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“Do you hear me? I can’t stand it.”
“Will.”
“What?”
“It’s a common bacterial infection. The antibiotics will take care of it. She’s going to be okay.”
A heavy pause. “What if she’s not?”
“If you think she’s getting worse, then you call me, and I’ll come with you to the ER.”
“And—”
“And I called in three days’ worth of Vicodin for the pain. She should be significantly improved after forty-eight hours. Okay?”
For a while, all I can do is rest on the pillows. I want to sleep. I’m exhausted. But when I start to dream, I forget about the no-swallowing rule.
“Bristol.” The bed dips. A hand runs between my shoulder blades in slow circles. “Can you wake up?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Will lifts me to sitting, and a tiny plastic cup appears in front of my face. It’s filled with purple liquid. Ireallydon’t want to drink it, but…it’s kind of hilarious, isn’t it? This is kids’ medicine.
“For kids.” My voice is hoarse. Strained. What did Will call it?Wrecked.
“I don’t know who told you that adults can’t have grape-flavored medicine. That’s a conspiracy theory. And it’s the correct dose, I promise.”
I don’t trust myself to hold the cup. Maybe if I weren’t so sick, I’d be embarrassed that he’s having to help me drink kids’ medicine. Synthetic grape slides onto my tongue.
It’s…
Reallygood. And it doesn’t hurt so much to swallow.
“One more.” This one’s red, and tastes like cherries. Will keeps an arm around my shoulders the entire time. Then there’s a third glass with warm water. A few sips, and he nestles me against the pillows. I can’t keep my eyes open, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face.
I don’t know how much time passes. A few minutes, maybe. Will just touches me, his fingertips brushing over my cheeks, then back to my hair. A warm sensation expands through my arms and my legs, eventually rising to my throat.
“Does it hurt any less?” Will asks. I might be imagining the hint of desperation in his voice.
“Doesn’t hurt at all right now. Just…scratchy.”
Am I even awake? I think so. I could tumble into a dream any second. I don’t feel like I’m on fire anymore. A low laugh rumbles through the apartment. Then another voice. Ben’s, I think. It gets a little louder, then fades away again.
“Are the twins okay?” Talking isn’t easy. I took it for granted before.
“They’re great.” He hesitates. Or maybe he’s just waiting to see if I’ve fallen asleep. “I asked Sinclair to come over so they’re not by themselves.”
“Who’s Sinclair?”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh. “My brother. You’ve met.”
“Oh.” I’m drifting in a grape-and-cherry sea, and it feels wonderful. “ThatSinclair.”
It takes Will a beat, but then he snorts. “You’ll have to introduce me to all the other Sinclairs you know. I’ve never met another one.”
“Will?”
“Hmm?”
