Page 93 of Fire
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I don’t feel well.”
His hand goes to my forehead. “You feel warm.”
I give him an amused grin as I swing my legs off the bed. “That is not an accurate way to check for a fever.”
“Yeah, well, it always seemed to work for my mom.”
I rise to my feet, determined to grab my medical bag and a fresh T-shirt, but before I can take a single step, my head starts to spin.
“Zara?” I can hear the note of concern in his voice as I reach for the side of the bed. His hand is around my waist, guiding me back down to the bed before I have a chance to respond to him.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “Can you grab me my—” But he’s already halfway across the room to get it.
“On it,” he says over his shoulder. A moment later, he returns with my med bag, a new shirt—Is he telepathic?—and a bottle of water.
He kneels in front of me and unzips the bag, then lets me take over, knowing I have the inside organized within an inch of my life. I grab the thermometer, but he swiftly swipes it out of my hand.
“Hey!” I protest. “Who’s the professional here?”
“Who’s the one who can barely stand?” he counters.
“Fine. I guess it’s not that hard.” I gesture toward the thermometer and then to my forehead, prompting him to roll his eyes.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doc.” He turns it on and holds it close to my forehead, waits for the beep, and then sighs. “Looks like you’re not going anywhere today.” He turns it around to show me. It’s just under one hundred and one.
Dammit.
I glance down at my watch. We’re supposed to be at his family’s house in two hours, and now he will have to go without me.
“I’m so sorry,” I start to say, but I have to stop myself because my stomach lurches, and suddenly I’m leaping off the bed and sprinting toward the bathroom.
Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.
I make it just in time to heave my guts into the toilet. It feels like I’m there for an hour at least, but it’s probably a minute tops. By the time I’m done, I’m physically exhausted. I didn’t realize just how weak I was feeling until my body decided to try to exorcise a demon. But now I’m feeling everything, and it all hurts. My whole fucking body feels like it got run over by a truck.
“You okay?”
I hadn’t even noticed he was here. But as I flush the toilet and grab some toilet paper to wipe the tears quickly, and whatever else is on my face, I realize he’s been here the whole damn time. I think he even held my hair back.
I groan, letting my head fall back to rest against the wall. “You did not need to see that.”
“Did you think I was just going to stand out there while you were getting so sick you started to sob?”
I was sobbing? I don’t exactly remember that, but it explains the tears.
“I hate throwing up, so I wouldn’t blame you. Give me blood and guts all damn day long, but this? No fucking thank you.” My voice is hoarse as I make a valiant effort to stand. I can’t even get halfway. It’s pretty pathetic. Hendrix steps in, wraps an arm around my waist, and lifts me up.
“Well, I guess we make a good team, don’t we?”
I swallow, feeling a surge of emotions catch in my throat. “Yeah. I guess we do.”
He holds my gaze for a moment before he says, “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
He takes a step toward the door. “Wait!” I exclaim. “Please let me preserve an ounce of dignity. Can I brush my teeth first?”
His eyes sparkle with warmth, and he chuckles. “Sure, but then it’s straight to bed.”
“Yes, doctor,” I quip as he helps me walk the short distance to the counter. He promptly lifts me so I can sit on it rather than stand another minute on my Jell-O legs.
