F*CK CLUB_SHAME Page 8

  But he’d have this memory, right?

  Or maybe she’d wake up and kiss him.

  She’d done that before.

  He’d kissed her back.

  He’d fucked her.

  Then he’d told her she should go.

  A hundred times he’d wished he hadn’t.

  Maybe this time...

  He slid into sleep with maybe dancing in his brain, and a fever burning him up.

  Chapter Eleven

  Charli

  THE FEVER WOKE HER.

  She was sweaty, her clothes sticking to her. She was also turned on and aching, unconsciously moving her hips against a hard thigh while her hand stroked a man through his jeans.

  Not just a man, either.

  Max.

  Shame, she corrected herself, swallowing back a yelp as her mind finally processed the precariousness of her situation.

  She was stroking him off and he was unconscious with a fever.

  A high one, too.

  Slowly, she pulled away and slid from the bed.

  The last thing she remembered had been sitting down in the bed, holding the thermometer in her lap. She’d been trying to wake him.

  And...somehow, she’d fallen asleep and ended up wrapped around him. Idiot, she mouthed, looking around the bed for the thermometer.

  When her hand brushed his arm, he sprang into motion, grabbing her wrist in an unyielding grip. “What the...Charli?” He had her half-pinned beneath him, and if it wasn’t for how badly he shook, how hot his body felt pressed against hers, she might have been inclined to take in that feeling a little bit longer.

  But his eyes searched her face without really seeing her and she had to wonder if he was even awake. The glassy, overly bright look in his pale blue gaze only added to her fear.

  “It’s okay, Max,” she said, reaching up with her free hand and touching his cheek. He turned his hand into her face. “It’s me.”

  He grunted and rolled off, half-collapsing onto his injured side. He was asleep again in seconds.

  “You stupid son of a bitch.” She finished climbing out of bed and walked over to hit the lights. He didn’t even stir. Taking her spot on the bed again, she eased closer and pushed the blanket down so she could see the gash she’d stitched up.

  It was uglier now than it had been just a few short hours ago. The skin around it was warm, but she knew it would get worse. “How dirty was the knife they tried to gut you with?” she grumbled, rubbing the back of her neck.

  Infection didn’t usually set in so fast, but if that knife was as dirty as she suspected it must have been...?

  Not to mention the fact that she had a good idea of just how lousy Max was when it came to taking care of himself. She’d seen him work twelve hours straight without so much as a break for food or anything more than a glass of water.

  And she knew how badly he slept.

  He did the bare minimum.

  She had no doubt the razor’s edge he lived on had helped precipitate this.

  “I wanted you in the damn hospital.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Shame

  “TOO FUCKIN’ HOT,” HE mumbled.

  At least he tried.

  He couldn’t seem to peel his lips apart. They were stuck together. And he couldn’t move—

  Panic slammed into him on the heels of that realization and he started to thrash.

  “Easy, Max,” a soft voice murmured.

  But it barely penetrated. He jerked and tried to move his arms, not sure what held him.

  “Come on, Max. Calm down.”

  “Get th’ fuck o’ me,” he mumbled. At least that’s what he tried to say.

  “Calm down,” the voice said again. Louder.

  This time it penetrated, too. He heard her. Charli. It was Charli. “It’s okay, Max. You’re safe.”

  Safe...what a fucking joke. He wanted to cringe away from her. Every time he saw her, every time she looked at him, he was convinced she’d know. Convinced she’d see. The stains in him. The stains on him. He was dirty all the way through to his core.

  But when she laid a cool hand on his cheek, he was too weak, too tired to pull away.

  “What the hell’s wrong wi’ me?” he asked, voice so raspy it barely sounded human.

  “You’re just sick,” Charli said. “I’m here, and I’m taking care of you.”

  He opened his mouth. He needed to tell her she shouldn’t be there.

  But he couldn’t make the words come out.

  Instead, he just turned toward her as best he could. Everything in him hurt. Shuddering, he reached out, seeking her. When his hand collided with soft, warm curves, he grabbed tightly. “Stay. I shouldn’t ask, but...stay.”

  There was a long, empty silence.

  Then she bent over him.

  He felt her kiss him on the cheek.

  Then she sniffed. “It’s all I ever wanted, you stupid bastard.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charli

  IT SEEMED LIKE FOREVER before the knock came at the door.

  Charli had to ease her way free from the stranglehold Max had managed to get around her. Somehow, he’d tangled her up, grasping the hand she’d put on his hip and then wrapping his other arm around her waist.

  The night had been insanely long, and she was now kicking her own ass, and Con’s—metaphorically, at least. Once this was all said and done, she just might kick Con’s ass literally, then find a friend and ask said friend to kick hers.

  This was a lot more complex than Max just getting some infection from a manky knife. He’d gone from almost fine to seriously ill in the blink of an eye. Opportunistic infections didn’t set in like that in the typical, run-of-the-mill healthy guy in his twenties.

  Her belly flip-flopped as she thought about what that might mean, but she shoved it aside and refused to think about it for the time being.

