Page 36 of My Secret Bandit

I shrugged as much as my body would allow and went back to staring at the backs of my lids.

“Hey, Doc. I got a problem.”

My eyes opened again and watched Mateo pace the beginnings of a well-worn path through my living room with his phone to his ear.

“At what point is a fever too high? Like when should I worry? Because, to be honest, I’m pretty fucking worried already.”

“One oh one point six,” he communicated into the phone and listened intently to the other person like there’d be an exam later.

“I don’t know. Hold on a sec. Jameson, what are your symptoms? Body aches, chills, headache, sore throat, nausea?”

“Yes,” I replied with the only feedback I could.

“To which one, baby?”

“All.”

Apparently one-word responses were becoming my norm.

“She said all of them.”

“Okay.” I watched him take a few quick steps to the kitchen, open my notebook sitting on the bar, and write something down.

“Got it. Thanks, Doc.”

When he came back and pulled my body into his arms, I didn’t have the energy to feel insecure or tense up while he carried me.

Long legs made quick work of the space between the couch and my bed, then he laid me on the mattress and tucked the comforter around me. He left only to come back with the washcloth cool again and rested it on my forehead. The fan purred as it spun, and the two things together made me comfortable enough that I fell asleep with Mateo sitting next to me brushing fingers through my hair.

When I woke, Mateo’s phone illuminated the room while he used it as a light to study the back of a little box.

His back rested against the headboard as he continued reading, flipping it around, making sure he left no tiny ink printed word unread.

“Hey,” I whispered through a scratchy throat.

“Hey, baby,” he soothed, voice so warm and smooth it actually made me feel better and more energized than I had all day. Gently reaching over me, he switched the bedside lamp to life.

“I need you to take this.” With the box opened and a good amount of liquid poured into the measuring cup, he held it out for me.

I shook my head. Almost too violently for how badly it throbbed. Me and any medication that weren’t in pill form werenotthe best combination.

Every time, as soon as the syrupy smell hit my nose, gagging began. At this very moment, I didn’t feel like participating in that activity. Not only did my throat feel like shards of glass were lodged in it, I wasn’t ready for Mateo to see me like that just yet.

“You have to,” he said with a small smile.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s gross,” I admitted. “How did you know I was sick? And where did all this stuff come from?” I asked, finally looking to see the mound of different boxes littering the bed. All liquid, all disgusting, and all I’m sure would make their way through my system eventually if Mateo got his way. And by the way the green specks in his eyes twinkled down at me, I was bound to give into him any minute.

“If I answer, will you take this?” he asked back, still holding the little cup full of red tinted syrup.

I shook my head, and he followed suit, adding a chuckle.

Honestly, I was relieved he found some amusement in my child-like behavior and wasn’t getting increasingly irritated by it. I should thank him for taking care of me, not make things difficult for no reason. The rational, adult part of me knew that, but the sick, stubborn part wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever awaited me in his mountain of supplies.

“Too bad, baby. I don’t know about you, but I’d selfishly love for you to hurry and get better. Doctor B gave me a list of things she swore would get you better within a week, so I went to the store while you were sleeping. As for how I knew, you can blame Jeff. He saw me looking for you and told me. Now, open those pretty lips and drink this. Please.”

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