Wait for You (28 page)

I opened my mouth, but that messy ball had returned, almost strangling me. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not harassing me. I just…” I trailed off, running both my hands through my hair. “I don’t know.”

Cam’s lips thinned as he stared at me. He shook his head. “This is about what I saw, isn’t it?” He gestured at my arm, and I tensed. “Avery, you can—”

“No,” I said, holding my hand. “It’s not about that. It’s not about anything. I just don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This!” I closed my eyes briefly, dragging in a deep breath. “I don’t want to do
this.
”

“Good God, woman, all I’m trying to do is talk to you!”

His words tugged at my heart, but I shook my head as I met his gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about, Cam.”

 
“Avery, come on…” Cam sucked in his bottom lip, drawing my attention like he’d dangled a cheeseburger in the face of a starving frat boy. “Okay, you know what? I’m not going to rake myself over fucking hot coals for this. Fuck it.”

I flinched as I took a step to the side. Totally deserved that, but it hurt—it sliced deep.
 

He brushed past me, reaching the door. “Look, I’m heading home for winter break. I’ll be back and forth, so if you need anything…” He laughed again, the sound humorless as he thrust his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, you don’t need anything.”

An ache poured into my chest as I watched him pull open the door. Cam made it out into the hallway and then he turned around. “You’re staying here, all break by yourself, aren’t you? Even Christmas?”

Silent, I folded my arms across my chest.
 

He looked away, jaw clenching. “Whatever. Have a good Christmas, Avery.”

Cam stalked toward his apartment and I expected to hear the door slam, but didn’t and somehow that was much worse. I closed my door, my eyes already blurry. This was the right thing to happen. I kept telling myself as I backed up from the door. Brit had been wrong. There wasn’t anything to work out or fix. It was better this way. It had to be.

Except it didn’t feel that way at all.

Chapter 21

Two things happened on Christmas Day. My father texted me to wish me a “Merry Xmas.”
Xmas
. Couldn’t even type out Christmas. So personal. Love you too, Dad.
 

And it snowed that evening.
 

I hadn’t ever seen it snow on Christmas.
 

Caving into the tiny trill of excitement, I pulled on my jacket and a pair of thick boots and then slipped out of my apartment. Even though I knew no one was home in their apartment, not even Ollie, I glanced at their door as I reached the stairs. I wondered who was taking care of Raphael.
 

A heavy feeling settled in my chest as I forced myself down the steps and out from under the awning of the apartment building. Strings of multi-colored lights hung from the windows of some of the apartments. Christmas tree lights shone from others. I hadn’t put up any decorations. Didn’t seem like it made sense to go through all of that, but I had ordered myself a Christmas present.
 

A new messenger bag—distressed leather. A new bag for a new semester.
 

I don’t know where I was heading, but I found myself in the little patch of field on the other side of the last building. Fluffy white flakes already dusted the ground and were falling thickly.
 

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. Tiny flakes dropped onto my cheeks and lips. Each little sliver was cold and wet. I stood there long enough that if anyone looked out the window, they’d think I’d lost my damn mind, but I didn’t care.

Cam hadn’t contacted me since the day with the groceries.

Not that I had expected him to, but there was a knot in my chest whenever I checked my phone and there was nothing from him. How twisted was that? I told him that I didn’t want to talk to him, so he stopped. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

A different kind of dampness covered my cheeks, mingling with the misty snow, and I sighed. Opening my eyes, I watched the snow fall for a few more seconds and then I headed back inside.
 

As I stood outside my door, I looked over at Cam’s and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”

#

The day after New Year’s, I had enough of my solitary confinement and did what I wanted to do. On the cold and blustery day, I pulled up Google maps and drove into the nation’s capital and visited the museums.
 

I was proud of myself by the time I found a place to park. I didn’t take out a family of four driving in the city, but growing up near Houston sort of prepared me for the insanity of these kinds of roads.
 

The museums were packed with mostly families, and I wasn’t sure if that was normal for a day after a holiday. I spent most of my time in the Eternal Life of Ancient Egypt portion of the Smithsonian. Truly amazing to see the artifacts from thousands of years ago.
 

And the mummy was pretty damn awesome too.
 

The history nerd in me was all kinds of excited as I roamed the wide corridors, even though I was alone and every so many minutes, no matter how many times I told myself to stop, I thought about how Cam had seemed like he had wanted to do this with me. Granted, that had been right before he’d kissed me, so he might have been down for just about anything at that point.
 

I couldn’t even fool myself into thinking he was still back home, because when I left this morning, I spotted his silver truck parked at the back of the parking lot. Cam was home.
 

I stopped in front of a display of pottery. Thinking about him kissing so did not help. It made all of this worse. I turned, spying a teenage couple more interested in the feel of each other’s mouths than all the wonder of history laid out before them.
 

A pang hit my chest.

Okay, maybe coming here wasn’t the smartest of all ideas, but I couldn’t stay home today.

Not when it was my birthday.
 

The big 2-0.
 

I hadn’t heard from my parents yet, but I figured they’d text or something, but by the time I left the capital a little before four in the afternoon, I hadn’t heard anything from them.
 

Yeah, that carried a jelly fish type of sting.
 

I stopped at the Dairy Queen near my apartment and picked up one of those ice cream cakes. I wasn’t a huge fan of ice cream, but whatever made up that crunchy stuff in the middle was absolutely divine.
 

With my little slice of cake, I curled up on the couch and made it through half the first season of Supernatural before passing out at an embarrassingly early hour.
 

