Page 66 of The Love Chase

“Stupid…fish tacos…” she said breathlessly. That must have been what she ate for dinner at the venue while I was on stage.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, those devilish fish tacos. How dare they.”

She groaned her agreement, and I set the cool towel on her forehead.

Emma didn’t seem to be fully coherent, probably delusional from the fever making her shiver so hard it shook the bed, so I tried not to read into it when she took my hand in hers. I gave it a squeeze.

“Do you need anything else, Em?” I asked, keeping my voice quiet. There was enough light from the bathroom to illuminate her face as it scrunched up.

“Mmm—geh—stay.”

“What?” I’d seen Emma sick plenty of times over the years, but not so sick that she babbled incoherently.

“S-s-s-stay,” she stuttered out, then squeezed my hand as tightly as her weak body would allow—which admittedly wasn’t very tight.

I tried to ignore the flip my stomach did at the idea of staying in here with her—sharing the bed.

“You want me to stay?” I asked, needing to be sure I wasn’t the one who was delusional.

In answer, she reached her hand up and grabbed a loose fistful of my shirt and tried to drag me toward her. She was too weak to really succeed in the maneuver, but I got the hint.

“You should rest,” I tried to argue, but she simply tugged me closer again.

I figured since it had been more than ten minutes since she’d thrown up, that—hopefully—the throwing up part was over, and we’d just have to wait for the fever to break. Would it really hurt for me to stay? At least this way I could take care of her if she needed something. If I went back downstairs, I’d never be able to sleep knowing how sick she was up here. I’d be worried the rest of the night.

Blowing out a breath—and trying to ignore the fact that I was crawling into the same bed as Emma, the woman I was starting to realize I had feelings for—I scooched behind her and drew her back into my chest, loosely putting my arms around her.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be right here.”

Emma murmured something, but I couldn’t make it out.

“What?” I asked, leaning closer.

“Love…you…” she breathed. “Always…have.”

My heart leaped into my throat while my stomach fell through the bed.

Did Emma just say she’s always loved me?

But that couldn’t be right. We were best friends. Not once had she ever given me any inkling of feeling…more.

This was just the fever talking. Maybe she didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

…But what if she did?

Hadn’t I just had the realization during the show that I loved her too?

What if I was right? What if Emma and I were always meant to be more?

Being here now, taking care of her while she was sick, and holding her close…it felt right. For two years I had felt nothing but wrong, and it only put this—Emma—in such stark contrast that I didn’t know how I never saw it—felt it—before.

I pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I think I love you too,” I whispered, my heart racing at the confession. I’d never said those words out loud before—not to anybody.

I’d had girlfriends, sure, but no long-term relationships, and definitely no one I would have ever considered saying those three words too.

But saying it to Emma? It was easy. Just like everything about us always had been.

I waited for a reaction from her—though it was probably stupid of me since she was clearly not in her right mind—and when none came, I realized she had fallen asleep. Her chest rose and fell in slow, smooth movements. Unable to help myself, I pressed a light kiss to her head and closed my eyes.