Page 17
CHAPTER 17
Farren
S omething startles me awake and the first thing I notice is the emptiness of the bed. I blink into the darkness, confused for a second, and the bedside clock reads just a little past midnight. North’s house is unfamiliar, even though I’ve been here for a couple of days now. My hand brushes over the spot where he should be, and the sheets are cooled to the touch, suggesting he’s been gone some time.
“North?” I call softly into the quiet room.
No response.
I toss the blanket off and pad out into the hallway. We have settled into the routine of sleeping naked because we’re normally collapsing into an exhausted heap, but there was no sex last night so I’m wearing one of his T-shirts and my panties are intact.
What started out as a cough while dogsledding soon turned into so much more. North went through a period of chills, so I had him layered up in sweatpants, a long-sleeve thermal T-shirt and a sweatshirt on top of that. He had body aches and nausea and could barely keep down the soup I made for him.
He was running a slight fever when I tucked him into bed last night and I gave him Tylenol. I woke up a few times to check on him, but at some point, he must have slipped out of bed.
The soft glow of the living room light spills into the hall, and I follow it. As I turn the corner, I spot him on the couch, sprawled awkwardly with one arm draped over his forehead. His breathing is ragged, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his face.
I creep quietly to his side and kneel next to him. Up close, he looks worse—pale, damp and shivering, despite the blanket tangled around him. I put my hand lightly on his chest.
His eyelids flutter open, and he groans. “What’re you doing up?”
“What am I doing up? What are you doing out here?” I place the back of my hand on his forehead, and the heat radiating off him makes my stomach lurch. “You’re burning up.”
“I was too hot in the room,” he rasps, his voice scratchy and weak. “Didn’t wanna wake you. Or get you sick.”
“Well, now you’re out here freezing.” I pull the blanket tighter around him, but he shivers violently, curling in on himself. “North, this is bad. You’re burning up and shaking like a leaf.”
He tries to wave me off. “I’m fine. Just need to rest—”
“No, you don’t need to rest. You need to see a doctor.” I push up from the floor and retrieve the thermometer from the master bathroom where I’d left it last night.
“Open up,” I say, holding it out.
He grumbles but does as he’s told, and a few seconds later, it beeps. I look at the screen and feel my heart drop.
“North, your temp is 104.” I check my watch and grimace. “And I gave you Tylenol just a few hours ago. We’re going to the emergency room.”
He shakes his head weakly. “No need. It’ll pass.”
“Don’t argue with me,” I snap as I rise from the floor. “You’re burning up, and you’re supposed to catch a flight later this morning. What’s your plan? Infect the entire team?”
“I’ll be fine,” he insists, trying to sit up. His body gives out halfway, and he collapses back onto the couch. His eyes are glazed as if he’s not all there and he looks like a strong wind would blow him over. I don’t know how he got so bad so fast. “Just need to sleep.”
“Yeah, that’s convincing.” I grab his shoes and crouch next to him. “Come on. We’re going.”
I hastily dress but getting him to the truck is an ordeal. He puts most of his weight on me as we shuffle to the passenger side, his arm draped over my shoulders. Once he’s settled, I circle around to the driver’s seat and climb in. That’s when I realize just how enormous this thing is.
“This stupid truck sits like twenty feet off the ground,” I grumble, adjusting the seat so I can reach the pedals.
“Careful,” he croaks, a hint of amusement in his tired voice. “You’ll hurt her feelings.”
“Her feelings?” I glance at him, incredulous. “You named your truck?”
He manages a weak grin. “Guinevere.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re yanking my chain,” I chuckle, gripping the wheel. “I’ve never driven anything this big. What if I crash it?”
“You won’t crash it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just take it slow. You’re good at following directions.”
I shoot him a look. “You’re lucky you’re dying right now, or I’d argue.”
He chuckles weakly, but it turns into a coughing fit that has me gripping the wheel tighter. I focus on the road, trying not to panic as I navigate the quiet streets. North murmurs occasional instructions, his voice growing fainter with each passing minute.
When we pull up to the emergency room, I kill the engine and rush to his side. He’s barely holding himself up as I help him out of the truck, his weight heavy against me. Inside, the receptionist eyes us with boredom until I see the recognition hit her as she takes in North.
“Mr. Paquette?” she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and concern. “You look… awful.”
“Yes,” I say briskly. “He’s running a high fever, terrible cough and needs to see someone now.”
She nods quickly, typing into her computer. “Let me just get some information and then he’ll get triaged.”
Within fifteen minutes we have him checked in and someone takes his vitals, then we’re in the waiting room, which is thankfully not that busy. I guide North to a small, two-person couch isolated from others and he slumps onto it beside me. His head drops to my shoulder, and I can feel the heat radiating off him even through my sweater.
“You’re so hot,” I whisper, brushing his damp hair back.
“So are you, baby,” he rasps, and I’m relieved he’s with it enough to joke. North shifts his big body and rests his head on my lap and without thought, my hand rubs his back. He stills and I watch his shallow breaths.
The waiting room is silent except for the faint murmur of whispers. I glance around and notice people staring, some with their phones out.
Of course. Everyone here knows who he is.
“Relax, superstar,” I murmur, running my fingers through his hair. “They’re just fans.”
He grunts softly, too drained to muster a real response.
When they finally call us back, I help North to his feet and into the exam room where I get him on the bed. The nurse takes his temperature a second time and shakes her head. “It’s at 104. You said you gave him Tylenol?”
