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twenty-seven

MIRA

A few days later, the incessant beeping of Griffin’s alarm clock has me groaning and pulling my pillow over my head. It’s early—the guys have practice at six a.m., so Griffin sets his alarm for five—and it’s not like him to hit the snooze, let alone ignore it altogether.

Reaching out blindly, I push Griffin’s naked chest, shaking him. He’s uncharacteristically far away from me in bed. And warm. Normally, he’s wrapped around me like a koala. “Griffin? Your alarm is going off. Get your sexy ass up.”

He simply groans, so I shake him again, then blindly feel for his face so I can poke his cheeks. When my fingers touch his skin, my eyes open, and I push the pillow off my face.

He’s burning up.

“Griffin?” Sitting up in bed, I find my husband sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo, in nothing but his boxer briefs. He’s pushed the blankets to the side so I’m still wrapped in them, but he’s completely uncovered. Sweat beads along Griffin’s furrowed brow, and his face is flushed. “Babe?”

He groans, stirring, but not opening his eyes. I grab his phone and turn off the alarm, relieved to end the squawking. Griffin must be relieved, too, because his brow smooths ever so slightly. “Baby?”

“Hey,” I murmur, running my palm over his forehead. He’s hot to the touch. “Can you open your eyes for me, big guy?” I need to get him some water and Tylenol, but first I need to see those hazel irises and make sure he’s with me.

Thick, dark blond lashes flutter before I’m finally met with bloodshot hazel eyes. “Mir?” He grimaces. “I don’t feel so good.”

Running my fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, I hum my understanding. “I bet. You have a fever. I’m going to get you some water and meds. Can you sit up?”

Griffin groans, his usually graceful movements replaced by a jerky shakiness that makes my stomach twist with worry. It takes him too long—and my eventual help—to leverage himself into a sitting position. “What time is it?”

I glance at his phone. “Almost five-thirty.”

“Shit,” he mumbles, twisting onto his hands and knees. “I’m gonna be late for practice.”

“Babe.” His skin practically sizzles when I grab his shoulders and force him back into a seated position. “You’re not going to practice today. You can barely sit up, let alone lift weights or skate.”

“I’m fine,” he says unconvincingly. The man winces as he says it, his eyes falling closed.

“Sure. You’re totally fine. That’s why you can’t even keep your eyes open.” I grab my cell after I pull the blankets up over Griffin’s legs and kiss his forehead. “Stay right here. I’ll be back.”

I can’t help glancing back at Griffin as I hurry from our bedroom and into the kitchen, where he keeps first aid supplies in the pantry. After grabbing the Tylenol and filling up a glass with cold water, I call my brother.

“Mi-Mi?” Maddox’s gruff voice is low, like he’s trying not to wake Isla. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

I huff out a soft chuckle. “Why would you assume something’s wrong?”

“Because it’s not even six yet, and I know what a grumpy ass you are this early in the morning. What’s wrong?”

“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “Something is wrong.”

“Do you need me to get you? Are you safe?” I want to be annoyed at Maddox’s protective schtick, but honestly, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Chill, Maddy, I’m fine.”

My big brother lets out a sigh of relief.

“It’s Griffin.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What about him?”

“He’s burning up, Maddy. I think he’s really sick. There’s no way he’ll be able to drive to practice, let alone skate, or whatever you’re supposed to do today.” More silence stretches out between us, and I fidget, my feet cold against the kitchen tile.

“So why are you calling and not him?”

Does he sound suspicious? “Because he can’t even keep his eyes open.

I had to wake him up. His alarm must have been going off for almost half an hour.

” It’s not a lie, but it’s definitely only half the truth.

I know I made it sound like Griffin’s alarm woke me up all the way in my own room and not because I was sleeping next to him in our bed, so hopefully that’s how my brother takes it.

“You need to tell your coach he won’t be there today. ”

Maddox grunts. “Yeah, all right. Do you need me to bring him anything?”

“No, I’ll take care of him. You go to practice. Besides, the last thing the team needs is another player down with the flu or whatever this is.”

“Thanks, Mi-Mi. Call me if you need reinforcements. He can be a big baby when he’s sick.”

I chuckle at that. “Aren’t all guys?”

