Love with Me (With Me in Seattle 11)

“No, I think it’s a medical thing, regardless of the species,” she says. “What’s for dinner? Please tell me I don’t have to cook.”

“Chinese takeout. It’s on the way.”

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“I know.” I kiss her head again.

I’m aiming for being the best husband ever.

“Hi, Susan, it’s Joy,” Joy says into her phone from the bed. She’s curled in a ball, under the covers. They’re even pulled up over her head.

I fucking hate it when she’s sick. I can open up a chest and replace a heart, but I can’t save her from the flu.

It’s fucking ridiculous.

“I’ve succumbed to the flu,” she croaks into the phone. “Throwing up like crazy. Uh-huh. No, I’m not pregnant.”

That gives me pause.

“I have chills and aches and a fever, Susan. It’s the flu. Can you call Dr. Miller and ask her to fill in for me today? Thanks. I’ll check in tomorrow morning.”

She hangs up, and suddenly her phone is flung out from under the covers, but she’s still hiding under there.

In the past, the idea of a woman I was with being pregnant would have filled my stomach with lead and my heart with dread, but the thought of Joy being round with my baby isn’t horrible at all.

I want her to be my wife. I want to have a family with her, endure the sleepless nights and the diapers and everything else that goes along with it.

“I’m dying.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” I rush into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cold water, then take it back to her and peel back the covers to find her sweaty beneath them. “You have a fever. Where’s your thermometer?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” she says, holding the cloth to her forehead. “Why do they bring this shit to work? I give them sick days so they will take them when they’re sick, not cash them out at the end of the year. I think I have to stop offering that option. If you don’t use your sick time, you lose it.”

“They’ll call in when they’re not sick.”

“But they’ll call when they are, and that’s the point because this is bullshit.”

I stick the thermometer in her ear and pull it back out. “Just over one hundred.”

“At least it’s not too bad,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll sleep it off and be better tomorrow.”

“If you’re lucky.” I lean down to kiss her, but she recoils.

“You can’t kiss me. You need a mask. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I won’t,” I promise her, but she shakes her head adamantly.

“No kissing. And you can’t sleep with me. You should probably just go home until this blows over.”

“When pigs fly,” I mutter. “Go to sleep, babe. I’ll take care of Angela and get you some soup.”

At the mention of food, her eyes widen in terror, and she makes a run for the bathroom, hurling her guts out.

I wring out the washcloth and press it to her neck as she dry heaves, her whole body lifting.

“Poor baby,” I murmur, rubbing her back in circles. “I hate this.”

“Me, too,” she whimpers. “No food for now, okay?”

“No, it seems you can’t tolerate it yet, but I am getting some water and apple juice. You can sip it.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t have you dehydrated.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want me to find something on Netflix for you?”

“No, I want to sleep,” she whispers, leaning on her forearm, still poised over the toilet. I pull her into my arms and carry her back to the bed, but before I put her under the covers, I change her clothes into something cleaner and more comfortable, get a fresh washcloth, then tuck her in.

Before I can leave to fetch the water, she tugs on my hand, pulling me in for a hug.

“Thank you, Dr. Crawford. It’s handy having a doctor around when you don’t feel good.”

“I feel absolutely worthless,” I mutter. “If you needed bypass surgery, I could do that no problem. I’m not good at this part.”

“You’re amazing,” she says. “And I’m grateful. It sucks to be sick and alone, so thanks for sticking around.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be, sweetheart. Now, let me get Angela outside and grab you some water.”

I tuck her in and hurry out of the room. I have one set of linens that she’s already sweated through in the wash, so I throw those into the dryer on my way downstairs. I let Angela outside and check on the puppies, who are starting to roam around the box and make more noise. They’re adorable. Before long, though, they won’t want to be confined to their pen.

With Angela back in with her pups, I grab a bottle of water and a glass of juice and hurry back up to the bedroom. Joy isn’t in bed.

I set the provisions down and find her wrapped around the toilet, asleep on her arms.

Poor baby.

I lift her again and tuck her into bed. She doesn’t even wake up.

With her sleeping, I set to work cleaning the toilet and the rest of the bathroom. I don’t know how long she’ll be sick, and if she’s going to spend most of the time kneeling in front of the toilet, it should be clean for her.

I shake my head as I kneel to hand-mop behind the toilet. If you’d told me a year ago that this is what I’d be doing on a Tuesday afternoon rather than saving a life in surgery, I would have called you a liar.

But I’m not sorry. I hate the circumstances, but it’s been awesome getting to know Joy in a different way and falling in love with her. Being with her almost every day.

She’s everything good in this world.

And she’s mine.

~Joy~

“It’s been three days,” I say into the phone to my doctor.

“The flu can take five to ten days to run its course,” she reminds me. “And at this point, it’s too late for an anti-viral. You need to just let it run its course.”

“I have a business to run,” I grumble. “I have patients.”

“And you can’t do them any good when you’re sick. Stay in bed, get plenty of fluids, eat what you can handle. Make sure you watch that fever.”

“Okay.” I sigh. I already know all of this.

“If you get worse, come into the urgent care. The flu sucks, it’s inconvenient, but it can be dangerous, so make sure you’re watching yourself.”

“I will,” I promise. “Thanks.”

Actually, I’m not watching myself, Jace is watching me. And he’s been hovering like a worried mother hen.

It was sweet at first, but as of this morning, it crossed over into annoying. So, I shooed him out the door to his house to work on some projects with Levi and Wyatt. He put up a bit of a fight, but I think he was relieved to get out for a while, and not be on nurse duty.

I can’t blame him. I’m going stir-crazy, and I’m the sick one.

I’ve moved my “sick station” as I call it down to the couch in the living room. This way, I can keep an eye on Angela and the babies.

Carl’s been following me around for the past few days, hovering as much as Jace does. But he doesn’t nag me to drink my water.

Angela jumps out of her box, leaving her pups to nap alone, and cuddles up with me on the couch.

“You’re a sweet girl,” I croon to her and smile when she kisses my chin. “Yes, you’re just a lover.”

She sighs and lays across my lap, falling asleep almost instantly. Carl is curled up on the top of the couch where he can watch over us from his perch.

I wasn’t lying to Jace the other day when I told him it sucks to be sick and alone. So, I call Noel and ask her to come keep me company.

She arrives thirty minutes later, with warm broth and more saltine crackers.

“Hey,” she says when she walks in and sees the three of us on the couch. “You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel good,” I reply, scowling. “Here, put this on.”

She scowls at the face mask in my hand.