Page 163 of If Ever

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I stare at Chelsea's phone, hoping she'll call to see if someone has found it. But it remains aggravatingly silent. I've charged it and kept it near me at all times, other than when I'm on stage. Despite my efforts, I still can't get past her security code to find out who she last called, so it lays there useless in my hand.

Did she fly back to Iowa? If she did, why hasn't she called Anna? If Chelsea's goal was to disappear, she's done a damn good job of it. But what if something terrible has happened? New York can be dangerous.

Concentrating on the show is killing me. I can't turn off thinking about her, put her disappearance in a drawer, and pretend it's not tearing me apart. But I have a responsibility to the audience and the other cast members. Both Paige and Wes ask what's wrong. I need to pull myself together.

The next morning, after another miserable night alone, my soulmate missing, I call a few budget hotels to see if she might be registered, but no luck. I stop by our favorite coffee shop, but there's no sign of her.

Forcing myself through another night at work, a call comes through to my dressing room that I have a visitor at the stage door, an unusual occurrence right before curtain. I pray for Chelsea to be standing there. But she's not.

I'm taken aback when I see Dominic. I nearly double over with relief. "You know where she is."

He nods, and all my pent up stress and fear lift. "Thank God. I've been out of my mind."

"I'm sorry, man."

"It never occurred to me that Chelsea could be with you."

"She insisted I not tell you, but she's really sick. She's burning up with fever and mumbling a lot. I fly back to L.A. in the morning and I don't think she should be left alone."

An image of Chelsea alone and suffering flashes in my brain. I need to see her and make sure she's really there. "Give me two minutes. I'll come with you now."

Dominic glances at the people hustling about and looks confused. "But you have a show.”

I try to come up with an excuse to skip out, but can't. I kick the wall.

"I gave her something to help with the fever. I don't think there's anything more you could do right now. I just couldn't put off telling you any longer."

I shove a hand through my hair dislodging my mic. The five minutes to curtain call sounds over the intercom. "Shit!"

How am I supposed to concentrate for the next two and half hours? But I don't have a choice. "The second the curtain closes I'll be there."

Dominic lets me in the apartment, and I follow him to a small bedroom smelling of sweat and sickness. A bedside lamp casts a soft glow. Chelsea is sprawled on her back wearing her skimpy black tank top and panties. My instinct is to block her from Dominic's view. I know he treats her like a sister. Still, it bothers me. Her hair is dirty and the covers are tangled in her legs. The way she lays limp scares the hell out of me.

"She keeps kicking off the covers," Dominic says, reading my thoughts.

Sitting on the side of her bed, I pull the sheet up. She's like a furnace; her breathing is rapid. Dark circles mar the delicate skin below her lashes. I take her hand and she doesn't stir.

"Do you have a thermometer?" I ask, not taking my eyes off her beautiful face.

"I'll look." He disappears.

I touch Chelsea's cheek, her face is rosy with fever and her dry lips are cracked. "Oh, Chelsea, love. I'm sorry." Then I notice the unicorn necklace I gave her. It lays against her heated skin and mocks me. Chelsea is as skittish as the fabled creature.

Dominic returns with a thermometer. I lift her arm long enough to slide the thermometer in place. "You're going to be okay. I'm here," I whisper.

"Mom?" she mumbles.

Dominic and I share a glance. "Shh," I say to soothe her.

She moans, "I want to go home."

My heart breaks.

"I'll give you some privacy." Dominic backs out of the room.

I rest my forehead to the back of her hand, her slender fingers delicate in my grip. The thermometer beeps. I hold it under the light, 103.2. That's really high. The pill bottle is on the nightstand, but the water glass is almost empty.

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