Come Back Tomorrow, page 7
Jenny looks at me thoughtfully, but she doesn’t say anything more. “Go on back down with Will. I’ll bring the cart in a few minutes.”
“Actually, can I sneak into the nurses’ lounge?” I ask, holding up my package of popcorn.
Jenny giggles and nods.
I just roll my eyes at her and walk away.
By the time I get back to Will’s room, Jenny has already dropped off the cart and disappeared. Will is waiting for me, a smile on his face and a few Raisinets in his hand. He inhales appreciatively as I walk into the room.
“Mmm, that smells amazing. I haven’t had popcorn in months. Thank you so much for bringing it!”
Chuckling, I set the open bag next to him. Making him happy is making me happier than I’ve been in months; I can’t help but notice. But you know what? I’m going to have a nice afternoon with him, and I’m not going to have another thought about what I should and shouldn’t be feeling. He’s happy; I’m happy. How can this possibly be a bad thing?
“So what movie are we going to watch?”
“Your selection of movies was a bit . . . surprising. This is really stuff you like to watch?”
“Well, I figured you wouldn’t thank me if I delved into my chick flick vault, but yes, I like action movies and suspense thrillers too.”
“Well, we’re definitely going to have to watch The Avengers, then. I’m a pretty big comic book fan.”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“There are some amazing graphic artists who work in comics. I always liked to draw and paint, but comics drew me in and got me really thinking about art as a career. I would have gone into comic book art, but I’m much better with a brush than I am with a pencil, and I like to put more time into my work than you can afford to if you’re drawing under a deadline.”
The thought of Will painting, or drawing for that matter, does funny things to my stomach; there’s something so . . . intimate about watching him create as I picture it in my head. I wonder what he’d say if I asked him to draw something for me. I file that one away for later as I stand up with the movie in my hand.
“I hate that you have to sit in that uncomfortable-looking chair while I get to lie here and relax. I wish we could both sit on the couch.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“I don’t think so,” he replies, looking crestfallen. “I’m hooked up to a few things that don’t make me very portable, and I don’t think I could sit at that angle because of my lymph node problems.
“But you could . . .”
“Could what?”
“Well, you could sit over here next to me if I slide over,” he says bashfully. “There’s enough room, and you’d be more comfortable and able to see better.”
He won’t meet my eyes, and I think it’s because he doesn’t want to admit that he just wants to be close to me. I wonder when he last had a girlfriend because he seems rather starved for a woman’s touch. Every time I’ve touched him since he decided to trust me, he’s leaned into it, and I can tell he likes holding my hand. I could easily see him being a cuddler—maybe even a Momma’s boy when he was younger. I wonder where his mother is and when he last saw her.
“But you don’t have to . . .”
I jump, startled out of my thoughts. There does seem to be enough room, and try as I might, I can’t smother the voice in the back of my head that’s cheering at the thought of being that close to him.
“Sorry. No, I’ll sit next to you if it won’t hurt you too much to move over.”
He grins at me, surprised. “Well, I can’t promise it won’t hurt me, but it won’t do any permanent damage.”
He plants his hands on either side of his hips and uses his arms to slide himself over carefully. The whole process is punctuated by a series of hisses and pained grunts, and the only reason I don’t insist he stop is that I think I’ll offend him.
When he gets to a position that seems to give me enough room, he stops and lies there for a moment with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. Once he’s collected himself, he looks over at me and smiles.
“There,” he says as he pats the spot on the bed next to him.
“Let me get the movie going first,” I tell him, going around to the DVD player and putting the disc in. Once it’s started and I’ve handed the remote to him, I go back around the bed and gently position myself next to him. He winces as my weight depresses the bed, but he doesn’t make another sound as I get comfortable. Once I’m still, he starts the movie.
We share popcorn and Raisinets as we watch, and I find myself watching him way more than what’s on the screen.
I watch him eat popcorn. I watch as he smirks and laughs at what’s on the screen. I watch and I have to remind myself that he’s dying, because right now, he looks like a guy I could be out on a date with. A guy I wish I were out on a date with.
I’m acutely aware of the second his shoulder comes into contact with mine, and I glance down and see he’s sliding his hand across his thigh toward me. I wait, but as soon as his hand brushes over mine, I entwine my fingers with his.
A grin spreads across his face, but he never looks away from the screen, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. God, nothing in the world feels as good as making him happy. I could become addicted to this feeling, easily.
I’m relaxed and comfortable, and without realizing it, I lay my head on his shoulder. The grin is back—I can feel it radiating off him rather than see it—and a few moments later, he leans his head against the top of mine.
I wake with a start and look over to find Will’s sleepy green eyes staring back at me, just as confused as I am. The TV is displaying the menu for the movie, and the door to Will’s room is closing slowly.
Will is smiling at me, looking as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I think we fell asleep,” he says, his voice warm and gravelly. Damn, if that isn’t the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard!
“We did.” I agree, grinning right back.
He glances at the clock over the door. “Wow, it’s six o’clock already. I bet that was Jenny bringing my dinner.”
“Probably. Why don’t I go chase her down, and you can get yourself settled again?”
