Original “The Cold Chronicles” Tommy and Hayley - Complete

[starpollen]

“The Cold Chronicles” – a new Tommy and Hayley story

Part 1
3 months, September

As I was lounging against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to brew and scrolling through Facebook, I noticed a photo from Heather of her and Mark together at some backyard barbecue:

“Married 3 months.  It feels like only yesterday.  My heart is so full of love for this man who is my best friend, my partner in crime, my other half.  Here’s to 3,000 more months together!”

Glancing at the calendar hanging on the fridge, I blinked.  3 months.   That meant that it was exactly 3 months since I met Tommy.  The day of Heather and Mark’s wedding.

I blinked again.  Following the natural curiosity, I pulled up my calculator and did the math.  3,000 more months together would be… 250 years. 

I’m pretty sure Heather hadn’t done the math.  It didn’t matter; it was a sweet sentiment. 

Tommy and I had another date tonight.  We were pretty regular: 2-3 dates per week, depending mostly on my schedule.  Because he was the co-owner/manager at the garage, it wasn’t hard for him to get a night off or rearrange shifts if my schedule suddenly changed.  Which it did more often than I liked.  But, that was how it went when you were trying to climb the corporate ladder and gunning for a corner office.

Thankfully today was Saturday, and one of the few weekends that I didn’t have to go into work.  Instead, I was going to attempt to make my mom’s spaghetti recipe for the first time.  Her from-scratch, all-day, labor-intensive, completely-authentic Italian spaghetti.  While I had witnessed my mom making it a hundred times over the years, it had always seemed soooo laborious that I had never shown much interest in learning to make it myself.  Until now. 

Spaghetti was Tommy’s absolute favorite food – a fact he had confessed with some reluctance – so I decided to make it for him.  Mom and I had been on the phone most of last night as she talked me through the steps.  Not one to have anything written down, she got a little frustrated at me constantly asking her to repeat or spell out or be more specific as I tried to document the recipe that had been handed down by word-of-mouth only for the last 4 generations.

Coffee finally ready, I sipped it as I surveyed the army of ingredients spread across the counter.  Well, I gave a long swallow and squared my shoulders.  Time to go into battle.

---

Three hours later, the hand-cut noodles were drying over my collapsible clothes rack (hey, needs must…) and the sauce was beginning its long, slow simmer.  The kitchen looked like a bomb went off: flour on nearly every surface, eggshells and empty roasted tomato skins scattered all over.  My arms and apron were stiff and crusted with various foodstuffs.

Then my text alert went off.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Hey.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: I might not be able to make it tonight.

ME: …

ME: What do you mean?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Something has come up.

ME: Something more important than my mom’s from-scratch spaghetti recipe?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:… maybe?...

I couldn’t help the needle of annoyance that pricked my chest.  I had raved about my mom’s spaghetti.  He knew how hard it was to make, and how scared I had been to attempt it.  He had been so encouraging, telling me that he knew I could do it and how great he knew it would taste...

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: … you already started making it?

ME: Well, it does take about 12 hours, so… yeah.

I stirred the sauce, heaving a big sigh and pulling out the sponge and cleaning spray, already making a mental list of things I would have to do to pack up all the components and either freeze them or try to save them in the refrigerator…

I knew it was stupid to be annoyed with him.  I had rescheduled a date more than once, and this was his first time.  Surely I couldn’t be that hypocritical… even as I wondered what could possibly have ‘come up’ to derail these carefully laid plans…

Nearly 11 minutes later, the text alert dinged once more.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Don’t worry. I’ll be there. 7:00?

I cast one more weary gaze around the wrecked room.

ME: Better make it 7:30.

---

By 7:30 – miraculously – the sauce was finished (and tasting, if not exactly like mom’s, close enough), the kitchen was clean, and the dishwasher was humming and sloshing merrily.   I had two mismatched candle sticks on the small table in the breakfast nook, and had closed all the windows and turned on the A.C. to help filter the late-summer pollen from the air. 

As much as I loved hearing Tommy sneeze, I knew it made him very self-conscious.  And I wanted tonight to be easy and relaxing for both of us.

Tonight?... I was going to attempt to get Tommy to sleep over.

For the past 3 months, things had been steadily getting hotter in the make-out department, sometimes even ending with us in the backseat of his Jeep with shirts and pants unbuttoned.  But Tommy had stubbornly refused to go any further.  His breathless apologies – at first for going too far or too fast, and then for stopping when I practically begged him not to – were always followed by large, gentle hands carefully buttoning and straightening my clothes and hair, interspersed with soft, chaste kisses.

“Not like this,” he would rumble, kissing my temple.  “My first time with you is going to be in a real bed, after a romantic dinner, with wine and candles.  I want it to be perfect.”

Tonight I was wearing a flattering low-cut blouse with tight jeans, painted toes peeking out from low-heeled sandals.  My hair was pinned up and I had put on just enough makeup to make this an Occasion, a good bottle of red wine open to breathe and the smell of homemade spaghetti floating tantalizingly in the air. 

Tonight he wasn’t going to put me off any longer.

At 7:36, my doorbell rang.  It wasn’t like Tommy to be even a minute late for our dates, but... who was going to make a fuss over six minutes?  I gave everything one more once-over with my discerning eyes, lightly testing the warmth of the garlic bread and making sure the oven was off.

When I opened the door, though, I involuntarily took a step back.

Tommy stood there, impeccably dressed in sexy designer jeans and a black button-down shirt that matched his dark hair and made the green of his eyes pop.   Or maybe it was the redness around his eyes that made them look more green.  Or the fact that they were a little too bright, the rest of his face pale, his large nose glowing like Rudolph’s.

