Come on, baby,he says. The endearment wraps around me, pulling me up.
I reach for him. Our fingers brush. Sparks fly. Not metaphorical sparks—real, visible arcs of electricity jumping from his skin to mine.
Don’t leave me,I whisper.
Never,he promises.
But as he pulls me up, the ground crumbles. The ravine wall collapses. I fall backward, tumbling into the dark, reaching for the hand that isn’t there anymore.
“Sedona.”
The voice is real this time. It’s not the wind. It’s right next to my ear.
My eyes fly open.
I gasp, sitting up so fast the room spins. A hand clamps onto my shoulder, steadying me.
“Whoa. Easy.”
Billy’s face swims into focus. He is inches away, his blue-gray eyes wide with concern. His brow is furrowed, a deep crease between his eyebrows.
He looks exhausted. He looks terrified.
“You were dreaming,” he says.
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain. The dream clings to me like cobwebs. The heat, the grass, the feeling of falling. My heart is still racing, thudding against my ribs.
“What… what time is it?”
“Late afternoon. You’ve been out for a few hours.”
I look around. I’m in the bunkhouse. The bed is damp beneath me. My clothes are stuck to my skin with sweat.
I’m burning up. The fever hasn’t broken. If anything, it’s worse. My head pounds with a dull, rhythmic ache.
I try to swallow. My throat feels like sandpaper.
“Water,” I croak.
Billy reaches over to the nightstand. He grabs a glass and hands it to me. Our fingers brush. The contact sends a jolt through me, sharp and immediate. I pull my hand back, startled.
He doesn’t notice. He’s too busy watching me drink.
I gulp the water down, draining the glass in seconds. It’s cool, but it does nothing to quench the fire in my belly. I hand the glass back.
“Thanks.”
The door opens. Clara rushes in, followed by Maggie Torres who has a stethoscope around her neck. She looks efficient and worried.
“She’s awake,” Clara says, relief flooding her face. She comes to the side of the bed, opposite Billy. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck,” I admit. “A hot truck.”
Maggie moves to the foot of the bed. She pulls a small flashlight from her pocket. “Let’s check those reflexes.”
Billy stands up. He takes a step back, giving them room. He shoves his hands into his pockets.
“I’ll give you some space,” he says.
