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I feel sick enough without the reminder of her constant absence. “Can we not?”

“Not what?”

“Not do this right now. My head’s spinning, and I feel like I could still puke at any moment.”

Opening the door to my bathroom, he helps me inside and pulls back the curtain to the shower. “Okay, Rocket.” He looks at my bath and raises a slightly uneasy brow. “Do you want me to run you a bath or…help you into the shower?”

“Shower. But I’ve got it from here,” I say, reaching for the hem of my shirt and not thinking,or caring, about what he sees.

He lurches back and toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.” He hastily closes it behind him, but I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my exposed stomach.

I’m in slow motion, and it feels like hours pass as I climb into the shower and set the water running before I scrub myself and wash my hair. Normally, I’d condition it since it's unruly and tangles easily, but today, I’ve run out of energy, and my arms ache unbearably as I wrap a towel around me. But I do feel slightly better and less dizzy from the shower, so it was a good call from Zach.

I walk back into my bedroom slowly and find him sitting on the edge of my freshly made bed, scrolling through his phone. My eyes bug out. “You changed my sheets?”

When he looks up from his phone, his eyes flare at the tiny pink towel wrapped around my naked and half-wet body. “Uh.” He brings a tattooed hand to the back of his neck and grips it, averting his eyes from me. “Yeah, I found some in your closet and thought maybe it would help freshen you up. Fresh sheets are literally my favorite thing, especially when I’m sick.” A slight flush crosses his cheeks, and damn if it isn’t adorable. This man is adorable. Kind, warm, incredibly thoughtful, and it's doingnothing to help me get over the feelings I know I need to move past.

I move across to my dresser and grab my brush, knowing if I don’t tame my unruly hair soon, then I’ll be practically ripping it out at the roots later. I pick it up and go sit on the bed next to him, all too aware I’m still wrapped in a towel but equally too exhausted to care. Slowly, I begin to drag the brush through the unconditioned strands, but it's too knotted, and I give up with a defeated huff.

“I can do that for you.”

I look at him in disbelief. “Brush my hair?”

“Yeah, you kinda look like you’re struggling a bit there.”

I hand him the brush and slowly scoot my body around so my back is to him. He begins gently working out the knots and smoothing my hair out down my back. The way his huge hands caress my head and hair so gently is an incredibly sexy juxtaposition to the rough and fierce way they move when he’s on the ice. The number of times those hands have beaten down on another player in fights.

After a long minute, I feel the bed shift from behind and then again as he gathers my hair in his hands and begins to…braid it?

“Are you braiding my hair?” I ask, turning my head slightly.

He chuckles. “Yeah, but keep your head still because I’m about as good at this as I am at cooking. If you leave it down then it’ll just get knotted again in bed.”

How in the hell am I supposed to rewind the clock on my emotions when he’s doing things like this? Everything about him is everything I want but can’t have. I need to change my approach to our friendship before I fall irrevocably for the man who just wants to keep me as his friend.

My heart twists at the realization, and as he finishes the braid, I look down at my towel still wrapped around me. “I need to chan?—”

Zach shoots to his feet. “Shit, yeah, sorry. I’ll head downstairs. I need to make a couple phone calls anyway. You want anything from the kitchen?”

I shake my head and fight to keep my face from showing any signs that the last couple of minutes have left wounds that will undoubtedly turn into scars across my heart.

“No thanks.”

He nods, his eyebrows slightly pinched together before he turns to leave.

“Zach.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I’ve never had anyone…yeah… just, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Rocket.”

Then he’s out my door and down the stairs in a flash. I grab a fresh sleep set from my dresser and crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over my head. The nauseated feeling in my stomach makes a full return, but this time, it’s clear it has little to do with the flu.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ZACH