“Billy. Look at me.”
I stop. I look at him.
“Tex talked to you,” he says. It’s not a question.
“He did.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I’m working.”
“You’re avoiding.”
“I’m managing.”
Seth sighs. He rubs the back of his neck. “She’s in the bunkhouse. She’s feverish. Clara is taking care of her. But she’s asking for you.”
My chest tightens. “She needs a doctor.”
“She needs her Alpha,” Seth says quietly. “That’s biology, Billy. Whether you like it or not.”
“I’m not her Alpha. Not anymore.” I stare at the hay on the floor. The golden strands are mixed with dirt and dust. “I don’t know how to trust her,” I admit.
It’s the truth. The core of the problem.
Seth nods. “I know. But you don’t have to trust her with your life right now. You just have to trust her with her life. She’s sick. She’s scared. And her Alpha is out here shoveling horse shit.”
He’s right. Damn him. He’s always right.
I drop the pitchfork. I walk past Seth, out of the barn, and toward the bunkhouse. When I reach the door, I knock once.
Clara opens it. She looks tired. Her hair is a mess. But when she sees me, she steps aside.
“She’s in the bedroom. Her fever spiked.”
I walk in. The main room is small, clean. I go to the bedroom door. It’s cracked open, and I push it.
Sedona is lying on the bed. She’s curled up in a ball, the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her face is flushed red. Her hair is damp with sweat.
She looks small. Breakable.
I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight.
She opens her eyes. They’re glassy, unfocused.
“Billy?” she whispers.
“I’m here,” I say.
She reaches out. Her hand finds mine. Her grip is weak, burning hot.
“Stay,” she says.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I lie down next to her, on top of the blanket. I don’t touch her. I just lie there, my body a barrier between her and the world.
She closes her eyes. She sighs.