“Hi,” I greeted him with a soft smile.  “Is the pollen count high today?” I tilted my head, watching as he squared his shoulders.  Tommy hated anybody to make a fuss when his allergies were bothering him.

“Uhb” he cleared his throat, raising a hand and giving a couple of coughs against his wrist.  “Sobethig like that…”   I didn’t miss how his pale cheeks colored with a self-conscious blush when we both heard how congested he was.

Ok… well.  He just needed to get it through his thick skull that I didn’t mind his allergies.  In fact, I thought he was never sexier than when he was stubbornly trying to power through a sneezing attack.  My thoughts went back to our very first date: 3,000 feet in the air and a tall, sexy biker dude sneezing convulsively into a sodden excuse of a bandana. 

My thighs clenched.  

“Come in,” I stepped aside and gestured with one hand.  “You’ve got perfect timing.  Dinner’s ready.”

“Ah, I’b sure it sbells abazig, Hals,” he rumbled softly, once again lifting a wrist and giving a few more coughs. 

“No worries,” I chirped lightly, skimming a hand across his lower back as I stepped around in front of him.  “I know you’re about to say ‘the meds will kick in soon.’  You know I don’t mind.” I reached up to give him a kiss.

But he turned his head, allowing my lips to land on his freshly-shaved cheek.  I quirked my eyebrows in surprise, pushing down the momentary flare of rejection.  He was probably still worried I was going to think he was disgusting, all sniffly and sneezy.  No matter how many times I’d told him it didn’t bother me, he still acted like he didn’t believe it, going to great lengths sometimes to fight his body’s reaction to the microscopic irritants.

Once we got to the kitchen, he gallantly pulled out my chair for me, pouring wine for us both and settling down across from me at the candlelit table.

“This looks idcredible,” he rasped, his deep voice seeming thinner and weaker than normal.  Bringing one hand up to pinch and knuckle his large nose, his red-rimmed nostrils stretched wide with a congested attempt at a sniffle.  I reached for the utensils to serve a generous portion of pasta onto his plate, noting discreetly when he pulled a black bandana from his back pocket to lay across his thigh.  Preparing.

To cover my observation, I launched into a long and detailed description of the Great Spaghetti Ordeal, as I would come to call it, regaling him with all the various steps and hitches and fumbles and weepy calls to my mother that had ensued over the past several hours.  I know most girls would have tried to make it look like this meal had come together so easily, as if by magic, but that’s not who I was and Tommy knew it.  

I had battled hard for this meal to turn out as good as it had, and I deserved for it to be memorialized in epic saga.

As I spoke, Tommy twined a length of saucy noodles around the tines of his fork, politely using a piece of garlic bread to secure it before bringing it to his mouth.  His eyes closed briefly – in pleasure? – and that strong, corded throat worked to swallow.  I always loved watching his Adam’s apple, those mauve lips of his wide mouth curving in a genuine expression of approval.

“You did great,” he murmured, and I thought I caught a small wince as he took a second swallow.  “I kdew you could do it.”

I chattered on about other things, about work and my brother Brian and his new wife Katrina finding out that they were pregnant.  Filling the silence that would otherwise reign as Tommy finished over half his plate of pasta in record time.

At one point, though, his movements slowed.  Lowering his fork to the plate, he was looking at me and nodding at whatever I was saying… but his hands went for the bandana in his lap.  His red-rimmed, too-bright, bottle green eyes were blinking rapidly, his flushed nostrils twitching noticeably.

I had been secretly counting the minutes until he would have to give in and sneeze.

“hh—NXZzdSHiuU!...” He turned politely to the side, bending at the waist with the strong double. “H’ gg- gYIEUSSCHtt!...”

But these sneezes sounded distinctly different from the ones I was growing used to hearing.  These were thick, congested, with an echoing resonance in his chest that I didn’t like the sound of.

“Tommy, are you…” I watched as he turned as far around in his chair as he could, shoulders quaking with some thick, croupy coughs.  “Are you okay?”

“Fide,” he quickly turned around with an attempt at his normal beaming smile, even as his nostrils continued to flicker dangerously. “Excuse be a bidute.”

And he practically fled the room.

I sat there for a second or two, blinking first at his full glass of wine, then at his half-empty plate, and finally at his empty chair.  I rose and slipped silently down the hall in search of him.

I found Tommy sitting in the antique swing on my back porch, bent near in half and coughing horribly, an inhaler in his hands.

The back door must have made a noise when I pushed it open, because he flinched violently, jerking his head up.  Sucking in several shallow breaths, his expression melted from struggling to agonized-panic when he saw me, and my own echoed the look when I heard the whistling wheeze coming from his lungs.  His face was way-too-pale to be healthy, a slightly blueish cast to his lips. 

“Oh my god,” I breathed, quickly striding forward to sit beside him on the swing and place my hand on his heaving back.  “Are you okay?”

Instantly realizing the stupidity of my question, I watched as a crimson blush rose from his collar to paint both his pale cheeks.  Clearly he had come out here because he didn’t want me seeing this, to watch him battling an asthma attack.  Stubborn man.

I refused to allow him to be embarrassed.  “That’s a dumb question.  Of course you’re not okay,” I babbled lightly, trying for casual.  He sucked another tight, wheezy breath, ducking his chin as more rattling coughs burst from stubbornly-closed lips.  “But this is okay.  We can just sit here for a while.”

And then I shut up, lightly stroking his back as he wheezed and coughed, sucking two more hits of medicine and closing his eyes while he held his breath.  Birds twittered in the branches as the sun slipped below the horizon, the rest of the world charmingly peaceful despite the emergency happening at my side.

Finally, Tommy's shoulders dropped and he heaved a huge sigh.  There was still a slight whistle on his exhale, but even I could tell that air was moving easier.  We sat in silence for several minutes more, both of us focused on his breathing.

