Chapter 30
30
Inside their room, Gil set Ani down more quickly than he’d intended. His arms felt weak; too much sex, not enough food.
He leaned against the doorjamb while Ani went to the bathroom to get him a drink of water. The covers were still mussed from all the tumbling around he and Ani had done earlier.
“That pen,” he called to her. “With the tracker.”
She came out with a plastic cup of water. “Yes, what about it? It’s sitting at the Reel Inn in pieces.”
“It seemed to mean something to you.” He’d noticed her expression when he’d dismantled the thing. But he’d had no choice; he’d picked up on John’s sketchy behavior, the way he’d brought that specific pen, one she’d be unable to resist.
“It has sentimental value,” Ani said. Her voice seemed to come from far away. “My friends gave it to me when I was in the hospital, along with a journal for me to write in. That journal saved my sanity, I swear.”
He squinted to bring Ani into focus. A stab of pain hit him right behind the eyeballs. He shook it away. “I’m sorry I destroyed it. I could tell it meant something to you. I should have?—”
“It’s okay. Please don’t worry about it. You were protecting me.”
His head throbbed again. He was having trouble ordering his thoughts, and sweat sprang to his forehead. The room felt like a sauna. Why did they have the heat so far up in here? Focus. There was something he’d been wanting to mention that he hadn’t so far.
“That tracker was state-of-the-art.”
Her eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
He didn’t know what he was saying, exactly. “Maybe that part about the diplomatic plates was true. Maybe some foreign entity is involved, someone with access to advanced surveillance technology.”
God, it was hot in here. He turned to open the window, and stumbled over his feet.
Ani darted to his side. “Are you okay?”
“Tripped,” he said curtly. Once he got the window open, he’d feel better.
But the damn thing wouldn’t cooperate. He struggled with it, feeling weirdly weak, defeated by a damn window frame.
“Gil.” Ani elbowed him aside. She opened a latch he hadn’t noticed and slid it open. “What’s going on?”
Nothing , he wanted to scream. I’m fine. I’m the strong one. I’m the watchman, the bodyguard, the shield, the sword.
But her dark eyes flooded with concern and she touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “You have a fever.”
“No, it’s just hot in here.”
“It’s not hot. Lie down.” There was no contradicting that doctor’s voice of hers. He allowed her to lead him to the bed, where he collapsed with a groan of pain. She kneeled down to unlace his boots. This wasn’t right. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around.
But his legs felt so heavy that he couldn’t resist when she lifted them onto the bed and adjusted his position to make him more comfortable.
“Does your head hurt?” Her voice seemed to come from very far away.
He nodded, which made him realize that his neck muscles hurt too. Was there any part of him that didn’t hurt?
A knock sounded at the door. It echoed through his brain like a tolling of a bell.
“Stay right here,” she murmured. “That’s probably our pizza.”
Sounded good to him. Staying right there was about the only thing he could do. Lethargy was draining away his energy. In the back of his mind, he knew there were still things he had to take care of. They were probably safe here. But what if John had put a nano-tracker in Ani’s bloodstream? Did that exist, or was he confusing real life with a James Bond movie? He was losing it. He couldn’t lose it, not while Ani was in jeopardy.
And then a wave of fear came over him. Ani was outside the room, without his protection. He fixed his gaze to the door, counting the moments until she got back.
There she was. Carrying a pizza box. Thank God. “ Ani,” he whispered.
She hurried to his bedside. “What’s the matter?”
“Don’t let anyone into this room.” He reached into his pocket for the card that Dr. Christianson had given him. “Call her if anyone shows up here who seems suspicious.”
Even though he had his issues with Dr. Christianson, he trusted the CDC team more than he trusted some unknown bad guys with diplomatic plates and devices hidden in pens.
Ani set the card on the nightstand and took both his hands in hers. “How does your head feel?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Answer the question.”
“It hurts,” he admitted.
She tested his forehead with the back of her hand. “Fever. Sweating. I think you might have the virus, Gil.”
“Nyx…he tested me. All clear.”
“You must have gotten it since then.”
“No.” His brain felt foggier than Smoky Lake on a misty morning. “Too fast.”
She nodded, her expression puzzled. “Maybe Nyx was wrong. This is new to him too.”
A thought swam toward him. “Antibodies. You have them.”
