Page 51 of Hold the Line

Chris pulled up in front of the house, putting his truck in park so he could look at me. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay on your own? I can run out, get you soup or medicine—anything you need.”

“I must really look like shit if you’re offering to get me soup.”

He guffawed. “Hell yeah, you do.”

“I’m good.” Using every ounce of my remaining strength, I pushed the door open and climbed out. Once I was upright, my legs were anything but steady and my head started to spin. “Just need to crash. I’ll be fine.”

I took a step back—staggered, really—and closed the door, lifting my hand in a wave. That act alone almost sucked out all the energy I had left, and I still had a long flight of stairs to climb.

Dizziness struck me from all angles, but I managed to put one foot in front of the other. Behind me, the steady sound of a big engine faded as Chris drove away. The act I’d put on had been good enough to convince him I wasn’t on death’s door.

At the bottom of the stairs, I stumbled, narrowly avoiding falling by grabbing onto the railing. I looked up. The steps had multiplied since I’d been gone. There were now ten thousand, most of them moving.

“Fuck.”

This was going to hurt.

I climbed two, and I was breathless. Black spots danced in my vision. Pushing through it, I made it up another two. Sweat flowed down my back and dripped off my brow freely, and my vision narrowed to little more than a pinpoint.

Just need to make it to my door.

Then inside.

I’ll crawl to my bed.

I staggered onward, somehow lifting my leg high enough to climb another step and another until I reached the top. My door…Christ, I could barely get my eyes to focus on it.

I braced one hand on the frame, my head hanging between my shoulders until I caught my breath. Then I reached into my pocket for my keys, but my fingers weren’t wrapping around them.

Frustration swamped me, making it hard to do anything other than groan. Actually, that might have been the virus running rampant through my body. Hell, maybe I could take a nap right here and worry about getting inside later.

Yeah, that sounded like a really good idea.

As soon as I decided, my legs gave out, and I dropped to my knees on my welcome mat.

When had I gotten a welcome mat? I must’ve forgotten. Didn’t seem like me, but what the hell did I know? Glad I had it, though. Cushioned my ass when I fell on it.

With a ragged groan, I let my head drop back against the door. I’d just rest here a little while.

My eyes fell closed.

Just for a while…

Chapter Twenty-three

Phoebe

Forthepastweek,I’d been hyperaware of my surroundings when I came home, which was why I spotted the man slumped against my door immediately.

I stopped on the sidewalk and blinked, letting my brain catch up to what I was seeing. It wasn’t just a random man.

For a second, I thought Deacon was waiting for me. It was a strange place to wait, but whimsy got ahead of logic as I rushed forward. It was only when I got closer I realized something was very wrong.

Deacon was hunched, his spine bowed, his arms gathered in his lap in a distinctly vulnerable pose. Eyes closed, head hanging limp. He was sleeping…on my porch. Was he drunk? That didn’t seem right, but nothing about this did.

Reaching him, I crouched down and touched his knee. Heat radiated off him through his jeans even though it couldn’t have been above sixty outside.

“Deacon?” I shook his knee. “Deacon, wake up. You can’t stay here.”

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