Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I nodded and scratched my nose. “Try’n write him a letter and walk out when he’s asleep.”
“What?” Ben gave me a bleary-eyed look, his gaze unfocused. He hadn’t made the connection yet, had he? “I…I tried to drop him off at…a shelter.”
“Okay.” I unlocked the door before I rejoined him down the three steps.
“They were gonna put him down because…because he’s not ch-chipped,” he muttered. “And—” He made a gesture, dismissive. “They’re overcrowded.”
So he’d kept Ziggy. Because Ben would rescue anyone but himself.
Dick.
I helped him up the stairs and opened the door, and I didn’t have to make a decision about Ziggy. He snuck in faster than I could react—but he was staying in the hallway. I loved dogs, but I wasn’t having a flea infestation in my home.
Just as we got inside and the door closed behind us, Ben half collapsed against the nearest wall, and he grabbed on to my arm. He lifted his head unhurriedly, as if it weighed a ton, and he stared unseeingly at me. He was trying. He blinked and frowned and squinted, and I could tell the moment it was dawning on him. He drew a ragged breath, and his sluggish focus followed as his hand slowly slid down my arm until he let go.
He knew where he was. He knew who he was with.
Even with a high fever, his shame burned hotter.
I hated it, because he made my heart pound, and I knew it wasn’t shame over how he’d left. It was shame over his situation and that he felt useless.
“Come on.” I cupped his elbow and nudged him toward the stairs.
Once this fever passed, man, I was gonna lay into him. The motherfucker had screwed me over and made me feel a bunch of shit.
I didn’t fucking do feelings. Anymore.
Actually, this crap was new. This was some next-level torture.
Ziggy barked from the top of the stairs, and I agreed with him. Ben was taking forever.
“When did you eat?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
I suppressed a sigh and pulled out my phone. I’d been gone, what, ten minutes?
How much could I accomplish in twenty? I had to figure out what was wrong with him—if it was a case of the flu that was going around or if it was dehydration, malnourishment, food poisoning, whatever the fuck. The fatigue was clear as day, as was the fever, the confusion, and the difficulty to speak. I couldn’t leave him alone until I knew whether I was up for taking care of him or if I should call an ambulance.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said groggily. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Just shut up, Ben.” I retrieved my keys when we finally got up, and I ushered him over to the door.
He took a step toward the foldable bed in the alcove, and fuck that.
“No, you’re coming with me,” I told him. “Ziggy can sleep there. I’ll bring him water and something to eat soon.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Who’s Ziggy?”
Oh. Yeah, he wouldn’t know the name, would he?
“It’s the name of the dog,” I replied, ushering him inside. “He used to belong to a guy who slept in the alley from time to time. He died last month.”
Ben frowned to himself, and I guided him to the bathroom as soon as I’d shut the door on Ziggy. Which, yeah, made me feel like a scumbag, but I had my priorities. I’d make it up to him later.
“He wagged his tail when I called him Pippen,” he muttered.
“Well, who wouldn’t.” I flicked on the lights in the bathroom and sighed. We’d sure as shit been here before.
Ben winced, his breathing labored. “But…he also wagged his tail when… Fuck. When I called him a rodent.”
I snorted and left him at the counter so I could turn on the water. “Take your clothes off and get into the shower. I’m gonna get you juice, water, and whatever WebMD advises.”
“Trace, you don’t have—”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Annoyance flared up, and I left the bathroom.
Fucking jagoff.
Not just him. Me too. For still being worried, for still caring.
For still missing him.
I could too easily imagine him sitting in the dark somewhere, going through various Chicago teams as he tried to figure out Ziggy’s name. All alone, in the cold, with no food in his stomach. Constantly worrying about his son, about the future…
I blew out a breath and did a quick Google search, and I hadn’t been far off. We needed to get lots of fluids in him. Sugary drink, check. Water, check. Something salty too. I reached for the pretzel sticks, but that couldn’t be enough if he’d barely eaten.
In the end, I brought a little bit of everything with me back into the bathroom. It was the first time his nakedness didn’t faze me, and that said it all. The fucker had my chest in a vise of worry.