Too Much : Hayes Brothers Book 1

THALIA’S NOT IN BED when I wake up in the morning. There’s no clock in her bedroom, but judging by the sun’s position in the sky, my alarm has been going off behind the wall for quite some time.

Although, I didn’t plug the phone to charge last night, so it probably died long before seven.

I drag myself out of bed, expecting to find Thalia in the kitchen with a cup of coffee or maybe taking a shower, but as I step out of her bedroom, I’m hit by the silence of the condo. No sign of Thalia in the kitchen, bathroom, or the terrace.

Pissed off, I enter my bedroom, plug in the phone and wait for it to power on. It’s eight thirty-two. I ignore the influx of notifications and dial Thalia’s number. It rings once, twice, and a few more times before I let out a litany of swear words when a text comes through.

Thalia: Can’t talk until break time.

Me: Why the fuck are you at work?!

Thalia: I’m better.

Four hours ago, she was hotter than hell, and now she’s all good? No way.

Me: I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. You’re going to bed.

Thalia: I can’t just leave. I promise I’m fine. I’ve got Tylenol in my locker just in case.

I’m swearing again. In my head, that is. I’m swearing, the words so creative that if my thoughts were broadcast over the radio, you’d hear one long beep.

Me: Call me when you’re on your break, and call me if you start feeling worse. I’ll cuff you to bed when you come back.

Thalia: Promises, promises.

She’s got me there.

Instead of running around the house like a headless chicken to get ready for work, I set up camp in the living room, taking care of the infuriating administrative side of owning a business—a task I tend to avoid at all cost. I’m willing to bite the bullet today in case Thalia needs me to pick her up at any point during the day.

And what a blessing that I stayed.

Less than two hours later, the door to the condo flings open, startling Ares, who’s napping on the doormat.

“Hey, man!” Jared yells, his arm around Thalia.

She’s almost ghost-like, swaying on her feet and bracing against the wall when Jared lets go of her, courtesy of my glaring at his hand snaked around her waist.

“What happened?” I cross the room, looking over her stained uniform, and scraped, bloody knee.

“She passed out on the course,” Jared explains, hands in pockets. “I think she’s got the flu. She’s feverish.”

“I shouldn’t have gone in today,” she utters, each word a strained murmur. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Yeah, no shit.” I press my hand to her head, pulse throbbing in my neck. She’s too hot. Hotter than before. She’ll end up in the ER if we don’t lower the fever. “When did you take Tylenol last?”

“Four in the morning.”

“You’re so fucking irresponsible, Thalia.” I take her shoes off, scooping her into my arms. “You should’ve taken another dose at eight.” I glance over my shoulder at Jared. “Thanks for bringing her over. Don’t expect her to cover any shifts tomorrow or Thursday.”

He nods, squeezing Thalia’s arm. “Don’t come back until you’re better, alright? Cassidy can cover your shifts over the weekend if need be.”

“I’m really sorry,” Thalia mutters, eyes heavy as if she’s about ready to fall asleep.

He waves her off without comment and turns on his heel, leaving us alone.

“You can’t be trusted with your own health.” I sit her on the couch, aiming the thermometer at her head. My hands turn cold when the results flash on the screen. “One-oh-three point six. Shit, either we get it down in the next fifteen minutes, or I’m taking you to the hospital.” I grab my phone, dial Mom’s number, and fetch another bottle of Tylenol.

“Good morning, my long-lost son,” Mom chirps, half elated, half bitter. “What could’ve possibly happened for you to remember my number?”

“Hey, Mom, sorry I’ve not been over lately. I’m working all the time.”

“Ah, work… of course. The go-to excuse of all my sons.”

There’s no denying I’ve neglected my mother for a few months, focused on perfecting the game. Since Thalia moved in, I haven’t even called to check in with her. Shame on me. Seriously. It’s disgraceful. My mom is a saint and deserves better than this. I make a mental note to visit her and Dad as soon as Thalia’s better. Which reminds me…

“How do I bring a very high fever down fast? Very high as in one-oh-three point six. Tylenol will take half an hour, and that’s too long.”

“You’re unwell?” she gasps, slipping back into full-blown Mom mode. “Oh, baby, I’ll be there soon, okay? Just take Tylenol and—”

“Mom, I’m fine. My…” Yeah, my what? Roommate doesn’t do my relationship with Thalia justice, and every day I realize friend isn’t a suitable description, either, but it’s the only one I have. “My friend’s not well. Her fever is climbing too fast. What can I do?”

Thalia’s wrapped in a blanket, eyes closed, cheek resting on the armrest of the couch when I come back with a glass of water and two pills.

