Chapter Nine
EDDIE
I wake up drowning.
Not literally, but close. Sweat drenches my skin, my head throbs, and my chest feels like someone let a family of raccoons set a bonfire inside my lungs. Every breath crackles. Every swallow burns. My body aches like I’ve been hit by a car. Twice.
The room is dark except for a sliver of hallway light under the door. How long have I been asleep? I blink, trying to push through the thick fog in my brain. I had decided to take a nap in the early afternoon, hadn’t I? Now, peering at the far window in my room, I can see streetlights shining.
Wait. It’s evening? Had I really slept that long?
I try to move to the edge of the bed to get up, but my body hurts with every minor movement.
Oh, that doesn’t feel good. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes again for a few more minutes.
Yeah, five more minutes, and my body will be ready to get out of this bed and moving. I’ll have to figure out dinner soon.
Then, panic slams into me.
Joey.
I lurch upward and immediately regret it—stars burst across my vision, and the room spins so violently I have to grab the headboard to keep from tipping straight onto the floor.
Oh God, I croak, voice shredded. It feels like there are tiny knives in my throat.
Joey, I call out, but the word comes out as a guttural whisper.
Oh my God, I can’t believe I let myself sleep so long.
In my rational brain, I know Joey can take care of himself.
Yet right now, I’m thinking the worst. What if he’s just as sick as I am?
I shove myself toward the door despite my trembling legs.
I crack it open. Light spills in, and a wave of warmth hits me. My eyes flutter closed for a moment, nausea churning in my stomach.
When I blink my eyes open again, needing to locate Joey, my brain misfires. That has to be the reason. Am I so sick that I’m hallucinating? There’s zero chance that what I’m seeing is real.
Because there, leaning over the counter in my kitchen and cheering at something in front of him, is Sidney Crane.
Wearing a soft gray T-shirt and baggy sweatpants, Sidney brings something up to his lips that looks good but also makes my stomach flip with unease. I quickly put a hand over my stomach, hoping the pressure will stop whatever internal battle is happening.
This can’t be real. There’s no way Sidney is in my house when I had been deliberately ignoring him for weeks. As soon as Joey and I had gotten home that Sunday and I was able to think back on everything that happened, I decided Sidney was being kind by asking for my number—because my kid was there.
He didn’t really like me like me; there was just a trauma bond from the first time we met in the hospital and then pressure to keep up the ruse in front of Joey and Harper.
Oh God, this is too much thinking for how I’m feeling.
I must catch his attention because his soft brown eyes dart my way. We both freeze. I blink at him. He blinks back.
Oh crap, I mutter. I’m hallucinating. I rub my hand down my face—and almost topple straight sideways when I let go of the door frame.
Whoa—hey—Eddie, Sidney says, crossing the room at lightning speed. His hands catch my elbows before I hit the floor. Solid and warm. Real. Very real.
I stare up at him, startled, confused, and somehow mortified all at once. You’re…actually here?
Yeah. His mouth twitches in something that isn’t quite a smile—more like worry wrapped in relief. I’m here. Hi.
I open my mouth, but instead of words, a harsh bout of coughing starts. One hand goes to cover my mouth, while the other grips Sidney’s T-shirt for dear life. Without him anchoring me, I would have hacked my way onto the floor.
By the time my cough subsides, my throat is on fire, my abs are aching, and I’ve somehow been moved to the couch. A mug of something hot is placed in my shaking hands and supported up to my mouth for a small gulp.
How are you here? I finally gasp the words out.
He winces sympathetically. Joey called me.
My stomach plummets. Joey. Is he okay? I try to get off the couch but don’t make it very far before I get dizzy and collapse back down.
Shh. Sidney gently steadies me, one hand firm on my back. He’s fine. Completely fine. He’s asleep in his room. Safe. I promise.
The floor seems to sway beneath me. Or maybe that’s just my fever doing a conga line through my skull.
Oh, I breathe. Okay. Okay. My throat tightens painfully. I-I can’t believe I let myself—
Eddie. He squeezes my shoulder lightly, letting his hand linger there before following the line of my arm. You’re sick. Really sick. You’re not Wonder Woman. You don’t have to do it all.
But I do. Doesn’t he understand that? It’s just me.
A wave of dizziness crashes into me again, and suddenly, all I want is to lie down again. My lungs rattle, and the cough that tears out of me feels like it scrapes raw down to my spine.
That’s it, Sidney says gently but with a firm undertone. Let’s go. The warm mug is taken out of my hands. Bed. Now. You need some meds and then more sleep.
I’m too woozy to protest when he guides me back down the hallway, one hand steadying my shoulder, the other hovering near my waist like he’s ready to catch me if I sway too far one way.
Back in my bedroom, he helps me sit, then wraps the blanket around me—carefully, respectfully, the way someone would handle something fragile but important.
I swallow down the protest of help, liking the way his hands hold me.
I could give in just this once. Tomorrow, I’ll be better and be able to take care of myself and Joey.
You’re burning up, he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead. I’m gonna call the team doctor. He’ll do a home visit if I ask. There’s no way I’m going to wake up Joey and scare him with an Emergency Room visit.
He has a point. If Joey was nervous enough to call Sidney, I don’t want to worry him more with a midnight ER visit. Plus, I don’t think I have the energy to tuck myself in, let alone leave the house and have to explain to a doctor what’s wrong.
Everything feels wrong.
I nod—barely. At this point, I would’ve agreed to anything if it meant lying down. Okay, I breathe, eyelids heavy. Just…just make sure Joey—
He’s taken care of, Sidney says softly. Now, quickly take this pill and a swig of water. Then off to sleep you go.
Blindly, I reach for whatever he’s holding out to me. I trust that he isn’t trying to kill me. My body sinks into the mattress. The room fades. Sidney’s voice drifts somewhere above me, calm and steady like a lighthouse in a storm.
And then, wrapped in warmth and exhaustion, I slip under again, lulled by the knowledge that someone is watching out for me for the first time in a very, very long time.