Desperate Times (Boys of Silver Ridge 2)

I press my hand to my forehead, trying to get the throbbing to stop, and sit on the toilet a few minutes after I’m done, not sure if I can move without throwing up. I don’t get migraines often, but the times I have, I’ve had to go to the hospital for medication to make them go away. Pair a migraine with how shitty I feel now and I’m pretty fucking miserable.

Keeping my eyes shut, I feel my way back to the bedroom, groaning when I finally get back in bed. I bury myself under the covers, trying to find a way to get comfortable. My calves are cramping and my back hurts. I roll over, curling my legs up to my chest. It’s comfortable for only a minute before new aches start up.

Only a few minutes later, my phone rings. I sit up and then immediately feel like I’m going to throw up. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I stay there, frozen, until the wave of nausea passes. I missed the call by that time, and slit my eyes open to see it was Sam. I call him back, putting the phone on speaker so I can rest it on the pillow next to me.

“Hey, babe,” he says when I grumble a hello. “Still feeling crummy?”

“You could say that.” I cough, and the movement makes my aching body hurt even more.

“I have food for you, and as soon as my mom heard you weren’t feeling well, she made you soup.”

“That was nice of her.” Just talking is making me feel like I’m going to throw up again. Migraines are so stupid. Gritting my teeth, I slowly inhale and push myself up so I can get a drink of water.

“If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to go down by the lake with you again,” Sam says, words coming out rather quickly. “Or walk in the woods.”

“Me too,” I grumble. “Are you almost here?”

“Yeah. I’m pulling onto the street now and will probably lose service. I’ll see you soon.”

“Hmm,” I say, unable to open my mouth to form actual words. I definitely will throw up this time if I do. The call ends and I lie in bed, half convinced I’m dying and half thinking I’m not actually that sick, until I hear Sam come in through the front door.

“You upstairs?” he calls.

“Yeah,” I say feebly and try to get up. I make it so far as getting my feet on the floor right when Sam comes in, and it’s a good thing he got there when he did. My vision blurs and my ears start to ring. Sam catches me right as I lose my balance.

“Shit, babe,” he says and helps me back into bed. “You look awful.” He puts his hand on my forehead. “And you’re burning up.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” I say, voice all breathy. Sam dashes out of the room, grabbing the little trashcan from the bathroom just in time for me to puke in it. He holds my hair back and takes the trashcan when I’m done, going to get me tissues to wipe my mouth with. I take a small drink of water, needing to rinse the taste out.

My head still hurts but now that I don’t feel so nauseous, I can open my eyes. “You look concerned,” I mumble.

“I didn’t realize you were so sick,” he says back, looking guilty. “I wouldn’t have left if I’d known.”

“I’m fine.”

“You just threw up.”

“Only because I have a bad headache.”

Sam picks up the thermometer. “Because you’re sick, Chloe.” I close my eyes and can tell by the frantic beeping of the thermometer that I still have a fever.

“It’s high again,” he tells me. “Have you been bundled up?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think you can keep anything down? You can take more Advil now.”

I slowly shake my head back and forth. “No, but I’ll try.”

“I’d rather wait a little while longer than have you throw up again.”

He fixes the pillows and helps me lie down, gently rubbing my back. “How long as the headache been this bad?”

“Um, not long after you left.”

“Do you get migraines often?”

“No.”

“High fevers and severe headaches require medical attention,” he says, voice calm.

“Good thing you’re a doctor.”

“I can’t treat you here. You should have bloodwork done and receive some fluids.” Chills suddenly plague me harder than before, and my body shivers uncontrollably. “There isn’t an urgent care in Silver Ridge, so we’ll have to go to the ER.”

“I don’t need to go to the ER. Give me Advil and a nap and I’ll feel better.”

“You said that this morning,” Sam reminds me. “The fever hasn’t gone down.”

“I might have been bundled. I was cold.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he tells me. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes after you take something for the fever. But, Chloe, if your head hurts this bad, you’re going to need something stronger than Advil.”