Chapter Ten
Wade
I stir the pot, staring down at the contents without actually seeing it. My mind is racing a million miles a minute, too many things and none of them actually sticking.
This morning I’d gone hunting, taking down a moose in my wolf form.
I’d dragged it back to the cabin and painstakingly broken it down into its parts, storing most of it in the shed outside where it’ll stay cool and safe.
Then I brought the bones inside, put them in a pot with some water, and set it to boil.
I remember as a child, bone broth was something my mother would make for me when I was sick. Something about it always warmed my insides and made me feel a little better. I hope I can impart that same sort of feeling for Briggs.
A cough comes from the couch, turning my insides icy cold.
I’m completely out of my depth here and I don’t have a single clue what I’m supposed to do.
Briggs spiked a fever overnight. He keeps saying he’s not feeling well, that it’s just a cold and it’ll blow over soon. My gut tells me there’s more to it.
I look down at the container of medicine we’ve gathered.
I only have so much fever reliever. Eventually, we’ll run out and when it does, what the hell are we supposed to do?
If I can’t keep the fever away, Briggs is going to suffer.
He’ll get worse and all I’ll be able to do is sit by and watch him waste away.
I slap my own cheek, hard enough to stop that train of thought. Fuck. I can’t sit here and catastrophize! I’ve gotta start making a plan. Plan for the worst, prepare for everything.
Once I’m pretty sure the broth is done, I strain everything out and put some into a bowl. I give it a taste, making sure it’s right before bringing it into the living room.
Briggs blinks up at me from his place across the couch, a blanket tucked tightly around himself. The fire is going and I note that I’ll need to add a few logs to it soon to keep it going. I want this place nice and warm for Briggs.
Briggs has been my beacon in a dark time. He’s the light at the end of the tunnel. Hell, he quite literally saved my life. The least I can do is help him while he’s sick. I can nurse him back to health. I can figure out a way to save him, even if this isn’t as dire as my situation.
Maybe I can repay him just a tiny bit. Maybe I can show him what he means to me. Maybe I can finally explain to him exactly the way he makes me feel.
“Hey,” I say softly, sitting on the ground next to his head. “Can you sit up for me?”
“I’m fine,” Briggs says right away, his voice coming out strained. “I can try to eat but no promises. My throat feels like I’m swallowing glass.”
I wince in sympathy. “Try for me, okay? You need to keep your strength up.”
“Fine, but only for you, Wade. If it was anyone else I’d have refused.”
Something warm curls in my gut despite the gravity of the situation. How does Briggs always know exactly what to say?
Briggs carefully sits up, the blanket pooling around his waist. He takes the bowl from me, tipping it up to his mouth to drink from it.
“This is really good, Wade. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I stare at him for a long time before I finally feel brave enough to ask. “Can I see inside your mouth? I wanna check your throat.”
“I wanna make a dirty joke but I’m just too tired,” he says, a barely there smile on his lips. I scoot closer and Briggs opens his mouth, letting me see his throat.
My stomach sinks at what I see. His throat and tonsils are inflamed and bright red. On top of that, there appears to be a white film building up around the skin. It almost looks like mold and I know what that means.
When I was a kid, a bunch of my classmates all got sick with strep throat at the same time from sharing a water bottle. It looked and smelled exactly like this.
“I think you have strep throat,” I say softly, sitting back on my heels.
“Oh,” Briggs says softly. He goes back to sipping his bone broth, taking the new information in. “Fuck. Okay. It could be worse, I guess?”
“It could be worse,” I say, parroting his words.
Except, I can’t imagine something being worse than this.
Sure, there’s a chance that strep can go away on its own but as far as I remember, the kids in my class all needed to be on antibiotics to help kill the bacterial infection in their throats and if left untreated, can cause other scary complications.
Fucking hell. What am I supposed to do now? We don’t have antibiotics and as much as I’ve explored, I haven’t found a store or pharmacy that could have some.
“Hey,” Briggs says softly, “it’s gonna be okay.” His eyes are clear, but that’s only because there’s fever reducers in his system. What will he look like when we run out? How bad is this going to get while I sit around, unable to help?
Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this.