“A friend?” Mom coos in a sing-song voice, and I can imagine how she’s wagging her eyebrows, pulling knowing faces.

“Not now, okay? We’ll talk when I come over this weekend. Just tell me what to do.”

“Alright, alright. Get her in a lukewarm bath for a few minutes. Not cold, Theo. Lukewarm. It should help. If not, she might need to see a doctor.”

“Thank you. I’ll come by on Sunday, I promise.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” she says, then cuts the call.

I bet my ass she’s dialing Shawn, Logan, or Nico’s number to ask a thousand and one questions about my friend.

Thalia shivers under the blanket, eyes heavy, lips parched. Her ashen skin is the exact same shade as my off-white couch. Informing her that she has to soak in a cool bath while she trembles like it’s arctic winter probably won’t work out in my favor. I leave her for a moment to prepare the bath.

“You’re not going to like this,” I say, scooping her off the couch, bridal style. “You need to get in the bath.”

“I like baths,” she murmurs, too weak to properly wrap her limp arms around my neck and hold on.

“You won’t like this one, but you have to get in there. I sit her on the edge of the tub and help her out of the skimpy polo shirt and skirt. I leave her panties and bra untouched, or else I might end up with a fucking aneurysm.

God, she’s perfect. Olive skin, round hips, and big boobs, which are pushed out more because she’s hugging herself to stay warm. “Hop in. Just for a few minutes.”

She holds my hand to steady herself when her right foot brakes the water. A distressed whimper leaves her lips. “No, I can’t. It’s too cold. Tylenol will work. I’m fine, see?” She rubs her arm, flattening the goosebumps, but she can’t hide the unnaturally pale face, glassy eyes, and how scorching hot she feels to the touch. “Please, I don’t want to get in there.”

“You have to. I aim the thermometer at her head and show her the screen. “Your fever’s climbing too fast, Thalia. Hop in.”

She’s up to one-oh-three point eight, and if I can’t get it down, at least a little, in the next ten minutes, I’m taking her to the hospital before she turns into a soft-boiled egg.

Instead of a step forward, Thalia takes a step back. The water is about ten degrees cooler than her body which can’t be pleasant, but either she gets in the tub now, or she’ll end up covered in cooling blankets at the hospital.

I’m not sure which is worse.

I tear my t-shirt off and lose my sweatpants, ignoring Thalia’s opened mouth gaze sliding down my body and inspecting every muscle. Giving her no time to protest again, I cup her ass, lift her into my arms, and step in the water.

She hisses and shudders, clawing at my shoulders when I sit, gritting my teeth. My body temperature is much cooler than Thalia’s, but the lukewarm bath raises the hairs on my neck.

“Turn around,” I say, helping her maneuver in the confined space until she sits between my legs, her back to my chest, teeth clattering. “Breathe, omorfiá. Think about something else.”

She tries, but instead of distracting herself, she’s counting down the seconds left until the end of this misery. A few minutes go by before I recheck her temperature, pushing a sigh of relief past my teeth. It’s slowly coming down.

“T-t-talk to m-me,” she stutters, wrapping my arms around her as if that’ll keep her warm. “Was I ki-ki-kicking about at night-t-t?”

I submerge a sponge between her legs and wring it over her neck and shoulders. “You didn’t move, but you snore, you know?”

“No. No, no, n-no, no. I do-don’t. I—” She inhales, shaking like a baby deer when I wring more water down her cleavage. “I’m s-s-so cold.”

My arms wrap tighter around her frame in an automatic reflex as if I’d done it countless times before. “You’re doing great. Five more minutes. Try to relax, okay? The more you tense, the worse it is. Once we’re out of here, we can binge-watch “Ozark”.”

She gasps, digging her nails into my forearms. “D-did you f-f…” she sucks in a harsh breath, then blurts the rest of the sentence fast, on an exhale. “…finish the episode without me? What happened?”

“I’m not telling you. We’ll rewatch it. I need to see your face when—” I grin, letting the end of the sentence hang unspoken. “Never mind. You’ll see.”

When her fever drops to a more manageable one-oh-two, I help Thalia out of the bath and wrap her in a thick, yellow towel. She’s a touch less pale now, and I let her get dressed without my help.

“Have you eaten today?” I ask when she curls into a ball on the couch, dressed in a gray hoodie and matching sweatpants.

“I don’t think I’ll stomach food,” she pulls herself up, resting on one elbow, “but I can make you a wrap or pasta if—”

“I’m seriously considering duct-taping you to that couch. You’re not moving your pretty ass all day, understood? I’ll order takeout later unless you’re hungry now.”