Then, Tommy opened his mouth to speak.  “Haley, I--”  Breaking off, he turned his head, pulling the bandana from his back pocket to aim a set of stifles into it. “hk-NGT-shu!- heh-MPT’uh-ZXT’shoo-K’XNTshiu!... ugh… God, I’b so sorry…” His husky whisper was full of self-disgust, pale cheeks flushed scarlet with humiliation.

“Tommy,” I turned my body so one leg was bent up on the swing, facing him completely so I could reinforce my words with touch.  “You have nothing to be sorry about.  Nothing at all.”  One hand still stroked his broad back, the other lay lightly on the arm holding his inhaler, feeling how tense he was from head to toe. 

“You…” he started, needing to stop to clear his throat with a wince.  “You worked so hard od didder…” his voice was so low, raspy, thoroughly congested…  

“Heyy,” I breathed, scooting forward as close to him as the swing allowed.  “That doesn’t matter.  It’s just food.  Bashed flour-water and mushed up tomatoes.”  I was rewarded when his lips pulled into a half-grin/grimace.  “It’s not as important to me as you are.”

I laid the backs of my fingers lightly to his cheek… and was startled to feel how warm he was.

“Tommy…” I began.

But he stood up so fast that the swing jerked crazily, threatening to buck me off.

“I’b sorry, Hals,” he croaked, dropping a swift kiss to the top of my head.  “I’ve godda go.  I’ll call you id a few days.”

And then he was gone.

Edited October 30, 2019 by starpollen

[ID2006]

Nooooo, cliffhanger

[rockbell]

ahhhh!!!!!!! Can't wait to read more!!!

[Sierra]

you write so ridiculously well and I absolutely adore this!!
so looking forward to the continuation!
I much prefer colds to allergies, in general, though anything Tommy/Hayley is just perfect and so yummy

[M214186]

Gah I don’t want to wait for more

[starpollen]

Thanks so much you guys!     I wasn't sure these two were going to give me any more stories, but somehow this week they've been showing me a lot more of the early days of their relationship.   (A story or two might end up on the Adult Board... ... )  

- - -

Part 2
4 months, October

Tommy didn’t end up calling me.  And he didn’t pick up when I called. He did text, expertly changing the subject and avoiding discussing why he had fled my house so fast. 

The next time I saw him in person – over a week later – he pretended that nothing had happened.  When I stubbornly refused to let him sweep it under the rug, he blushed furiously and muttered something about changing medications and not expecting the reaction… and apologizing so deeply and so genuinely that I decided to let it go.  This time.

Especially because he finally stayed over. 

And it was…(sigh)… glorious.  

Over the next month, he sent flowers to my work once a week, and we continued our dates.

Then one Thursday night I noticed how tired he seemed, his heavy head thunking to my shoulder not even halfway through the newly-released horror movie he had been dying to see.  He brushed it off as a long day at the garage, resisting my attempts to get him to come back to my place by saying how he had to be up early to receive some inventory and promising that he would come and stay the following weekend.

The next night, we were supposed to go to my friend Janna’s house for dinner with several people from my work.

And it happened again.  My text alert went off.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Hey.  I’m not gonna be able to make it tonight.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Something has come up.

This time all my alarm bells were going off, but I casually replied. 

ME: Ok, no worries.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Tell everyone sorry for me.

ME: Will do.  Talk to you tomorrow.

So I went to the dinner alone, having to repeat to everyone who asked why my boyfriend wasn’t there. The next day, he didn’t pick up when I called.  After a few minutes, another text alert.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Sorry, I was in the shower. 

ME:  Ooh.  I like the thought of you naked. 😉

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: 

ME: Can I give you a call now?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  Um… I’ve got a plumber about to stop by.  I’ll call you when he leaves?

ME: Ok.

Several hours passed.  As I was making myself a bowl of Spaghettios for a late lunch, I fired off a text.

ME:  Must be some clog.

No answer.

After finishing my Spaghettios with still no word, I decided to drop by his house.   Normally I’m not a confrontational person.  At all.  But I had this nagging suspicion that something was wrong, because Tommy wasn’t normally stand-offish with me.  Didn’t normally put me off or try to hide things.  I'd had enough relationships go sour to know the warning signs, and - other than these two recent incidents - there weren't any. 

So.  I drove over to his apartment. 

We had exchanged keys only the week before. “In case of emergency,” he had said with his slow, rainy-day-sex-walking smile.   Even though it had been his idea, I stood outside the door of his apartment chewing on my lower lip.  It would be the first time I had come over without an invitation, unannounced.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the key into the lock, and let myself in.

Stepping inside Tommy’s small apartment, the first thing I noticed was how dark it was.  All the blinds were down and his mismatched drapes were closed.  His HEPA filter was humming softly in the corner of the living room, but otherwise it was quiet.

“Tommy?...” I called out, setting my things on his scratched coffee table.  “Hellooo… anybody home?”

Then I heard it… muffled coughing coming from the back.  Where his bedroom was.

We never spent much time in Tommy’s apartment.  It was small and cramped, and his kitchen was bachelor-level bare.  The few times we had ordered pizza and tried to watch a movie, we had gotten loud bumps with a broom handle from the apartment below and a quavery voice calling out, “Keep it down up there!”  So Tommy preferred to come to my small, neat house on the other side of town. 

Which explained my unease as I made my way down the dark hallway to his unfamiliar bedroom.  

“Tommy?” I called softly, coming around the corner.  His bedroom door was open, but there was no more light here than there had been in the living room.  “…Tommy?...”

I heard movement, saw vague shadows of something moving around in his bed.  Then, a voice so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable, “…Hals?”

My fingers fumbled for his light switch.  Flicking it on, I got a brief glimpse of the scene before his pain-filled cry caused me to flick it off again.

