The OUT OF LINE Series

by Jen McLaughlin

  I pressed a hand to my heart, the pain he’d sent slicing through it with his words was almost knee buckling. Okay. So maybe he really had cared about me, at one point. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d lied to me. Or the fact that he’d been spying on me for money. For my father. I cared about him too, but nothing could change any of those things…no matter how much I wished it could.

  Because I really did.

  “Then it’s settled.” My throat was so swollen with pending tears that I could barely speak, let alone breathe. “It’s better if we avoid places we used to hang out. You watch me from a distance as you have been this week, and we don’t come out here anymore. Don’t see each other.”

  He cleared his throat. “You won’t see me again. Goodbye.”

  Wait. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let him walk away from me. There had to be a way to at least be friends. Or to try. “Finn, I—”

  “Don’t. Just don’t.” He shrugged. Actually shrugged, as if he didn’t care at all. “It doesn’t even matter, does it? We didn’t ever stand a chance.”

  My throat ached from the tears I held back. The tears I wasn’t sure I could hold back anymore all because I’d gone and fallen for my bodyguard. “Not with all the lies.”

  “Right.” He laughed. “It was all a mistake. One huge fucking mistake, but it’s easy to fix. As easy as walking away.” He gave me one last long, hard look, then said, “Goodbye, Carrie.”

  “Finn…” I held my hand out, but he’d already turned his back on me.

  He walked away, his back stiff and his head held high. The tone in his voice was so…so final. As if he meant what he said, unlike me. And I had a feeling he would be better at sticking to his word than I was too.

  I wouldn’t see him again.

  Three agonizing weeks later, I sat on a bench, an open technology textbook perched on my knee and a hat pulled low over my head. All part of my incognito spy outfit. That way if she saw me, I wouldn’t be instantly recognizable. It had worked so far. We hadn’t spoken since that day in the water, and she hadn’t looked at me even once.

  I’d seen to it.

  It was five o’clock, and the soft ocean breeze calmed my otherwise fraught nerves. Soon she would come out. I’d been following her around. Watched her help out at the cancer race. Watched her go to the soup kitchen, even though I stood outside of it now. Watched her give away clothes and food and money—but not once had she done anything fun for herself. She just studied and helped and volunteered.

  No fun. No games. Hardly ever any smiles.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think she missed me. But she didn’t.

  Carrie came out of the building five minutes earlier than usual, her hair frizzy and her face lowered. Even with her hair sticking up every which way to Sunday, she was the picture of perfection. A breath of fresh air on a hot, smoggy day. I tensed as she walked right past me, but she didn’t even glance my way.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach, her steps quickening. Was that a groan I heard? No, I must’ve been imagining things. I stood up, tucking the book into my bag as I shadowed her steps. She walked faster than usual, but had some odd kind of shuffle to her step. Like a supersonic zombie. What was wrong with her?

  When she slapped a hand over her mouth and ran for the cover of the bushes that lined either side of the walkway, I got my answer. She was sick. I sprinted after her, my stomach twisting in response to the retching sounds that came from her. Any time someone vomited, I always felt sympathy nausea. Sometimes, that sympathy turned into my own bout of puking my guts up.

  So, as a rule, I avoided people who were throwing up, but this was Carrie.

  I dropped to my knees at her side, grabbing her hair and holding it back from her face so she wouldn’t get it dirty. She didn’t even bother to look my way or tell me to fuck off. She just kept puking. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, but I tightened my grip on her hair and made sure to breathe through my mouth—not my nose.

  Shallow, slow breaths.

  “Sh. It’s okay.” With my free hand, I rubbed her back in wide, sweeping circles. “I’ve got you.”

  She shuddered, one last gag making its way out of her body before she let her head hang. Not knowing what else to do, I kept rubbing her back and holding her hair. After what seemed like an eternity of sitting by the putrid vomit, she lifted her head. Her blue eyes were hard, but they held a touch of vulnerability to them.

