Page 136 of Well Played

12

Summer

Pushingthe gadgets and machinery that he just used to look in my eyes to the side, the doctor stares at me with a serious look on his face.

“Have you ever had chickenpox?”

I nod and panic internally. He can’t be going where I think he is. “I have chickenpox? In my eye? That makes no sense. Whatever this is, it’s only on my right side, and chickenpox are everywhere.”

“It’s not chickenpox.”

I blow out a relieved breath. “Thank God.” Just the thought had my nerves about to snap. Chickenpox would mean two weeks away from everyone. Two more weeks of missing league. Two weeks away from Nico.

“It’s shingles.”

“Shingles?!” That’s even worse! No. I must’ve heard wrong. “Don’t you have to be fifty or sixty to get shingles?”

“There’s no minimum age. Itismore common in older people because they tend to have a weaker immune system, andthe immunity they have weakens. Most of the time, it’s not a big deal, but we worry when we see them in the eye... blah, blah, blah. Recommend you’re admitted... blah, blah, blah.”

The doctor leaves the room, and I feel like he kicked me in the teeth and body slammed me on the floor. I didn’t mean to zone out, but once I heard shingles, my brain glitched, and I didn’t hear half of what he said. My eyes search Nico out.

The fact that I’m looking to a man I couldn’t stand and considered a major pain in the ass a few hours ago for comfort and reassurance worries me. He’s the last person I should want to console or cheer me up. But I can’t think of anyone better at the moment.

“Are you okay?” He leans on the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at me. “You look panicked.”

“Why can’t I go home?”

Nico pulls the wheeled stool over and sits down in front of me like the diagnosis doesn’t faze him at all. “The intravenous antiviral medication is more effective than the oral, and with the shingles in your eye, he’s concerned about vision loss.”

Vision loss? I’m twenty-four. My vision should be perfect. I look around the room, searching for a window. There isn’t one. Maybe this is for the best because, at the moment, I’d probably try to jump through it.

The happy-go-lucky nurse that’s been popping in and out of the room escorts us to another drab, windowless room. She instructs me to have a seat on the gurney that takes up most of the space.

“Here’s a gown for you to change into. I’ll be back in a minute to take your vitals and give you something to help with your pain.” She smiles, acting way too chipper for how I feel. When she leaves the room, she closes the door behind her.

Nico approaches the bed. “I’ll leave while you change.”

“No.” I reach out and graze my fingers across his muscular forearm. His dark eyes widen in surprise as flames flare in them. Then again, what do I know? I can only really see with one eye. “I’m going to stay in my clothes.”

“Lie back.” I do as I’m told, and he helps me get comfortable, raising the head on the gurney until I’m satisfied with the angle, then repositioning the pillows behind my head and back.

Without saying anything, he ghosts his fingers over my arm, sending a warm chill down my spine. My teeth chatter. Why did he pick today of all days to be nice and get touchy-feely? Still at my side, he gives my calf a gentle squeeze. I don’t expect to enjoy the tingling warmth his touch leaves on my skin.

“Nico?”

He backs away. And there it is. A new low level of disappointment takes over. Not just because I have to stay here for two weeks, but because without the excuse of spikeball, once Nico walks out of here, I might not see him again.

“Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. Are doing.”

Nico nods, looking like he wants to say something. He takes a deep breath, filling his chest. His shoulders rise, and I wait, dreading the goodbye I expect will follow.

“Summer, I...”

He trails off as the door opens and the nurse returns, carrying a warm blanket, a vial, and a syringe. After covering me, she goes through her routine of checking the information on my bracelet, scanning it, and administering the medication through my IV.

Neither Nico nor I say anything for a few minutes after she leaves. He stands close to the door, and his eyes travel around the room. Something changed. The warmth and kindness he’s shown today evaporated. He’s back to being distant, and it makes me feel self-conscious and uneasy.

“You had chickenpox?” Nico asks, looking perplexed. “Weren’t you vaccinated as a kid?”

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