“Sounds like a plan,” he says as I slide myself carefully off the bed.
I’m not even halfway to the nurses’ station when I hear Jenny’s excited squeal.
“You guys looked so cute, I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.”
“Yeah, we must have fallen asleep watching the movie.”
“You were awfully cozy,” she says, giving me the hairy eyeball.
“You know it’s not like that.”
“Maybe it isn’t for you, but I’m not so sure about him. I think he naps in the afternoon so he can be awake when you come in the evening. It’s the high point of his day now.”
I blush as she says it, an increasingly vocal part of me hoping it’s true. But to her, I offer a noncommittal shrug. “There’s nothing to it, Jenny. I care about him . . . a lot, but it’s not anything more than that. It can’t be anything more than that. He just needs comfort. If I can give that to him, and it makes him happy, then I’m going to do it.”
“Good. He needs someone to make him happy. And I get the feeling it’s making you happy too.”
She’s got my number, but I’m not ready to admit it yet, so I roll my eyes. “Were you bringing Will’s dinner down?”
“I was just going to check on him, but food services is already on the floor. Let me go grab his tray, and you can take it to him.”
She flits off down the hall and returns a few minutes later with Will’s dinner. Tonight, he’s having chicken parmesan with penne pasta, green beans, and apple pie for dessert. It doesn’t look half bad.
Brilliant green eyes and a bright smile greet me as I enter the room, and I see he’s managed to move himself back to the center of the bed.
“Wow, dinner and a movie. Lucky me,” he teases as I move the TV away from his bed and position his rolling table so it’s over his thighs.
I retrieve his tray from where I left it on my chair, and after I set it down, I remove the cover with a flourish and say “Bon appétit!” in my best French accent.
He chuckles at me and shakes his head, but then his expression turns serious. “Do you, um, need to go?”
“Well, I should get going pretty soon,” I reply, but I’m brought up short as I see his face fall. He doesn’t want this day to end, and if I’m being honest with myself, neither do I. “But I can stay for a while yet.”
His eyes light up again as he grins, and my stomach flutters giddily.
“Are you hungry? Because I can share what I have—”
“No, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of that most excellent-looking mystery meat parmesan,” I say in my best deadpan.
“Hey! It’s most definitely identifiable as chicken, and it’s not half bad,” he says defensively, but I can see the twinkle in his eye.
“I know. It does actually look decent. But, honestly, I’m not that hungry yet anyway. We had popcorn and candy this afternoon, remember? And you need to eat it more than I do.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, looking a little offended. “I know I’m way too skinny.”
Shit. “I didn’t mean that,” I say quickly. “I just meant I’m sure the night nurses don’t do room service if you get the munchies in the middle of the night.”
“Oh,” he answers, looking at me thoughtfully.
Nice save, Tori!
“Well, I’m too thin anyway.”
Damn, I must have really hit a nerve if he’s not dropping this. “Will, that’s not your fault. The cancer causes weight loss; there’s nothing you can do. I think you’re beautiful.”
His eyebrows disappear into his hairline, and I blush furiously. Where the hell did that come from? I duck my head and try to change the subject. “Hey, since you’re not on a special diet or anything, that means I could bring dinner in for you, doesn’t it?”
His eyes widen. “Why, yes, I think it does.” I swear I can almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“Would you like that? We can pick a night, and if you tell me where to go, I’ll bring you whatever you’re hungry for.”
“You’d really do that?”
I laugh. “Of course I would! I wouldn’t have made the suggestion otherwise.”
“That would be awesome! But I have one condition,” he says, and suddenly, I’m drowning in a sea of green as he fixes me with his stare, a persuasive smirk on his face.
“What?”
“You have to eat with me.”
Oh my. What I wouldn’t give to read his mind for just ten seconds. But we’re teasing now, not being serious, so I put aside the realization that this is the second time this week he’s sort of asked me out on a date.
“Well, I wasn’t planning to sit and watch you eat, but I’ll warn you now, if I don’t like the place you choose, you’ll just have to eat by yourself.”
“You know something? You’re a bit sassy once you get to know you.”
Smirking, I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he says, raising his hands defensively.
I laugh and shake my head. “So you pick the night, and I’ll bring us dinner. You’ve got my cell phone number. You can call me at lunchtime and put your order in, and I’ll go pick it up before I come to your room that night. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Now, eat your roadkill parmesan before it gets cold.”
He laughs so hard he ends up having to curl an arm over his belly, but he’s still grinning despite his discomfort.
He eats quietly for a few moments, and I peruse his menu for tomorrow to try to disguise the fact that I can’t stop staring at him. He’s just so damn happy today, so different from the man I met almost two weeks ago. That Will was brooding and moody, but now that I understand why, it makes sense. But this is definitely who he really is. He’s soft-spoken and open, playful and sweet. He’s perfect.
Will moves his plate away and zeroes in on dessert, and I’m happy to see he ate most of what he was given. He pulls the slice of apple pie to him, fork-cutting the first bite and offering it to me.
“You have to sample dessert,” he says enticingly.
