Page 37 of Beating Heart
The door opened so quickly, I startled. Cutler stood there, holding a washcloth in his hand, and his eyes were wide. “Hi, Dr. Emerson. Pops is real sick.”
I heard loud heaving in the distance, and I hurried inside.
Me, Cutler, and Winnie walked down the hallway to the powder room, where Nash was on his knees and unloading everything in his stomach into the toilet. Winnie tried to get in there, and Nash tried to block her from sticking her head in the toilet.
“Winnie, out,” I said, my voice firm, and my pup immediately hurried out of there. “Cutler, how about you take her out to the couch and sit with her, and I’ll help your daddy, okay? I’ll be out in a little bit.”
He nodded and handed me the wet cloth, which melted my heart because he’d obviously been trying to comfort his father.
I wet the washcloth and wrung it out before dropping to my knees beside Nash, just as he’d heaved a few more times. I set the cool cloth on the back of his neck and ran my hand over his back. “You all right?”
“You don’t want to get this. You should head home,” he groaned.
“Trust me. I’ve got a steel immune system at this point. Don’t worry about that.”
He dry heaved several more times, but there was nothing left in his stomach. He flushed the toilet and sat back, leaning against the wall, and reached for that damp washcloth and ran it over his face and mouth.
I settled beside him on the floor and glanced over at him to find him watching me.
“I’ll bet you really want to kiss me now,” he said, his voice tired, but I could hear the humor in his tone.
“Very funny. Are you okay?”
“Yep. I’ll be fine. What time is it?”
“A little after seven,” I said.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath, trying to push to his feet. “I need to make Cutler dinner.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Just stay put. I’ll make him something to eat and grab you some Gatorade.”
“I can call one of the guys. You don’t need to be here.”
“Stop being stubborn. It’s the neighborly thing to do. You fixed my fence, after all.” I smirked before pushing to stand and making my way out to the family room.
I chuckled at the sight in front of me.
Winnie was sitting so close to Cutler, they were pressed against one another. They were both staring at the TV as Simba was singing his heart out on The Lion King.
“Hey, are you hungry?” I asked him.
“I had some more crackers already, but I’m a little hungry.”
“How about some noodles with butter and toast?” I was hoping Nash had that here, but if not, I could run next door and grab some pasta and bread.
“Yes.” Cutler fist-pumped his little arm. “I love noodles and butter.”
I looked through the pantry and was surprised at how well-stocked it was. This was not the kitchen of a bachelor. This was the kitchen of a father.
One who fed his son well. The freezer was full of meat and fish. The refrigerator was packed with fruit and veggies and milk and eggs. The pantry was well-stocked with pasta and canned goods.
I pulled out a pot and got the water boiling before pouring both Cutler and Nash a cold glass of Gatorade.
“Drink this,” I said, and I walked back down the hallway and handed Nash a glass. He was still sitting in the same spot in the bathroom, and I was glad that he hadn’t thrown up anymore. “Just sip it slowly and let’s see if it stays down.”
“Thank you,” he said.
I knew he was a proud man, and he probably hated asking for help. But he was sick, and I lived next door. I was happy to do it.
