By the time I finished, her breathing was still uneven, but the panic was ebbing.
She stilled.
I straightened, brushing my hands together, and turned toward the door.
“Evan…” she whispered behind me. “Evan, I am so sorry.”
I stilled. My back went ramrod straight, fingers curling into fists at my sides.
No. Just no.
Slowly, I turned my head to look at her again.
Her eyes were closed now, her face flushed and beaded with sweat. Her fever was back at its peak, and her skin looked hot enough to burn. But she was not awake.
“I did not know… I did not…” Her voice cracked. “Evan, please.”
I scowled. My heartbeat quickened with anger and old hurt. What is this? What game is she playing? And why would I be the one she calls in the pits of her high fever?
“So young and foolish,” she cried.
