Page 182 of True Blue

She pouts and my teeth clench from how adorable it looks, “I hate getting sick…”

“I don’t think anyone likes getting sick,” I smile, brushing a stray piece of blonde hair from her face.

“No,” she whispers. “Always tried not to.”

My entire body goes still at her words.

“Had to be careful,” she mumbles. “If I got sick… no one…”

Her voice trails off, and I can barely breathe.

I lean down and press my lips at her ear, keeping my voice gentle, “What are you saying, honey?”

Indie takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“No one to take care of me.”

She says the words so quietly, but they hit me like a punch directly to the chest. I knew this already, of course. I knew Indie grew up alone, even when she was with her parents. All she knew was hunger and how the clanking of bottles meant to hide away in her room.

She always acted like it wasn’t a big deal, that she did what was necessary anytime I showed admiration for how she made so much out of nothing.

It’s just another reminder that her independence was always tied to survival. How she still expects the room to be empty when she reaches for help, and I had only confirmed that it would be.

“I will,” I swear quietly. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you, Indie.”

She doesn’t open her eyes. “Even though… we’re not together?”

“You’re my best friend, Indie,” I say simply, because it’s the truest thing I know. “I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always take care of you if you let me.”

Indie doesn’t say anything to that, but her mouth curves into a tiny grin. Her breathing evens out, and her shivers aren’t as violent anymore. I keep gently patting the cloth on her skin, avoiding her stitches.

After twenty minutes, I think she’s slipped into sleep. The cloth has gone warm in my hand, so I go to stand to walk into the bathroom and wet it again. I’ll grab her a bottle of water too, she’ll need to stay hydrated.

Then I’ll place a grocery order with all her favorites. Lots of citrus fruits because Indie loves mandarin oranges like they’re a food group in itself. Her favorite soups, that chicken and rice one she loves. Some ginger ale for her stomach. Do they have thermometers at the grocery store?

My mind is going a mile a minute, but before I can stand, though, Indie turns her head toward me. Her eyes stay closed, but she mumbles, “I love you, Teddy bear…”

My heart stops before slamming back to life, hard enough to hurt my ribs. Those words—words I’ve wanted desperately to hear again for months—settle into me like the sunlight after a storm.

My throat goes dry as I lean down to kiss her flushed cheek.

“I love you too, honey. The right way this time.”

“When I’m not sick,” she sighs, “I’m going to kiss the shit out of you...”

A helpless laugh escapes me, affection punching straight through my chest.

“I can’t wait, honey.”

35

INDIE

JANUARY

The nausea erupts too quickly for me to realize. One second I’m deep asleep, drifting peacefully, and the next my stomach turns in on itself and I’m gagging violently.

My body is guided up and to the side just in time for me to vomit.