“I had a bad dream.”
“Want me to tuck you back into bed?”
He shakes his head. “I want Daddy.”
“Daddy’s not feeling too well,” I softly explain.
“Is that why you’re in bed with him?”
It is one-hundred percent why I’m in bed with him, but I still cringe. “Yeah. I’ve been taking care of him.”
“Is Daddy okay?”
“He will be.”
Wes stirs behind me, and his hand slides along my side.
“Daddy?” Jackson asks, climbing onto the bed.
“Jackson,” Wes murmurs, eyes fluttering open. “Shit,” he says under his breath. Shit is right. We’re in bed together, though I don’t think Jackson is jumping to conclusions. He has no idea what being in bed together can imply.
“Can I watch videos on your phone?” Jackson asks.
“Yeah, this morning you can.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
Wes feels around his nightstand for his phone, unlocks it, and gives it to Jackson, who takes it back into his room.
“Don’t judge me.”
“That’s the last thing I’ll do,” I tell Wes. “You’re sick. A little screen time isn’t going to hurt anything.” I sit up. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” Wes blinks a few times, face tight. I can tell he doesn’t feel well. I reach over and grab the thermometer to take his temp again.
“Still high.”
“How high?”
“Hundred and two point eight.”
“Dammit,” he mumbles.
“I should probably take you to the doctor now.” I grab the glass of water and hand it to him. He takes a drink and shakes his head.
“It’s not open yet. Doctor, not ER, remember.”
“Oh, right. Lay back down then.”
“You too.” He sets the water down and snakes his arm around me, pulling me back to him. We lay back down, and I rub his back until I fall asleep, not waking for another hour. I slip out of bed and into my room to change out of my PJs and into black leggings and an oversized gray sweater. Jackson fell back asleep, and I carefully take Wes’s phone from his hands, turning it off as I walk back into Weston’s room.
I gather up the damp rag and the water glass, take them downstairs and then go back into my room to run a brush through my hair and brush my teeth. Going back into Wes’s room, I slip under the covers with him, heart going a million miles an hour.
I’m worried about Wes. Whatever virus he has is hanging on strong with no signs of leaving. But I’m also feeling more for him than I have before. Realizing how scared I am of something bad happening to him, of him being really sick, makes it pretty much impossible to deny that I more than like him.
He’s making me believe in love, and I think I’m falling for him.* * *
“Thanks for coming over,” I tell Owen, shutting the door behind him.
“No problem,” Owen says, looking concerned. “Wes must be really sick to willingly go into the doctor.”
“He’s had a high fever for three days now.”
“Oh, shit.” Owen unzips his coat and steps out of his shoes. Jackson is finishing his breakfast and gets so excited when he sees his uncle he almost spills his milk.
“Hey, Jackson!” Owen calls. “Ready to have some fun?”
“Yeah!”
“I’m going to teach you all about cars and picking up women.” Owen’s face tightens when he sees Wes sitting at the table, hunched forward with his head in his hands.
“Thanks for getting up and coming over,” Wes mumbles.
Owen pulls out the chair next to him and sits, looking at his oldest brother with worry. “Of course. And you look terrible.”
“I still look better than you.”
Owen laughs. “You wish. Take care of yourself, bro. And I get to have some fun with my favorite nephew. We don’t spend enough one-on-one time together, do we, buddy? What do you want to do first?”
“Brush teeth after breakfast,” I suggest, and Owen nods. I grab the keys to the Jeep and put on my coat and shoes. Wes moves slowly on his way to the car and I keep looking over to check on him as we go to the clinic.
Wes rests his head on my shoulder as we wait, and when the nurse calls his name, I look at Weston.
“Do you want me to stay out here?”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” he says. I don’t think much of anything matters to him right now. He’s pretty damn sick. I loop my arm through his and walk with him into the examination room.
Not surprisingly, he’s dehydrated, and the doctor wants to send him to the hospital for a bag of IV fluids and monitoring until his fever goes down. Wes doesn’t even argue, which lets me know just how shitty he’s feeling at this point.
“How far is the hospital?” I ask, unlocking the Jeep as we walk through the parking lot.
“About twenty minutes,” he tells me, moving slow.
“Can you tell me how to get there or should I program it into the GPS?”