Chapter 56

I had been sitting on the floor for five minutes—maybe ten? I couldn’t keep track—when I heard two sets of shoes coming down the hall. One sounded like Barnett’s, but the other sounded lighter, like a smaller person’s footsteps.

The door to the women’s restroom opened.

“Hello? Ms. Leonard?” a woman’s voice called.

I wiped my mouth with some toilet paper before I answered.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right? Mr. Cogsworth told me that you were not feeling well.”

“I-no, I’m not all right. My stomach is very upset.”

“Do you have to…do anything else?”

I didn’t answer for moment, trying to assess the state of my stomach.

“No, I think I’m done.”

“Can you stand up?”

I pulled myself up onto wobbly legs. I cursed my high heels as I nearly slipped onto the toilet. I slipped off my heels and walked out of the stall.

A woman in a white blouse, black slacks, and white nurse’s shoes greeted me. She rushed forward to support one side of me.

“Don’t worry, I have you,” she said. “My name is Claire Smith, and I’m the school nurse. I’ll be taking you to the nurse’s office and giving you some anti-nausea medicine, okay?”

I nodded, but I didn’t have the energy to speak.

“All right. Let’s take this one step at a time.”

We slowly walked to the door and outside the women’s restroom. In the hall, leaning against the wall opposite the door, Barnett waited for us. His expression, though darkened with annoyance, seemed prominently concerned as his eyes swept over me.

“Mr. Cogsworth,” Smith began, “if you could take her other side—”

“No need,” Barnett said as he stepped forward. “I can handle this.”

Just like the day he saved me from Bob, Barnett scooped me into his arms and pulled me close to his chest. My head rested against his shoulder. I inhaled his scent—sweat, pine, and hockey jerseys and helmets—and my stomach settled a little.

I closed my eyes as Barnett and Smith took me across campus from the gymnasium to the nurse’s office near the front office. My strength gradually returned to me, so long as I remained relaxed against Barnett. I found myself wishing that I could stay in his arms forever, but then I remembered why I was in his arms in the first place.

If my illness truly was progressing, I couldn’t let myself get close to anyone.

All too soon, I heard Barnett say, “Okay, Anna, we’re here. I’m going to gently put you down on this bed. Try not to move too much, all right?”

“All right,” I managed to croak.

Barnett slowly lowered me onto a bed like one sees in a doctor’s office. I held onto him until the last second, both afraid of falling and afraid that I would never get to hold him again. Our eyes met, and for the briefest moment, I saw Barnett give me a closed-lip smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Cogsworth,” Smith said as she came forward with a measuring cup full of dark red liquid. “Ms. Leonard, this is anti-nausea medicine. If you can, please sit up and drink it slowly.”

I carefully pushed myself up into a sitting position and accepted the cup from Smith. Taking a deep breath, I chugged the medicine. The bitter taste made my lips pucker, and for a brief moment, my esophagus and stomach burned even more than before, but I kept it down.

“Thank you,” I said.

“No problem,” Smith replied. “I get this all the time with presentations and speeches, although usually not to this extreme. It could have just been nerves, but it might also be something a little more serious like gastritis or stomach ulcers…”

Or stomach cancer, I thought.

“…Either way, you’ll want to talk with your doctor about it if it persists.”

I nodded.

“I will,” I said, knowing very well that I wouldn’t.

“In the meantime, I recommend you go home and get some rest. Are you able to drive, or would you like me to call someone for you?”

“I’ll take her,” Barnett volunteered.

“What about your speech?” I asked.

“I already missed my speech.”

I shrank a little.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you miss it.”

Barnett waved the issue off.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

I could tell by his tone that that was the end of the discussion, so I only nodded.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

I hopped off the bed, catching myself as I wobbled a little. Once I steadied myself, I took a few test steps to determine how well I could walk. It seemed that so long as I didn’t put my heels back on, I would be fine.

“Yes,” I replied, clutching my purse and heels close to my chest.

“Let’s get going, then.”

I thanked Smith and followed Barnett out the door and to the parking lot. We headed straight for the Aston Martin, leaving Barnett’s Rolls Royce behind.

“What about your car?” I asked as I handed him the keys.

“I’ll have my driver come pick me up from your place, and then we’ll come and get it.”

