Page 40 of Tides of Discovery
“Cooper, you need to be at the shop. You don’t have to?—”
“I know I don’t have to,” I cut him off gently. “I want to. Now take the medicine and stop arguing.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his feverish face. “Bossy.”
“You like it.” I pressed the glass and pills into his hands.
He took the fever reducer without further protest, then allowed me to steer him back to his bedroom. The sheets were sweat-soaked, blankets tangled in a heap at the foot of the bed.
“When did you last change these?” I asked, though I could guess the answer.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Been a little busy being sick.”
“I’m changing them before you get back in.”
“Cooper, seriously, you don’t need to?—”
“Jack,” I said firmly. “I’m helping. Do you feel up to taking a quick shower? It might help you feel a little better.”
“I can try,” he said, his voice weak.
I pulled a clean T-shirt and sleep pants from his dresser and handed them over. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
Jack nodded and trudged slowly toward the bathroom. The water ran, then stopped after what couldn’t have been more than three minutes. When he emerged, his hair damp, he looked marginally better but completely drained.
“Jack,” I said firmly, “sit down before you fall down.”
He sat in the corner chair and watched through fever-bright eyes as I stripped his bed and replaced the sheets with fresh ones from his closet. It was such an intimate task, handling the bedding where he slept, remaking his private space. Yet, it felt completely natural to take care of him.
“There.” I pulled back the clean sheets. “Much better. In you go.”
Jack shuffled back to the bed and practically collapsed onto it, his body clearly at the end of its resources. I pulled the covers up around him and repositioned the trash can next to his bed in case he blew chunks. I resisted the urge to smooth his hair back from his forehead like my mother used to do for me when I was little. Before…well, before.
“I’m going to grab you a bottle of Gatorade.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Try to rest.”
“You really don’t have to stay,” he mumbled, but his eyes were already drifting closed. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m staying,” I said simply. “Sleep now.”
I returned to the kitchen and sent a text to Jessica to let her know I was at Jack’s and would stay to take care of him. She replied,K.
An unexpected wave of possessive satisfaction ran through me. Jack needed someone, and that someone was me. Not because of The Boyfriend Bargain, not because I was his closest friend, but because I chose to be the person who helped him through this.
I placed Gatorade and crackers on his bedside table and settled onto his couch with my phone. I could keep myself busy while he slept and stay close enough to check on him regularly. I checked my email, played a game, and every twenty minutes or so, peered into his bedroom to make sure he was still resting comfortably.
Around noon, he woke and vomited, the retching sounding painful enough to make me wince in sympathy. I cleaned the trash bin, gave him a wet cloth for washing, and helped him rinse and spit. I handed him the bottle of Gatorade and helped him sit up. “Small sips.”
“What time is it?” he asked, his voice a ragged whisper.
“Just after noon,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.” He moaned and fell back against the pillows. “Then backed over again to make sure.”
I pressed my palm to his forehead before I could think better of the intimate gesture. He was still burning up, and his skin radiated heat. I took his temperature and read the digital display.
“You’re still too warm,” I said. “But do you think you could eat something to keep up your strength? I’ve got chicken broth.”
“Not sure if I’ll keep it down.”
