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“Reagan mentioned you hate flying. That’s why you were on a bus tour,” he said.
“Yeah.” My voice sounded rough. “Look, if you don’t mind, I really need to?—”
“You don’t even know how sick he is,” JT interrupted, moving to block me again when I tried to step around him. “There’s a possibility he’s feeling better and simply fell back to sleep.”
“Yes, and there’s a chance he’s very ill.”
“You could ask the hotel to do a wellness check.” JT moved in front of me once more. “They can call an ambulance if he needs one.”
I blew out a breath and stared him down. “Yes, but he’d still be alone. Sick and confused.”
He kept his eyes locked on mine, almost like a challenge. “Reagan is used to being alone.”
“But he shouldn’t be. And he won’t be anymore,” I said boldly.
JT looked me up and down, then nodded once. “Good.” Satisfied, he stepped aside. “Do you need me to handle anything? Contact anyone for you?”
Damn. I’d nearly forgotten. “Yeah,” I called as I struggled into my jacket. “Please make my excuses to your parents and Layla. Tell them I’ll be in touch when I can, and Layla should handle things here while I’m gone.”
“Done. I’ll tell them it was a family emergency.”
I glanced at him in surprise, and he shrugged. “Details are nobody’s damn business until you decide to make it their business.” He glanced in the direction of the kitchen and sighed wearily. “If you decide to make it their business.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I promised him.
And, I added to myself, I’ll be coming back with Reagan healthy and whole and in my arms.
Chapter Nineteen
Reagan
By the time I’d landed in Madison the night before, I’d felt like death.
As the cab had crawled toward the hotel through the darkness, I’d cursed the stupid, naive Reagan I’d been that afternoon. Why had I agreed to come to Wisconsin when I could have been curled up in my bed back in Honeybridge, awaiting the Grim Reaper with dignity? And why had my mind kept latching onto thoughts of Thatcher as I soared through the sky when every blurry thought made me feel weaker?
When the woman at the hotel reception counter handed me an overnight package full of conference credentials and marketing materials along with my key, I’d remembered. Because this is my job, and I’m not a quitter, that’s why.
I rigged the box atop my suitcase and dragged them down an endless hallway to my room. After a quick shower, I fell into bed naked and was asleep before the covers even settled over me.
It wasn’t until I opened my eyes sometime before dawn that I realized I wasn’t merely sleep-deprived—I was sick. Sicker than I could remember being. My head swam, and my skin felt too sensitive. I was both hot and cold, and I couldn’t focus my thoughts enough to even google my symptoms… though I was pretty sure I knew what it was.
The flu had finally found me and tackled me face-first into a strange bed in a strange city.
It took me half an hour to retrieve some Tylenol from my suitcase and get a cup of water from the bathroom, and by the time I made it back to bed, I started to feel just a little bit afraid. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision, and I was so cold the entire bed moved with the force of my shivers.
I texted JT and asked him to find me an urgent care place once he woke up, which resulted in a phone call a minute later—it was hardly my fault the letters had moved around so much I hadn’t spelled any of the words correctly—and a promise to text me back quickly.
So I crawled under the covers and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
A minute or a few hours later—time was such a tricky bitch, and who knew how time zones worked in Wisconsin, anyway?—my phone buzzed, and I grabbed it, expecting to see a list of clinics. What I found was… not that at all.
I frowned down at the email on my screen. The subject line said PROOF ATTACHED, and the sender was a T. Fisher. I sucked in a breath and promptly started coughing. T. Fisher, as in Terrance?
I clicked the attachment and, sure enough, found it was a slide deck showing images of a storyboard—the exact same one Layla had shown Thatcher and me and had claimed as her own.
