Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
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.