Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Declan
Istartle awake to a thump, then a doleful moan.
After a quick check of the baby monitor to confirm it’s not Charlie, I race up the stairs and right to my room. Evie’s room.
I knock gently. “Evie?”
No answer.
“Evie?” I try another knock, this time less subtle. I need to check on her anyway. I haven’t seen her since she came home, though I did ultimately crack the door just to make sure she was alive. She was passed out asleep.
But then, she slept through the evening. Charlie and I had a good time with dinner, then playing a bit before reading a few books, then snuggling until he fell asleep in my arms. I know it’s not the way she does it, but I decided she’d forgive me for it.
Before I bust in, I try one more knock. “Evie, I need to see you’re okay.”
“I’m here.”
The words sound like they’ve taken incredible effort. They aren’t exactly an invitation to enter, but my concern for her overrides the staunch manners I live by.
Good thing, because I find her in a ball on the floor.
“What are you doing down there?” I ask, kneeling and trying to get a look at her. The bathroom light is on, but it’s on the other side of the bed, so I can’t see her very well at all. “Are you hurt?”
“I woke up and wanted to check on Charlie, but my legs just collapsed as soon as I put weight on them.”
My training kicks in and a litany of horrifying possibilities volley through my head before I shove them away and start small. “You’re sick. Can I help you get back in bed and then we’ll get you something to help you feel better?”
“Okay.”
She doesn’t move. This is very un-Evie. Earlier today, she was at least a little combative when I was trying to boss her around about going home.
But as the day wore on, she lost that. She knew she was in bad shape by the end of the day and let me get Charlie.
And she was sick enough she slept for nearly seven straight hours.
“I’ll need your help if you can. Let’s sit up.”
She’s curled over her bent knees, so I attempt to guide her so her torso is upright. She gets to about forty-five degrees, then starts dropping forward again.
Not good.
“No, love, let’s get you up.” Shifting gears, I stand, then pull her up by the upper arms and pivot her into bed. She is barely helping me, if at all, which tells me she must feel terrible.
“I’m so sorry.” It’s tearful and miserable.
I finish getting her into the bed and prop her up with pillows all around her. “I want you to stay up like this for just a few minutes. I’m going to run and get a few things so I can examine you, if you’re comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable with you. Is Charlie okay?”
I don’t let my mind tarry on those first words. I’ll think on them later. “Yes. I wrote down everything he ate, and we had a good time playing with his Lego before bed.”
“He’s in bed?”
I glance at my watch. “Yes. It’s almost two in the morning. He went to bed right around seven.”
She blinks and tears leak out. Her chin wobbles. “Oh. Wow.”
There’s no resisting the urge to comfort her, so I run a hand over her head and tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. You needed rest. That’s a good start. Let’s check you out and see what else we can do.”
She nods, her tired eyes holding mine for a moment before she shuts them. When I return with a thermometer, blood pressure cuff, my stethoscope, and various swabs I brought from work since I had a feeling this was coming earlier, she’s sound asleep again.
I try to rouse her, and she does open her eyes and acknowledge me, but she’s more than tired. She’s lethargic at this point, especially based on how little she could help when I got her up.
The thermometer reveals what I’ve expected: a very high temp, especially for an adult. I yank off the covers and she frowns even though her eyes are closed.
“I know. But you’ve got a fever and we need that to come down. Can you open your mouth and take some pills for me?”
She cooperates with this, taking a few sips of the water I hold to her lips after she gets the pills down. All other metrics here point to illness, as expected, but her oxygen saturation is good and her lungs sound clear, so we’re likely going to be treating the symptoms.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen a virus hit an adult far worse than a child.
Sometimes, it’s the inverse because little kids and babies don’t have the immune system, but other viruses seem to attack adults more aggressively.
That’s what we’ve got here, but I get her consent to swab her for the viruses we can test for and get a peek at the back of her throat to confirm we don’t need a strep test.
Just like with Charlie, there’s nothing we can put a name to. For now, we ride out the symptoms. I mentally compile a treatment plan, particularly with the aim of getting her fever down, and then who I need to contact for tomorrow.
I’ll ask everyone in town on Evie’s behalf.
“If your fever’s not responding to the meds, we’ll need to cool you down the old-fashioned way. Another ten minutes and then that’s it. For now, I’d like to get you into lighter clothing.”
She’s wearing fleece sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. She can’t possibly sleep in these normally, can she? In August? Perhaps this is another way we aren’t alike, as I tend to sleep in boxers and nothing else. But no, because the first night she was here, she was in something much lighter.
“Take off my clothes. It’s fine. You’re a doctor.”
Her words are borderline slurred, and if I didn’t know she had a high fever, it’d be even more concerning.
I won’t argue with her, though. I tuck my fingers into the waistband of her thick sweats and pull them down, keeping my eyes on the progress of the pants and not on anything else, because I’m a damn gentleman. And a doctor.
Sliding the sheet up to her navel, I tell her I’m going to take her shirt now. She mumbles, “It’s fine,” then sits up just enough and raises her arms.
My heart squeezes and sprints at the same time.
I slide off her shirt, tossing it behind me and helping her ease back into the pillows without hitting her head on the wooden headboard.
Underneath are miles of skin and a light blue bra made from what looks like very soft, thin material.
I do not appreciate the view like I might at another time, and her flushed chest and shallow breathing are enough to remind me why.
I may be a doctor who’s seen all kinds of bodies in every possible state, but I won’t pretend taking off her clothes is another day at work.
I don’t feel this kind of tenderness toward my other patients, nor have I ever felt this longing.
This need. But it’s all couched in the knowledge that what I want more than anything right now is for her to feel better, and I’m the one who gets to help her.
This strong, stubborn woman has persevered through so much, and she has let me help her. With the wedding, with her son, and now in this intimate moment. I do not take this lightly.
Ten minutes later, her fever is the same. I do everything shy of a sternum rub to rouse her.
“I’m sorry, love, but we need to get you cooled down.”
She blinks at me, processing my words.
“Lukewarm bath?”
I nod. She cringes.
“You gave birth on the side of the road with no one but my grumpy brother to help you. You can handle this. You’re a badass.”
Her face flickers with a smile. “Yeah. I super am.”
And with that, she lets me pick her up and carry her into the bathroom.