Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Mikayla turns her head as if seeing my mom for the first time. She blinks and blinks, a crease between her brows as she looks at my mother. Almost like she’s not sure that Whitney Montgomery is real.
My mom must realize Mikayla’s confusion. She did call my mom a fairy when she saw her at the house.
“Hi, I’m Whitney. Caine’s mother.” My mom places a hand on Mikayla’s cheek.
My heart tightens when Mikayla closes her eyes and leans her face against my mother’s hand. I feel it, I notice it, but it’s so simple my mother doesn’t seem to understand the significance of it.
“I’m so sorry I ruined your dinner party,” Mikayla whispers hoarsely.
“Oh, my dear, I ruined my own dinner party.” I laugh. “It’s rude to gloat,” my mother says in her most sassy drawl.
“Sorry, Mama,” I say with a grin.
“I shouldn’t have invited all those people. I told Caine it was a family dinner, and I went a little overboard.” My mother shrugs sheepishly.
“A little! You invited half the town!” I grumble.
I place the sponge down; stand and walk over to the closet I saw Kyle rummage through. I grab a few towels because, fuck, these are tiny and walk back over to Mikayla.
I can feel her gaze on me. In the short time I’ve come to know her, I’ve come to sense her unease. I’m not sure what has her worried, but I can feel it like sap sticking to my fingers.
“Mom, I’m gonna get Mikayla in a hospital gown; do you mind giving us a minute?” I ask.
I mostly want to check in with her. Mikayla won’t talk with my mom here. She seems more alert now. I’m hoping the medication is helping.
“You gave me quite a scare,” I tell her as I dry her skin. I place the towel at her neck and work my way down. Mikayla closes her eyes and almost sinks into the bed. “Do you feel a little better?” I ask.
“I think so, just feel a little off.” Her eyes flutter open, and our eyes lock. I caress her cheek, still warm, but her color is returning.
“Want more ginger ale or water?”
“You’re an amazing man,” she whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” A spark of fear flashes in her eyes; a small crease forms between her brows, but she blinks it back.
“Sweetheart, I’m gonna tell you now, I have never been more terrified in my life,” I tell her as I walk to the other side of the bed. I toe off my shoes and climb in beside her. Her skin is searing, yet she trembles in my arms, trying to get as close to me as possible.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” she whispers against my chest.
“Next time, just tell me when you don’t feel good, okay?” I say, placing a kiss on her brow. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Yes, please,” she whispers, burrowing against me.
I need to get up, but I don’t want to leave her. She’s so snuggly and seems comfortable.
“Everyone decent?” Mom asks from the door.
“I didn’t have a chance to dress her.”
“I can see that. Her shivers are gone,” Mom says. She places a small hand on my cheek and kisses the top of my head. “Do you need anything?”
“Can you bring my dinner in here and some ginger ale for Mikayla? I don’t…” I shrug.
“You don’t want to leave her. I get it. I’m happy,” she says, but tears glisten in her eyes. And now I’m worried for an entirely different reason.
“Mama?” I ask, confused by her reaction.
“No, I’m fine. Really. I’m happy. You’re the one I worried about the most.”
“Me? Why me?” I ask, my brow furrowed as I frown.
“Because you’re an acquired taste,” she says, patting my hand.
“I think he’s perfect,” Mikayla grumbles, her voice slightly muffled as she leans against my chest. She squeezes me tighter but doesn’t open her eyes.
“Well, yes he is,” my mother beams as she looks at us. “I’ll be right back.”
I eat my dinner as Mikayla sleeps, cuddled against me. I was able to get some fluids into her, and she kept everything down.
I lie back and must have dozed because I awaken to Kyle giving Mikayla an exam.
“Fever is down from where it was, but not where I’d like it,” Kyle whispers as he gives her a dose of ibuprofen.
“What’s she at?” I ask. My heart is pounding. I’m exhausted, but I’m not sure I’ll be getting much more sleep after hearing that news.
“One-oh-one,” he says. “She may respond better to the ibuprofen.” He changes out her saline drip, then sits down in the chair beside the bed.
“She has the job if she wants it,” Kyle says.
“I was able to check in with the oncologist she worked for back in Seattle. Sent him an email this morning, actually, and he wrote back almost immediately. Told me I’d be lucky to have her. ”
“Told you,” I say, still feeling defensive because of our last conversation.
“Play nice; your girlfriend is ill,” Mikayla murmurs.
“Did we wake you?” I ask, feeling like the biggest asshole for not being aware of my volume.
“I’m in a permanent state of fog,” she whispers before she opens her mouth and a big yawn escapes. “Do you by chance have a toothbrush?” Mikayla asks.
I look down and watch as her eyes blink open. But she can’t seem to keep them open because they flutter closed.
“Are you feeling nauseous?” Kyle asks. He’s got his professional, kind doctor tone in place.
“It lingers, but nothing like this evening,” she says.