He responded with an aggravated “Hmph,” though he was all sorts of happy she felt well enough to get her snark on. He leaned down to help her sit up.
She swung smooth, bare legs over the edge of the bed and planted her feet. “I’ve got it from here,” she said. Then she folded over and began coughing.
“Aw, shit. I’ll get you some cough medicine.” He beckoned Archer to follow and zoomed back to the kitchen, where his mom was pouring herself a cup of coffee.
She turned slowly. “There’s my Archer man.”
Quinn left to plunder medicine cabinets. When he reached Sarah, she was back in bed, her eyes hooded and her breathing wheezy.
“Hey, you okay, Sunshine?”
“Yeah, just exhausted from my short trip to the bathroom.”
“Lean forward,” he ordered.
She complied.
He punched and arranged her pillows, then leaned her back gently so she was in a reclining position. She still hadn’t put her clothes back on, and her skin was cold. Resisting the urge to throw something over her upper body, he picked up her half-full glass of Gatorade and thrust it at her. “Drink.”
“I don’t like that stuff.” She sounded like a pissed-off two-year-old. He expected her to thrust out her lower lip at any moment. Despite how disheveled and uncomfortable she looked, she was adorable, and his heart might have bumped against his rib cage a little faster.
“Well, tell me what you do like, and I’ll get it for you.” He handed her two gelcaps. “In the meantime, take this cough syrup and drink.” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis. She grumped, but she did as he asked.
After arranging her sweats on the bed so she could easily reach them, he returned to the kitchen and poured his own tall mug of coffee. God, he needed caffeine. His phone lay on the counter beside him, and after downing half his brew, he thumbed a text to Nelson.
Nelson’s response was swift: You’d better take good care of my sister.
Quinn could practically hear his growl. But then again, Nelsy had the right. Nonetheless, Quinn rolled his eyes before replying: On it. What does she like to drink? Definitely not lemon-lime Gatorade.
Gage: IDK. Orange juice? Beer for sure.
Quinn resisted the urge to type, “Beer’s not gonna help, dumbass.” Instead, he went on the hunt and found a six-pack of apple juice. Watered-down juice and ibuprofen in hand, he traipsed back to her room. She’d put on her sweats again and was snuggled under the covers. He rousted her, grateful when she gulped the juice and took the pills without a fight.
“Want something to eat?”
She shook her head.
He picked up the remote from her nightstand. “Can I put something on for you?”
“As long as it’s not the critically acclaimed Big Boobs on the Beach.”
He let out a chuckle. “Glad to see you still have your sense of humor, Sunshine.” He quickly located one of the science channels, where they were broadcasting a series about the universe. His eyes fastened on the screen. “Does it bend your mind thinking about all the stars out there and what lies beyond the universe?” he said almost to himself.
“God, yeah. And I love it. I love this show,” Sarah mumbled before turning her head to the side and drifting off.
“Me too,” he whispered.
She started making cute little snoring noises, and he stretched out on the bed beside her, the show droning in the background.
When he woke up, there was drool on the pillow he’d apparently commandeered and a pair of different-colored hazel eyes fixed on him.
“Wakey, wakey, Sparks. You were out cold.”
“Hmph?” He sat up on his good elbow and looked around. “What the hell? How long have I been out?”
“Long enough that they moved on to a series about the Bermuda Triangle.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Is it any good?”
“Meh.”
He dropped his head to one side and looked at her. “Then why didn’t you change it?”
She gave him a chin lift. “Because somebody hogged the remote.”
He glimpsed the remote still locked in his grip. “Oh shit. Sorry.” He pushed it at her. “How you feeling?”
“Like dog pooh, but the meds are helping with the chills and aches. How’s the shoulder?”
“Glad to hear it. Shoulder’s fine.” He sat up and gingerly stretched what he could of his upper body to keep from setting off his sore shoulder. He glanced back at her. “Need anything?”
“I’m good for now. Is your mom doing okay?”
Huh. She was sick yet still thinking of his mom? “Mom’s doing great. We’ve got it all worked out, so don’t worry your pretty little head. Just get better.”
“Think I’ll fall back asleep for a bit.”
“Good. Holler if you need anything.” He stood and blinked sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey, Quinn?” she mumbled.
“Yeah, babe?” How—and why—did that slip out? I’ve never called anyone “babe” in my life.
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
And hearing that was another first.
Chapter 19
But It Was Catch and Release
Sarah got worse before she got better. For nearly four days, she toed the line labeled “delirious,” drifting in and out. Quinn had been in touch with the Blizzard’s medical staff about his shoulder and about her. They declared her not sick enough to be taken to the hospital and discouraged him from trying. If he took her in, they said, the hospital might keep her and she’d be isolated from family and friends. Screw that.
So Quinn took charge of her care. She needed him, and he realized he liked being needed by the tough little badass with the sharp tongue. Meanwhile, he made sure his mom kept up with her therapy and had whatever she needed.
He’d also started walking Archer. Who else would do it? Besides, it got Quinn out of the house, in the fresh air, without having to don a hazmat suit. So here he was, on an early April afternoon, taking Archer for a stroll along a green belt in his neighborhood, soaking up unseasonably warm weather
