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She sobbed into her hands, making soft, choked sounds as she cried. Everything felt so terrible that she wanted to wail—the instinct was difficult to resist—but she fought against it because there was no way she could wake up Jude.

He was the sick one. He needed to sleep all day if possible. And she needed to get control of herself so she could help him in all the ways he needed.

After several minutes, she managed to restrain her tears enough to lift her head and straighten up. As soon as she did, she saw Jude in the doorway of the bathroom.

“Oh no,” she gasped, jumping up and moving toward him. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Do you need to—?” She gestured toward the toilet, praying he wasn’t going to throw up again.

“I’m okay.” His voice was full of gravel, and his eyelids were only half-open. His hair was a tangled mess, and he still didn’t have enough color in his face. But his eyes searched her face. “I was checking on you.”

He didn’t sound like his normal articulate self, but he was a lot more lucid than he’d been before.

“I’m fine,” she said, hurriedly wiping her face in the futile hope he wouldn’t see she’d been crying. “Since you’re up, why don’t you go to the bathroom, and then you need to lie back down. It’s only been a few hours. How’s your head?”

“The headache isn’t gone, but it’s better than it was. And you’re not fine.” He frowned at her, groggy and disapproving.

“Yes, I am.” She didn’t want to get in an argument with him, but she was afraid he was going to be stubborn.

He was barely past a crisis. He didn’t need to be fussing over her.

She closed the bathroom door with him inside so he could pee in privacy. She heard him going and then heard the toilet flush and the water in the sink.

It was then she opened the door back up.

His hair was loose and falling into his face as he leaned forward slightly, and his pajama pants were sliding down too low past his hips. She could see the very top of his butt crack. He was barefoot.

He peered at her through the reflection in the mirror while he dried his hands. Then he walked over to the shower and turned the water on.

“You’re going to take a shower?” she asked, pulling a towel down for him and hanging it on the nearby hook.

“No. You’re going to take one.” He stuck his hand under the spray to check the temperature and adjusted the knob.

“I don’t need?—”

“Stop it, Eve. You keep wincing like your back is hurting, and you look like you’re about to fall over. So you’re going to get in the shower and then put on some clean clothes, and then you’re going to get into bed and get some rest.”

She froze, startled by a tidal wave of so many emotions all at once. “You don’t get to boss me around,” she whispered, staring at him.

“Yes, I do.”

She sucked in a breath, still trapped in a dizzying contradiction of feelings. Like she hated and wanted and needed this all at the exact same time.

“I’m still not feeling good,” he added in a different tone. “I’m not up to having an argument, so just do this for me. Please.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word.

Her shoulders started to shake. She had to tighten her face to keep from crying again.

Jude didn’t say anything or react. He felt the water again and must have been satisfied because he stepped over and grabbed the skirt of her nightgown with both hands, then pulled it over her head and dropped it onto the floor.

She was naked beneath it. He gently guided her into the shower.

She didn’t fight or argue. She moved under the spray and burst into tears again.

She cried in the shower for a long time. She hated the fact that Jude could hear, but he left the bathroom after a couple of minutes, so that made her feel better.

He needed to lie down.

And she needed to be stronger.

She was falling apart, and she hadn’t hidden it well enough from Jude.

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