Page 21 of Byte

Gabby nodded with a grin. “Yes, they are. I fell asleep as soon as I sat down the last time I was here.”

“You can thank Keegan. She picked them out.”

“My sister picked out your beds?” Gabby asked in surprise.

“Actually, I think your grandmother helped, too.”

“How did that happen?”

I shrugged. “Right after I bought this place, I realized I had no idea how to furnish it, so I asked Keegan for help.” Truthfully, I’d lived with the bare minimum for years, so when I finally bought a house, I wanted it to feel like a home. Keegan and Shaker’s place had always felt like a home, so I thought she was the perfect person to ask.

For some strange reason, the fact that I hadn’t known how to decorate my house on my own made me feel vulnerable, so I changed the subject. “Who’s hungry?”

“Me!” Gabby and Flint said at the same time.

We ordered pizza and started watching a movie after we ate, but Gabby fell asleep within the first fifteen minutes. I knew she was tired, so I carried her to bed and went back downstairs to finish the movie with Flint.

“Does Gabby usually sleep this late?”Flint asked.

I glanced at the time and realized it was close to eleven. “I’m not sure, but based on the few days I’ve spent with her, I’m going to say no. I’ll go check on her.”

I knocked on the door a few times, but she didn’t answer. I slowly opened the door and stepped inside to find her asleep in bed. “Gabby,” I called. She didn’t budge. “Gabby,” I said again and walked to the side of the bed. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I gently jostled her. “Gabby, wake up.”

She blinked her eyes open and looked at me in confusion. “Byte?” she croaked and started coughing.

“Sorry. It’s after eleven, and I didn’t know if you wanted to sleep this late. Are you okay?”

She started to sit up and quickly dropped back onto the pillow. “I’m not sure. I don’t feel very good.”

I placed my hand on her forehead and was shocked at how warm she felt. “I think you might be running a fever.”

She sniffled and coughed again. “Do you have a thermometer?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” I said, then hurried to my bathroom to retrieve it.

When I returned, Gabby had propped herself up in bed, and she looked awful. Her pale skin, coupled with the darkness under her glassy eyes, had my concern growing.

“Maybe we should call Patch,” I suggested.

“It’s probably just a cold,” she said, and placed the thermometer under her tongue.

I was by no means an expert, but I was pretty sure she had more than the common cold. My suspicion was confirmed when the thermometer beeped. “One hundred and four point two.”

“What?” Gabby gasped. “No, that can’t be right.”

“It is,” I said and showed her the number displayed on the digital screen. “I’m calling Patch.”

“Fine,” she said and covered her mouth when she started coughing again.

Her response surprised me. I expected her to refuse and was ready to argue my point. Instead, I nodded once and stepped out of the room to call Patch.

After explaining the situation and sharing Gabby’s symptoms, he asked me to bring her to his office so he could examine her. She didn’t want to go, but I told her she didn’t have a choice. She could go willingly, or she could be carried to the truck and driven there, but she was going.

“Fine,” she huffed and got out of bed to get dressed. She took two steps and started to sway. I reached out to steady her and guided her back to the bed.

“You don’t need to change. You’re sick and going to the doctor. No one cares what you’re wearing.”

“I care,” she grumbled. “Will you get my brush out of my bag? I’m at least going to brush my hair. And I’d like to brush my teeth, too.”

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