Page 64 of Hell Bent

“And you do a physical job,” I said slowly, “to prove you can. Even though you might get hurt.”

“Wow. You should be a psychologist. Yeah, I’m stubborn.” She was drinking her tea, but still looking exhausted.

“Right,” I said. “I am now replacing this ice pack and letting you rest. I’m assuming you’ll text me if you want another cup of tea, I’m figuring you may want soup for dinner, and I’m arranging for that to happen. Acceptable level of care?”

“I would kill,” she said, “for good tortilla soup. But I want to—” Her hand was wavering some with the mug, and I took it from her and set it down. “I want to watch your game later.”

“You can watch my game, and I’ll find you tortilla soup, too.” This had to be tenderness, this squeezing of my heart. “For right now, though? Don’t worry about me, or about Ben.Stay here and go to sleep.” I thought about it and added, “Please.”

Maybe it was the “please” that did it, because she turned on her side, curled her hand up beside her head, and closed her eyes. And I covered her better with the blanket and felt like I’d just won the game.

Even though we hadn’t. It had been against San Francisco, too. Bummer.

25

FAMILY TIME

Alix

Somehow, I never made it out of Sebastian’s bed that night. Imeantto, but when he brought me a bowl of that thick, deeply flavored kind of tortilla soup, with shredded chicken and all the mix-ins: fried tortilla strips, avocado, dried cilantro, pico de gallo, lime wedges, and shredded cheese? And when I said, “I’ll get up,” and moved to do it, andhesaid, “No. Stay here and be comfortable,” andIsaid, “But I want to watch your game”?

You know what happened then? He said, “You can watch it in here. Hey, Ben!”

A few seconds, and Ben stuck his curly head into the doorway. “What?”

“Alix isn’t feeling good,” he said. “Let’s eat in here.”

Ben looked at him like he was nuts. “On your bed?”

“Why not? It’s a king.”

“My mom would say that it’ll get dirty.”

Sebastian went to the walk-in closet and came out with a folded sheet. “Get under the covers,” he told me.

“Excuse me?” I really wanted my soup. He’d brought me abig glass of ice water, and I was drinking that, but the soup smelled amazing. See, there’s tortilla soup and tortilla soup, and this tortilla soup was the real deal.“How did we advance this quickly to my being in your bed?”

“Right,” he said, “because you’re so sexually alluring right now. Would you get under the covers so I can put this thing over the comforter and ease Ben’s mind about our hygiene practices?”

“Dude,” Ben said. “You just insulted heragain.And bossed her around again, too. My mom says women hate to be bossed.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I was somehow saying. “Depends on the situation.”

Sebastian started to smile, slow and sort of wolfish, if you know what I mean, and Ben said, “You better not meet my mom,” then seemed to remember, because he said, “I mean?—”

I stood up, and Sebastian, of course, had to help me pull the covers back. I told Ben, “You can say that about your mom. It’s OK to be normal and say normal things.”

“But I shouldn’t,” he muttered. “She’s dying.”

“I hate to tell you,” I said, “but people generally stay flawed even when they’re dying. Or even when they love somebody who’s dying. It’s OK to get irritated sometimes, too. Sure, you can be all nice and sweet when everything’s going great, but when everything’snotgoing great, when it turns to …”

“To shit,” Sebastian said.

I said, “I was trying to avoid saying that.”

Sebastian said, “Ben and I are guys. We aren’t so good at avoiding saying that. Yeah, when it turns to shit, you feel all kinds of ways, and they don’t always stay inside. Help me with this, Ben.” They spread the top sheet over the duvet, and Sebastian said, “Now help me bring in the rest of the food.”

That was how we came to watch the replay of the game with Sebastian beside me and Ben beside him, food containers all over the bedside tables, and Sebastian explaining the action to Ben in a way I found strangely comforting, even though, once my soup was gone, I had a distressing tendency to drift in and out of consciousness. It was the sound of Sebastian’s wolf-voice, that was all, the pain relief of the Tylenol and new ice pack he’d provided without my asking, and the warmth of his body next to mine, even though I was under the covers and he wasn’t. He radiated heat like a … well, like a radiator. Or possibly a Canadian.