Tommy was laying in bed, shirtless, nearly a hundred used tissues scattered across the blankets and the floor, his face ghastly pale except for a stop sign red, fire engine red, glowing Christmas-bulb red nose.

My brave, brawny biker had obviously been knocked flat on his ass by a vicious head cold.

Ducking around the corner, I flicked on the switch in the hallway bath.  It gave me just enough light to find my way to sit next to him, hearing his broken groan followed by wet, chesty coughs.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” I scolded gently, bracing my hands on his chest and shoulders to help as he struggled to sit up amidst the tangle of sheets.  When my palms met his skin, I sucked a shocked breath. 

He was burning up. 

“I…” he tried, breath wheezy but already hitching with an oncoming sneeze.  In the dim light, I watched as his brows slowly lifted, lids struggling not to drift shut as the tip of his nose twitched.  His dark head slowly tilted back, exposing increasingly irritated pink tissues up inside the wide, twitchy red nostrils.  Lips quivering, he turned slightly away and lifted a crumpled tissue one-handed.

“heh-gzt’SCHu!-ktg’NGXXtssch!—ahh.”

“Bless you,” I crooned, stroking a hand down across the bare shoulder closest to me as he snorted and snuffled, fumbling for another half-decent tissue.  I noticed a box lying on its side by my feet, empty.

“Whad are y--… heh-hh!... AH!... h-ZDsshu’…-hr’RGXShoo!!...ugh. Whad are you doig here?”

I tried not to let myself feel hurt by his question.

“Apparently I’m checking on my sick boyfriend,” I murmured, letting him lean away from me to cough raggedly into the used tissues.  I opened his nightstand drawer, seeing his various allergy medicines next to an obviously blank space where his clean bandanas would be. He must have destroyed all of those already… "Where do you keep your tissues?”

“Uhb…” he breathed in an airy, wrecked voice.  “Closet.  Bud… I’b out.”  And more nasty coughs that I didn’t like the sound of at all.  “Hh--hh!...-NXZzdSHiuU!...”

That failed stifle reduced the tissues in his hand to useless pulp, leaving him gasping and blinking around, desperately searching for another half-clean tissue amongst the detritus littering his bedspread. 

This was definitely one wicked bitch of a cold...

“Here,” I whispered, rising and dropping a kiss to his too-warm temple.  “I’ll be right back.”

A quick search of both his bedroom and hallway closet revealed that, indeed, he was out of tissues.  I brought back a full roll of toilet paper, pulling off a generous portion and tucking it into his free hand.  Several lengthy attempts to blow his nose quietly ended only in choked coughs and thick wheezing.  The stubborn fool even tried to refuse when I took the rescue inhaler from his drawer and pressed it into his hot hand.

“Go on,” I commanded firmly.  “I’m going to run to the store for tissues, juice, and whatever else you don’t have.”  I was pretty sure ‘whatever else he didn’t have’ included pretty much everything.  Men… Stopping his weak protest with a palm to his cheek and another kiss to his brow, I said, “Take that.  Now.  I want you still breathing when I get back.”

I left my huge, strong, feverish and miserable wreck of a boyfriend sitting up in his bed with his arms resting on his crooked knees, sucking a hit from his inhaler and holding his breath. 

There was a Walgreens on the corner, so I pulled in and grabbed a basket.  Stepping around a stocky blond with tattoos mopping a spill in the reduced-price sunscreen aisle, I began muttering to myself under my breath: Nyquil, Dayquil, Sudafed, menthol rub, throat drops, Mucinex, Tylenol, family-sized boxes of lotion-infused tissues, gallons of orange juice, canned soup, a loaf of bread…

When I got back, Tommy had moved out to the couch, now wearing a rumpled T-shirt and faded sweat pants.  His dark hair had been combed, further proving how determined he was for me not to see him that sick, that weak or disgusting.  In spite of the fact that the toilet roll rested on the coffee table next to his inhaler and an empty bottle of water. 

Ooh, I winced.  Bottled water.  I hadn’t thought about that… Well, I could always make another trip.

“Hayley,” his ruined voice rumbled as he struggled to stand, to appear strong.  “I appreciate you cobig by to check od be.  Bud I-”

Setting the various bags next to the couch, I gently shoved at his broad chest.  “Thomas Michael Erikson, if you think you’re going to tell me that ‘you’re fine’ and ‘you don’t need any help’ and ‘you’ll call me in a few days?’…” I glared at him with enough venom to poison a rattlesnake.  “You’ve got another think coming.  Sit. Down.”

He had the good sense to close his mouth and collapse back, blinking at me through wide, bloodshot bottle green eyes.

“Of all the stupid, stubborn, MALE things to do,” I continued to rant, cracking open various medical products from the bag.  “Bailing on the dinner party was completely understandable.  If you were coming down with something, of course I would prefer for you to be in bed.  What is NOT okay is avoiding my calls and not returning my texts. What did you think I was gonna do, set you on fire for having the audacity to catch a cold??...”

“Baybe,” he whispered, which stopped me long enough to shoot him another glare.  Head ducked down, he was looking at me through the lank strands of his dark hair, a gesture I was slowly coming to realize was a subconsciously defensive posture.  His mouth was curved in that half-grin/grimace, one hand slowly unraveling more toilet tissue as his nostrils flickered with want of another nose-clearing sneeze.

“ht’GKSCHH!-uu!... hk’NXZTddshoo!- ihhh!-KNgk’SSCHoo!” followed by a thorough scrubbing of the swollen, scarlet nares and a thickly congested snort.

“Well, I won’t,” I hissed, holding out a brimming cup of OJ and a carefully-calculated handful of drugs.  “Swallow.”

“Yes, ba’ab,” he replied meekly, gulping down whatever I handed him without further comment.  

