Slow Grind (Men of Mornington Book 1) (13 page)

“Thanks for the ride,” she says sweetly in her I-just-woke-up voice and it’s sexy. I’d love nothing more than to hear her tell me good morning in that voice every fucking day.

“Of course. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Drew?” Aubrey looks down at her lap and doesn’t make eye contact with me.

“Huh?”

“This is going to sound stupid and childish, but will you stay here tonight? You can have Max’s bed or the couch. Please. I’m terrified the hospital will call and I won’t have a way to get there right away. I’m scared I won’t be there if...” Her voice trails off.

“You don’t have to beg, Aubs. Whatever you need. You know that,” I say, not letting her finish her sentence. “We’re going to go back to my place, though. I prefer my bed to Max’s couch.”

“Thanks. I just need … someone.”

“I’m here.” I brush the hair away from her face. “I’m always going to be here.”

Chapter Twelve
Aubrey

I smile as Drew places a towel at the end on the bed and tells me where the extra linens are in case I need them. The last thing I wanted was to be alone tonight, not with Max so sick. I wanted to stay at the hospital, but both Drew and the doctors convinced me the best thing I could do was go home and get a few hours of sleep. I’d prefer to be at Max’s apartment, but Drew’s place isn’t too shabby and it’s actually quite comforting, considering the circumstances.

Even though I don’t feel as on edge as I was earlier, I still don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight. My brain won’t be quiet long enough for me to close my eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” Drew asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

I shake my head. “I’m okay. Really,” I add, when he raises an eyebrow. “I should call Mum and let her know what’s going on. I’ll let Dad know, too.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone then.”

I wait until he’s gone before I dig my phone out of my handbag. I send Dad a quick text asking him to check in with me or Mum when he wakes—the time difference is killer when you need to tell someone news. I then scroll to my mother in the contacts and press call. I haven’t heard from her since Max and I left. You think she would have at least called to see how he was.

“Aubrey,” she says when she finally answers. I smother a laugh.
How does she always manage to make me feel like I’m bothering her?
“Is something wrong?”

“I wouldn’t be calling you to chat.” I try to keep the edge out of my voice, but it’s not working out very well for me. The lack of sleep and stress is killing me. “Max is in hospital.”

“What?” Mum gasps. “When? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, he just hasn’t been well. The doctors think it might be pneumonia.”

“Which hospital?”

“Royal Melbourne. They’ll call me as soon as they know anything.”

“Why didn’t you call me the second you took him there?” Mum asks, her voice rising. “This is exactly why I didn’t want the two of you living together. I knew caring for him would be too much for you. He’s too fragile to care for himself. Dammit, Aubrey.”

“You’re blaming this on
me
?” I ask, incredulous. “Exactly how was I supposed to stop him getting something he’s prone to get? Do I carry a cure in my back pocket, Mother?”

“Well, he certainly didn’t come down with a life-threatening infection when he was staying with me,” she responds. “I paid attention, as you should have. You’re probably too concerned with mooning over that boy to take care of your brother.”

“I’ll call you if I hear anything more,” I say quietly, my heart hurt now more than my ego. There is no point continuing this conversation if all she is going to do is blame me. I end the call and throw my phone across the room, narrowly missing Drew as he pokes his head in the door. It’s not the first time I’ve been the subject of her disdain, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“So I’m guessing it went well?” he jokes, grabbing my phone from the corner of the room.

“Sorry,” I mumble. I sit down on the bed, accepting the phone as he hands it back to me.

“You might want to keep that handy in case the hospital calls.” He sits down next to me on the bed. “I’m guessing you and your mum still aren’t getting along?”

“She pretty much blamed be for him being sick.” I look up at him, suddenly needing reassurance.
What if she’s right? What if this is my fault?
I haven’t been firm enough with him. I should’ve not taken no for an answer when he didn’t want to take a rest or have some painkillers. I should have seen the signs he was getting sick before he became so bad. She has to be right; she hovers and she would have seen it, and she would have acted.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” he orders, as if he can read my mind. “This isn’t your fault, and your mum was wrong to even suggest that. You’re doing a great job looking after him. And let’s face it, your brother isn’t the easiest person to reason with.”

