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I take his hands in mine, trying to warm them. Trying to hold onto something to stop myself spiraling out with panic and despair.
Sebastian takes a rasping breath and looks at me, his eyes slipping back into focus for a moment. “My sparrow…” He whispers, squeezing my hand softly. Then he lays back, his voice so faint I barely hear his next words under the crack and hiss of the fire:
“I’m sorry...”
I don’t sleep.I’m too worried about Sebastian to rest, even for a moment. I spend the night by the fire with him, anxiously checking his temperature, and trying to remember anything I might have learned about treating exposure or hypothermia.
Am I supposed to keep him hot? Or cool? Does he need to eat, or is it better to let him sleep straight through, and let his body recover from the shock of the ice?
I wish I knew for sure or had a cell signal to check online. All I can do is press a damp cloth to his forehead and press a cup of water to his lips every few hours, as Sebastian mumbles in his sleep.
“Avery…”
I sit up, startled. It’s still dark out, but the fire has burned low in the hearth. I must have drifted off.
“Avery… No!” Sebastian’s voice echoes in the dim room, and I spring to my feet.
“Sebastian?” I go to him, but he’s still sleeping, thrashing restlessly where he lays by the fire.
“You can’t—don’t… Don’t!”
“Shh,” I try to comfort him. “Sebastian, it’s OK, I’m right here.”
Still, he mumbles, and breaks into a rasping cough, gasping for air. His whole body wracked with the effort.
Fuck.
This isn’t good. I press a hand to check his forehead, then pull it back, shocked. He’s burning up. “I’m going to get you more water,” I tell him, but Sebastian grabs my arm.
“No… No,” he pulls me closer. “Don’ leave… Avery…”
I try to break his hold. “You need to drink.”
“Don’t go…” he whispers, pulling me closer. “Don’t ever go…”
He’s out of it, still half-conscious, but his grip is still like steel as yanks me into the curve of his body.
I have no choice but to lay there, spooned against him. His body pressed against me, his mouth tucked against my neck.
Even after everything, even with fear still beating in my chest for him, I can’t deny how right it feels to be back in his arms.
Like I belong here.
Sebastian must feel the same, because he exhales, his arms tightening around me. Something in him seems to settle, soothed by my nearness, and our familiar embrace. I don’t have the heart to pull away, not with his breathing turning more even, and his restlessness stilled.
I shouldn’t want peace for him. But here I am, wishing it with all my heart.
I feel an ache of confusion, but I’ll deal with my treacherous feelings later. For now, the only thing that matters is him making it through another night.
“Please,” I whisper, sending up a silent prayer. “Please let him live.”
The next forty-eighthours pass in a blur of anxiety. I’m so worried about Sebastian that I can hardly stand it. He drifts in and out of consciousness, fighting a fever one moment and chills the next. During one of his brief periods of consciousness, I manage to move him up to his bedroom, although he’s so out of it that I’m not sure he even realizes what’s going on.
But the bed is more comfortable for him, and I pull a chair up close to his bedside, where I sit as I try to take care of him. It mostly consists of feeding him soup and keeping him hydrated with tea and water. I found Tylenol in the bathroom cabinet, so I keep giving him doses every four hours to help with the fever and body aches.
All I can do aside from that is pray.
To what God, I’m not sure, I just know, he has to make it. He has to be OK. The alternative…