“You are not some supernatural, super-immune, super-MAN resistant to every bug and germ on the planet,” I continued to scold, popping a stained coffee mug full of water into his microwave and setting it spinning.  “No one is!  All of us catch colds, all of us have times in our lives when we’re not perfectly clean and coiffed and sexy.  All of us are sometimes sneezy and germy and dripping with mucus and coughing up crud.  It does not mean you get to burrow yourself away in some hole and suffer through it alone!...” I ended up banging his dented pot a little more loudly than I intended on the surface of his electric stove.  “Not when you’ve got me.”

When tea with a generous dollop of honey was steeping next to a new box of lotion-infused tissues in front of him on the couch, and two cans of tomato soup were set to warm on the stove on its lowest setting, only then did I drop onto the couch at his side.

“Okay?” I fisted my hands in my lap and looked at him expectantly, lips still pursed with irritation.

Tommy’s shoulders were slouched, that frustrating curtain of hair hiding the expression on his face.  Slowly, one large hand reached forward to pluck four tissues from the box, bringing them to his nose and unleashing a thick, gurgly flood of congestion.  I gave a wry smirk, happy that at least he wasn’t holding back, finally giving his body the relief it needed.

He didn’t speak, but when he was finished he slowly leaned towards me, letting his heavy, hot head rest on my shoulder with a wheezy, congested sigh.

I wrapped an arm around the wide expanse of his shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze as my lips ghosted the top of his sweaty hair.

We stayed on the couch together for the next couple of hours, eating soup and drinking tea, putting a movie on to play very low-volume with the closed-captioning on.  He didn’t say much, a couple of ‘thank-you’s or ‘excuse be’s as he continued to cough and sniffle and sneeze.

As the hours wore on, though, he began to get more and more irritable, cranky and petulant.

Finally, he growled at me that he was ‘just fide’ and to ‘stob hoverig’ and let him ‘get sobe sleeb.’

So I left, tucking him into bed with more drugs and tissues, happy at least that the heat had faded from his skin.   As I went to go, he caught my hand, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze.

But he didn’t speak.

Edited October 28, 2019 by starpollen

[Alabaster]

Yesssssss yes I ALWAYS want more of these two.

[caramelfuzz]

Oh my word this is amazing!!! I can't wat for part 3! Poor Tommy though.

[rockbell]

AAHHHHHHH!!!! SO CUTEEEE

[jezebel215]

oh I love these two! I just reread all your other Tommy/haley stories last week so this is a delight 🙂

[starpollen]

I’ve got two Google Docs of all the Tommy/Hayley stories - one is in chronological order of their relationship, and the other is in the order I wrote them.  Would anybody want viewing access to give your opinion of which order is better?  

[stargazer1122]

I would😊 these two are amazing!

[crypticsweetheart]

I would also love access to them. Love these stories!

[Privatedancer]

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you !!!!!!!!!!  I just love these two and love this story and watching Tommy slowly come to the realization that Haley won’t leave him or think less of him because of a weak immune system.  I’ve always thought you like and admire someone for their strengths but fall in love with them for their weaknesses- especially when only you get to see their weakness 

[Blackraspberrycheesecake]

It would be great to read the stories from both perspectives. The stories are wonderful. I can’t wait for the next chapter to be up. 

[Feo]

I really like this story!!

[starpollen]

People.   I totally didn't realize that I had nearly 150 pages written of these two characters.           

As promised, here are the 2 links:

Chronological Order of the Relationship
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_HrSYH1bw7OGG3Oy14QJsOytINqsaBPTDCpb9LDdxeQ/edit?usp=sharing

 

Writing Order by the Author
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1v6B4wiuTmlhx95gpkinSYvGIrnCz0EbJaDg0Qty0XSE/edit?usp=sharing

 

My question is, if this were a published novel would you prefer to read it in chronological order, or OUT of order?  Thanks for taking the time to answer satisfy my curiosity!

 

Part 3 up next! 

Edited October 6, 2019 by starpollen

[starpollen]

This story has ended up being longer than I anticipated.     But it turns out this is kind of an important turning point in Tommy and Hayley's relationship, so... yeah. 
I hope you guys enjoy!  

- - -

Part 3
5 months, November

While I initially believed we had conquered some of his demons that night, Tommy didn’t call or see me again for a few more days, stubbornly resisting my offers to come check on him again.  

I didn’t push at first, remembering what Mark had told me the day of the wedding.

* * *

 “Don’t fuss over him.”

 I slowly swung around, wide eyes settling on Mark’s classic surfer-blonde features, my mouth open in a shocked O. 

 “He hates it,” Mark continued, casually turning to stare off into space at nothing.  “We were roommates for three years when I was in college, and then we shared an apartment until I moved in with Heather.  So I’ve seen him in pretty much all of the worst possible scenarios.”  Shifting, he leaned against a non-floral pew and crossed his arms.  “We don’t know each other very well, Hayley.  But Heather has told me a lot about you.”  He looked at me askance, brown eyes deep and serious.  “Tommy’s had it rough in the relationship department.  Take it slow, okay?...  But… I think you might be exactly what he needs.”

* * *

Staring at my phone, I huffed a frustrated sigh.  I’ll give him a day or so, I told myself.  Then I was going to go back over there and we were going to talk about this. 

Then came The Ortiz Fiasco.

A big project at work that totally blew up in all of our faces on Monday morning.  One that had me working from 6am until nearly midnight for the next 9 days, trying to put out fires / put fingers in dikes / scramble for triage and damage control in the beginning followed by a complete overhaul at the end.

By the time it was done, Tommy was over his cold and back to his charming, considerate, courteous self.

And I was too exhausted to dig it back up again.

