The bottom of the screen said her name was Helena Noble, and of course she was a model. I stuck another large bite of ice cream in my mouth. I wanted to change the channel, but I needed to watch this. It was obviously something I had let myself forget. This was Dean’s life. His world. Not the apartment building I lived in.

  The announcer talked about Dean being seen with this woman twice that week in Beverly Hills. So, he was back in California. I hadn’t known he had left. Was Maegan here? I didn’t want to ever see her again. I was humiliated enough that I’d been caught like that. She was the only witness to my moment of weakness. I’d prefer to never run into her again.

  The blonde said something to him, and he laughed, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. There was a look in his eyes though. One that I’d never seen.

  I put the ice cream down on the table and leaned forward to stare at him closely.

  He was acting. That was fake. I’d seen Dean when he was laughing. Really laughing. This wasn’t it. The laugh didn’t truly meet his eyes. I didn’t look back at the woman. I kept my gaze locked on Dean until they were gone and the next couple appeared.

  I pressed the power button on the remote and stared now at the black screen.

  In two weeks, Cam would be home. We would have to start getting things ready for the new school year. My life would revolve around being a mom once again. It was what I knew. I was good at being a mom. I loved being Cam’s mom.

  Dean would probably never speak to me again. Or maybe, after time, he’d forget that I had run out on him. If we did run into each other in the building, we could make small talk, then go on about our lives. The more at arm’s length I kept him, the better.

  The whole idea, however, made me sad. I didn’t want to feel anything, but I did.

  The doorbell rang, and I knew my food was here. I’d eat my feelings or eat while I was trying to make sense of my feelings. Grabbing my money, I opened the door, paid the delivery guy, and took my food. Locking back up, I headed for the kitchen to open my grocery-store bottle of wine to go with my kung pao chicken and side of dumplings.

  I glanced at my phone and considered texting Cam, but I fought the urge. I had to stop hovering so much. He was getting older. It was just hard to accept.

  Once I had my food on a plate and a glass of wine, I headed back to the living room. I was going to try streaming television this time. No chance of seeing Dean and getting my head in a mess. I decided on one of my comfort shows and dug into my food while I started season three of Downton Abbey.

  thirteen

  dean

  Kiro’s attempts to get me to stay in Beverly Hills had been futile. Ten days there, and I was ready to head back to the East Coast. I’d shown my face at several events and done my duty to the band.

  Now, I was back in Florida, where the sun was hotter and life moved slower.

  It had been two weeks since I’d seen Brielle. The space had been good for me. Fucking Helena didn’t help, but it was a distraction for a moment. The strippers that Kiro brought home were entertaining as well, but in the end, it was just a shallow, pointless release. The kind my life had been full of and I no longer desired. It was why I’d left California. I wanted normal.

  Passing by the college that Brielle worked at was tempting. I could pull in there and walk into the office. She’d be there, unable to run away from me this time. I’d get a chance to explain or apologize for Maegan, but that was behind me. I was putting Brielle behind me. That had been a terrible idea anyway.

  I parked in my private garage, then headed up the elevator that took me into my penthouse. Rush had been by to check on things, and he’d hired a new building manager for me. It wasn’t a man, but it was a female Rush had assured me wouldn’t be interested in me sexually. She had a wife, who worked at the Kerrington Country Club, and they lived in Rosemary Beach.

  Everything was clean and in order. It was also quiet, and I embraced that after ten days of living with Kiro again. My gaze, however, went to the hallway. The one I’d eaten Brielle’s pussy in while she screamed my name. It felt like unfinished business, and I hated that feeling. She was going to haunt me in my own damn place. But getting her back up here to finish it and move on with my life didn’t seem like a great idea either.

  I stood there, staring down the hallway, remembering how good she had tasted, how sexy her sounds of pleasure had been, and I wished there were some way I could wash it from my memory.

  “Fuck it!” I said in frustration and pulled out my cell phone, then pressed her number.

  It rang three times, and I thought it was going to be sent to voice mail when, “Hello?” came over the line. Except it wasn’t a normal-sounding hello. Something was wrong.

  “Brielle?” I asked.

  There was a pause. Silence. I began to think I’d called the wrong person or maybe she’d changed her number.

  “Yes,” she said, followed by a fit of coughing.

  “You’re sick,” I stated.

  “Yeah,” she said, and then I heard a rattling sound in her chest.

  “Have you been to the doctor?” I asked, getting more concerned by the second.

  “Yes. Clara took me yesterday,” she replied.

  “Did they give you meds? What’s wrong?” I asked her as I began walking toward the door.

  “It’s COVID. I’m on meds. It sounds worse than it is,” she said, then coughed again.

  “Are you alone?” I asked her, pressing the elevator button.

  “Yes. I’m quarantining.”

  “Fuck that,” I muttered into the phone and pressed the third-floor button.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “I’m coming down there. You need someone to take care of you,” I said to her.

  “Dean, I have COVID. You can’t come here, or you’ll have to quarantine too. Clara wore a mask around me and still has to quarantine for five days at her place.” She stopped talking and started coughing again.