I woke up somewhere between four and five in the morning, feeling like fog had invaded my brain. Pushing myself into a sitting position, I winced at the vicious throbbing in my temples. Thinking it was from sleeping on the couch in an awkward position, I stood.

“Whoa.” I pressed my palm to my forehead as the room did a tilt-a-whirl. My skin felt hot. Was I sweating?

I started toward my bedroom to change, but only made it halfway before I veered off to the bathroom.
 

“Oh God,” I gasped out.

Cramps seized my stomach and I dropped to my knees, lifting the lid on the toilet. The ice cream cake and everything else I ate that day came up, quick and fast. It was impressive and it didn’t stop for hours. As soon as it seemed like it had eased out, I leaned back against the tub, resting my cheek on the cool surface. That felt good, but the calm feeling didn’t last long. My tummy clenched and I’d barely reached the toilet in time.
 

It was official.

God had done the whole ‘I smite thee’ by striking me down was a nasty case of the influenza virus. How had I caught it? Did that matter? Hell no. Nothing mattered as I lay on the cool tile floor, my cheek smashed and mostly likely now carrying the pattern of the floor. There was no concept of how much time had passed. I knew I needed medicine, something from the store. Yes, the store would be a good idea. Chicken soup. TheraFlu. Pepto…

Stumbling to my feet, I shuffled back into the living room. The walls seemed funny to me, fuzzy and a little warped, like they were waving to me. After a minor adventure, I found my purse and keys and made it to the front door. Just as I unlocked it, I felt the ominous stirring in my stomach.

I dropped my purse and keys and spun. The walls danced. Not good. I made it a couple of steps and my legs did the strangest thing. They just stopped working. Done. Nothing. I cracked them off the floor, but really didn’t feel it. Crawling toward the kitchen, because I had enough sense left to not want to do this on the carpet, I made it to the sink. I hauled myself up and leaning over the sink, my stomach heaved until tears leaked down my cheeks.

Oh man, this sucked.
 

Finally, when the storm seemed to have passed, I slid down, leaning back against the cabinets under the sink. Okay. The store was out of the question. So was bed. I’m not sure if I stretched out or sort of fell over, but I was back against the cool floor again. At least the kitchen floor had more space.
 

A deep ache settled into my muscles and bones. My head throbbed so badly it hurt to open my eyes or to concentrate on anything other than the fact it hurt. It felt like someone had shoved a wool brush down my throat. My brain felt like it was trying to run through muddy waters. Nothing really made sense to me. I heard the phone chirping from somewhere and then sometime later, it rang and rang… and it rang. I wondered if it was my parents. Maybe they remembered that yesterday was my birthday.
 

I think I might’ve fallen asleep, because there was a banging that sounded far, far away. And I thought I heard my living room door open. I was to the point that I didn’t care if it was a mass murderer. I’d welcome anyone willing to put me out of my misery.
 

“Avery?” There was a pause and then a, “Oh, my God.”

The murderer knew my name and was the praying type? Lovely.
 

Cool hands touched my forehead. “Avery, oh my God, are you okay?”

The murderer sort of sounded like Brit, so it was obviously not a murderer. I forced my eyes open into thin slits. Her face blurred together for a second. Worry etched into her features and then her face warbled.
 

“Flu,” I mumbled. “I have the flu…”

“So that’s why it smells like there was a vomit party in here.”

I winced. “Ugh.”

“Yes, ugh, all of this is ugh.”
 

I heard something drop on the floor and then the cool hands were gone. My fridge door opened and wonderful, beautiful, cold air washed over the floor and me. I was in heaven, freaking heaven.

The door shut and Brit returned, water in hand. “You need to drink water. Come on, help me help you sit up.”

Mumbling under my breath, I got my hands on the floor but my arms felt too weak. She got an arm around me and had me leaning against the cabinet. A water bottle appeared by my dry lips.
 

“No.” I tried to knock her away, but I couldn’t lift my arms. “You… get… flu…”

“I got the flu shot, so no. Drink this water, Avery. Drink it.” She put it to my mouth again, and the water eked in, scorching my throat. “It probably hurts, huh? If you drink this water, I’ll go to the store and get you some stuff, okay? I think you have a fever.” Her hand pressed against my forehead. “Yep, you have a fever.”

I think I drank the water and then I think I face planted the floor afterward. Everything blurred. Brit was talking to me and I think I responded. No idea what was coming out of my mouth. She left me on the floor at some point and then I heard her again, out in the living room, speaking in a low voice. The pain in my head was too much to open my eyes.
 

Arms slipped under me and for a second I was floating. Then I shifted, resting against something warm and hard. I moaned, turning my head toward it. There was a familiar, soothing scent that tugged at me, lulled me under until I was lying on something much more comfortable and there was something cool and damp pressed to my forehead.
 

I slept on and off, waking every so often to realize I wasn’t alone. Someone sat beside me on the bed, holding a cloth to my cheeks. I murmured something before falling back asleep. I’m not sure how long this lasted, but finally my eyes opened, and it was like coming out of a coma. The light filtering through the window was too harsh and the throbbing was still in my head but duller than before.
 

I opened my mouth, but immediately started hacking.
 

Footsteps pounded from the hall and suddenly Brit was in my bedroom doorway, a glass of water in one hand and a mug in the other. “You’re alive! Thank God, I was beginning to think I accidentally killed you by forcing meds down your throat.”

I looked at her dumbly. “I took medicine?”