“Funny, he says the same about you,” I joke.

He narrows his eyes, a grin on his lips. “Good to see you can still make light of things. Try not to let her get to you. She’s just worried about Max, like we all are. She’s just really bad at mothering. She always has been, it’s nothing new. Please, don’t let her upset you like this.”

“I know.” I glance at my phone and see it’s barely eight o’clock. My stomach rumbles; I haven’t eaten anything all day.

“Do you feel like something to eat?” I ask, and Drew gives yet another crooked grin. Of course he does. “Like, food, Andrew,” I say sternly.

“Can you even cook?”

“I can microwave,” I respond with attitude.

“How about I take it from here, then? I’m no chef, but I won’t have to use radiation to make a meal,” Drew teases, and I can’t help but laugh a little.

I shrug my shoulders and wave my arm for him to get his ass in the kitchen. He moves effortlessly through the small space, almost as if he’s been doing this for years. The age difference between us obvious. I’m not even a Uni graduate yet. I’ve spent the last four years eating cup of noodles and whatever could fit inside of a microwave or get delivered. Drew, on the other hand, has his own place with a real kitchen; of course he can cook. How else would he survive? While I’m sitting back and enjoying the show—the intoxicating show of a man preparing a meal for a woman—when Drew starts to growl about something.

“You good?” I ask, peeking over the breakfast bar, trying not to notice how sexy he looks with bare feet poking out of the bottom hem of his jeans.

“I was trying to get this plastic thing off the soy sauce and the fucker exploded on me.” Drew turns around and the front of his shirt is covered in the brown, watery substance. Withholding a chuckle, I step into the kitchen.

“I don’t know cooking but I know laundry. Give me that shirt before it stains.” He sets the bottle on the counter, grabs the shirt by the back of the neck and pulls it over his head and I have to look away. It’s too much. The man kisses like a god, cooks
and
looks like he just stepped out of a magazine with his grown-out hair, scruff and bare chest and feet. I can’t deal with him. He’s a walking fucking orgasm.

With the shirt in my hand, I turn to the sink and begin washing out the soy sauce with cold water and dish soap. After I scrub the spot with my knuckles, I rest it on the counter to dry and make sure the stain’s gone before he runs it through the washing machine.

“If you tell me where you keep your shirts, I can go grab you one. Or I could just go rifle through your room.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is just about done. I’ll get it in a minute, once you’re fed. Unless me shirtless is bothering you?” He turns toward me and waits for my answer, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not bothered,” I stutter. Yeah, I’m bothered. Hot and fucking bothered. Damn him. He chuckles and turns back to his cooking.

While Drew finishes up dinner, I search out the plates and silverware. If this food is as good as it smells, I just might pass out. I’ve never really been a fan of stir fry, but that could be changing soon.

The food barely sits on the plate long enough for me to enjoy it. I know it’s going to give me a stomach ache eating this fast, but I needed the nourishment. I needed the distraction from the extremely shirtless Drew. I let my fork hit the plate with a clatter and quickly excuse myself for a shower, which I take just as fast as I ate. When I get out, I step back into the bedroom to find one of Drew’s shirts waiting for me. The girl who used to love this boy squeals as I let the cotton hit my slick skin. This is so much better than wearing the one I stole from a sleepover at Emma’s when I was eleven.
So
much better!

Once I pull my damn hair up in a messy bun, I rest backward and close my eyes for a second, taking everything in from the day: reconnection with Emma—sorry,
Em
—the guys dancing, Max getting sick, and winding up in Drew’s bedroom wearing only one of his shirts. Within a moment or two, I’m happily in dreamland where I’m not Aubrey Rosewood, Max’s little sister, but just Aubrey.

*****

Waking up suddenly, I sit bolt upright in my bed. I glance around, my heart racing. Only it’s not my bed. It takes me a few minutes to remember I’m at Drew’s. In his bed. Lying back down, my hand creeps over to the other side of the bed, and for a moment I imagine he’s there, instead of the cold sheets.