  It sounded like she couldn’t breathe.

  Damn, why is the elevator taking so fucking long?

  Finally, it opened up, and I rushed out of it and toward her door. I didn’t have a key with me, I realized.

  “Open your door. I’ll take a damn COVID test later, but I am staying with you. Your oxygen could drop. You need to be kept hydrated and fed.”

  She laughed weakly then. “And you’re gonna do all that for me?”

  “Yes. Now, open your door.”

  She ended the call, and I waited. Just when I was about to call her back and threaten to go get a key and come in myself, the door opened, and she stepped back. She was wearing a face mask, a pair of sweatpants, and an oversize sweatshirt. It was a hundred degrees outside and pretty damn warm in her apartment.

  How is she not burning up?

  I stepped inside and immediately put my hand against her forehead. “You have a fever,” I told her.

  “Did you miss the part where I told you I have COVID?” she asked.

  I grabbed one side of the mask and pulled it off of her. “I’ve been vaccinated, and I’ve had a booster,” I said.

  She sighed. “So have I.”

  “I don’t care. You can’t breathe good enough as it is. You’re not wearing a damn mask,” I said.

  She swayed then and reached out to grab my arm, and I went to catch her.

  “I’m dizzy,” she muttered.

  I bent down and tucked a hand under her knees, then swung her into my arms.

  “Put me down,” she said in a hoarse whisper as her eyes closed.

  “I will. As soon as I get you to your bed,” I told her. “When was the last time you ate?”

  Her eyelids fluttered. “This morning, I think.” Then, she paused. “Oh, no, it was last night. I had some crackers.”

  When I reached her room, I laid her down on the side of the bed that wasn’t as messy, then straightened the covers on the other side before moving her over and covering her up properly.

  The cup beside her bed had very little water in it, or it was melted ice from something else she had been drinking.

  “Lie there. I’ll be back in a moment,” I said, then headed for the kitchen.

  I went straight to the fridge and opened the freezer to get ice. There was no ice in the maker, and it looked like there hadn’t been in a very long time. There was no sign of ice in the bucket. Closing the freezer, I glanced around and noticed four empty ice trays in her sink.

  Why wasn’t she using the ice maker?

  Jerking open the door to the fridge, I found a pitcher of water and was relieved that she had some that was cold. I filled her glass and found a new straw in the drawer under the microwave. Checking her cabinets and fridge, I found very little to take her to eat. I settled on crackers and peanut butter. I made several little sandwiches with the crackers and peanut butter, then put them on a plate and went back to her room with them.

  Her eyes were closed when I walked in, but when I set the glass and plate down on the table beside her, she opened her eyes and looked at me.

  “You barely have food,” I told her.

  Then, I picked up the pillows on the floor and placed them behind her so that she could sit up and eat. Once she was adjusted and sitting up for the most part, I put the plate beside her and handed her the glass of water.

  “I’m going to have some groceries delivered. Do you like soup? Chicken noodle? Tomato?” I asked.

  She took a sip of the water, then looked down at the plate. “Chicken noodle is good,” she replied. “Or maybe just broth. I don’t have an appetite,” she replied. Her voice sounded weak.

  “What doctor did you go to? Was it a good one? Where are your meds?” I asked as I looked around for bottles of something so I could read what they’d prescribed her myself.

  “I went to the after-hours clinic. My meds are in the bathroom,” she said, pointing to the bathroom connected to her bedroom.

  “Eat,” I told her. Then, I headed to the bathroom to find what they’d given her.

  My eyes locked on the hot-pink bra lying on the floor and the pair of black lace panties on top of the dirty clothes basket. I mentally scolded myself and shoved the images out of my head while I looked for her medication.

  They were by the sink. The first one was some shit I couldn’t even pronounce, but I’d heard of it. I’d seen the CDC talking about it on the news. The other was for pain and fever. I took both of them with me back into the room.

  Brielle was chewing, but her head was resting against the wall since she didn’t have an actual headboard, and her eyes were closed. She looked pale, and her breathing was shallow. She shouldn’t have been alone.

  “When did you get sick?” I asked her, walking over to the bed to sit on the edge. I needed to keep her awake long enough to eat.

  “Two days ago. I started feeling bad and figured it was the leftover Chinese food I’d taken for lunch. But it kept getting worse, and by the next morning, I was not okay,” she said.

  I took the half-eaten cracker sandwich from her hand and held it up to her mouth. “Eat,” I said firmly. “Did you take your medicine today?” I asked then.

  She nodded and took a bite without arguing. I reached over and got her water, then held it to her lips for her to take a drink. I repeated the process until she finished all of them. I took the extra pillows away and helped her ease back down onto the single pillow she’d been lying on earlier.

  “Rest. I’ll handle everything else. Don’t get up without me. You could fall.”

  She studied me, and I waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, I turned and headed for the door.

  “Dean?”

  I looked back at her. “Yeah?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “You need help,” I replied, then left her to rest.