I close my eyes and try to think about seeing my dad naked because if I let what just popped into my head go any further, I’m going to have a serious problem. Yuck! The dad thing worked. Okay, now answer him, Tori, before he notices you’re clenching your thighs.
“Oh, that’s okay . . .”
“Come on, Tori! I’ve never met a girl who didn’t like dessert.”
Oh God, Will. You have no idea.
I realize the quickest way out of this is just to eat the damn pie, so I open my mouth and allow him to feed me. It tastes pretty good, and it puts me in mind of grandmothers rather than having Will for dessert, so it turned out to be a good solution after all.
“Mmm, that’s actually good!”
“I told you this stuff is not only edible but also recognizable as food.”
“Well, I’m glad they’re feeding you decently, then.”
He leans back and closes his eyes, and I can tell he’s fading. Dammit. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be that tired all the time. Sadness slices through me as I realize our lovely day is about to end.
“I should go. It’s getting late, and you’re tired. Besides, Sebastian is waiting for me. He’s going to think I abandoned him,” I add, to take the emphasis away from his condition being the reason I’m leaving.
“I guess,” he murmurs, looking down at his lap.
I stand up and raise his chin with my hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. “Let me this time. Tori, would you please come back tomorrow?” he asks in that velvety voice of his, his eyes soft and serious.
I get weak in the knees, but I take the hand that was under his chin and lightly run my fingers through his hair. “Of course I will,” I whisper.
He leans into my touch and mumbles, “You could do that again.”
I smile, but he doesn’t see because his eyes are closed, enjoying the feel of my fingers in his hair and already drifting toward sleep. I continue to stroke his hair until I hear his breathing become heavy and even.
Goodnight, sweetheart.
Chapter 11
I float through my evening and the next morning, not allowing myself to think too hard about my feelings for Will. We had a great day together yesterday, and I’m grateful for it. There are still things I need to do to help him, but sometimes, I need to remind myself to just stop and smell the flowers, or in this case, appreciate the gorgeous man who’s smiling only for me.
Thank you, sir. May I have another? I think to myself as I walk into his room at two in the afternoon on Sunday, ready for another movie-watching day and awesome visit with Will.
I push the door open, but I grab it before it gets to the squeak point so I can have a look at him before he notices me.
Something’s wrong. His eyes are closed, and even though he’s lying still, I can tell every muscle and nerve in his body is tense. He looks pale, almost . . . gray and worn out. The skin around his eyes is tight, and his jaw is set firmly. He’s in pain, and a lot of it, unless I’m completely off base. Shit.
As I let the door make its customary squeak, he opens his eyes and smiles weakly at me. “Hey, Tori.”
I walk over to the bed and cover his hand with mine, but he flinches, so I quickly pull back. “What is it?”
He closes his eyes for a moment, and his breathing is all wrong. He doesn’t seem to be having trouble breathing, but he’s huffing out his breaths as if he can’t relax.
He opens his eyes again, and he looks so incredibly tired. “I’m not having a good day today,” he admits softly.
What in the holy hell happened since yesterday? How can he go from happy and almost carefree to this in less than twenty-four hours? “What happened? You were feeling so good yesterday.”
“I was, but I woke up this morning in a lot of pain, and it seems to be getting worse as the day goes on.”
“Where does it hurt?” I ask, reaching up to cup his cheek.
His sigh is pure frustration. “Where doesn’t it hurt? My joints feel like they’re on fire.” He winces as he raises his hand to show me his swollen knuckles.
I wince myself as I stare at his fingers. They even look painful. “Does the cancer do this?”
He nods, grunting out a breath. “Yeah, the cancer causes inflammation in my joints that’s like arthritis. It always hurts, but it can flare up and cause severe pain like this sometimes.”
“Is it only your hands?”
“No, but they seem to be the worst. I can feel it just about everywhere today—feet, ankles, knees, wrists, elbows. Fuck,” he mutters as he closes his eyes again.
“Have they given you any pain meds?”
“Yeah, they’re giving me anti-inflammatories and codeine for the pain, but it’s not even making a dent.”
“What about something stronger, like morphine?”
“Jenny would give it to me, but I don’t like taking morphine. I get sick to my stomach, and I feel out of control. I have to be hurting pretty badly before I’ll ask for it.”
“And this doesn’t qualify as pretty badly?”
His lips turn up in a lopsided grin, and despite the situation, I’m happy I can get him to smile a little bit.
“Yes, it does, but I’m hoping I can outlast the pain. Actually, the last time I had any morphine was the day you first came to see me. That shit makes me high, and I don’t remember half of what I’m saying and doing. No, if I can live without it, I plan to.”
I smile as I recall that first day, but from his point of view, I’m sure it’s not nearly as memorable. God, he looks tired.
“We can watch our movie another day. Do you want me to leave so you can rest?”
“Please don’t,” he says, sounding a little desperate. “There isn’t a chance I could sleep right now, and I could really use something to take my mind off the pain. I couldn’t even draw today to keep myself distracted,” he says, glaring down at his swollen fingers. “Can we watch our movie like we planned? Please?”
