Page 34 of Sweet Doe
“Come on.” I crouch beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “We’re going back.”
“I can walk?—”
“You can barely stand, sweet doe.”
She protests, but her knees wobble when she tries to straighten. Without another word, I scoop her up.
She doesn’t fight me this time.
Her body folds into mine like she belongs there.
I walk us back through the snow, heart hammering in my throat. She’s so light. Too light. Her fingers curl against my coat like she’s cold and trying not to ask for help. Her cheek rests against my collarbone, hot with fever.
Something’s fucking wrong.
By the time we make it to the cabin, I’m coated in sweat despite the cold. I set her down gently on the couch and throw another log on the fire. The flames hiss and crackle to life, filling the space with warmth and flickering orange light.
She groans and curls into herself.
“You need water,” I mutter, grabbing a thermos from the shelf and twisting the lid off. “Blanket’s already here, I have fever meds upstairs... Hang on.”
I move quickly.
Up the stairs, two at a time. Grab the bottle of fever meds off the nightstand, swipe a fresh pillow off the bed with one hand and a clean rag with the other. When I come back down, she hasn’t moved much—still curled up under the throw blanket,looking pale and miserable, a faint sheen of sweat slicking her forehead.
I throw everything into the bedroom, then lean in and lift her gently into my arms. She mumbles something—too soft to catch—but she doesn’t fight it. Just sags into me like her bones are too heavy to carry on their own.
“Shh, I got you.”
I carry her to our room, then lower myself onto the bed, shift the pillow behind me, and pull her down against my chest. Her head finds the dip just below my collarbone. I tuck the blanket tighter around her and pull the trash can closer, setting it right beside the bed, just in case.
“Sit up for a second,” I murmur, uncapping the pill bottle.
She tries. It’s slow, groggy, but she gets there with my help. I press two pills into her palm and hold the thermos to her lips. “Small sips,” I say, voice gentler than I knew I could be. “Don’t rush it.”
She obeys. Swallows the meds. Grimaces like even that took too much effort.
I set the water down and guide her back against me, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Her skin is clammy, her pulse fluttering too fast beneath her wrist. I press the cool rag to her forehead, brushing damp strands of hair out of her face.
“I’ll take care of you,” I whisper, like a vow. “No one ever did that for me. Not really. Not when it mattered.”
She doesn’t say anything back. Her eyes are already fluttering closed, but I know she hears me, and for now, that’s enough.
Her breathing slows, and she shifts closer, her fingers brushing against my thigh softly as she looks up, eyes half-lidded, voice fragile as glass.
“I’ll never leave you like they left me.”
It takes me a second to realize I said it aloud.
Her gaze holds mine.
Then, slowly, she reaches for my hand. Pulls my wrist toward her. Her fingers tracing the scars hidden beneath my sleeve that are now no more than raised lines, faded but permanent.
Her touch is featherlight. Almost reverent.
“I understand now,” she whispers, and somehow, in that moment, her warmth is the only thing in the whole fucking world that feels real.
Chapter Eleven