Barnett opened the passenger’s side door for me, and I graciously climbed inside. He got in on the driver’s side. After we buckled up, he started the car and took off at a steady pace, to go easy on my stomach.

“So,” he said without taking his eyes off the road, “I see that you’re still driving the Aston Martin. Your car still not fixed?”

I blushed.

“No…I mean, that’s not it. It’s just been…more convenient.”

I glanced over and saw the edge of his lip quirk in a smile.

“‘More convenient,’ huh? You don’t just happen to like it?”

“Maybe,” I murmured.

And it reminds me of you, I thought.

I put my forehead on the window, letting the coolness of the glass and the rhythmic motion of the car soothe me. I closed my eyes.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what? For giving you a kick-ass car?”

I laughed.

“Well, yes, but also for coming back for me after I pushed you away. I can’t tell you why I did it, but I can tell you that it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

“Yeah. My entire life is pretty complicated right now.”

“You know, I’m well-versed in ‘complicated.’”

I grinned.

“I’m sure that you are. It’s only that I can’t share everything that’s going on in my life right now, especially not with someone that I care about.”

I froze when I realized what I said. Barnett didn’t say anything for a minute, either. When I opened my eyes, his hands were gripping tightly at the steering wheel.

“People you care so much about that you kick them out of bed?” he asked, his voice low and icy.

Of course, he was still stuck on that. Why wouldn’t he be? I turned him into a one-night-stand with the most generic explanation possibly.

But how could I explain it to him any better now without telling him the whole truth?

“I’m sorry,” was all I said.

He sighed, as though resigned.

“Me too.”

The rest of the ride continued in uncomfortable silence until we reached the front gates of the house I was leasing. The guards on duty recognized Barnett from the night that he stayed over and saw me in the passenger seat, and they immediately let us through. We pulled into the detached garage and got out of the car.

I pressed the button to close the garage door behind us. Barnett and I walked side-by-side along the gravel pathway towards the front door, as silent as we were in the car. I mentally cursed myself for ruining my chance to repair my friendship with Barnett.

As we neared the front steps, my bare foot caught on a rock, causing me to trip and nearly twist my ankle. Fortunately, before I could eat gravel, Barnett caught me and pulled me close to him.

I took a shaking breath and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Is your ankle okay?”

I leaned closer to him and lifted my foot, moving it around a little to access the damage.

“Yeah, I think so.” I looked him in the face. “Again, thank you.”

He looked down at me and smiled.

“Again, you’re welcome.”

For a moment, I felt as though everything might be all right between us after all. Then I heard a small clicking sound and rustling in the nearby bushes.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

Barnett didn’t respond. He was glaring at the bushes and holding me tighter against him, as if for protection.

“Who’s there?” he yelled. “Come out, or we’ll call the police!”

“I have armed guards all around this property!” I added.

A scrawny man in skinny jeans, a jean jacket, and a fedora scurried out from beneath the bushes. An expensive-looking camera dangled from his neck.

“I wouldn’t call the cops yet, if I were you,” he said.

“Who are you? And how did you get on my property?” I asked.

“To answer your second question first, you should probably look into some new security guards. Some of them are prone to taking bribes,” the man said with a cheeky grin.

Barnett and I were not amused.

“As for your first question, my name is Chuck Thaddeus. I’m a reporter. You might have heard of me.”

Barnett snarled.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of you,” he said. “Your articles and talk show have destroyed the lives of about a dozen celebrities.”

“You’re too kind.”

“What do you want with us?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Thaddeus said with a smirk, “just the perfect picture for tomorrow’s article. I think one of Barnett Cogsworth and Anna Leonard in an embrace will work very well.”

My eyes widened, and I tore myself away from Barnett.

“No, you can’t publish that!”

“I know, this whole ‘are they dating or are they not’ line is getting a little played out, but the public eats it up.”

Barnett took a menacing step toward Thaddeus.

“Erase that picture, now.”

Thaddeus shook his head and backed up towards the bushes.

“No, I don’t think I’m going to do that. However, pictures of Barnett Cogsworth becoming violent will be a wonderful addition to my article.”

Barnett stopped his advance, though his shoulders remained stiff and his fists clenched.

“What will it take to get you to not publish that picture?” he asked.

Thaddeus’s smirk grew as he looked between us.

“I won’t publish this, if you two appear on my talk show tomorrow.”