  What mattered was that Max was beyond sick and she needed to get him to the hospital.

  Of course, she had been insanely stupid and she might be looking at trouble with the medical licensing board, but she’d deal with that later.

  Still, she needed help.

  Finally, she extricated herself from Max’s grip and adjusted her clothing. As she stood, she did a mental evaluation and decided she was fine. She’d been feeling better every day, but those when she went without much rest were harder. Needless to say, today had been one without much rest.

  She didn’t see herself getting much rest any time soon, either.

  “Relax,” she muttered. “You’ll get plenty of rest here soon...when you no longer have to go to the hospital. They’ll terminate your residency. You’ll never be a doctor. You’ll have all the time in the world to rest.”

  She shoved aside the growing lump in her throat and tried to tell herself not to think about it, not right now at least.

  She’d done what she thought was right at the time.

  Looking back, she would have done the same thing.

  And she was wasting time.

  Her best shot was one of the few other people she trusted—the doctor who’d inspired her to go into the medical field. Joshua Rodriguez was coming up on retirement. Dr. Josh knew both her and Max, and more, he’d understand Max’s aversion to hospitals. He’d been one of the few people in the medical field who’d understood what was being done to Max, and he’d done everything he could to help.

  Sadly, Max’s ice-bitch of a mother had been too concerned about appearances to worry about her son.

  But Dr. Josh had tried, and in the end, his persistence had accomplished what nothing else had done.

  It had gotten Max out of his father’s home.

  He’d also understand why Charli had been so willing to try to handle this on her own, away from the hospital. It might not save her future in medicine, though.

  She knew that, and she would face whatever consequences.

  The knock came again, nearly two minutes after the first, but she was almost at t
he door. Dr. Josh was incredibly patient.

  She opened the door, still trying to smooth her hair into submission. She’d given up on her shirt. It was a disaster.

  The man waiting on the stoop was of average height with kind eyes set in a round face. If it wasn’t for his utterly bald head, he might have passed for somebody closer to her age, but she knew he’d grown up with her parents. “Hey, Dr. Josh.”

  “We’re practically contemporaries, Charli.” He crooked a smile at her and offered a hand. “You can call me Josh at this point.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. “No.” Shaking her head, she took his hand and shook it, lingering on it as she pondered the idea of the man who’d removed stitches from her forehead, her left knee, her hip, then her right knee, being her contemporary. She’d been twelve the last time she’d needed to have stitches removed, having finally somewhat outgrown the tomboy stage. He’d let her keep the sutures that time and she’d watched the entire thing, while her mother turned away and hid her eyes.

  “You’re always going to be Dr. Josh,” she said, laughing a little. Then, as his face softened into a smile, she had to fight the sob burning inside.

  “Hey...” Dr. Josh pulled her up against him in a gentle hug. “What’s this, Charli? What is this?”

  She shook her head, refusing to give in to the fear that had festered over the past few hours before finally spilling out of control. “I...it’s...just. No. You come and see. Then we can talk.”

  But when she went to pull away, he caught her arm.

  “Charli.” She paused at the tone in his voice. “Are you...okay?”

  Blood rushed to her face and she looked away. “I figured it was too much to hope you wouldn’t hear.”

  “I was in the hospital the night it happened,” he said gently. “I just...overheard.”

  “Yeah.” She gave a short nod. “The life of small-town physicians, right?”

  She placed a hand low on her abdomen, the tenderness there finally fading. “I’m okay, Dr. Josh. Getting stronger every day. Back still hurts some, but...”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  She met his eyes then. “That’s all I’m willing to discuss. Come on. Max is the one who needs you right now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shame

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK IT is, son? Or should I say...who?”

  That voice...he heard it in his nightmares. Sometimes, he even heard it when he was awake.

  “No.” He managed to speak then. Whether it was a whisper or a scream, he didn’t know, but he got the word out.

  “Max, it’s okay!”

  “Of course, it’s okay,” another voice now, directly on top of the other one. “You’re right back where you belong.”

  He went to strike out, hit.

  Hands caught his face.

  “Maxwell Schaeffer, you listen to me and you listen now.” She spoke louder this time. “You are fine. You’re safe. You’re here with me.”

  Me...

  Then she brushed a hand down his cheek. He sucked in a breath.

  He thought, maybe, he might have caught a whiff of her perfume. And he knew. Somewhere inside, past the terror and the fever. He knew who was there.

  “I’m dreaming,” he said, forcing his eyes to open.

  Charli was a blurred shadow bending over him, too much light coming in around her. He couldn’t even see her face. But he knew it was her.

  “You’re dreaming. You’re sick, too. But you’re fine. I’m here.”

  “Just you?”

  “You’re fine, Max. I’m right here.”

  “You...is there anybody...”

  Something sharp stabbed him. He flinched away, but before he could figure out what it was, he fell back into a restless slumber, just floating...floating...floating...

  HIS BLADDER WAS ABOUT to bust.

  So was his skull.

  Logically, Shame knew he needed to address the issue with his bladder, but his head was pounding so hard, pulsing in time with his heartbeat and he was seriously worried that if he so much as dared to get up and try to piss, whatever crazed parasite had drilled its way through his dura mater was going to succeed in making his head explode.

