On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(47)

Blake got up, moving carefully so he didn’t jostle Jason any more than he had to. He showered, dressed, and drove into town to raid the drugstore of cough drops and whatever else might help. And tea, of course.

When he got home, he tiptoed into the bedroom, left a bag of cough drops and a box of tissues on the nightstand, and slipped back out.

Jason slept away the morning and part of the afternoon, and Blake didn’t disturb him. He kicked back on the sofa with a cup of coffee and his laptop, and caught up on work. As long as he had the time, he might as well pull some more of his weight.

Around midafternoon, the shower turned on, and after a while, Jason shuffled downstairs. He hadn’t shaved, and the shadow of stubble emphasized how pale he was. As he came across the living room, he moved slowly, grimacing with each step, every muscle tense as if he ached from head to toe—which probably meant this was the flu.

“Feeling any better?” Blake asked.

“Better than what?” Jason cursed and dropped onto the couch. “A corpse being chewed up by wolves?”

“That would be a start.” Blake touched his forehead, which was, thank God, a lot cooler than it had been this morning. “No fever anymore. That’s a good sign.”

“Hooray,” Jason croaked, and scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a goddamned lorry.”

“You must’ve picked up something on the plane.”

“What? I thought the diseases were all kept back in coach with the working class.”

“Your sense of humor is still intact. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Jason grumbled something, and then eyed him. “Why the f*ck aren’t you ill?”

“Because I fly so often, I have an immune system like Fort Knox. If it’s any consolation, I spent my first four or five trips to London like, well . . . like that.”

Jason scowled. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Sorry.” Blake paused. “Are you hungry?”

“I am, but my f*cking throat . . .”

“Ouch. Maybe some tea at least?”

Jason cracked a small smile. “You do know the way to an Englishman’s heart, don’t you?’

Blake patted Jason’s leg. “I’ll go put some water on.”

“Thank you.”

They both got up—Jason much more gingerly than Blake—and went into the kitchen. While the kettle did its thing, Blake found the box of tea he’d picked up that morning. “I don’t drink much tea, so I don’t even know what’s in there.” He slid the box across the island. “Have a look.”

Jason thumbed through the box, and pulled out a peppermint tea bag. “This’ll do nicely.”

“Oh good. I wasn’t sure what you drank, and it’s all the same to me.”

“All the same?” Jason gestured at his face. “My sinuses are all f*cked up, so imagine the snort of derision I’d have done just then.”

Blake laughed. “Imagined. Derisive and pompous.”

“Good. All the same. Hmph. Then again, you’re a descendant of heathens who dumped perfectly good tea into a harbor, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Nope, not me. My family came over later.”

“Then you have no excuse.”

“Nope, I don’t.” Blake pulled a mug down from the cupboard and handed it to him as the kettle announced it was properly heated. While Jason put his tea together, Blake asked, “Do you need anything else? I can still take you in to be seen if—”

“No, no.” Jason dropped the tea bag into the hot water. “This is great. Thank you. I doubt there’s much to be done anyway—just have to ride it out.”

Blake scowled. “I should reschedule your return flight. You don’t want to be in the air until this thing clears up.”

“Why not? So I don’t infect the other arseholes like someone infected me?”

Blake chuckled. “Well, there’s that. But mostly because flying when your head is congested is miserable.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Trust me.”

“It wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it? Rescheduling the ticket?”

“Not at all. I’ll make a call tomorrow.”

“Brilliant. Thanks.” Jason paused. “On second thought, maybe we should wait a few days. In case I bounce back in time to take my current flight.”

“It’s up to you. Say the word, and I’ll change the ticket.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Jason’s lips twisted. “You know, I’d wager I got this stupid disease from that f*ckwit sitting across from us.”

“Serves you right for making him choke on his drink.”

“I hadn’t realized snark was grounds for biological warfare.”

“Welcome to America.”

Jason laughed, which made him cough a few times. Another deep, rattling cough that made Blake wince. Then he swore, picked up his tea, and muttered, “Fucking hell.” He set the tea down and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry about all this. It’s—”

“Don’t you dare apologize for getting sick. It wasn’t exactly something you set out to do.”