  “Go away, Finn,” she mumbled. Swiping a hand across her mouth, she struggled to stand up. “I’m fine.”

  I quickly rose and lifted her to her feet. When she stumbled sideways, almost right into her puke, I gripped her hips. “Shit. Stay still.”

  “I’m trying,” she muttered, clinging to my shoulders. “The world won’t stop spinning.”

  “Can you walk?”

  She lifted her chin. “Of course I can.”

  “Okay.”

  I let go of her, even though every instinct screamed at me to hold on tighter and never let go. She took one step and almost fell flat on her face. I caught her effortlessly, swinging her up in my arms.

  Her head flopped down on my chest, and she looked anything but ready to be released. “God, it hurts.”

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.

  My heart seized at the look on her face as she drifted off. She was pale and listless. Her small hand rested on my chest, right above my heart. She liked putting it there, as if she knew she owned it and was re-staking her claim. “I know you can, but I want to help you. Now rest.”

  I dropped a quick kiss to her clammy forehead and headed for my bike. I almost reached it before I realized I couldn’t ride home with an unconscious Carrie on my lap. I hesitated, not sure what to do. Should I get a cab and take her back to my place? Or should I carry her up to her room and take care of her there?

  I spotted Marie walking to the dorm, three girls on either side of her. They were laughing loudly, talking about a study session involving alcohol in Marie’s room. Carrie stirred at their laughter, her brow furrowing. I held her closer, kissing her temple.

  “Take me home,” she muttered restlessly. She burrowed closer to me, let out a ragged sigh, and fell asleep.

  Well, that settled it. Home. My home.

  Walking right past my bike, I managed to call a taxi without waking Carrie. Once it arrived, I settled into the back of the cab with her curled up on my lap. I smoothed her hair off her face, studying her delicate features. Her small nose was red at the tip, and she had bags under her eyes that hinted she hadn’t been sleeping well lately. I hadn’t been either.

  I missed Carrie too much.

  Somehow I doubted I was the cause of her insomnia, though. More likely, it had been because she’d been hitting the books harder than usual. Midterms were coming up, so she had been preparing for those. I had seen her in the library with Lover Boy almost every day this week. Whenever she studied, Cory did too.

  Fucking annoying pansy.

  The cab stopped in front of my place, and I shuffled Carrie in my arms so I could reach my wallet. The cabbie eyed Carrie. “Is she dead? If so, it’ll cost extra.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Glad to know humanity is still at its peak.”

  “Hey, I’m just sayin’.”

  “So am I.” I tossed the cash at the man. “She’s not dead. She’s sick.”

  “Then get her out of my cab before she ruins it.”

  I glanced pointedly at the cigarette burns covering the seat and the crack in the glass of the window. “I think it’s too late for that.”

  “Whatever.” The man dismissed me with a casual flick of his wrist. “Just go.”

  I was getting damned sick of people telling me to “just go,” but now wasn’t the time to address that. I had a sick Carrie on my hands—one who might explode at any given time. I opened the door, hugging her closer to my chest as I bent to get out. She jerked awake, her e
yes wide. She looked…ah, fuck.

  She looked green.

  I picked up the pace. “Are you going to make it inside?”

  She nodded frantically and squeezed her eyes shut. I practically ran to my door, unlocked it, and deposited her in front of the toilet. She waved her hand at me, clearly wanting me to leave, but I hovered in the doorway. Though my stomach demanded I do as she wished, I couldn’t leave her.

  When the first tortured groan escaped her, I stopped trying to fight the inevitable. I kneeled beside her, grabbing her hair to keep it out of the path of destruction. Her body tensed, but she didn’t have a chance to tell me to go away before the vomiting started again. My own stomach twisted in reply, but I gnashed my teeth. By the time she was finished, I knew I would be throwing up today too.

