Page 83 of Keep Me

I shrug off my long-sleeve shirt and sit on the bed next to where Sylvie is sleeping. “Sylvie, I need you to wake up, darling.”

“Hmm.”

“I need to take your temperature.”

Her mouth opens as if she’s waiting. Quickly, I pick up the thermometer, press the button, and place it gently in her mouth. She closes her lips and we wait. When I hear the beep, I pull it out and read it.

Thirty-eight.

No need for the ambulance, then.

“I’ve got some medicine for you, mo ghràidh.”

With a look of discomfort, she moves herself into a half-sitting position. I quickly shake out two pills from the bottle and place them in her mouth and hand her the water. She gulps it down before falling back down to the pillow.

When she lets out a cough, I pause and stare at her with concern. But it was just a cough, and within seconds, she’s back to sleep.

Affectionately, I brush back her hair. Staring at her like this makes me feel as if my heart is suddenly outside my own body. How could she possibly understand the hold she has on me?

Sylvie is not perfect. She has flaws, but she wears them on her skin like scars. And it makes her so much more beautiful.

I have scars too, but I keep mine hidden behind humor and whisky. I stay locked away in my parents’ house and I lie to myself every single day, saying I could leave if I wanted to.

For her, I could be better. I could leave this house more. I could be a real man. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. If that’s what she needs.

Give her what she needs, and she’ll be fine.

I refuse to be like that man in the book.

Standing up, I tear off the rest of my clothes until I’m down to my boxers. Then, I climb under the covers next to my wife. She gravitates toward me, resting her face on my chest. It pains me to feel how hot her skin is.

But after a little while, I notice that the temperature slowly drops. By the time I drift off, she feels almost normal, so I feel as if I can rest. I know it’s just the medicine and the fever will likely be back in the morning, but for now we can at least sleep.

So, I do.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

When I emerge from the shower with a towel wrapped around my waist to find my wife, with her red nose and glassy eyes, putting on a pair of boots, I gape in horror.

“I need to get out of this house, Killian. I’m going out of my mind,” she argues.

“You’re still sick,” I bark as I cross the room and steal her boot from her.

“I’ve been lying in this bed for three days. My fever is gone. I just have some congestion left. It’s nothing.”

My jaw clenches in frustration. The morning after she got her fever, she woke up with nothing but endless sneezing and coughing. I was a mess for days, trying to give her what she needed. Medicine, rest, water, food.

Normally when I get sick, I just sleep for days, but Sylvie is stubborn as hell. Over the last three days, she fought me on every decision. She hated having me dote on her and worry about her. I assume it’s because she’s just not used to it.

“You’re not leaving, Sylvie.” I keep my voice low and my tone flat.

She stands up in a huff. “Are you keeping me prisoner now?” The force she uses to yell at me sends her into a fit of coughs. She collapses back onto the bed to catch her breath.

There’s a swell of pity in my stomach from seeing her struggle so much. Sylvie isn’t like me. She hates feeling cooped up in the house, and I know she longs for fresh air.

“Come on,” I say.

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