Chapter 17 #2
“Ford,” he rushes out, the sense of urgency in his voice making me jump off the couch to put on my shoes and grab my keys. “It’s Ivy. There’s something wrong with her.”
My firefighter training kicks in, making me sound calmer than I am inside. “Are you at home?”
But this is Ivy, which means I can’t keep my fucking heart rate under control, wondering what kind of danger she’s in.
“Yes. She’s sick, Ford. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m on my way. Does she need an ambulance?”
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.”
“All right. I’m on my way,” I repeat. “One minute. I’m hanging up.”
“Okay.”
I don’t bother knocking or ringing the bell. Pushing the front door open, I come face-to-face with an empty living room and kitchen.
“Joe?” I ask in a loud voice.
“Bathroom!” he bellows back.
I’ve seen some bad shit in my years as a firefighter, yet my heart drops in an entirely different way when I see Ivy hunched over the toilet, throwing up, while Joe holds her hair back.
Despite cursing inwardly at least a dozen times in two seconds, I don’t let my I-have-everything-under-control facade slip.
Joe has put his trust in me and is relying on me to take care of the situation, if his phone call is any indication, and I’m not going to let him down. Especially not when Ivy is involved.
I crouch next to her, resting a hand on her back. “I’ve got her. Go get her a glass of water.”
Unsure at first, he eventually nods. Carefully, I wrap Ivy’s long hair around one of my fists, holding it away from her face like her brother had been doing. She lets out a tired moan.
“Shh. It’s okay, baby.” The endearment slips out before I can think better of it. “Do what you need to do, yeah? I’ve got you.”
I just saw her this morning, and she was fine. A little paler than usual and looking tired, sure, but not sick. What could’ve happened between then and now? Did she eat something that upset her stomach?
Another moan. She reaches for something behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“What do you need?” I glance around. “A towel?”
She gives me a faint nod, and I grab one hanging from the shower, which she uses to wipe her mouth. Wordlessly, her hair still in my hand, she flushes the toilet.
“Drink this, Ives,” Joe says, coming back with a glass of water. He brings the rim to her dry lips, which she purses in disgust.
“I don’t want to throw up again,” she mumbles between groans, her eyes barely open.
“I promise you won’t. It’s just water,” I reassure her, letting go of her hair to wrap my arm around her shoulders. We’re still sitting on the tiled floor, and she lets her body fall against mine. Joe passes me the glass of water. “Drink for me. It’ll make you feel better.”
I hate seeing her in pain, but water is a necessary evil. Dehydration will make things worse; if she weren’t feeling so miserable, she would agree.
“Just a little sip,” I say, gently pressing the glass to her lips again. When she only groans and shuts her eyes, I turn to Joe. “How long has she been throwing up for?”
“I don’t know, but a while. I thought she would get better, but….”
“Did she eat anything that could’ve made her throw up?”
“I don’t think so. She didn’t have breakfast, and she was fine this morning. I mean, she looked a little tired, but that was all.” Joe worries his bottom lip between his teeth and lowers his voice. “She can’t be pregnant, right?”
Now’s my turn to feel nauseous.
Pregnant. The word dangles in front of me, tempting the charging bull inside my chest. Because the thought of Ivy getting pregnant by some fucking guy is making me want to beat the living shit out of his imaginary self.
The warmth of her body seeps into my skin as she rolls her head until it falls against my chest.
“I’m not pregnant,” she moans.
Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I focus on what’s important right now. I’ll have plenty of time to dissect my reaction later.
“Drink this for me,” I try again. “Just a little sip, and I’ll carry you to the couch. You won’t have to move again all night if you don’t want to.”
“I have to work,” she mumbles, her eyes still shut.
“No, you don’t. I’ll call my brother and tell him you’re sick.”
“But I—”
“Ives, please,” Joe cuts her off, his voice teetering on the edge of desperation. “You can’t go to work like this. Nash will understand. It’s not the end of the world.”
Something in her brother’s voice must have clicked because, moments later, she gives in and takes a sip.
I’m passing the glass back to Joe once she’s done when she places her hand over mine. My breath hitches, only to make me feel like an idiot when I realize she’s just using me to adjust her sitting position.
“Let me carry you to the couch,” I offer her because, apparently, I love torturing myself.
“Bed,” she mumbles. “My bed.”
In my job, I’ve carried people in my arms more times than I can count. Men, women, children. All those times, my only concern was getting them to safety as quickly as possible.
The second Ivy is in my arms, though, a kind of protectiveness I’ve never felt before stirs awake inside me.
It’s raw, primal, and wrong. Her body might fit just right against mine, and my chest might feel ten times bigger at the fact that she trusts me to take care of her when she’s vulnerable, but this train of thought must come to a stop before it derails.
When Joe opens the door to her bedroom, the unmistakable scent of clean sheets hits me.
Not that I expected otherwise, but Ivy’s bedroom is spotless.
A bed takes up most of the space, a desk and a chest of drawers the only other pieces of furniture in the room.
White curtains on the windows facing the backyard match the white duvet, which has some kind of blue flowers and birds pattern on it.
It feels cozy. It feels like her.
She makes a noise at the back of her throat when I place her on the bed, and Joe is quick to tuck her in.
“We’ll get you more water and some medicine,” I tell her gently. I don’t know what’s in their medicine cabinet, but I’m sure I’ll have something in mine.
“Ford,” Joe whispers behind me, hesitating.
I point toward the living room with my chin, gesturing for him to wait there.
“Yell if you need us,” I tell Ivy, placing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Or text. We’ll come check on you every few minutes anyway.”
“You’ll stay?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course I’ll stay. I’ll call Nash too. Just rest, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”
Her fingers graze mine as her eyes begin to close. “Thanks, Ford.”
Joe is waiting for me in the kitchen, pacing back and forth and chewing on his thumbnail when I leave his sister’s bedroom.
“She’ll be fine,” I reassure him, keeping my voice low. “It’s probably just a bug.”
He nods, not looking entirely convinced. “What about medicine?”
“Can I see what you guys have?”
Once I find what I’m looking for, I place it next to a tall glass of water on the kitchen counter, planning to take everything to her bedroom in a bit.
“Ford….” Joe hesitates, coming up behind me. “I kinda have to go somewhere.”
I frown. “Right now?”
“Yeah. I failed physics, and Ethan is really good at it, so I’ve been studying with him. We have another exam next week,” he explains.
“That’s fine. You can go study. I’ll stay here.”
“Really?”
I nod. Whether Joe left or not, I was planning to stay. I’m not going to put the weight of caring for a sick person on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old.
“Ford?”
“Yes, buddy?”
“Do you like my sister?”
Silence falls over us as my heart does a fucking cartwheel.
I stare at him. His lips twitch.
“Don’t you have an exam to study for?”
His smirk grows wider. “That’s what I thought.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shakes his head, fully smirking now. “You know… it would be fine by me.”
He doesn’t have to explain what he means, and I don’t answer. A silent conversation happens between us in which we exchange words I’m too scared to say out loud.
“Text me with updates,” he says, holding out his fist for me to bump.
Our fists connect.
“Text me when you get there and when you’re on your way back,” I tell him.
“Will do.”
He’s still smirking when he leaves.
And me? I’m royally fucked.