  It wasn’t a particularly logical fear, but this pain wasn’t particularly logical, and it wasn’t predisposing him toward logical thoughts, either.

  A splash of light fell across his face and even though he hadn’t opened his eyes, it was too much, too painful and he groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes to block it out.

  “Waking up?”

  That low, quiet voice had him freezing.

  For a brief, blissful second, he even forgot about the agony raging in his head. He didn’t forget about his bladder though. Hard to, when the sound of Charli’s voice was enough to make his cock jerk, and a full bladder combined with sexual arousal, wasn’t a very good combination.

  Down, boy, he thought tiredly.

  He’d had to exert so much control over his libido when it came to her, it was second nature to rein in his unruly prick.

  “Max?”

  “I thought you weren’t calling me that anymore,” he said, voice coming out in a hoarse rasp.

  Shit, was that him?

  Scowling, he forced one eyelid up, then the other.

  Charli had closed the door most of the way behind her, but a thin wedge of light still filtered in from the hallway.

  That let him know one crucial piece of information.

  They weren’t at his house.

  That was...well, probably good. If she’d come to him, he doubted he’d be able to turn her away again.

  But he wouldn’t have gone to her, would he?

  “What am I doing here?” He went to push up, hiding his pained expression because she’d asked, and knowing him, he’d pop off with the truth. She had a way of pulling it from him.

  “You don’t remember?” Charli had moved closer sometime in the past minute or two.

  Head spinning, he said, “No.” His eyelids had gone and gained about fifty pounds each and he sighed, giving in to the temptation to let them drift down for just a second.

  “Shame!”

  He had the feeling she’d been trying to get his attention for more than a minute or so. He jerked his head up as Charli braced slim hands on his shoulders.

  “What?” Glaring at her, he looked around the room, confused. Memory returned in a rush. He must be drifting off to sleep or something. But he was in her house.

  Why was he in her house?

  “Do you need to go to the bathroom?” she asked.

  Scowling, he shoved upright. Or he tried.

  The whole damn room swam around him and he didn’t make it more than a few inches before he had to sink back down.

  “Wha’ th’ fuck...”

  “You’re sick,” Charli snapped. “You’re lucky you’re not in the hospital, plugged up to an IV. If you’re going to get up, you’re going to need help.”

  “I can get myself to the bathroom on my own,” he said, eying the door a few feet away.

  He could do it, too. Because he’d crawl on his hands and knees before he allowed himself to look that weak in front of her.

  Charli huffed out a breath, then stepped back, lifting her hands. “Fine. But here’s a warning—if you fall, you’re staying on the floor until you can get yourself up. I can’t help you. I’m dealing with an injury.”

  “What happened?” He eyed her up and down, noticing again that she looked like she’d lost weight.

  “It’s not your concern. Now why don’t you get busy trying not to fall on your face?” She gestured toward the bathroom, brows arched.

  He wanted to refuse, find out more about how she’d gotten hurt, but his bladder panged insistently, so he clenched his jaw and forced his ass upright.

  Damn near every step of the way, he thought he’d fall. When he finally reached the doorway, he was covered in a cold sweat and breathing like he’d run a marathon.
But he’d made it. As he ducked into the bathroom, Charli said, “Don’t lock it. If you fall, it will be easier to deal with your hard, busted head if I don’t have to fight with a locked door first.”

  He would have brushed it off.

  But as he slid inside the bathroom, black dots swam in on his vision.

  He wasn’t really concerned about falling and busting his head.

  But if he did, Charli would find a way to get in there. He’d rather she not have to fight with a locked door, especially if she’d gotten hurt.

  So he left it unlocked. Then, since he had the door for privacy, he half collapsed against the sink and gulped in air.

  He’d rest. For just a minute.

  TRUST THE DOCTOR WHO’D urged her on and answered a hundred questions—or more—or risk calling an ambulance and having Max taken into the hospital?

  Dr. Josh, at least, understood about Max’s fears of the doctor, going to the hospital, being helpless, isolated.

  Few others would. Perhaps no others would.

  Charli had been right to contact him, she’d learned almost immediately, but she still worried. If anybody found out, it could be his license in trouble now, not just hers.

  I assume our mutual patient hasn’t had any changes in condition?

  Charli eyed the bathroom door, closed now for almost ten minutes. She doubted he was doing anything other than resting and peeing. All he’d done the past two days was sleep and get IV fluids.

  She’d taken the IV out earlier when she’d suspected he was going to wake up.

  If he’d thought, even for a second, he was in a hospital, she would have had more trouble on her hands. She hadn’t wanted to risk it, so she’d removed the IV almost an hour ago.

  Tapping in a reply with one eye on the phone and the other on the door, she responded.

  He’s doing better. Awake. Still weak. Thanks. I think we avoided disaster.

  She went to put her phone up and it chimed again.

  Swearing under her breath, she checked the read out.

  Damn it.

  The message there was pretty clear and up front.