“Touché, Mira. Touché. All right. I gotta get going. I’ll check in later. Love you.”

“Love you too, Maddy. Have a good practice.” Balancing my phone, the glass of water, and the Tylenol, I pad back into our bedroom to find Griffin still sitting, but his eyes are closed and his head lolls to the side. Soft little snores puff out of his slightly open mouth.

Damn, he’s cute. Yes, he’s sick, and I’m worried about him, but there’s something so innocent about him like this. I switch the water and Tylenol to my left hand and quickly snap a few photos with my phone before softly calling his name to wake him up.

“Griffy? Wake up, babe. I have medicine for you to help bring your fever down. And water. You need to stay hydrated.”

My husband stirs, blinking owlishly at me, his gaze unfocused. “Hmm?”

Holding the glass to his lips, I encourage him to take a few slow sips before giving him the medicine. He grimaces when he swallows it, but he manages to paste a small smile on his face.

“Thanks, sunshine.”

“Of course, babe.” I set the glass down on the bedside table and feel his forehead. I need to make sure he’s not dangerously feverish. “Where’s your thermometer?”

“Bathroom vanity,” he says, eyes slipping closed.

I find it easily and scowl when it reads 102.1 “Shit. We need to keep you hydrated and cool. It’s not dangerously high, but I can’t imagine you feel good right now.”

Griffin shakes his head. Or at least he attempts to. “Nope. Feel like shit.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” A rush of something warm and pure rises in my chest when my accidental husband grins at me through his discomfort. Emotions shine out of his bloodshot, glassy eyes, emotions I’m not quite ready to name, and I’m not sure he is, either.

“You don’t have to do that, baby. I’m a grown-ass man. I can take care of myself.” As if to illustrate my point, he swings his feet off the bed before rising on shaky legs.

“What are you doing?”

“Gotta pee, sunshine,” he says with a grin. “I’ll be fine.”

Except, he’s not. This feverish, muscular giant of a man must feel absolutely terrible, because he can barely stand.

I quickly rush to his side and position myself under his arm, my own wrapped around his waist so I can act as a crutch.

He tries to protest, but it quickly becomes apparent that he really does need my help and finally relents.

“Thanks, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I grin. “Probably pee your pants.”

That has him laughing and even more unsteady on his feet.

The morning goes by in a blur, and once I’ve made sure Griffin is hydrated and has eaten something, I help him get comfortable in bed.

He snuggles in to watch a movie on his laptop while I sit next to him on mine.

I’m not sure I’ll get a full day’s work done, but I can’t completely neglect it, either.

I have deadlines to meet, and I’m putting the finishing touches on the baseball team’s website.

They aren’t expecting a finished product for another week, but I’m excited to show them the final result before the deadline.

“That looks amazing,” Griffin says, looking over my shoulder. “Seriously, Mira, I knew you were talented, but that’s something else.”

I can feel the blush warming my cheeks and creeping up my chest. “Thank you.”

Everyone has been supportive of me and my business, but I’ve never sat down with someone and shown them what I’m working on.

It makes me feel vulnerable in a way I can’t quite explain.

Maybe it’s because this is my dream, my baby, and I care about Griffin’s opinions.

I value what he thinks of me and what I do—more than I thought I would.

“Oh”—he grins—“I almost forgot. I heard from my contact at the University of Michigan, and they want to meet with you soon.”

Nerves do a tap dance in my stomach. I’ve been working on my pitch for the university’s hockey team, and I think I have some great ideas. I want to highlight their current program, as well as their alumni success stories. Griffin isn’t the only player who’s gone on to the NHL, AHL, or ECHL.

“Really?”

He nods, smiling brightly despite feeling sick. “Yep. I’ve been working on an endorsement deal with a company based in Michigan. They’re also in Ann Arbor, so I figure we can schedule our meetings for the same weekend.”

“That would be… That would be amazing, babe.” I lean over and press a kiss on his fevered forehead. “You’re amazing. How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.” He sighs contentedly, letting his head rest on my shoulder.

Outwardly, we settle back into a companionable quiet. Inwardly, I’m a riot of excitement, worry, hope, and affection that grows stronger with each passing day. Griffin Wright is everything I have ever wanted and more than I could have hoped for, and I’m falling hard for my accidental husband.