Page 29 of Three of a Kind

Her head shakes as her fingers dig into my side. She groans something that I can’t make out.

I tilt my head down, brushing my lips over her forehead.

It wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me.

She’s burning up.

Maybe I should carry her in and help her take a cold shower?

Fuck.

I don’t even know if fever reducers are safe to take during pregnancy.

It’s not like I can take her to urgent care or a hospital. Not unless we wake up Libby and bring her with us.

That sends me down a whole different spiral of how she’s supposed to manage everything alone while she’s sick.

Okay, so the first thing I should do is carry her to bed. Then I’ll look for a thermometer and do a quick internet search to determine if she needs a hospital.

I scoop her up like a bride, with only a little maneuvering, and stride toward her bedroom, like I have the right.

Jesus Christ.

This could be bad.

I’ve already invaded her room once—the night I put her and Libby down to sleep in there before I left.

I very nearly put Libby in her own room, but I was concerned Brooklyn would be terrified if she woke up and didn’t immediately spot her daughter.

As I gently nudge the door open with my foot, Brooklyn rubs her face against my T-shirt.

“Whoa,” she whispers, clutching at my back since her arm ended up tucked under mine. “Noble?”

“I’ve got you,” I assure her. “You’re running a fever. Do you have a thermometer?”

“I’m okay,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “I think so, anyway. I just don’t feel great.”

I hold her weight with one forearm as I grab her comforter, tugging it back, then set her onto the mattress. “Here you go. Get settled in. Now, about that thermometer…”

She immediately rolls onto her side, pulling her legs up until she’s nearly in the fetal position. “It’s not dangerous.”

“The fever?” I brush her sweaty hair back from her face.

“Yeah. It’s not at a level to worry about.”

“I’d still feel better if I checked it. I need to know where we stand.” My thumb teases over her cheek. “Is it in the bathroom?”

“Medicine cabinet. Second shelf.” Her eyes close, and I head to grab that.

Brooklyn lets me take her temperature, but only after some nonsensical mumbling and complaining.

By the time it beeps, it looks like she’s sleeping. I gently pull the thermometer free and frown when it reads 104.3.

A beta or alpha would be in bad shape with a temperature that high.

“What is it?” she asks without opening her eyes. I fill her in, and she swipes a hand through the air. “That’s not bad at all for an omega.”

“It doesn’t seem great to me,” I mutter, ripping the cover off the device and tossing it in the trash before setting the thermometer down on the end table.

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