Page 41 of Trigger

Iserved him soup and sat across from him.

“Same.Doc removed the bandage and replaced it with a Band-Aid. I don’t have aninfection, but I have to change the Band-Aid regularly.”

“I’llhelp you,” Thorsen said, looking around. “I like your place, by the way.”

Ifollowed his gaze around the open space that was a living room, dining room,and kitchen all-in-one. “Thanks. Vic thinks it’s too small.”

“Ibet,” he said with a chuckle, taking a spoonful of soup. “By the way, this souptastes delicious, man.”

“Yousound hoarse. Does your throat hurt?”

Helooked at me, and the sudden intensity in the blue irises made me tense up. Itreminded me of the bunker when he watched me in the darkness, thinking that Iwas asleep, while I was drowning in the ocean his eyes conjured up for me. Orhow he used to make silly jokes to make us forget that we would probably die inthat stinking pit. Or how he sometimes hooked his pinkie around mine as we laynext to each other because we needed it down there. What was I saying again? Hehad the uncanny ability to make me lose my train of thought. And why was hestill looking at me funny?

Yeah,enough small talk for today.

“Anyway,”I murmured, clearing my throat and standing up. “Your room is down the hall tothe right. Do you need anything else?”

Mycheeks felt warm. Maybe I was getting sick too.

“No,thanks,” he said, his eyes never leaving me. “And thanks for letting me crashat your place. I appreciate it.”

“Erm…yeah. No problem.”

“I’lltake care of the dishes. It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay.Good night.”

“Night.”

Chapter 9

Sick

Carter

A loudthump woke me up. It sounded like a minor earthquake, and it took me a momentto realize it came from somewhere in my apartment. I jumped out of bed andbarged into the spare bedroom, only to find Thorsen sprawled on the floor.

“Whatthe fuck?” I muttered, hurrying towards him. “Are you okay?”

Hewasn’t moving.

“Thorsen?”I said, crouching next to him. “Thorsen? Tye? Tye? Wake up, damn it! I’m notgiving you mouth-to-mouth. Do you hear me?”

“Hmm?”he murmured, still motionless. “A kiss?”

He wasalive. Thank God.

“Getup,” I said, shaking him. “You’ll get sick.”

Heignored me, so I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled him up on hisknees.

“Icouldn’t fall asleep because of your damn cologne,” he murmured, scrambling tohis feet. “I could smell you everywhere.”

“Whatare you even talking about?” I said, panting under his weight.

Ihelped him up until he collapsed on the bed face-down, murmuring somethingunintelligible in French. I rolled my eyes and covered him with a blanket, onlyto realize that he looked awful. His face was pale, his cheeks had an unhealthyflush, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. When I felt his forehead, Icursed under my breath. He was burning up.

Ihurried out of the room only to return with some pills and a glass of water.

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