I sit up again, panicking.
Max
. He’s sick and in hospital, and I’m too busy swooning over Drew to remember? Again, my mother’s words haunt me. Was I too busy swooning over Drew to realise Max getting sicker? Have I somehow made this whole situation worse? I throw the sheets back, disgusted with myself, and grab my phone off the dresser, checking it for messages. When I see there are none, I plug in the hospital number and press call. I wait anxiously for someone to answer, pacing the room.

“Intensive Care Unit, nurses’ station.”

“Hi, I’m just after an update on my brother Max Rosewood?”

“I think the doctor is in with him at the moment. Can you hold?”

“Yes, thanks,” I mumble. I run my hand through my tangled hair and stifle a yawn. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I glance at the clock. It’s three in the morning. I’ve only had three hours of sleep, but it was three hours more than I was expecting to get.

“Hello, with whom am I speaking?” The male voice startles me out of my thoughts.

“Aubrey Rosewood. Max’s sister.”

“I’ve just finished explaining to your mother that Max has pneumonia in both lungs. We’ve started him on IV antibiotics. He should be fine, but we’ll need to keep him in for a few days. He’ll be admitted into the I.C.U until the infection clears, then he’ll be moved to the general floor. Even with the circumstances, there isn’t much reason to worry at this point. This is pretty typical.” Max’s doctor is really nice, seeing as he gave me information he wasn’t required to give me over the phone—actually, he could probably get in trouble, but he must have sensed my unease.

“Okay, thank you.” I hang up. I should be feeling relieved, but I’m not. Because he’s not fine. For anyone else, getting over pneumonia means getting back to your life. Not for Max, though. He’s still sick. This might not kill him, but the cancer probably will.

I should be in there with him. If Mum can sit there all night, then I should, too. I quickly get dressed in my clothes from the night before, a surge of anger racing through me. I’m angry at Drew for making me leave. I’m angry at Mum for going in there. I’m angry at myself for feeling so damn useless when it comes to helping Max. Because I can’t help him. I’m his sister, his flesh and blood, and all I can do is sit by and watch him die.

Someone gently taps on the door. Wiping away tears, I look up and see Drew. He smiles sympathetically at me. I don’t need his pity. I don’t need anything from him.

“I thought I heard you moving around in here. You okay?”

“I should be down there with Max,” I mutter. I shove past him, walking swiftly down the hallway to the front door. Drew grabs hold of my arm, spinning me around. “What are you doing?” I ask, annoyed.

“Trying to figure out what is wrong with you. Have you spoken to the hospital?”

“Yes,” I huff. “He’s going to be okay. They’ve got him on antibiotics. They said he’ll be out in a few days.”

“Then that’s good, isn’t it?” Drew asks, confused.

“Of course it is…” My voice trails off because I have no idea how to explain what I’m feeling. Hell, I can’t even figure it out myself, let alone put it into words.

“Aubs, talk to me,” Drew says, his voice soft. His fingers lace through mine. My heart races as my thoughts cloud even more.

“Why?” I cry out, laughing through my tears. “What is the point? What’s the point in any of this? Everything is a mess. Max is sick, my mother is a bitch and all I can think about is you—” I stop, wishing I could reach out and take back those words. But I can’t. Drew stares at me intently, not saying anything. The more the silence goes on, the more I just want to run out of there.

“Aubs…”

“Just don’t,” I whisper. “Just let me go. Please.”

“I wish I could,” he mutters. He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist. My heart flutters as his eyes meet mine.

I take the final step, putting our bodies together, and I look up into his ice-blue eyes. “You can let me go if you want. Nobody’s forcing you to hold on,” I whisper.

“You know damn well this is it, Aubs. I can’t go back. You’re it.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” I muse and start doubting myself again. I really need to stop doing that. The worst part about it? It’s only with Drew. Everywhere else, the confidence oozes out of my pores. He makes me weak, and I hate being weak.

“Aubrey, seriously. I say this to nobody. I’ve done my fair share of shit over the years, and you’re the only woman I’ve wanted for more than just a quick fuck. You’re you and I’m me.”

“We’ve always been that, Drew. What makes now so much different?” I desperately try to avoid the stare he’s casting down on me basically telling me he’s mine for the taking. I wish I could try to hide the attraction, but there’s no use.