Fall (VIP #3)(58)

“I was worried about you,” I confess.

Oh, he really doesn’t like that. “I’m a grown man, Stella Button. You don’t have to worry. I am fine.”

“If you’re fine, maybe you should get up? Have a shower.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Are you saying I stink?”

He doesn’t, actually. Not that I can tell from where I stand, anyway. But his general listlessness bothers me. I’m at his bedside and he hasn’t even tried to sit up. He simply lies there entrenched.

“It’ll get your blood going,” I tell him, nudging his knee.

John blinks up at the ceiling. “I’ll get up soon.”

When I simply stare at him, he lifts his head and looks down the elegant length of his nose at me. “I am okay, Stella. As you can see, I haven’t hurt myself, or whatever it was you feared.”

He sounds irritated, but I can hear the embarrassment he’s trying to hide. I get why it irks him that people assume the worst when he doesn’t reply to their calls. But I don’t feel remotely guilty. He is too important, and I refuse to tiptoe around his feelings if it means his safety is in jeopardy.

I keep my voice light. “Was I this pissy when you found me sick? I can’t remember.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “You were worse. Then again, you were actually sick. I’m not. So, if you just stopped by to check on me, you can go.”

The finality in his tone brooks no argument. But he holds my gaze all but daring me to not to go. And I realize that, despite his irritation, despite the fact that he’s clearly baiting me, he doesn’t want to be alone.

“If you won’t get up, then shove over.”

John’s brows lift. “What?”

“You heard me. All this worrying that you hurt yourself while playing guitar naked has made me tired. I need a nap too. Move.”

His smile is small and wry, but he does as asked, making room for me and resting his head in his hand as he watches me climb onto the bed. It’s a struggle to get up.

“Jesus. Did you inherit this bed from royalty or something? Maybe the princess who slept on a pea?” His bed is a cloud of perfection, utterly luxurious with the butter-soft covers. I really do have the urge to burrow down and nap the day away.

John chuckles. “Sorry to crush the fantasy but it’s new.”

With a sigh, I rest my head on a pillow and face him. Though we’re not touching, we’re close enough that I feel the heat of his body. “I thought Killian’s bed was nice, but this is a whole other level of cushy.”

John’s brows snap together. “Can you not refer to the place you currently sleep as Killian’s bed?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, Killian and Liberty’s guest bed. Is that better?”

“Yes.”

My lips pull on a smile. “You sounded a little jealous there, you know.”

Lying this close to him when I’m not sick is a strange sensation. I’m aware of his size, so much bigger than mine. I’m aware of the cadence of his breath, and that he smells a bit like Earl Grey and lemons. And I am aware of the way his green eyes look at me as though I’m all he sees.

“You’re right,” he says lightly. “I thought that was fairly obvious, Stella Button.”

We’ve edged closer to each other. Our forearms touch. His skin is warm, the soft friction of it against mine making the little hairs along my arm lift.

“That I’m always right?” I retort, teasing him because I’m afraid what I’ll expose of myself. “I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.”

“You have a gift for deliberately misunderstanding me.” His expression is fond and a bit tender as he reaches out and touches the tip of my nose. “I won’t try again,” he whispers roughly. “Ever.”

A lump gathers in my throat. “I ask if you’re okay because I care. But you don’t have to reassure me. Or please anyone. You did nothing wrong, John.”

He lets out a hard breath, and my fingers find his. Without hesitation, he turns his hand palm up and threads his fingers with mine. His thumb strokes a slow circle over the backs of our knuckles.

My voice is a ghost between us. “You want to know why I came looking for you?”

His focus intensifies. “Tell me.”

He’s still gently exploring my hand, the smooth skin along the back of it, the sensitive edges of my wrist, and between my knuckles. I feel fragile just then, like he might break me with one harsh touch or if he lets go.

I don’t look away. “I missed you.”

His fingers convulse on a squeeze. “I missed you too, Button. I just …” He shakes his head. “Don’t know why I didn’t respond, honestly.”

But I think I do. Because when I’m low, I don’t want to be the one seeking out company. I want someone to find me, to tell me I’m wanted, needed. And when I don’t get that, I sink lower. Maybe John is different in that regard, but somehow, I doubt it.

I swallow hard. “I thought … I had this feeling that the world might be getting a little too dark, too heavy for you right now. That you might have needed a hug.”

My confession seems to wash over him, and he flinches, closing his eyes like he’s considering turning away. I want so badly to clasp his hand hard and hold on tight. But I don’t. It isn’t my decision to make.