Falling Under You: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (1001 Dark Nights) by Laurelin Paige Page B
Authors: Laurelin Paige
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out in my direction.
So Hudson could let me use his plane. But what Boyd could give me was so much more what I needed.
I took the cup. “Uh, Hudson, also, I’m going to bring Boyd with me. Then I can get some of that Peterson project done while I’m there.”
“Don’t worry about—”
“No, I want to work.” I met Boyd’s eyes. “The distraction will be good for me.”
“Are you sure?” Boyd asked when I’d hung up. “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to pressure you into that.”
“I’m not sure what I want you to do for me while we’re there, but yes, I’m sure I want you there.” Needed him was more like it.
“Guess I better get home to pack a bag.” He smiled the kind of smile that took loads off a person’s back, and I knew instantly I’d made the right decision.
* * * *
I kept myself together for the rest of the night and through the long flight to the West Coast, never once crying or losing the calm facade I had mastered. Boyd was helpful at every turn. While I wasn’t sure what capacity I needed him most in, he maintained the role of assistant, carrying my bags, directing my next moves. Underneath the layers of stress and tension, I was grateful for his presence, which both kept me sane and knocked me a bit off balance. He was so good at doing things for me at the office—I was used to that—but doing things for me that didn’t involve work or sex? It was harder to grasp.
After we landed in San Francisco, the awkwardness was lost in busyness. Boyd and I separated, he taking our luggage to the hotel and checking us in while I went straight to the hospital. Even though he still refused to see me, I stayed in the waiting room nearest Ben’s unit until visiting hours were over, making sure I checked in with each of his providers and the nurses on duty, explaining what I knew about his medical and mental history to Dr. Evans, verifying that the staff had an accurate representation of his past abuse and depression.
By the end of visiting hours, I was exhausted and hungry and ready to collapse from being awake so long, not to mention the emotional wear of the past day. Boyd, who’d texted me several times, had a cab outside when I left the hospital and dinner waiting for me when I arrived at our hotel room.
As thoughtful as it all was, though, all I wanted to do was sleep. I passed out on top of the bed covers, without taking more than a bite to eat.
When I woke up again, it was dark out. The bedside clock read 4:38. The blankets had been pulled over me—I didn’t know how he’d managed that—and Boyd was sleeping in his clothes beside me, as though he’d fallen asleep waiting for me to wake up.
Carefully, so as not to disturb him, I crawled out of bed and went to the bathroom. I guess I wasn’t careful enough, though, because when I returned, Boyd was awake, ordering breakfast from room service.
“You need to eat something,” he said by way of explanation when he hung up.
“Okay.” I was pretty hungry. “Thanks.” I perched on the edge of the bed, not sure what to do or what to say.
Thankfully, he knew. Handing me the remote for the television, he said, “Here’s this if you want some noise. I can get your computer if you want it. Or we can talk. Or I can listen. I can make you a bath. I can take one with you. Whatever you want, it’s up to you. Pretend I’m not here, or use me how you need me. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said again. I didn’t want to talk. And I didn’t think I could focus on work. Really, I didn’t know what I wanted.
I turned on the TV, settling on the first channel that had something that wasn’t an infomercial—some sci-fi show I’d never seen before. We watched in silence.
When our food arrived, we moved to the table, and I picked at my plate, managing to eat half of my omelet before pushing it away.
Then, over a cup of too strong coffee, I opened up—as much as I ever had, anyway, telling Boyd about my
So Hudson could let me use his plane. But what Boyd could give me was so much more what I needed.
I took the cup. “Uh, Hudson, also, I’m going to bring Boyd with me. Then I can get some of that Peterson project done while I’m there.”
“Don’t worry about—”
“No, I want to work.” I met Boyd’s eyes. “The distraction will be good for me.”
“Are you sure?” Boyd asked when I’d hung up. “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to pressure you into that.”
“I’m not sure what I want you to do for me while we’re there, but yes, I’m sure I want you there.” Needed him was more like it.
“Guess I better get home to pack a bag.” He smiled the kind of smile that took loads off a person’s back, and I knew instantly I’d made the right decision.
* * * *
I kept myself together for the rest of the night and through the long flight to the West Coast, never once crying or losing the calm facade I had mastered. Boyd was helpful at every turn. While I wasn’t sure what capacity I needed him most in, he maintained the role of assistant, carrying my bags, directing my next moves. Underneath the layers of stress and tension, I was grateful for his presence, which both kept me sane and knocked me a bit off balance. He was so good at doing things for me at the office—I was used to that—but doing things for me that didn’t involve work or sex? It was harder to grasp.
After we landed in San Francisco, the awkwardness was lost in busyness. Boyd and I separated, he taking our luggage to the hotel and checking us in while I went straight to the hospital. Even though he still refused to see me, I stayed in the waiting room nearest Ben’s unit until visiting hours were over, making sure I checked in with each of his providers and the nurses on duty, explaining what I knew about his medical and mental history to Dr. Evans, verifying that the staff had an accurate representation of his past abuse and depression.
By the end of visiting hours, I was exhausted and hungry and ready to collapse from being awake so long, not to mention the emotional wear of the past day. Boyd, who’d texted me several times, had a cab outside when I left the hospital and dinner waiting for me when I arrived at our hotel room.
As thoughtful as it all was, though, all I wanted to do was sleep. I passed out on top of the bed covers, without taking more than a bite to eat.
When I woke up again, it was dark out. The bedside clock read 4:38. The blankets had been pulled over me—I didn’t know how he’d managed that—and Boyd was sleeping in his clothes beside me, as though he’d fallen asleep waiting for me to wake up.
Carefully, so as not to disturb him, I crawled out of bed and went to the bathroom. I guess I wasn’t careful enough, though, because when I returned, Boyd was awake, ordering breakfast from room service.
“You need to eat something,” he said by way of explanation when he hung up.
“Okay.” I was pretty hungry. “Thanks.” I perched on the edge of the bed, not sure what to do or what to say.
Thankfully, he knew. Handing me the remote for the television, he said, “Here’s this if you want some noise. I can get your computer if you want it. Or we can talk. Or I can listen. I can make you a bath. I can take one with you. Whatever you want, it’s up to you. Pretend I’m not here, or use me how you need me. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said again. I didn’t want to talk. And I didn’t think I could focus on work. Really, I didn’t know what I wanted.
I turned on the TV, settling on the first channel that had something that wasn’t an infomercial—some sci-fi show I’d never seen before. We watched in silence.
When our food arrived, we moved to the table, and I picked at my plate, managing to eat half of my omelet before pushing it away.
Then, over a cup of too strong coffee, I opened up—as much as I ever had, anyway, telling Boyd about my
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