Plus, Thanksgiving was approaching, my absolute favorite holiday.  But because of The Ortiz Fiasco, there was no way I would be taking off work to go to my parents’ house for the long weekend.  And, as much as I wanted to cook the whole elaborate meal for him on our first Thanksgiving together, my work schedule simply wasn’t going to allow it. Instead, Tommy was taking me to some surprise dinner on that Thursday. 

“Next year,” Tommy had rumbled, the vibrations from his broad chest thrumming through my body as he held me close in my bed.  “We can plan for it,” he continued, kissing me deeply with his wide, eager mouth, long fingers carding lightly through my hair.  “We’ll both take off the entire week.  You can cook your heart out, and I will devour every… *kiss*… delicious… *kiss*… bite.”

I groaned against his lips, feeling his large hands skimming my bare body from shoulder to thigh and looking forward to other things he would soon be devouring...

The weekend before Thanksgiving, though, I could tell something was off.

Once again, Tommy seemed more tired than usual.  Lethargic.  And irritable.  The weather was turning colder, the sky a constantly glum gray threatening a drizzling rain.

Tommy had come over to check my roof before what was rumored to be a particularly brutal winter.  I was standing in my front yard, arms crossed over my chest against the gathering wind, heart pounding as I watched his long legs range across the pitched expanse. 

“Be careful!” I called for what was probably the eighth time in 10 minutes.

“I am!” he snapped back, bringing a hand up and giving a couple of coughs into his fist.  “God, you’d think I’d never climbed a roof before...”

“Well excuuuse me for not wanting a flattened boyfriend pancake,” I half-teased, sucking a sharp breath when he teetered dangerously near the chimney. 

“Back off, Hals,” he warned, with a distinct edge to his voice that I hadn’t heard before.  When he came down the ladder, something about the look on his face kept me from going to put my arms around him in relief at his safe return.   Instead, I hopped from one foot to the other, struggling to keep my teeth from chattering as he took the extension ladder down and put it away.  “You’ve got a couple of loose tiles on the south side,” he informed me in that deep, rich voice that curled about my eardrums like midnight velvet.  He swiped at his nose with a sniffle, which I chalked up to his being in the biting wind.  “Nothing major.  As long as we don’t get any category 5 hurricanes coming through, the house should make it through the season with no issues.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke louder he would hear how my voice was shaking with cold.

He must have heard me anyway, because he set the ladder down next to the hibernating rose bushes and looked at me, expression softening.  “Come here, popsicle.”

I went, burying my frostbitten nose in the front of his thick cableknit sweater, his warm arms folding around me.  Inhaling the masculine aroma that was just ‘Tommy,’ I mumbled, “I hope that isn’t your idea of a pet name,” against the soft fabric.

Tommy and I had been teasing for a while about coming up with special terms of endearment for each other, more than the banal “honey” or “darling” or “baby” or whatever. 

His deep chuckle vibrated through us both.  “No,” I felt his head dip to plant a kiss on the top of my hair.  “Buttercup.”

“Ew.”

“No Buttercup?”

“No,” I pulled away, wrapping an arm around his waist as we headed for the warmth of the house. “Who says that?”

More deep chuckles, and a couple of light coughs.  "Apparently not us."

We ordered delivery from my favorite Thai restaurant for dinner. Opting for an “unplugged Sunday night” free of TV or cell phones, we broke out the board games and cards for old-fashioned competitive mayhem.   

As the evening wore on, I noticed the bruise-like shadows under his tired eyes, but I didn’t really think much of it.

We slept tangled together in my sheets, his light snores rumbling in my ear as he spooned me from behind.

I didn’t hear from him over the next 3 days, but I was up to my eyeballs in work so he didn’t hear from me, either.

Thursday arrived, and we were on our way toward this mystery dinner.  Tommy picked me up from work in his Jeep, giving me a quick kiss before shifting gears and getting us underway.  He was wearing soft black slacks and a charcoal gray sweater under his black leather jacket, the dark colors making his pale face and red nose more apparent.

Remembering Mark’s words, though, I kept my mouth shut. 

“I can’t believe that I went into the office at 7:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving Day,” I groused, instead.  “It's 2:00 p.m.  And you know what?  Kayla is still there!  She doesn’t think she’ll leave before nightfall.”

Tommy’s wide mouth gave a soft smile as he brought my hand to kiss my knuckles, our fingers laced together.  “Well,” his deep voice wrapped around my entire body and gave it a sultry caress.  I didn’t miss how it was a little raspy around the edges...  “Kayla doesn’t have a boyfriend to rescue her from workaholic overload.”  His teeth bit down gently on the end of my thumb, and I sucked in a soft gasp.

Tommy sucked a breath, too, but for an entirely different reason.

“hih’hyehh…”

His handsome face was struggling not to collapse in that perfect, helpless way.  A small muscle was jumping in his cheek just below his right eye, his right nostril flaring wide and pulling up that side of his lip to reveal a flash of white teeth.  “Ugh, not now…” he grumbled softly to himself, his body betraying him with another stuttering hitch.

Releasing my hand with visible reluctance, he managed to whip a black bandana from his back pocket and get it to his nose in time.

“ah-ZDXSH’iiUuu!...”

Uh oh.

I had heard the sound of that sneeze.  Thick, congested.  With that sickly echo in his chest that I remembered from the last two months. 

“Oh no,” I said out-loud, my runaway mouth going off before my brain could stop it.

Tommy’s green gaze cut briefly to me over the top of the fabric, eyes shuttered and his jaw hardening noticeably. Giving his nose a short honking blow and a vigorous rub before tucking the bandana away, he bit out a curt, “I’m fine.”  Followed by a sniffle that sounded anything but.

I nearly bit my tongue off, but I managed to stay quiet.  Barely.

