Page 70 of Yours to Lose
“Everything okay?” Lucas asks.
I take a long, slow breath and let it out to try and calm my sparking nerves and glance up at him. “It’s probably nothing. That friend I’m supposed to meet didn’t text me like she usually does, and she’s not picking up her phone. It’s unlike her, is all. I’m going to head to her apartment to check on her.”
Lucas nods. “You have my number, right?”
I think back and remember he gave it to me once when I first started. I’ve never used it. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”
“Text or call if you need anything.”
My stomach clenches at his words, ones eerily similar to the words my old friend Owen said to me as he left me alone in the doctors’ lounge with Molly when she came to tell me that Allie was gone. All I can do is give a jerky nod and mumble, “Thanks.”
I don’t bother changing out of my scrubs. Instead, I just grab my bag and head straight to the door with my phone in my hand. Lucas calls out a goodbye as I leave, and I just wave a hand in his direction, my brain already focused on getting out of the hospital and to Jo’s apartment.
Five minutes later, I’m in a cab heading uptown, dialing Jo’s number again, but she still doesn’t pick up. It occurs to me that I’m having an outsized reaction to something that is probably nothing. Jo is a grown woman with a big job and shit to do that doesn’t always involve me. But losing Allie fucked my brain up, and it’s now racing with a million worst case scenarios as my stomach churns with anxiety.
I can’t lose her too.
When the cab pulls up in front of Jo’s apartment, I practically toss a twenty-dollar bill at the driver and shoot out of the car. Someone is coming out as I reach the front door, so I slip in and straight up the stairs, my brain chantingshe’s fineover and over again, trying to make the rest of me believe it.
* * *
I’m knocking on Jo’s door before both of my feet are even on the landing outside her apartment. My heart is pounding in my ears as I wait for her to answer. When she doesn’t, I knock again, louder this time, and listen with my ear practically pressed to the door. For a few beats it’s silent, and then I hear it.
A deep, raspy cough sounds from inside her apartment, and before my brain even engages, I’m twisting the door handle, relieved to find it unlocked so I can get in and also hating that it’s unlocked because if I can get in, so could anyone else.
Kicking the door shut, I glance down and see Jo’s bag on the floor, her phone slipping out like she dropped it as soon as she came in. Another loud cough propels me straight down the hall and into her bedroom. The early evening sunlight streams through the windows, giving me a clear view of Jo lying diagonally across her bed on top of the covers, fully dressed, shoes and all.
Her deep breathing tells me she’s asleep, but I can hear her wheezing from the doorway, and it has my heart in my throat. I’m beside her in two strides. Dropping down on the edge of the bed, I feel the heat radiating off of her even as her body trembles and a thin sheen of sweat covers her forehead. I know before I lay my hand on her forehead what I’m going to find.
She has a fever, and it’s very, very high.
I stroke the back of my hand down Jo’s cheek, running my thumb over the circles under her eyes, my anxiety spiking as she moans in her sleep and lets out another deep, wet cough. I try as hard as I can to snap into doctor mode, but I can’t get there. Not when Jo’s small frame shakes like she’s freezing and her lungs rattle like every breath is a chore.
I am literally trained to heal, but right now, when the person I suddenly realize I care about more than anyone else in the world needs me to do exactly that, I feel as helpless as the parents praying to whatever god they believe in while they wait for me to come out of the operating room and tell them their child is okay.
“Get your shit together, Jordan,” I mutter.
Jo needs me right now, and I will absolutely not let her down.
Taking a deep breath, I stand and go into the bathroom. Rummaging around in the medicine cabinet and drawers, I find ten bottles of nail polish in various neon colors, a tube of cinnamon toothpaste, seven hair scrunchies, and enough skin care to open a Sephora, but nothing else. I try the kitchen cabinets, and there’s nothing there either.
Heading back to the bathroom, I wet a washcloth with cool water and set it on the nightstand, reaching down to untie Jo’s shoes and slip them off her feet. She’s still wearing her work clothes and a sweatshirt that saysGame of Bones,which would make me laugh if Jo’s breaths weren’t labored and her fever wasn’t so high that she sweated through her clothes.
Crossing the room to her dresser, I open drawers at random until I find a stack of pajamas and pull out the ones covered in donuts that Jo brought to my house for movie night. As carefully as I can, I slide on the pants and then pull down the skirt she’s wearing. Then I tug off her sweatshirt and T-shirt and slide the pajama shirt over her head.
If I was in a different frame of mind, I might consider the fact that Jo wasn’t wearing a bra. I might wonder whether she goes braless to work every day, and my dick might have a thing or two to say about that. But right now, more of me is worried that Jo barely even stirred as I changed her clothes, and aside from shifting just a little and coughing again, she doesn’t wake up as I maneuver her so she’s under the covers with her head on the pillow.
Laying the cool washcloth across Jo’s forehead, I tug my phone out of my pocket and navigate to my contacts. Pulling up Lucas’s number, I hesitate, feeling weird about asking him for a favor when I’ve kept him at arm’s length for the last two years. But then Jo coughs again, her lungs rattling, and I’m texting as fast as my fingers can move.
Me
Hey, man, I’m sorry to ask, but I was hoping you might be able to do me a favor.
Lucas
Of course, what’s up?
Me
