Page 44 of Undeniably Perfect

He places a hand on my leg and squeezes. “I need to make sure you are OK.” He pauses like he wants to say one thing but then he changes his mind. “Plus, you promised to come to my games, so you need to get better.”

I give him a small smile. I’m about to speak but he picks up his phone and calls someone as he walks back to the bathroom. A moment later he emerges with a cup of water and medicine.

“Take this. My mom is coming over. I wish I could stay, but I need to get to practice.”

“No, you go. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest.” I glance at the clock for the first time. Holy shit. I was supposed to be up two hours ago.

“Kent, it’s late. You should go.”

“I wanted to make sure you were OK. When you weren’t downstairs an hour ago, I got worried, so I came up to check on you. You were burning up.”

It’s then that I notice that there’s an ice pack sitting on the pillow next to me. Damn, I must be sick because I feel completely disoriented.

“Just lie down and rest.”

I lean back on the pillow. “I will.”

“Good.” He squeezes my leg once more and gets up and turns to me once more when he reaches the door.

“If you need anything, text me, OK?”

Even in my feverish delirium, I know I’m not going to text him in the middle of practice. I lie back down and place the ice pack back on my head. The next thing I know I hear humming.

My eyes pop open once more.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Mrs. Moore chirps as she sets a glass of something on the bedside table.

I look around and notice that the sun is much lower in the sky than earlier. I glance at the clock. Holy shit! I slept all day.

“You slept all day, but your fever broke,” Mrs. Moore says, as though reading my mind.

I prop myself up on my elbows. “I can’t believe I slept so long.”

“I figured you needed it. I changed that ice pack three times. I even woke you up once to take some more medicine, but I doubt you remember that.”

I wrack my brain, but I don’t remember that at all.

She pats my arm. “It’s OK. The fever does strange things to the human mind. How’s your throat feel?”

I swallow. “Sore.”

She hands me the mug she placed next to me. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

I take a sip. “It’s good. What is it?”

“A special concoction of mine. The kids call it ‘sick tea.’ I always used to make it for them when they had a sore throat.”

“Well, it tastes divine.”

She smiles. “I’m glad. Now, you should shower. I’m going to make you some soup.”

“Oh, that’s OK, Mrs. Mo—”

“Kathy, please.”

“Thank you, Miss Kathy.”

She laughs at my compromise. “OK, I’ll take it. That’s a start at least. And you are getting soup, so hurry it up.”

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