Page 46 of Running Risk

RYLEE: NOW

Wrapping my warm blanket around my shoulders, I grab a tissue and blow my nose while walking into my kitchen, tossing the used paper in the trash.

I fill my kettle with water and put it on the stove to heat.

I prepare my mug with a tea bag while I wait for the water to boil.

Ripping off a paper towel, I sneeze, barely able to get the tissue to cover my face.

I haven’t been sick in a long time. Usually, I can avoid sickness when everyone around me is sneezing with snot dripping out of their noses.

But I guess my days were numbered, and now it’s my time to be miserable. Grabbing my phone, I text Trish.

Me:

I’m sick.

Trish:

That sucks. Isn’t the release of that book you wanted today?

I whimper.

Me:

Yes . . . is there any way you can pick it up for me? I need a little joy in my day.

The kettle screams at me, and I take it off the burner, pouring it over the Echinacea tea bag so it can steep.

Trish:

Yeah. I’ll get it to you sometime today.

Me:

You’re the best.

I open my cabinet, pulling out my extra vitamins to help boost my immune system.

I don’t want to be this sick for long. It doesn’t help that my body is showing how I’m feeling on the inside after everything that’s happened with Clayton.

I don’t like fighting with anyone. I prefer to move on.

But I’m afraid that if I let him back into my life, he will hurt me just like before.

I get what he’s saying, but do I have it in me to move forward and trust him again?

I pick up my mug and get comfortable in my bed again, picking up my Kindle to finish my current read before Trish brings me the new book.

I’ve been anticipating this new fantasy to come out for months, and I have to get my hands on a copy.

I planned to pick it up and spend all day reading it, but I didn’t foresee sickness as part of that plan.

I slump into my pillows and close my eyes as I swallow the warm liquid, feeling it ease the ache in my throat.

Socks’s ears perk when my stomach makes a loud gurgle sound.

I glance at the time and realize it’s been hours since I last got out of bed.

“What? Like you don’t forget to eat when the couple in your story starts to fall in love.

” I scratch behind her soft ears, making her lay back down as I get out of bed.

I wrap my blanket around myself tightly as my fleece pajama pants drag on the floor, covering my toes as I walk.

I sneeze walking by the front door, and a deep voice says, “Bless you.” I startle and turn toward my door, staring at a tall figure through the frosted glass.

“Who is it?” I call out.

“Clay . . . I brought you a book and food.”

My heartbeat kicks up a notch as I stand paralyzed in this spot, safely behind the door.

“Are you going to let me in?”

“No,” I answer without hesitation.

“That’s fair.” His voice isn’t as loud as he only meant that for himself and not for me to hear. “You need food. Trish told me you’re sick, and unless you open this door, I won’t be leaving the book you want.”

My jaw drops. He would take the book? Why does he have my book?

One thing is for sure, I’m going to give Trish a piece of my mind for this because I expected her, and she didn’t tell me she would have him come.

I unlock the door and swing it open, not caring that I probably look like death since I haven’t showered and have on clothes that are over two sizes too big.

Clayton scans me up and down before finally handing over the book, and I clutch it to my chest. “Wow, you are sick.” He stands there with a black T-shirt hugging his biceps and a black ballcap on backward.

The only thing making it better is the lighter-colored jeans hugging his thighs, but I don’t miss how his beard is longer than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes.

He must not be doing well either, but he can’t blame the sickness like I can.

His expression is sad while he takes me in just like I did him.

I sniffle. “What? You think I was lying to my best friend so I didn’t have to leave the house?”

He shrugs and picks up a large brown bag that leans against his leg, walking past me toward my kitchen.

“Excuse me. What are you doing?” I sneeze into the crook of my elbow as I follow him. I don’t want him in my house right now. I don’t want him to see me like this.

He looks around. “I don’t see anyone else taking care of you.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need anyone else to take care of me. I was doing just fine, thank you very much.” I hold my head up higher. “I even made myself tea.”

He takes containers out from the bag on the counter. “That’s great, Ry, but unless you’re also feeding yourself, you won’t get better anytime soon.”

I fold my arms across myself while I hold on tighter to the blanket. “I was about to make myself something to eat.”

He looks at me for a moment. “What were you going to make?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I would have found something.”

He nods and puts the containers back in the bag.

“What are you doing?” I take a step closer.

He pauses, pulling off his hat to rake his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. “Since you said you had your food covered, I was leaving . . . with the food I brought.”

I try to get a better look at the containers to see what’s in them. “What did you bring?” I say in almost a whisper.

“Chicken noodle soup. I made it from my mom’s recipe.”

My eyes jump to his. He made me soup? Why would he do something like that? He probably had to go to the store and get the supplies to make it, while also grabbing the book I wanted from across town.

“I have crackers too.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Would you like my food now? ”

I nod slowly and watch him take out the containers again.

He walks around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers until he finds exactly what he’s looking for.

Once he lays the still-warm soup in front of me, I clutch it between my hands, walk to the table, and sit down.

He brings me a spoon, crackers, and a fresh cup of tea before returning to the kitchen, cleaning up the mess he made, and then cleaning my now-empty bowl.

He does it all without a word and leaves as quickly as he came.

Right as he’s about to close my front door, I call out, “Thank you.”

I watch him pause and nod before disappearing again, and I pull out my phone.

Me:

You’ve got some explaining to do.

Trish:

You have to forgive him at some point.