  I stood, my legs shaking, and wet a washcloth with warm water. She rested her cheek on her forearm, which was flung over the side of the toilet. When I came back to her side, she opened her eyes and blinked at me, a tear rolling down her face. “This sucks,” she whispered.

  I dabbed the washcloth over her forehead and across her mouth. “I know.”

  “Why are you doing this?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s not in your job description, is it?”

  “Knock it the hell off.” I flexed my jaw, tossing the washcloth in the corner of the bathroom. I picked her up. “I’m taking care of you, and you’re not going to stop me.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder, her hand once again over my heart—which traitorously sped up. “I don’t know why you could possibly want to.”

  “It should be obvious. If it’s not, I’m not sure what to say.” I lowered her to the bed and lifted the blankets until she was covered. “I’m going to go grab you some medicine. I’ll be right back.”

  I headed for the bathroom and closed the door behind me. After turning on the shower, which I hoped would be loud enough to drown out the sound of what I was about to do, I fell to my knees in front of the porcelain god. I flushed the toilet, and within seconds my own stomach emptied itself.

  By the time I was finished, I felt as shaky and weak as she’d looked. I flushed again, then hopped in the shower to make it look as if I’d showered instead of ralphed. I allowed myself a minute to quickly scrub down, brush my teeth, and throw a towel around my waist. Opening up the cabinet, I pulled out the Pepto-Bismol I’d bought a few weeks ago after I’d had some bad tuna.

  I took a dose for myself behind the closed door, and then came out of the bathroom with hers. She was curled up on her side, her eyes open but sleepy. I sat down beside her and held out the medicine. “Here. Take this.”

  “Thank you.” She sat up slowly, her gaze drifting over me. “Can you please lose the towel?”

  I tensed. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to see you half naked.” She licked her lips, her stare somewhere around the level of my abs. “Not anymore.”

  Liar. “Sure.”

  I stood up, dropping the towel to the floor. Her indrawn breath almost made me crack a smile, but I forced myself to remain dead serious. Hell, I even stretched my arms over my head, letting her look her fill for however long she’d like.

  “Finn.”

  I looked over at her, butt-assed naked. “Yeah?”

  “You’re naked.”

  “I know.” I looked down at myself. “You said to lose the towel. You also said you didn’t want to see me half naked anymore, so here you go.”

  She set down her empty cup on the nightstand with a trembling hand, but her lips quirked as if a smile was trying to escape, but she didn’t want to let it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her smile lighting up my life until now. “When I said ‘lose the towel,’ I meant put on some clothes. And by not wanting to see you half naked, I meant clothed.”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “I guess I could get dressed.”

  I crossed the room wearing my birthday suit, then opened my top drawer. She let out a strangled groan, but I heard her lay back down. Did she face the other way so she wouldn’t have to see me anymore? Or was she watching? I dared a glance over my shoulder and quickly turned back around.

  Oh, she was watching, all right.

  I slowly stepped into a pair of boxers and pulled out a pair of khaki shorts. After I slid those on, I turned to face her. My stomach was a little bit steadier now. “Better?”

  She cleared her throat. “Shirt?”

  “Nah. I never wear one at home. You know that.” I sat down beside her, reaching out to feel her forehead. It was blazing hot. “Shit, you have a fever.”

  She blinked at me. “Yeah, I’ve had one all day. Woke up with one.”

  “And you went to school why?”

  She laid back down, cuddling into my bed as if she belonged there. And she did. She really fucking did. “I can’t afford to miss classes right now.”

  “You can’t afford to neglect your health either.”

  She rolled her eyes. Even sick and wasted, she had enough energy to give me sass and attitude. I loved it. Hell, I loved her, but that wasn’t exactly a surprise to me. Not after all the moping I’d been doing ever since I lost her.

  “My mom is all the way across the country and I’m single. Who am I supposed to get to take care of me?” she asked.

  She didn’t have to be single if she would give me another chance, but I didn’t point that out. “Me.”

  “I can’t call you for help anymore.” She stared up at me. “We’re not even really friends.”