I nod. “Maybe about three hours ago now.”
“We’ll run a rapid flu and COVID test,” she says, glancing at me. “You might want to wear a mask.”
“I’ve been vaccinated,” I say.
“So was I,” North whines. “Put on a damn mask, Farren.”
I concede and the nurse grabs me one, although whatever he has, I’ve been exposed to it. She swabs his nose and helps me cover him with blankets.
It feels like forever but finally a doctor comes in. He’s young with dark hair sticking up in all directions and thick glasses, reminding me of Harry Potter. He’s kind and charming in a goofy way. “The nurses are all aflutter that we have a professional hockey player in here.”
North smiles weakly. “That’s me.”
“Not feeling great, huh?” the doctor asks, moving to the side of the bed and putting his stethoscope in his ears. “Let me listen to you.”
After a few minutes of checking North out, he says, “ Your COVID test is negative, but you did test positive for influenza A. I’d like to get some bloodwork. My guess is you’re also dehydrated, and we can give you fluids to make you feel better.”
“What about the fever?” I ask.
“I’ll add ibuprofen in with the fluids. That will hopefully get it down and we can send you home. I’ll also prescribe you an antiviral medication to help speed the process.”
“As long as I can make the flight out of here today to New York,” North whispers groggily.
My eyes cut to the doctor who is shaking his head. “You’re not able to fly…”
“I’ve got a game tonight. I can’t let my team down.”
“You can’t play,” the doctor says, cutting him off. “You’re highly contagious and you’re running a fever. You’re also dehydrated. There’s no way you’re physically able.”
“Write a note clearing me,” North demands, his stubborn streak showing through the fatigue.
The doctor doesn’t budge. “I can’t in good conscience do that. You’re sitting this one out.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and move closer to him. My mask is in place and I wish I could pull it down so he could see my face, but I don’t want to risk it. “You’re going to have to miss this game, North. You’re too sick. ”
North slumps back in the bed, defeated. I feel a pang of sympathy as I reach for his hand. “Hey,” I say softly. “They’ll understand. You need to get better.”
He doesn’t answer, just squeezes my hand weakly.
While we wait for them to get the IV going, North falls into a fitful sleep. I step out of the room and call Rafferty.
It goes to voicemail, but I don’t leave one. Instead, I call again and he answers on the third ring, groggy and disoriented, but cognizant enough to see it’s me on caller ID. “Farren?” he asks thickly.
“Yeah… hey… sorry to call so late, but I’m at the emergency room with North.”
It’s almost instantaneous, and his words are clear and crisp. I imagine him sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Flu. He’s pretty sick. They’re going to start an IV and give him some fluids, but the doctor said he can’t make the trip today.”
“Obviously,” Rafferty says. “I’ll call Coach and let him know. Assume you’ll take care of him?”
It’s funny, but I had every intention of doing just that without Rafferty asking me to. And yet, the minute he says that I wonder what message it sends to North if I do stay to tend to him. Will he think that implies a deeper level of commitment from me?
And more importantly, why am I even thinking about such things? Why am I weighing every fucking action and phrase as if it means I’m being locked into some type of committed prison? I clear my throat. “Of course I’ll take care of him. He’s in good hands.”
“Thanks, sis. I’ll call Coach now. Why don’t you text me any updates and I’ll pass them on.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And Farren,” Rafferty says, his tone gentle. “Thank you for helping him.”
“No thanks needed. It’s what anyone would do.”
We say goodbye and I head back into North’s room. The nurse is in there starting an IV and he gives me a wan smile. “I called Rafferty. He’ll call Coach West.” I rub my hands together and give an evil cackle. “Now you’re all mine.”
“God help me,” he rasps and looks at the nurse. “Please don’t leave me with this crazy woman.”
The nurse giggles and bats her lashes at North but he’s staring back at me again, his glazed eyes soft with tenderness. “Thank you.”
?
By the time we leave, North has perked up a bit from the fluids but he’s still exhausted. His fever is down slightly and I have good instructions on how to take care of him. I manage to get him back into the truck and drive home, my worry outweighing my nerves about handling the massive vehicle. Once we’re inside his house, I guide him to bed and tuck him in, ignoring his weak protests.
“You’re not invincible, you know,” I tell him, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Rest. I’m going to go fill your prescription and pick up a few essentials to nurse you back to health.”
He mumbles something incoherent, his eyes already closing.
I watch him for a bit, torn by a slight panicked feeling. I reach deep to analyze it. Am I scared for his health?
No, not really. He’s a strong guy and it’s the flu. He feels like shit now but he’ll bounce back.
So what is it?
I take him in, his face slightly scrunched as he sleeps, and I want to brush away that lock of hair over his forehead. I focus on that… the inner need I have to take care of him. It’s not something I’ve ever extended to anyone outside of my immediate family. It was a painful lesson I learned long ago to keep all feelings wrapped tight. The minute I’m weak enough to care about something, it means I can’t see the truth of what is really before me. Tenderness, devotion, hope, those are all things that cloud judgment and make you vulnerable for someone to take advantage.
My desire to care for North while he’s sick is putting me at risk and I don’t like it .
And yet, I cannot deny that no matter how tired I am right now because it’s been a long, exhausting night, it feels so damn satisfying to be needed.
Ugh. So fucking confusing, and it disorients me to the point I don’t know who I am anymore.
Finally, I grab his keys and head out the door, forcing all those deep and conflicting thoughts aside.