Page 22

Instead, I drift off to sleep while playing on repeat the fact that he called me sweetheart.

· · · · ·

A few hours or days later, I float back to consciousness. My head is no longer throbbing and when I open my eyes, the room is no longer swaying in front of me.

Progress .

I push up to sit and look at the man still sitting in his chair next to me. Nicky’s head is tilted back, his arms are folded across his broad chest, and his feet are crossed at his ankles up on the bed. He’s asleep.

Taking advantage of this moment in time, I let my gaze roam all over him. In normal circumstances, I allow myself just glimpses of his beauty, but now that I’ve been given unfettered access just to look at him, I indulge like a starving person presented with a buffet.

He’s wearing my favourite grey sweatpants and a black long-sleeve Henley shirt.

His hair is a mess of curls on top of his head, his eyelashes are fanning over his cheekbones and he’s sporting that 11 p.m. shadow he does so well.

He’s so delicious, I want to stare at him like this for the rest of time.

Unfortunately, my lungs don’t get the memo and decide now is the time to expel some gunk. I cough so violently that it jerks Nicky awake.

“Sorry,” I choke out. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He hovers over me, his eyes frantic as they roam over me, before leaning forward to stroke my back until my coughing subsides.

“That sounds terrible,” he grumbles.

You know what doesn’t sound terrible? Nicky’s gravelly, just-woke-up voice.

“Hmm.” I flop back against my pillow. “I actually feel better.”

His answering look is doubtful. “Well enough to eat something?”

I nod and his expression brightens. “I’ll order the soup.”

My eyes are glued to him as he calls room service, taking in the bags under his eyes, the weary way he’s holding his body. He must be exhausted.

“Nicky,” I say when he hangs up. He’s now getting a bottle of water from the mini bar and popping two pills from my paracetamol packet. Like he’s my nurse and not my boss. “You need to get some rest.”

He waves this away. “Here, take this.”

I do as he says and then try again. “It’s the middle of the night and you’ve had a big day. Please go back to your room and get some proper sleep. ”

His lips thin to a stubborn line. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

“But—”

“Cherry, please. Let me take care of you.”

My breath leaves my lungs and I can only stare at him in response.

He stands up at the knock at the door, his eyes glued to me as he walks over to let the room service in.

“Okay?”

I nod, too tongue-tied to do anything else.

His eyes clear and he nods with relief. A hotel staff member wheels in a table filled with more than just soup.

“Thank you.”

Nicky tips the staff member, and when the door closes, he turns around, pursing his lips as he arranges a tray of food in front of me.

“You need to eat.”

Shaking myself from my daze, I cross my arms across my chest. I can be stubborn, too. “There’s too much here. Share with me?”

He hesitates before toeing off his shoes and settling on the bed next to me. On top of the blanket, I note somewhat regretfully. He watches me like a hawk as I take the first mouthful of soup, only then reaching over to grab a bread roll for himself.

“Hmm, it’s good,” I tell him. The chicken soup is creamy and tangy and is exactly what I feel like eating right now. “Thank you.”

One side of his mouth hitches up, his shoulders relaxing from up near his ears, and I feel bad for having him worry about me so much.

This is the exact opposite of what I’d wanted to happen this year; I hadn’t wanted to be someone he needed to take care of.

I’d wanted to be here to help him, not the other way around.

“So, tell me about the race. ”

He watches the spoon go from the bowl into my mouth, then takes his phone from his pocket. “Here, you can watch the highlights.”

This perks me up and I sit forward in bed as he casts the highlight reel to the wide-screen TV across from me.

“You make it look so easy,” I tell him, pushing away my bowl and keeping a chocolate doughnut close to me.

“It was pretty straightforward,” he says. Like the king of the understatement.

“Well, I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Eh, they’ll always be another race.”

He takes the half-empty tray away from the bed, coming to sit next to me, his back straight against the headboard.

“Do you want to sleep?”

I think about it. All I’ve been doing is sleeping. “Let’s watch a movie.”

He flicks the TV onto Netflix and scrolls through the movie category. “ Bend it like Beckham ?”

I stare at him, tears sprouting in the corners of my eyes. He remembered it’s my favourite ever movie.

His eyebrows raise. “Do you still love it?”

I settle my head against his arm and stifle a yawn. “Yeah, I still love it.”

We watch the opening credits dance across the screen and I blink, struggling to stay awake.

“Thanks for looking after me,” I murmur.

He brushes his lips over my head and whispers back, “My pleasure, Cherie.”

And with my favourite movie playing in the background, and my favourite man next to me, I let myself fall asleep.

Nicky’s shoulder serves as the best pillow ever.