“No, I’m okay.” She scoots closer, kissing my cheek. “Thank you.”

Now that she’s within my reach, I pull her in like I did last night, flip us over so we’re both laying comfortably, and press play, my hand once again under the blanket, stroking the side of her body in a lulling, repetitive motion. Half of the episode goes by before her eyes grow heavy.

She tilts her head up slightly, her lips brushing against my jaw. “I’m sleepy.”

“Sleep, omorfiá,” I whisper, pressing a kiss in her hair, my hold on her tightening before she can even think about getting out of here and heading to bed.

With a ghost-like, tired smile, she cuddles her face under my chin, one hand across my chest, fisting the t-shirt, one leg bent at the knee and resting over my thighs.

I change the show, so she won’t miss any action, brushing my fingers up and down her arm. Despite the fluffy blanket she pulled up to her chin, she shivers every now and then, clinging to me like second skin. She’s out within moments, but at least half an hour goes by before her fever drops to one-oh-one, and I think that’s as low as it’ll probably go.

Five episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” later, a knock sounds on the door, followed by someone—and I know who—barging in without waiting for an invitation. Only one person does that, and one day she’ll regret those sudden invasions of privacy when she catches her son fucking someone in his living room.

“I came as soon as possible,” Mom says, stopping mid-step with a large soup container. She eyes Thalia and me wrapped in a blanket, her head resting on my chest, hair tickling my chin. “How’s your friend feeling?”

“Hey to you too, Mom.” I readjust Thalia, careful not to wake her as I untangle myself from her limbs. “I got her fever down.” I kiss Mom’s cheek, joining her in the kitchen. “Not as low as I’d like it to be, though.”

“I made chicken soup.” She smiles, pulling a pot out of the cupboard.

It was the cure for all evil when I was growing up. Runny nose? Chicken soup. Fever? Chicken soup. Scraped knee? Band-Aids and chicken soup. She even made me chicken soup when Shawn broke my nose.

“Why do I have to call your brothers to find out who this mysterious friend of yours is?” she asks, pouring water into the kettle, probably to make Thalia a cup of tea with honey and lemon. “I hear she’s lovely.”

Lovely? I’m sure that was Shawn’s description. Logan would’ve said she’s cool, and Nico probably didn’t even answer his fucking phone.

Mom taps her foot on the tiles, eyes on me, two lines marking her forehead. “Will you please tell me a bit about her, or do I have to beat the confession out of you?”

As if she could take me on in five-inch heels and a light, silk pencil dress.

“What do you want me to say? She’s a friend.”

“A friend who lives with you.”

That’s Logan’s inability to keep shit to himself. It’s not like Thalia living here is a secret, but maybe I should’ve been the one to inform Mom about my roommate.

“Yeah, she needed a place to stay. I have a spare bedroom and a dog who can’t live without her.” I point to the couch where Ares is curled around Thalia’s feet.

Mom prods and pokes, firing question after question for solid ten minutes before Thalia sits up, saving the day.

“Good morning,” she says, blushing slightly, sleepy eyes on my mother. “I’m Thalia.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Mom crosses the room but keeps a safe distance not to catch whatever made Thalia ill. Too bad she didn’t think to stay away from me. I’m covered in germs too. “I’m Monica, Theo’s mom. He said you’re not well, so I made chicken soup. It always helped my boys when they were under the weather.”

I serve the soup and finish making the tea because Mom ditched the task halfway through. She’s always been easily distracted, and right now, her cheeks are pink, excitement in her hazel eyes as she discreetly—in her opinion—interrogates Thalia, asking about work, life, and…

“So, how did you two meet?”

Kill me.

Kill me now.

I send my brothers a message.

Me: What did you tell Mom?

Logan: Nada.

Shawn: Nothing.

Nico: To call and ask you.

Me: Yeah, right. She’s here. Brought soup for Thalia and acts like she’s about to book the church.

Shawn: Yeah… good luck, bro.

Nico: I’m out.

Logan: Ha-ha-ha.

So helpful, those three. So good with words. What the fuck would I do without them?

“You should feel better soon,” Mom assures when Thalia polishes off the last of the soup and thanks her for the eighth time. “You need to rest. My boys say you work all the time.”

Nothing and nada, my ass.

“She’s not going anywhere until she’s better,” I cut in. “You want a drink, Mom?”

I love her. Very, very much. More than anyone, but right now, I want to hand her a coffee-to-go and lock the door behind her. I’m shit out of luck, though. She stays for over an hour and swoons when I check Thalia’s fever, keeping a few choice words unspoken when the screen flashes red.