“Yes, but those are my antibodies. I can’t just inject them into you. Well, I could, technically, but that would be a last resort and a temporary fix.”
“Why?”
“Our immune systems are very specialized. They basically create customized antibodies to each new threat. Your immune system has to learn how to fight every new virus it encounters, and my antibodies won’t help with that. Normally transfusions are only done with people with very low white blood cell counts, and I’m sure you’re not in that category. There’s also a risk my cells could attack yours and cause more problems. It’s much safer for you if your body produces its own white blood cells.” She whooshed out a breath. “Long explanation, sorry.”
He didn’t mind. Her voice was so soothing, despite the subject matter. “I trust you. I also trust your cells.”
She gave a low laugh. “I appreciate that, but as your doctor, I can’t advise that. We have other options.”
“Like what?”
“Let your body handle this. You’re young and healthy, you have a strong physique. Dr. Christianson said children and the elderly are most at risk. That’s because their immune systems aren’t optimized. Your body should be able to fight this off, while we manage the symptoms. If you need oxygen, or any kind of intervention like that, we’ll go to a hospital, or we’ll call the CDC. Don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“Dr. Christianson is the last resort.”
He still didn’t completely trust the CDC team. Dr. Christianson had lied about the testing, after all. All of them had been so cagey about everything.
He struggled to sit up. “I can’t just lie here and…”
“Yes, you can.” She pushed him back down. “And you will. Resting is the most important thing you can do. Your body has a fight on its hands. I’ll be at your beck and call, does that make it any better?”
Maybe…sort of…but it felt so backwards. He was her knight. Her protector.
C an’t protect her if I’m sick…
His mouth felt like sand. “Need…water.”
“Yes, my sweet.” She bent over and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. Her fragrance filled his senses and the golden shadow between her breasts gave him life. He’d hang onto that, he decided. After he got through this, he’d bury his face in her cleavage and lick her nipples and tug moan after moan from her…
The plastic cup of water was at his lips. He sipped. Fell back. Whispered, “my sweet,” and fell asleep.
The next stretch of time was misery in its purest form. A blur of water, chicken broth, occasional Tylenol, sleep, sweat, cold washcloths, warm sponge baths, sleep, more sleep, and pain, so much pain in his eyes and head that he feared for his sanity.
The virus took form in his mind. He battled it in long silent rants, as if it were a sentient being trying to steal his wits. You won’t break me , he screamed at it. I will survive. He pictured it frozen in the tundra, lurking in the permafrost, plotting its revenge. We have doctors. We have smart people. We’ll figure you out the way we always do. We’re human with brains and we know how to use ‘em.
“I’m losing it,” he told Ani as he surfaced from a sweat-drenched vision of vast frozen territory with fur-wearing bands of people wandering across it. “I’m afraid.” So weak, so shaky.
“You’re doing great.” Her hand on his forehead felt so good. He closed his eyes and hung onto that comforting touch. “Believe it or not, your fever is down. How do your eyes feel?” She was tracking every symptom, writing it down in a little notebook. Where was she getting all this stuff? The Tylenol, the broth, the fresh towels and washcloths?
“About a five. Better than before. Worse than normal.”
“Better is good. Your body is doing what it needs to do to protect itself. All your little white blood cell soldiers are doing that Gil McGowan thing. You have your own bodyguards, imagine that.”
“And you,” he murmured weakly.
“And me. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
In this weakened state, emotion got the best of him. He wanted her to mean forever. But of course she didn’t mean that. She was being a doctor right now. He might die without her, but that was because he had a virus, not because he was in love.
I’m in love.
This is love. This helpless, wonderful, giddy, tender, vulnerable, raw thing rampaging through his system…it was love. And as much as he might want to, he couldn’t fight it off the way his body was battling the virus.
In his less feverish moments, he rebuilt the logic of why he and Ani couldn’t be together. She was still recovering from the traumatic ending of her marriage. He was what she needed right now—physical release, a low-angst, no-drama, temporary kind of relationship. That was what she saw in him. Otherwise, she’d probably avoid him like the plague—like a virus, haha.
The last thing she probably wanted at this point in her life was another serious commitment. He must have seemed perfect for her, given his track record and what he’d told her about his love life.
Damn his luck, he’d fallen for someone who was probably counting on him not falling in love.
He’d just have to keep it to himself. And hope he didn’t blurt it out while he was insane in the membrane from fever.