  My heart wrenched, but I refused to show her how much it hurt for me to follow her rules. I pushed off the bed, heading into the kitchen. “I’ll go make you some chicken broth.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She rolled over and curled her knees into the fetal position. “Not even in the slightest.”

  I didn’t stop walking. “You need something in your stomach, or it’ll just hurt more when you puke.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she called out, her voice shaking. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “Yeah, I do. And no, you won’t.”

  Because if I didn’t take care of her…

  Who would?

  I leaned back in the couch, holding the bowl in the crook of my lap. As I sipped down the chicken broth, I felt immensely better before it even hit my stomach. But even if it hadn’t made me feel better, it was quite easily the most delicious soup I’d ever had. It didn’t even have anything in it. Finn sat beside me on the couch, eating his own plain broth. He still hadn’t put on a shirt, and I still hadn’t stopped thinking about touching him again, even though I felt like I was on death’s door.

  I wouldn’t follow through with my thoughts, but it didn’t stop me from wanting.

  He had a way of touching me that made me forget all about the outside world. All about how much he’d betrayed me, and how much I was supposed to hate him. I shouldn’t be here, eating his soup and using his bed. I shouldn’t be near him at all.

  I still cared about him too much.

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I set down my bowl. “That was really good. Thanks.”

  He finished his own bowl then set it next to mine. “It was my mom’s recipe. My dad gave it to me when I was old enough to cook it myself. It always made me feel better when I was sick, so it seemed appropriate.”

  “Thank you,” I said softly, oddly moved that he’d made me the same soup his mother made him. I wanted to hug him. To take away the brief shadows of grief I saw before he looked away.

  He tugged at his brown hair. “Don’t mention it. How about we get you back in bed now?”

  I swallowed hard. Even the thought of crawling back into his bed sent shivers down my spine. The things we had done there… “I should go back to my dorm.”

  “Why bother? You won’t get any sleep there with Marie. She has company.” He pinned me down with his stare, his bright blue eyes on me. “I promise I won’t touch you. You’ll be p
erfectly safe here.”

  He didn’t need to touch me to make me want him. That was the scary part. “Still.”

  “No.” He stood, his jaw ticking. “I tried this the nice way, but I’ll put it simply: You’re not leaving. End of story.”

  Okay, that took away any lingering desire to kiss him. Then again, his arrogance usually did. “You don’t own me. You’re not my dad, and—”

  “No, but I work for him, as you’ve reminded me every chance you get.” He picked up his phone and waved it in front of my eyes. “And I’m not afraid to call him and get him down here. I’ll tell him you’re refusing medical treatment from the hospital.”

  I drew in a deep breath. “You wouldn’t.”

  He raised a brow and started typing. I stood up and tried to snatch it out of his hands. My stomach protested the fast movement with a loud gurgle. “Stop it. Don’t you dare call him.”

  “Then get in the fucking bed.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I can tell you’re making yourself even sicker by arguing with me. Just lay down.”

  “I’m fine.” My stomach twisted again, and I clutched it tight. Oh God, I was going to…

  “Yeah. Sure you are,” he drawled. He picked me up, and I closed my eyes as the room spun. I should point out I could walk on my own, but I didn’t want to open my mouth right now. “Bathroom or bed?”

  “Bathroom,” I gasped, the vomit trying to escape even with the single word. “And leave me alone this time. I don’t want you to see—” I broke off and covered my mouth.

  He made it to the toilet in record time. “Not leaving.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but the torrential vomiting pouring out of my system swallowed up the words. By the time I was finished, I felt more like the stuff floating in the toilet than a person. I hadn’t even realized Finn held my hair until he released it, heading for the washcloths again.

  Why was he being so…nice? So darn courteous and thoughtful and perfect? He needed to open his mouth and say something annoying really quickly before I fell for him all over again. He returned with a wet washcloth. He looked sweaty and a little pale himself. What was wrong with him?