The Woman in the Back Room (Costa Family)

If I didn't feel like absolute shit, I would have went ahead and really enjoyed the fact that he'd grabbed me right at the sides of my tits, his thumbs almost, just barely, grazing the swells of them as he yanked me up to a seated position against the windows.

"Open," he demanded, pressing two round pills against my lips. "Good. Now drink," he went on, holding the glass up to give me a sip. "No, drink," he said when I only took enough to help the pills slide back. "You need to hydrate," he added.

"Ugh," I griped, but had no choice but to drink when he kept tipping the glass in front of my lips. It was either to drink, or to wear it.

I was cold enough already.

So I drank.

"Think you might have the flu," he added after I finished the glass.

"But Avi..."

"Had a flu shot," Santi told me. "So, he only got a little sick. I'm assuming you missed yours. Want me to take you to the doctor? They can give you that shit to cut it short."

"I'm okay," I insisted. I didn't think I could stay awake long enough to see a doctor. "Just need to sleep," I added.

"Okay. I'll check on you in a bit," he said, tucking me into the blankets once again.

I was asleep before he even finished.

The world could have ended and I wouldn't have woken up.

Until, of course, Santi started to strip me out of my clothes.

That sure woke me up.

Chapter Seven

Santi

"What is it, bud?" I asked as I caught Avi shooting worried glances at me over and over while I piled some ingredients from the fridge onto the counter.

"She's really sick."

"Yeah, seems like it," I agreed. I'd never felt skin as hot as hers had felt before. Avi had been sick many times in his life. He'd run fevers with every illness. But he'd never been burning up like Alessa was.

Brit had one of those bodies that refused to get sick. She'd never been ill a day in her life.

I'd never been put in the position of sole caretaker before. I'd been around when Avi was sick, but it had been Brit with all the little tricks to help him get well quickly.

I felt like I was out of my depths.

But I did know that when I'd been sick, soup always helped.

So I was attempting to make soup.

I'd never done it before, but it seemed pretty idiot-proof. Broth and veg in a pot, simmer, and serve. Even I could manage that.

"Av," I called when I saw his lower lip poke out. "What is it?"

"She's not going to die, is she?"

"What? Bud, no," I said, noticing how glassy his eyes were. "Hey, no," I said again when one of the tears slipped over and slid down his cheek. Moving around the island, I reached for him, pulled him against my side. "She's going to be okay."

"You're sure?" he asked, voice sounding choked.

"She's just got the flu, bud. Tons of people get the flu every year. She's going to be fine."

"We can take care of her," he insisted, voice getting stronger. "To make sure," he added.

"Yeah, we're going to take care of her," I agreed, stroking his hair. "We will take really good care of her, and she will get better. That's why we're making soup," I added, giving his small body a tight squeeze as he pulled himself back together.

Of course he would be worried about her.

He'd just lost his mom.

The idea of something happening to the other, new, but significant woman in his life was weighing hard on his overwrought emotions.

Big feelings, little bodies.

I should have seen it sooner.

Hell, I should have realized it as soon as I heard his voice on the phone. He'd sounded panicked, his words tripping over one another as they tumbled out.

"Mom made me tea," he said, pulling back, scrubbing at his cheeks with his sleeves.

I was pretty sure that was the first time he talked about Brit to me since she'd died. That felt big. I wasn't sure if it was. But it seemed significant to me.

"Then maybe you can make Less some tea. Do you know how to?"

"Mom never let me touch the kettle," he said, nodding toward the electric kettle that had sat untouched since Brit died.

"Well, if you only put enough water for one cup of tea, I think you're big enough to handle it if you're careful, yeah?" I said, shrugging.

"Yeah," he agreed, shoulders squaring, chest puffing out. I set to chopping celery while he very carefully put some water in the kettle, set it in the cradle, then turned it on before going to look for a mug.

I kept an eye on him without him knowing I was looking. I liked to see him doing things for himself. I knew Brit really loved to do every little thing for him. He was her baby. Her only one. She wanted to take care of him. We'd butted heads about that a few times over the years when I wanted to see him start learning to do things for himself.