All week Tommy had stubbornly refused to tell me where we were going, instead teasing me by throwing out completely impossible options.

“We’ve got front row seats to the circus that’s in town, and then we’re joining the clowns for pie.”

Or

“I thought we’d break into my old elementary school and bum some leftovers.  Hey, it’s free, right?”

Or

“They’re auctioning off this week’s roadkill.  If we each have a paddle, we should get something good.  Like a moose.”

Laughing each time and swatting at him playfully, I finally stopped asking. 

So when we pulled up at the fire station, I thought he was still having me on.

“Funny,” I simpered at him through pursed lips.  “Is this where you say we’re judges at the annual chili cook off?”

But Tommy shifted the Jeep into park and looked at me with complete honesty.  “No.  We’re invited to their station dinner.”  His 1000 watt smile caused my breath to catch in my throat.  “Believe me, Hals.  Firemen can cook.  Almost as well as you can.”   Leaning over, he gave me a soft, sweet kiss just under my ear.  “It was the closest I could get to giving you a real Thanksgiving.”

A bubble expanded in my chest, and I couldn’t help my suddenly watery smile. 

It was on the edge of my lips to say it.  I love you.   We hadn’t said that, yet.  And while the words nearly choked me trying to force their way out… I swallowed them back.  I was too afraid of saying it first. 

It helped a little that Tommy’s large hand cupped my jaw, pulling me toward him for a deep, searing kiss.

While I was trying to catch my breath, he came around and opened my door. 

I hadn’t known what to expect, so I had dressed in a flattering emerald-green tunic dress that had a subtle floral pattern at the collar and wrists, with silvery velvet leggings.  Combined with my calf-high black boots and wool pea coat, I still wasn’t quite prepared for the frigid bite of the wind as it cut through every layer of fabric to rake icy claws on my skin.

I shivered.

Tommy immediately stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and tucking me securely to his warm side.

Which I was doubly grateful for when his breath suddenly scissored.

Whipping the bandana from his back pocket with his free hand, he leaned away from me to sneeze into it.  “ehZDXSH’iuUUU!...  huh… hk’GYEITSCH-uu!...” Followed by a short, liquid blow.

“Bless you,” I breathed lightly, rubbing his back under his jacket.

“Thanks,” he muttered, obviously annoyed, swiping the fabric a few times around his pinkened nostrils before tucking it away again.

When we stepped in the front door of the firehouse, we were immediately greeted by a chorus of firefighters.

“Hey! Mr. T!”

“Tommy, you made it!”

“Yo, my man!”

Hands took my coat, and suddenly I felt very small as we were surrounded by tall, beefy, brawny men.  I watched as Tommy received high-fives, handshakes, and shoulder grips, gifting his wide smile to all and sundry.

Turning, he slipped a wide palm to the small of my back.  “Guys, this is Hayley.”

And then I was the recipient of smiles, handshakes, gallant knuckle-kisses and bows, witnessing the various glances of approval the men flashed Tommy’s way. 

“Hi, Hayley, I’m Kirk,” a shorter, stocky firefighter with a fashionable man-bun on the top of his head stepped forward, smiling at me with the whitest, most even teeth I have ever seen in my life.  “Right this way.” 

He led me into the kitchen-and-dining area of the fire house, guiding me to a seat near the head of the long table.  It was filled nearly to groaning with every kind of food a person could possibly dream of having for Thanksgiving: fluffy mashed potatoes, butter-glazed dinner rolls, creamy green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, several kinds of dressing/stuffing and cranberry dishes.  Not to mention all the pies.  The turkey wasn't yet on display but I could smell it's savory aroma wafting tantalizingly through the air.

“Wow,” I breathed, eyes wide and mouth watering.  “This is incredible!”

“Yeah,” Kirk moved to stand behind the chair opposite me, grinning like a toothpaste commercial.  “A fire house is a different kind of family.  If we’ve got to be here today, we like to make sure nobody misses out.”

“Of course,” I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching for one of the glistening dinner rolls, my stomach threatening to growl embarrassingly.  “So, how does Tommy fit in to all this?”

“Oh, he’s one of the volunteers,” Kirk laid his forearms to the back of the chair, leaning over it in a casual slouch.  “He’s not able to go out on runs with us, but he’s still one of the guys.” 

My head must have quirked a little in confusion, because Kirk’s dark brown eyes flicked over my shoulder.  “Lotta smoke in what we do… so he comes in to manage the switchboard or help us maintain the equipment.  Good man, Tommy,” he murmured nonchalantly, and I suddenly understood.  A house on fire was not exactly the most appropriate environment for someone with pervasive allergies, not to mention asthma.

Then all the guys began to gather around the table, laughing and joking and asking me a million questions about myself and my family and my work.  The turkey was brought out – a humongous bird with perfectly golden brown skin gleaming irresistibly – and we all ooh'ed and ahh'ed.  The whole experience was overwhelming enough that it was a good 30 minutes before I realized that the chair to my left was glaringly empty.  

The guys heaped my plate with all the best goodies, and everything tasting so good that I let myself eat for another 10 minutes or so, listening and laughing with the guys.  Finally, though, I put down my fork and knife.  “Um, Kirk,” I pushed back my chair a little.  “Do you have a little girls’ room in this place?”

He laughed, exposing those unreal glowing teeth.  “Sure.  We actually do have a few female fighters, but it just happened that none of them drew shift today.  Down the hall, make a right at the lockers.”

I smiled my thanks and stood, heading in the direction he had indicated. 

When I got close to the lockers, I found the short hall on the right that led to the women’s area.  But instead of turning, I stopped and listened for a moment. 

Sure enough, coming from deeper in the locker area I heard some muffled coughs, followed by a liquid noseblow.

