Page 55

I set her gently on the couch and Drama readjusts herself, giving me a slightly haughty look like she can’t believe I’ve dragged her two-and-a-half-pound cuteness upstairs.

Sabrina clutches the tuxedo kitten a little more tightly.

I head to the kitchen, find the thermometer on the counter there, then return and quickly scan her forehead.

I shake my head, tsking her. “You’re one hundred two. You’re getting some medicine.”

She pouts but nods. I give her Tylenol, pour some Gatorade, and hold the cup for her as she sits up and drinks from it. She doesn’t drink that much, so I say, “A little more.”

She takes another sip of the cherry-flavored drink, then hands it back to me.

But I give it back to her. “You need to get liquids inside you, baby,” I say.

She sighs then drinks some more.

“Now you need to rest,” I tell her. She settles into the couch, but I shake my head and once more I scoop her up along with the kitten, and I carry her up the stairs again.

“Tyler, why are you taking me up here?”

“Because you’re sick, and you need the emperor bed.”

She rests her head against my chest and that feels like exactly where she should be.

She falls asleep in my bed, tucked under her blanket and my cover, with Drama curling up on top of the pillow.

I change out of my suit into basketball shorts and a hoodie and check on Sabrina constantly, making sure she’s comfortable and not burning up.

She coughs faintly a few times but doesn’t wake.

The lights are low and I’m sitting in a chair, reading on my tablet.

Her eyes flutter open around ten-thirty and she stares at me, a little confused. Then says, “Where am I?”

“My room, baby.”

“Where are the kids? ”

“With my mom. They’re spending the night there.”

She nods, a sign she’s remembered everything. She pushes up and swings her legs out of bed. “I have to pee.”

I’m up and out of the chair in no time, offering her a hand.

“I can stand,” she says weakly.

“I know, but let me help you,” I say with my hand still held out. She takes it and I walk with her to the bathroom door, then leave her be.

She shuts the door, and a few minutes later, trudges back to bed. I help her into it. She shivers a little, and I check her temperature again. “You’re one hundred one. That’s good,” I tell her. “Can you drink some more Gatorade?”

“Maybe,” she says.

I grab a water bottle that I already filled with the cherry drink. “Your favorite flavor.”

“A Popsicle might be good,” she says, with the tiniest tease in her voice, and that makes me smile over the memory of the Popsicle and the fact that she can make a joke right now.

“If you want a Popsicle, I’ll get you one,” I say.

“Maybe later,” she says, then takes the water bottle and drinks more. She hands it to me and I set it down on the nightstand.

Drama stretches her way across the bed, padding closer to Sabrina.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” I ask.

She shrugs, but then says, “I don’t think I’m sleepy right yet. Maybe I’ll watch something.”

“What do you want to watch?” I say, then I don’t give her a chance to turn me down. I hop into bed right next to her.

She stares at me like I’m losing it, shirking away. “You shouldn’t get that close. You might die.”

I laugh. “I’m not going to die.”

“I really don’t want to get you sick. ”

“I’m pretty tough.”

“There’s a difference between this virus and someone trying to beat you up with a hockey stick.”

“You’re right. I’m not going to lose my teeth here,” I say.

“Tyler,” she says. She’s so tough but the thing is, I’m immovable in this regard.

“I’m going to be fine. You can’t stop me. Best to just give in.”

She sighs, acquiescing, then says, “You want to watch some skating?”

I smile. “A woman after my own heart.”

Then I hunt through the Chromecast and I find some old skating videos. We watch together, pointing out triple loops and axles, camel spins and twizzles, and oohing and aahing over the jumps.

When she yawns, I say, “Do you want to try to go to sleep again?”

She nods, so I turn off the TV and dim the lights a little more, checking her temperature once again. She’s one hundred one, but that’s good. She’s not getting worse.

I help her settle into the covers, gently take the hair tie from her half-bun, and stroke her hair. “Do you need anything else?”

She shakes her head.

“Sabrina,” I say, since I haven’t said I’m sorry yet and really, I need to.

“Yes,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, blurting it out.

She’s quiet for a beat, then she says, “S’okay.”

I keep stroking her hair as I speak. “I’m sorry about the other day.

I handled it badly. This is all new to me.

The way I feel for you and balancing it all, and I should have done a better job.

I just want you to know that, and I want you to come with me.

With us. If you want to. I want you to come…

ju st because I want you there,” I say, my heart jumping around as I think about taking her to New York.

But when I look down at her again, she’s fast asleep and probably has been for the last few minutes. I tuck the blanket tightly around her and drop a kiss to her warm forehead.

Tonight is for healing, not exoneration.