The fever continues for three more days, spiking and falling in an unpredictable manner. Every time I wake up, feeling like I’m dying, Lucas is by my side, ready to feed me liquids, put a wet towel on my forehead, or carry me to the bathroom.
“Are you sure you don’t have a nursing degree?” I joke weakly when he places me back in bed, having changed the sheets and fluffed up my pillows. “Because you’re really good at this.”
Lucas smiles and tucks the blanket around me. “Maybe I’ll look into it if this gig with Esguerra doesn’t work out.”
I manage a tiny smile in return, and then I’m out again, too exhausted to cling to wakefulness for long.
That night, the fever torments me nonstop, defying Lucas’s efforts to bring it down with Tylenol and cool towels. I toss and turn, alternately shive
