Page 38 of Sweet Doe
He's right, and we both know it. Whatever this is—Stockholm syndrome, trauma bonding, actual attraction—it'sreal.
Chapter Twelve
ASHER
She’s been sick for days.
It started with nausea. A few waves of dizziness, cold sweats, shivers that wouldn’t quit—but then the fever hit. Hard. Full-body tremors, skin burning one minute and freezing the next. She curled in on herself like something broken, and I haven’t stopped watching her chest rise and fall since.
Because if it stops?—
Ifshestops?—
I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do.
I held her hair while she puked. Hauled her limp body to bed when her legs buckled. Fed her broth one spoonful at a time while she whimpered and turned away. I’ve sat up all goddamn night, rag on her forehead, whispering her name like it might anchor her here, and yeah, I’ve pictured losing her.
Because fear’s a sick bastard like that. It plays the end on a loop before you even get close.
I’ve been sick before. Worse than this. I know what it’s like to burn up while no one gives a shit.
When I was a kid, my parents sent me and Alex up to the mountains during one of their precious charity events. Saidwe were a distraction. Both of us got sick—some virus tearing through us like wildfire.
Alex got antibiotics.
I got ignored.
They stuck me in a shed out back. No heat. No light. Just a cot and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding like a countdown. I saw things—heard things. Whispers from the rafters, shadows that moved when they shouldn’t. I thought I was dying. Almost hoped I was.
Meanwhile, Alex got tucked in, medicated, and monitored. I didn’t even get a fucking blanket.
That’s when I figured it out. What I meant to them. What Ididn’tmean. An extra. A mistake.
But Sloan, she’s not extra. She’severything.
Watching her like this? Eyes glassy. Lips cracked. Skin pale and drenched in sweat? It’s hell. Every second she’s like this, I feel something unspooling inside me. Tightening around my ribs. Clawing at the parts of me I keep buried.
Because if she doesn’t make it?—
If I fail her now…I won’t come back from it.
She’s mine, and I don’t lose what’s mine.
She doesn’t even know. Doesn’t understand the weight of her existence, how it’s tethered to mine now. If she goes, I unravel. Simple as that. No plan B. No next fucking chapter. Just ash.
But today… Today she looks a little better.
Her fever’s broken. Her eyes are a little clearer. I noticed her voice came back in soft, raspy little bursts this morning when she asked for water without flinching. She even managed to eat a few spoonfuls of stew. Which after the last few days, is enough for me to breathe again.
Barely.
I’m still shaken. Still rattled. Still not okay.
Because if a fucking stomach bug almost took her from me, what else might?
Men. Wolves. The cold. Her own goddamn defiance.
I can’t lose her. I won’t.