I stand up and squeeze his shoulder. “I know,” I say before moving into the kitchen. I don’t want Briggs to see my face as it morphs into something small and pained. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, only that I have to do something.
I run my hands over my head, trying to use the short strands as a way to calm my racing heart.
It’s no use, so I go about putting the bone broth away.
I pour it into different containers before setting them outside in the snow, using the cold weather like my own refrigerator to keep our food from going bad.
Then I clean up the pot and the leftover bones. When I’ve run out of things to do in the kitchen, I go back into the living room, finding Briggs lying on the couch again, looking adorably sleepy.
Briefly, I touch his forehead, gauging his temperature. He’s starting to warm up but not dangerously so. He’ll have to take some more medicine soon but I’m trying to stretch it out as much as I can.
“I’m gonna get the fire going again and then I’m going to do a little work outside, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I think I’ll get some sleep. Help with my recovery.”
“Great plan,” I say, turning away from him and focusing on the fire. I stack a few logs on it, making sure the fire is going before stepping away and outside.
Taking a deep breath, I use the cold air to help clear my head. Then I get to work. It doesn’t take long to find what I’m looking for. There’s a sled in the shed, one that will work for what I have in mind.
I might not be the most handy when it comes to building but by the time I’m done, I have a sled that should be big enough to carry a man lying down.
My stomach quakes with fear, hoping against all odds I won’t have to use this but if it comes to that, at least we’ll be prepared.
I store it in the shed before going back inside.
Checking on Briggs makes the dread in my stomach even worse. His fever is back and it takes a lot of coaxing before I can get him to swallow another pill. By the time he gets it down, his entire body is shivering. His face is so pale, his eyes so far away. I hate seeing him like this.
“You’re okay,” I keep saying, helping him bundle up with blankets again. “You’re okay, Briggs. We’ll get through this. You’ll be okay.”
I don’t know if he even understands what I’m saying but I say it nonetheless, maybe because I’m the one who needs to hear it.
“Wade?”
I kneel down beside the couch, pushing some of Briggs’ hair away from his face. “Yeah?”
“My throat hurts.”
“I know. It’ll get better.”
“Okay,” he says, his eyes blinking shut as he falls back to sleep.
I run my fingers through his hair, taking this moment just to stare at him.
I’ve done my best to keep my feelings locked tight inside of myself.
I can’t ruin whatever we have going on. We’re stuck together for the long haul and the last thing I want to do is make Briggs uncomfortable because I have these feelings budding up inside of me.
I can’t do anything that’ll put either of us at risk.
I can’t do anything that’ll rock the boat and fuck up the good thing we have going on.
Even so, I allow myself this moment. Briggs is sleeping, so he probably won’t even remember my moment of weakness. He won’t know that I’m sitting here at his bedside, pining for a life I know we can’t have.
Leaning forward, I kiss his forehead, thankful it’s not as hot as it could be. My chest is a war of emotions. Standing up, I get to work, preparing our bags and making sure our blankets are all clean and ready, just in case.
I keep hoping that the fever will break but it just won’t. The meds help, but it’s like putting a bandaid over a gaping wound, it can only do so much.
It’s the third day of this fever and I can’t keep hoping.
Every day, Briggs looks a little more pale.
His voice is completely gone. His throat is so swollen it’s starting to make his neck look round.
This infection is going to start spreading down to his heart or his lungs or his brain if I don’t figure out something to stop it.
What I need is antibiotics but so far, I haven’t been able to find any.
I crawl onto the couch, pulling Briggs against my chest. I bring my arms around him, holding him tight. I know I shouldn’t be doing this but I’m allowing myself to indulge. If this all goes up in flames, at least I’ll have this moment, forever frozen in my mind.
I hold Briggs as he shakes, the meds not kicking in quite yet. I hold him until his body goes slack and the scowl on his face fades away. I hold him until my chest stops aching. I hold him because I’m not sure if I’ll get to hold him like this again.
“Wade,” Briggs murmurs in his sleep. Maybe I’m just wishfully thinking since his voice cracks on the word but I’m pretty certain it was my name. He’s reaching out for me, even if his body won’t let him.