  Telling her that seeing her sick like this scared the shit out of me wasn’t going to help our situation. I was human, so I should be concerned for her, but it was more than that. And I didn’t have the correct words to explain it when I didn’t understand what it was myself. I just didn’t want her to be sick.

  fourteen

  brielle

  My eyes opened slowly, and I expected the pounding of my head to greet me along with the pain in my chest from the endless coughing. When I felt neither, I glanced around, then decided to slowly attempt sitting up. I managed it, and still, nothing. I wasn’t even nauseous.

  I looked over at my phone, and the time said it was eight in the morning.

  I had slept all night. I hadn’t woken up with coughing spasms.

  Pushing back the covers, I stood up and started to walk to the bathroom to relieve myself when my eyes landed on Dean. He was under a quilt from the closet, and his head was on one of the sham-covered pillows I put on my bed when it was made up. He looked exhausted.

  How is he sleeping on the hard floor? And why?

  Last night, he had slept on the expensive sofa. I knew it was much more comfortable.

  I moved quietly into the bathroom and closed the door behind me.

  If he hadn’t shown up when he did, I didn’t know what I’d have done. He had bought me groceries and kept me fed. He had made sure I had my meds at the right time. It was impossible to dehydrate with him constantly bringing me Gatorade or water. There was one point when my fever had gotten so high that I was sure that him being here was a hallucination.

  Walking over to the shower, I turned it on and waited until the water was warm before taking off my clothes and stepping into the stream. The water felt wonderful. The past few days, I hadn’t been able to stand for long, much less get a shower. I stepped back once and sat down on the small built-in bench. If the water would stay warm without eventually running cold, I could stay in here all day.

  There were so many things I needed to do today. Calling and checking in with Cam was the first thing.

  I’d gotten a couple of texts from him, and I could only respond that I wasn’t feeling well and would call him once I was better. Clara called me once, and I wasn’t able to answer—my head was pounding. She texted next, and I managed to update her on my condition. I hadn’t told her Dean was here with me though. She’d read too much into that. Heck, I was reading too much into it. At least in my dreams, I had. He’d kept showing up.

  When I’d had moments of clarity, I’d convinced myself that he was being a friend, although the idea of Dean Finlay being my friend was so odd. Adjusting to the fact that my landlord was famous had been difficult enough to wrap my head around. Him taking care of me while I had COVID was so unexpected.

  Standing back up, I began the process of bathing myself and washing my hair. My legs needed shaving, as did other parts, so I took my time in doing it all. I didn’t want to overdo it and end up back in bed again today. I knew there were bills in the mailbox, waiting on me. My electricity, car payment, and water bills were all due to arrive this week. The more I thought of all I needed to do, the more stressed I felt myself getting.

  I finished in the shower sooner than I had intended and was drying off when there was a knock on the bathroom door. The door didn’t lock, and I quickly wrapped my towel around my body before it slowly opened up. Dean stood there, looking sexy and disheveled.

  That wasn’t fair, but then was life ever really fair? The man was fifty-three. He had slept on the floor, possibly all night. Why did he not have pillow creases on his cheek or swollen eyes? Why didn’t his hair look like a bird had taken up residence in it?

  “Good morning,” he said in a raspy, deep voice from sleep.

  “Good morning,” I replied, holding the towel tightly around me.

  My hair was wet and dripping down my back, but I wasn’t about to take the towel to dry it with Dean standing there, looking at me.

  “You must feel better,” he said, then yawned while running a hand through his perfectly messy hair.

  I nodded. “I do. But you slept on the floor. Are you okay?”

  He smirked. “Yeah. My back might beat me up about it some today, but I’ll survive.”

  “Why didn’t you sleep on the sofa again?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “You were too quiet. No coughing. Nothing. It worried me. I moved closer in case you needed something.”

  I had no words for that. I stared at him, trying to figure out why he had been so worried about me. He could have paid someone to come and stay with me. He had people at his beck and call.

  “Why did you stay?” I asked him.

  He raised his eyebrows slightly. “What? No, Thank you, Dean?”

  I sighed. “Of course I am grateful to you. I just don’t understand why you did it.”

  He was quiet a moment, then finally shook his head. “You were sick. I was worried. You needed someone. I stayed. That’s it.”

  “But you’re Dean Finlay,” I said pointedly. “I can’t imagine taking care of sick people is something you do often.”

  “I raised my son. His mother wasn’t much of a mother. When he was sick, she always sent him to me. I know what to do.”

  I had read articles about him and his son when I was younger. It was always something the media loved to cover.

  Dean Finlay, badass drummer for Slacker Demon, is an exceptional father when he’s not onstage. It was one of many things they’d said about him.

  It was something I’d always wondered about, then felt guilty for doubting it.

  Him taking care of his son was one thing. I was just … a tenant? A girl he knew? I didn’t know what I was to the man. We were something that would never have a label.

  “I’m also really good with pancakes. They’re my specialty. You ready to eat something other than soup?”

  He was going to make me pancakes. Maybe I was still sleeping. I hoped not. I really, really hoped not.