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“When did your mom die?” Chills sweep my skin.
“The day that Olive did.”
Tears fill my eyes. I swallow, and they fall.
“Have you ever heard about string theory? Everything is tied together, works together, shrinks, expands, and breathes together. Maybe we’re on the same string, baby. We’re right beside each other. We’re the same thing.” His mouth takes mine. He pulls away. “My blood, your blood...” Another kiss... his voice hot on my cheek. “One day I tried to calculate the odds of how we met. The odds of February 14. There are no odds. For us, there are no odds because it isn’t chance.”
He’s inside me mere seconds later. No one pushes the chair under the doorknob. There’s no need to. Arethea skips the two a.m. IV—the only time she ever does it.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m so hot. Like I’m living on the sun. I turn toward Kellan and my heart sinks.
THE HOUSE OF CARDS FALLS SO, so fast. I can tell by just one glance that something’s very wrong. He’s lying on his side, behind me, his right cheek against the pillow. His skin looks slightly gray, his lips a little pale—maybe a tinge of blue. His eyelids sag. His blue eyes almost seem to glow. I don’t have to ask what’s wrong because I feel him up against me.
He’s hot. Really hot.
I turn around to face him. “Kellan?”
I’m so alarmed, I grasp his face. He winces, and I move my fingers off his bruised cheek.
“Shit, I’m sorry. What’s the matter?” The fever isn’t triggering alarm bells for me. It’s the way his face looks. All his coloring is off.
He blinks at me, and his eyes have that glazed quality, which makes more bells peel for me.
He reaches for a strand of my hair. “Nothing,” he says. “I’m fine.”
But he sounds weird and raspy. Breathless.
My eyes fly to the little box that keeps track of his pulse and the amount of oxygen in his blood.
Pulse is 130, blood oxygen is 92 percent. I lay my hand on his jaw, just below the bruising. I stroke the stubble. “You think you’ve got a cold?”
He reaches out for me and pulls me closer. “Just come here...” He tries to tuck me up against him.
“K.—we need to call someone.”
His eyes squeeze shut. “Nothing…to…tell them.”
“I can see the pulse ox and hear how breathless you are. Talk to me.” I stroke his burning brow and feel a sheen of sweat. I look into his eyes in time to see them swim with tears.
“Oh... K. You feel really bad, huh? I’m sorry. Just let me call Arethea and we’ll figure out what’s up.”
He shakes his head, and one tear spills down toward his nose.
I brush it off and lean to touch his temple with my lips. I smooth my palm over his hot forehead and Kellan grabs my forearm. “Cleo—please. Don’t call... please. Not yet.” He grasps at me. He wraps an arm around me, pushing me from behind, pushing my backside against his dick.
“I want to be inside you... I need it. Cleo please.” His voice cracks, and I know I have to call Arethea. “Kellan, you can. I swear, I’ll ride you just as soon as you have oxygen, okay? We have to call. We have to let them know.”
His hand comes up to his face, and my chest aches. “Kell... You’re so strong... you’re doing so well. I love you.” I reach for the bed’s remote, with the call button.
His hand grips my elbow. “Cleo—no.” He pushes up, half sitting. He looks pale and dizzy. “Don’t call. Please. Hold me… I need you. Cleo, trust me—please.”
I scoot back toward him, wrapping my arm around him even as I press the nurse call button.
“Yes?” It’s Arethea’s voice, thank God.
“Hey, could you come here please? Something’s up—we need your help.”
“Of course.”
