The Running Back's Baby (Dirty Players 2)

How many days had it been since I last stepped out of my apartment? I wasn’t sure, but my mind was groggy, and my body felt heavy. I somehow managed to get a cold, though it might be something a little more serious than that. I’d told Grady so the guys knew not to expect me for a while. Hopefully, it bought enough time for me to talk to Zoe about things before I completely refused the contract. I hated being sick, though, especially being sick by myself, which was how it usually happened.

A harsh cough wracked my body, and I winced as I wrapped a hand around my throat.

Damn, that hurts.

I was usually a healthy person. Aside from my brush with drugs, booze, and women, I ate healthy meals and exercised plenty. Something as simple as a cold, I maybe caught it a few times when I was a kid, but getting sick wasn’t something that happened often for me. This just happened to come at the worst moment, when I was at my lowest.

“Ugh.”

I groaned as my stomach lurched, curling around my middle. It wasn’t just pain, though. I was hungry. When I woke up in the morning, I felt worse than yesterday. I’d had something light and hot last night in the hope that I would wake up better, and yet, I only felt worse. I had hot chocolate for breakfast before settling down on the couch, beneath the blanket I‘d dragged from the bedroom.

Slipping off the couch, I dragged the blanket along with me, wrapping it around me as I walked to the kitchen. I hadn’t checked the time, but it should be around lunch, since the sunlight was reaching further into the room. Although, it could just be that I was hungry because I was trying to avoid heavy foods. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but I couldn’t not eat or I wouldn’t get better.

“Not that it seems to be helping,” I grumbled to myself.

It had been days, and I still felt this bad. I figured that meant it wasn’t actually a cold. I was starting to wonder if I shouldn’t just drag myself to the hospital already, but even if I could get myself out of the apartment, I couldn’t drive myself there. I could always call for a taxi, but with how weak I felt, I wondered if I wouldn’t collapse on the way first.

“Alright. What’s for lunch?”

I didn’t want to do anything elaborate, I didn’t feel like I had the energy for it, anyway. Just walking around, even though I was slow, I felt so dizzy I thought I’d faint right in the middle of my kitchen. I squinted my eyes against the brightness in my kitchen. At least I’d closed most of the curtains in the living room, but there was one medium window in the kitchen and no curtain.

There wasn’t much left in my apartment. I hadn’t been paying attention to the kitchen, so I hadn’t gone grocery shopping in more than a week. I knew I could have some stuff delivered to my doorstep, but there was no need to wait for something.

I found a pack of instant noodles in one of my cupboards, chicken flavor, and decided it would be good enough for lunch. While not that healthy, I figured once wouldn’t kill me. If I wasn’t okay by the time it was dinner, I’d have to figure something out.

Maybe I really will go to a hospital. Tomorrow.

Other than painkillers, I didn’t have any meds to take at home. I went to grab the Tylenol I’d left in my bedroom and swallowed two pills with water. I clamped a hand over my mouth, pressing my other hand to my stomach and swallowed convulsively, trying to keep it down. It took a minute before the urge to puke vanished, and my water had boiled by then.

I added some extra water to boil once I had my noodles done. I could mix in some fresh lemon juice for my throat.

With my meal prepared, I went back to the living room with it, where the lighting wasn’t so bright, and curled on the couch. I turned the TV on to some sports channel. There wasn’t a game on, but I watched the news as I slowly ate my noodles. The lemon water was warm by the time I got to drink it, and it did feel like my aching throat was soothed a bit.

I didn’t feel like walking all the way back to the kitchen. Just that much action felt like it had sapped all my strength. So I left everything on the table and lied back down. I was a little hot from the meal, but I kept the blanket wrapped around me regardless.

The TV stayed on, leaving the volume on low for background noise. I didn’t have the motivation to do anything. Closing my eyes, I fell into a fitful sleep.

It could have been hours later when I woke up with the ache in my stomach, only worse. Groaning, I curled around my middle, pressing a hand against my stomach as if it would stop the pain. Then, I felt bile rising up my throat.

Fuck.

Scrambling off the seat, moving faster than I had in days, I rushed for my bathroom and made it just in time to vomit everything I’d eaten for lunch into the toilet bowl. I barely had time to breath, and I choked on my own vomit and started coughing. I wrapped a hand around my throat, n

ot that it did anything for the ache that had come back with a vengeance, making my whole body shudder every time I coughed, and my stomach wasn’t empty yet.

“Howard!”

I was surprised by the call of my name, and even more when I felt a hand patting my back, then fingers weaving through my hair. My mind was still a bit hazy, so I couldn’t tell who it was or how they got into my apartment. I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t. Still, those gentle hands stayed, and I had to admit, it made me feel a bit relieved. My body didn’t immediately calm down, but it felt like everything was going to be okay now.

When I finally stopped, I felt exhausted, and had to brace with my arms against the toilet bowl so I wouldn’t fall forward and knock myself out on the porcelain.

“Lean back.”

I did as the voice wanted, wobbling a little as I straightened as best as I could, even with my mind swaying. I felt a cold, wet cloth touch my face, and it was enough to jolt me out of my stupor. I looked up, only to realize it was Zoe kneeling beside me, helping me clean up the vomit that got on my face and clothes. Even though it was fucking gross, and the smell was making me want to bend over the bowl again, her expression was serious as her eyes focused on what she was doing.

“Zoe, how did you get here?” I murmured. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

She gave a pained smile, pulling the wet cloth away. “Of course, you’re not dreaming, Howard. It would be closer to a hallucination with the kind of fever you’re running.” She frowned, worry taking over her expression. “When did you get so sick? Don’t tell me you’ve been like this, alone, the whole time?”