like normal, I can’t tell what he’s thinking, completely unsure of what’s running through his head. When I almost give up hope he’s going to take my help, he reaches out and grabs my hand. “I’m so cold, I feel awful, and all I want is a shower.”
Given the way he’s swaying without the support of the wall, I know he’s telling me because he’s going to need my help. I swallow roughly against the dryness that’s crept into my throat. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll help you get it, but first we need to take your temperature and get some medicine in you. It’s probably from when you stood out in that cold rain today without a hat on.”
He says nothing as I pull him toward the island in the kitchen. “Where’s your thermometer?”
He leans heavily against the granite countertop, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He coughs slightly, grimacing, before pointing up to a cabinet. “Anything for sickness is up there.”
In the time I’ve lived here, I can’t believe I didn’t know that. Neither one of us has been sick, so I guess it makes sense, but it also makes me wonder what else I don’t know about my home, about my husband. As I’m fumbling through the basket of medicine, looking for the thermometer, I realize I want to know everything. I’m not content with the way we’ve been going anymore. After talking with Violet and getting a small taste of the intense man last night, I want more – I want it all.
At the same time, I know I’m going to have to initiate it. And given the opportunity, I will, I’ll initiate until we’re naked in our bed with our bodies rubbing together. I suck a breath in, amazed at the thoughts running through my head. But I know immediately this is what I want, it’s what I’ve wanted and today gave me the courage to go after it. But first, I need to take care of my man.
Thermometer finally in hand, I turn to face him. “Open your mouth and hold it under your tongue.”
He opens his mouth and lets me press the plastic instrument in there, holding it with his hand.
“Have you been feeling bad since this afternoon?” I ask, knowing he can’t answer me because he’s got his mouth full.
He shakes his head and mumbles something around the stem of the thermometer. “Since you left to come home?” I ask, almost positive that’s what he said.
A nod this time. The thermometer beeps and he removes it from his mouth, handing it to me. “Hit me like a ton of bricks as I left the station.”
I glance at the digital readout and whistle between my teeth. “One hundred and two. Did you get a flu shot?” I glance at him with an eyebrow raised.
“It’s required of everyone in the department.”
Hopefully the flu shot is still working then, but I have a feeling the next few days aren’t going to be fun. “Well let’s get some medicine in you, and then we’ll see about getting you a shower.”
The fact he doesn’t protest speaks volumes to just how badly he feels. A few minutes later, I’ve gotten him to swallow down a fever reducer, a pain reliever, and a few sips of orange juice as we make our way toward the bathroom.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says over his shoulder.
“I don’t, but I can’t let you possibly fall and hurt yourself either. We’re adults; we can handle seeing each other’s naked bodies.”
At least I hope we can.