Stepping around the metal cabinets, I found Tommy sitting on one of the wooden benches, leaning back with his eyes closed, the black bandana crumpled in one hand.  His pale face now sported two faint spots of color on his cheeks, nostrils red-rimmed and fluttery with constant sniffles.

Even as I stood there chewing on my lower lip, he brought the hand with the bandana up to his mouth, shoulders shaking with deep, chesty coughs.   After, his lax hand dropped to his lap like a stone, shoulders slumping with obvious exhaustion. 

Moving silently, I slid next to him on the bench, one arm gliding around his lower back and resting my head lightly on his shoulder.  I felt his big body give a jerking flinch, his head turning toward me.  

Before he could speak, I murmured gently, “You’ve gotta stop doing this,” fingers lightly stroking the back of his closed fist. 

He took a sharp breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out in a ragged sigh.  “Doig what?” he whispered, though his flat tone told me he knew exactly what I was talking about. 

I didn’t reply, simply sitting beside him and listening to him sniffle and swallow and sigh.  

After a few minutes, both hands stretched the bandana between long fingers, slowly bringing it up to his face.  I sat up a little, giving him more freedom of movement.  

“… hk’NXZTddshOOO!... ggh… rr’NXGGSSH’uu!....” Tommy sneezed wetly, tiredly, his wide shoulders curling forward with each muffled explosion.   Leaning forward, he blew in honking, liquid snorts, using his knuckles to scrub at tickly, crimson nostrils through the damp cloth.

“Are you going to let me take you home and put you to bed?” I asked softly when he finished, watching as he dropped his dark head between hunched shoulders with a congested sigh. 

“Doh,” he rumbled after a moment, straightening with another thick sniffle.  “We’re godda edjoy Thagksgivig didder.” His cheeks were more flushed, and I wasn’t sure if it was entirely due to embarrassment.  There was a long pause before he added, “Please, Hals.”

So I breathed a gentle, “Okay,” reaching a hand up to rest lightly on the back of his neck, stroking the soft fuzz of his hair just at the nape.  He was a little warm, as I expected, but not dangerously so.  

I stood, dropping a gentle kiss to his temple, and – after taking care of business in the ladies’ room – went back to the table.  Tommy joined me there about 10 minutes later, still pale and sniffling but obviously determined to hold it together. 

The next several hours were spent leisurely eating food, drinking wine, watching football on the huge 60” plasma TV, and wandering all over the fire house talking to the various volunteers and learning about their lives.  Tommy was often absent, but I was resolved not to be a nag.   

I even got to slide down the brass pole.  Twice.

By 8:00 p.m. we were all so full we were ready to pop.  The guys had plied me with glass after glass of red wine (they didn’t drink, being on-call) and the world was woozy and soft, wonderfully fuzzy around the edges. 

“Thanks, guys!” I called loudly and cheerily, hearing their good-natured laughs and goodbye's echo behind us as we headed for the front door.  “Everything was incredible.”

“Come back anytime,” Kirk held my coat while Tommy steadied my shoulders, and it took the combined efforts of both men to get my arms into the sleeves and the buttons done up properly.  Laughing, the stocky firefighter gave me a rib-cracking hug before passing me back to the safety of Tommy’s arms.  “You’re always welcome.” 

“Thagks, bad,” Tommy rasped as the two men exchanged a one-armed man-hug while my gentle boyfriend kept me from falling into the wall.  “We appreciatde id.”

“Take care of that cold,” Kirk’s voice dropped low, maybe hoping I wouldn’t hear.  “You know how you get.”

Tommy grunted, a sound both dismissive and a little annoyed, but he allowed the shorter man to thump him on the back before we stepped out into the cold night air.

Almost immediately, Tommy began to cough.  Thick, wheezy spasms that caused us both to wobble a little as he helped me cross the parking lot. 

Tommy managed to get me back to the Jeep without letting me fall on my face, which I could feel was split wide in some dopey, alcohol-induced grin despite his obvious illness.  My big, brawny biker gently tucked me into the passenger seat and closed the door, and then I watched blearily through the rear-view mirrors as he fished his inhaler from his jacket pocket and stopped behind the Jeep to take a couple of hits. 

We drove home in near silence, punctuated only by Tommy’s whistling coughs and stubbornly stifled sneezes. 

“hyieh-GXNch!...  hk’KNCHtt!-NXGttsh!” 

At one point, I think I tried to say something to him.  “T-Tommy…”

But he shushed me softly, bringing our laced fingers up to plant soft-lipped kisses to the back of my hand.

It was an effective distraction.

Ever the gentleman, Tommy escorted me into my house and helped me get undressed.  I had intended to take his temperature with an actual thermometer, to make him some hot tea and tuck him into bed alongside me…

… but I passed out.

Edited October 30, 2019 by starpollen

[crypticsweetheart]

I live for the suspense! Great addition👌🏽

[BlueGirl]

3 hours ago, starpollen said:

Ever the gentleman, Tommy escorted me into my house and helped me get undressed.  I had intended to take his temperature with an actual thermometer, to make him some hot tea and tuck him into bed alongside me…

… but I passed out.

No no no! No passing out! Hayley! Wake up and look after Tommy!

 

This is so good - thank you so much for posting. 

[Privatedancer]

This is amazing - can’t wait to read more

[rockbell]

I love this so so so MUCH!! Can't wait to read what happens next!!!

[Victoria]

Me too!  Thanks for posting.

[Sierra]

please more?
LOVing this!

[daystar428]

Oh man, I love these two and im so happy to get to read more of the story. I'll cross my fingers on the adult board portions 😉

Especially many thanks for sharing the Google docs, I can't wait to reread the other precious parts and in chronological order.

Poor Tommy and poor Hayley! I'm looking forward to the next part😍