Page 26 of Wait for Him

I like it when you call me baby.

I try to open my mouth and nothing happens.

“Jesus Christ, you're burning up.”

He shifts me more securely against him, and then I hear his phone. His voice changes when someone answers, fear forced underneath something controlled as he gives the address and tells them what he found. A woman in her thirties. High fever. Barely responsive. Unable to stand. He found me on the floor.

Soaked.

Some distant, furious ember of me flares at the word.

Don't tell them that.

Don't fucking say that.

Don't look at me.

I want him to put me down long enough to let me clean myself up. I want to know what else my body has done without my permission while I was unconscious. I want to be properly indignant about the fact that the man I've spent years trying not to want has just found me lying half-conscious in my own urine, but even humiliation requires more energy than I have.

My mouth is so dry.

God, I'm thirsty.

Jackson ends the call and brushes my hair away from my face. Some of it is stuck to the clammy skin of my forehead, and he takes his time separating the damp strands, pushing each one back as gently as if I'm something fragile.

Then his lips touch my forehead.

My cheek.

My temple.

“They're coming, baby. Ambulance is coming.”

Another kiss lands against my forehead.

“I shouldn't have waited this long to check on you. I'm so fucking sorry. You weren't answering, but I thought you were sleeping off the other night and I...” His voice catches, and his arms tighten around me. “Fuck. I'm sorry.”

I want to tell him this isn't his fault, not to sound so scared.

I want to tell him I would've been furious if he'd broken into my apartment because I didn't answer my phone for a few hours. Wait. The other night? How long have I been here?

“I texted Bennet. He's coming back from the airport. He'll meet us at the hospital.” His thumb moves over my cheek. “Nod if you can hear me, Rose. Please. Look at me. Open your eyes for me, baby.”

I try.

I try so hard that something in my chest seems to strain toward the sound of him, but my body has stopped accepting instructions.

Sleep pulls me back under, anyway.

The last thing I know is Jackson's heartbeat beneath my cheek, going much too fast.

***

I wake slowly, disoriented enough that for several seconds I'm simply grateful the room is dark.

Then everything begins arriving in pieces.

Bed rails.