Be with Me (Wait for You #2)(53)

Squeezing my eyes shut until they burned, I sat up a little. He deserved a response, even after all those times he ignored me. This wasn’t about him. I sent him a quick message back.

Not feeling well.

His response was immediate.

R u ok?

Scrubbing my suddenly wet eyes, I texted back a quick yes, and then tossed the phone on the foot of the bed.

I knew I needed to call Dr. Morgan and Mom, but the mere thought of doing so caused my chest to seize. The pain and swelling—-I already knew what it meant. My future and my dreams were over. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me that.

Another shudder worked its way through me. Curling onto my side, I wrapped my arm around my pillow and shoved my face in it. The soft material quickly became damp. They weren’t big tears. Just silent and unending. The hurt in the pit of my stomach was as strong as the pain in my knee.

It was a little after twelve thirty when there was a sharp rap on the door. I had no idea who it could be. Maybe my yet--to--be--seen suitemates? Frowning, I hastily wiped my cheeks as I sat up, and then cleared my throat. “Come in.”

I tugged the quilt over my right leg. I don’t know why I wanted to hide it. Maybe it was like if no one else saw it, then it wasn’t true. Sort of a stupid mentality, but I was barely holding myself together. I was seconds away from throwing myself to the floor and flailing.

The door opened, and I blinked once and then twice, thinking I was seeing things, but the person before me didn’t vanish.

Jase strolled into my room, like he’d done it a million times. He was dressed in jeans and a black, long--sleeve shirt, and a plastic bag dangled from his long fingertips. He drew up short when he spotted me.

Concern filled his gray eyes. “Wow. You do look rough.”

I cringed. Must’ve been the puffy eyes. “Thanks.”

A small smile crossed his lips as he came forward. “You don’t look that bad.” He sat on the edge of the bed, placing the bag on the floor between his feet. “Should I be worried?”

My brows rose. I was still too stunned by seeing him to understand where he was going with that statement.

“Is whatever you have contagious?” he clarified.

“Oh. No.” I paused, peeking up at him through damp lashes. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” He coughed out a laugh. “Seems pretty obvious.” Bending over, he picked up the bag and pulled out a plastic container. “Chicken noodle soup. Not for the soul. But for your hopefully not contagious disease.”

That damn fluttering feeling was back with a vengeance. I took the warm container and plastic spoon. A ginger ale bottle appeared next, and he placed that on the nightstand, then a pink box. A cupcake. I wanted to cry. “If you are so worried about getting sick, why did you come?”

One side of his lips curved up again. “Well, considering what we did Saturday night, I think that concern is beside the point.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, flushing at the reminder.

“And I figured you were worth the risk,” he added, rolling the bag up and tossing it in the wastebasket by the desk. “Knowing that should make you already feel better.”

I laughed, but the smile slipped off my face as I peeled the lid off the soup. What he’d done had rocked me straight to the center of my chest. I wasn’t sick, but there was no way I was going to deny this feeling. In spite of the dull ache in my leg and what it meant, warmth bubbled up my chest.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse. “This . . . this was really nice of you.”

He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Dipping the spoon into the noodle heavy soup, I took a healthy swallow to help ease the lump in my throat. What he’d done was a big deal. Tears burned my eyes again. I was turning into a big crybaby, but these tears were different. I wanted to tackle--hug him. I wanted to rain kisses all over his beautiful face. I wanted to be able to get up and do those things without hobbling through it. Him being here wasn’t the equivalent of him professing his undying love for me, but it meant something—-something more than stolen kisses.

When I looked at him, he was studying me closely—-too closely. I averted my attention to the soup.

“I was worried last night,” he admitted quietly. “When you didn’t answer, I thought . . . well, I thought you were ignoring me.”

Holding the container close, I gathered up some noodles. “I wasn’t.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had, especially when I’ve done the same to you.” He thrust his fingers through his hair, and as soon as he dropped his hand, his hair flopped back over his forehead. “I don’t think I ever apologized for that.”

My heart rate picked up. Where was all this coming from? And why right now, when it felt like my kneecap was about to jump out of my leg totally alien--monster style.

“So I’m sorry about that. And when I made the comment about you just wanting to get laid. I know that’s not what you want. You’re better than that and you deserve more than that. I know that doesn’t mean a lot, but it wasn’t the right way, and in the end, it was f*cking pointless because here you are and I can’t stay away from you.” He twisted toward me, leaning his upper body over my legs. “You know about Jack, but—-”

His hip pressed into my knee, and I jerked. My body jackknifed as the slicing pain traveled up my leg. His hand snatched out lightning quick, catching the container of soup before it spilled all over me. Blood drained from my face as I slammed my hands into the bed, clutching the sheets.