Chapter 42 #2
“We took Archibald downstairs to get an MRI. He has a stress fracture in his right foot. Can you stay with him for a while? I’ve got to get some sleep.
I lost track, but I think I’m going on thirty-six hours.
” Remy reconnected Archibald to the monitors and checked his IV. “If you need me, pound on the door.”
“Remy,” Archibald said. “I need to return to the night of the shooting and go home from there. I can’t stay here.”
“It doesn’t matter when you go back to that night. A month or two months. When you’re healed, I’ll take you. Get some rest.”
“When I’m healed, I can take myself. Ye stole Capone’s safe. It will be more dangerous for ye.”
“Capone and his gangster friends will search every street in Chicago for anyone connected to Skye. That includes you.”
“I’ll go with you,” Clay said. “Just as long as we don’t land inside Skye’s house or wherever you got shot.”
“We’ll figure that out later,” Remy said, clapping a heavy, reassuring hand on Clay’s shoulder. “Is Marcelle okay?”
“She’s a little overwhelmed going through time again, and she’s worried about Skye and Kaitlyn. But man, I was so impressed with Kaitlyn. She really went eyeball-to-eyeball with Elliott.”
“You should have seen Skye do that with Al Capone. When you’re as competent as Marcelle, Skye, and Kaitlyn, it’s easy to impress. Now I’m going to bed,” Remy said. “If you need me—”
“I know where to find you.”
Remy confidently left the patient in Clay’s capable hands, with explicit instructions to apply ice to the swelling foot and notify Remy when the IV bag needed to be changed. Although Remy was certain he’d be back at the bedside long before the fluids ran out.
When Remy pushed open the bedroom door, the soft lamplight spilled across the room, illuminating Skye curled into a peaceful bundle beneath the duvet.
His heart melted at the sight. As much as he ached for her, he’d hold off until they were both rested and had plenty of time to devote wholly to each other.
He had secretly rented an Airbnb in New Orleans for himself, primarily for uninterrupted privacy, but also to gain total control of the remote, which he now cared little about.
Remy leaped into the shower to scrub away the lingering odors of the sickroom. Then he slipped into bed beside her, sleeping in boxer briefs for the first time since his discharge from the Army. He did it out of respect for Skye.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
He kissed the top of her head. “Late. Go back to sleep.”
She nestled her head against his chest and drifted off to sleep, and so did he. The next thing he knew, an insistent pounding jarred him awake.
“Remy! Wake up! Archibald’s having trouble breathing,” Clay said, his voice sounding desperate in the quiet room.
Remy shot upright in bed, his mind scrambling to piece together what Clay had said. Labored breathing? Trouble? He flinched, and the pieces fell into place. Archibald was worsening. Remy vaulted out of bed and flung the door open.
“Does he have a fever?”
“He’s scorching hot.”
“Shit! I hoped he wouldn’t get an infection.
” Remy yanked on a faded pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, snatched his phone, and sprinted into Archibald’s room.
He scanned the monitor first and then pressed his palm against Archibald’s feverish forehead before firing off a text to Charlotte with the update.
She immediately responded, listing critical drugs to get from the locked drug cabinet.
“Charlotte is on her way,” Remy said to Clay. “I’m going downstairs to get drugs and supplies. Stay with him.”
Clay’s face turned ashen. “Is he going to be all right?”
“I hope so, but we have to get his fever down.” Remy burst into the sterile room and snatched the drugs and IV bags Charlotte requested. When he charged back to Archibald’s room, Charlotte was there, scribbling notes on his chart, while Clay hovered over her to read them.
“Why did the fever come on so suddenly?”
“Gunshot wound infections do that. We’ll start an IV with acetaminophen. That should reduce his fever, and he’s already on an antibiotic,” Charlotte said.
“Why not give him pills?” Clay asked.
“The IV puts a higher concentration of the drug into his bloodstream,” Remy said.
Remy and Charlotte both stayed until Archibald’s fever started waning. “Why doan you go back to bed?” Remy urged Charlotte. “Archibald doesn’t need three people crowding over him.”
Charlotte snapped her wrist as if swatting Remy away. “I’m rested. You’re not. Go get some sleep.”
“If you tell me what to watch for, you can both go back to bed,” Clay said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I want to make sure the infection doesn’t get worse. If it does, we’ll have to transport Archibald to the hospital.”
Archibald moaned. “Not going.”
“We don’t have to worry about that right now. How do you feel?” Charlotte asked.
“Like I fell three floors.”
“Three?” She lifted a brow, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “I’m glad you still have a sense of humor. That’s encouraging.”
“Was it really three floors?” Remy asked.
Archibald shook his head, as if replaying the moment. “It felt like it when I landed.”
“Okay, I’m going. Call me if you need me.
” Remy offered Charlotte a fleeting, one-armed hug and dashed out of the room.
He didn’t even bother shedding the sweatpants.
He slipped beneath the covers, not wanting to wake Skye, and instantly fell asleep.
When he woke, the sun blazed into the room, and she was gone.
He sat up and checked his messages. There was one from Skye.
Dear Remy, I’ve gone to sunrise yoga with Kenzie and Meredith. Kenzie said I could do a three-mile run or yoga. I thought posture exercises would be easier. Skye
Amusement bubbled up in Remy. He could go to the studio and watch her workout, or he could surrender to the pillows and drift back to sleep. The pillows mounted an excellent argument, and Remy, a fair judge, immediately ruled in their favor.