Page 175 of Offside Devil

There’s sweat around the collar of his shirt and the longer I look at him, the more I see his lips have a blue tinge.

My heart lurches into my throat. I shake his shoulder a bit harder. “Aiden. Wake up, buddy. Come on.” His eyelids flutter, and I keep shaking. “Can you hear me?”

Finally, one eye cracks open, and I sag in relief.

“Mira?” His voice is a tiny, broken, hoarse little croak. “Can… can I h-have a popsicle?”

It doesn’t exactly ease the lump in my throat, but things can’t be so far gone if he still wants a popsicle.

Except Aiden barely has the strength to sit up, let alone hold a popsicle. I have to hold a pink one to his lips while I furiously Google his symptoms with my other hand.

I’m scrolling through an article about tuberculosis when Aiden shoves the popsicle away and doubles over in a cough. He coughs and coughs and coughs.

His lungs rattle and he’s coughing so hard he can’t catch his breath. His lips go from blue-tinged to full-on blue.

I pat his back and rub his shoulders, but I’m helpless. There’s nothing I can do.

He finally sinks back into his bed, but he waves away the popsicle when I try to offer it to him.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

He opens his mouth like he’ll respond. Then his eyes flutter closed and he falls immediately to sleep.

When I take his temperature again, it’s gone up.

I text Zane. Aiden isn’t doing well. He has a high fever and is exhausted. I think we should call the doctor.

I know he’s at practice, but I still wait for the message to go from delivered to read. My leg bounces as minutes pass and Aiden doesn’t show any signs of waking up.

Five minutes is my breaking point. When Zane still hasn’t even opened my message, I text Evan. I think I need a ride to the emergency room. Aiden is really sick, and I’m worried.

Evan responds immediately. On my way.

I pack a bag with snacks Aiden probably won’t eat and fill his Spiderman bottle with water he probably won’t drink.

As I throw puzzles and crayons in the bag, I call Zane two more times.

Nothing.

So I call Daniel.

“Mirabella,” Daniel croons in a terrible Italian accent. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Aiden is sick and I can’t get in touch with Zane.” The words come out in a frantic rush. It’s the first time I’ve actually said it out loud. “Do you know where Zane is?”

“Of course I’m not at the arena today,” Daniel mumbles. He curses under his breath. “You could call Hanna.”

I grimace. “I was trying to avoid that.”

“Sometimes, she works from the press room at the arena. She might be nearby and be able to get Zane a message.”

“Okay. Thanks, D.”

I hang up and call Hanna, but for the first time since I met her, I’m disappointed not to hear her voice. Her voicemail pings to let me know I can leave a message.

“Hi, um, it’s Mira… Zane’s— Aiden’s nanny,” I correct. “Aiden is sick and I’m wanting to let Zane know, but he isn’t answering his phone. If you see him, could you let him know? Um, thanks.”

The message won’t do much to convince Hanna I’m not some braindead gold digger, but whatever. If she can get a message to Zane, it will all be worth it.

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