“You can’t go to work like this.” Claire uses a pair of tongs to throw my empty tissue box in the trash.
After I came home from the airport, my condition slowly deteriorated. It started with feeling bone-tired and it devolved into me cradling a box of tissues all through the night while I slept. I went to work yesterday but I ended up having to spend half the day working from home because everyone kept staring at me every time I blew my nose.
Rowan was right after all. I did catch a cold because I was too stubborn to go inside.
I cover my mouth with my elbow as I let out another wet cough. “I have to go. We don’t have much time left before the project deadline.”
“One day off isn’t going to make much of a difference.”
“But I need to—”
She shakes her head. “But nothing. I already made you some chicken soup last night after I heard you hacking up your lung.”
I press a hand against my pounding head. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do. You look like death.”
“I feel like it too.” My laugh turns into a long-winded series of coughs. Each breath makes my lungs burn in protest.
Claire brings me a fresh glass of water before leaving for work.
I grab my phone and send Jenny an apology email. She replies back within a few minutes telling me to get well soon and not to worry too much about them.
I pull up my chat with Rowan. He’s been a bit off since our last night in New York. I’m not sure if it’s the stress of the job getting to him or maybe the fact that he needs some distance after spending so much time together. I really hope it’s not the second option.
Me: I think I’m coming down with something.
Rowan: I told you Central Park wasn’t the best idea.
I cringe. It probably wasn’t the smartest move to stay outside in the cold but the memories were totally worth it.
Me: But it was so much fun.
Rowan: So are drugs. That doesn’t mean people should use them.
Me: How would you know?
Rowan: …
Me: I have a feeling you’re the funny type when high.
Rowan: I will neither confirm nor deny.
Me: Creative type?
Rowan: Zahra. Enough.
Ugh. He’s no fun today.
Rowan: Do you need any medicine?
Me: I think I know the cure.
Rowan: Enough cough medicine to knock out an elephant?
Me: Close but no. Watching the next episode of that true crime documentary we started over the weekend.
Rowan: My house. Tonight. 6 p.m.
Me: You’re leaving work early?
Rowan: I felt like taking some time off anyway. Jet lag and all.
Jet lag? Yeah right! We stayed in the same time zone and he knows it.
Me: Feel free to admit that you’re starting to like me at any time.
Rowan: These are the ramblings of a person hopped up on too much cough medicine.
I grin. That’s the man I know and love.
Love? Oh shit. Can I really love Rowan?
How could I not? He’s thoughtful, reserved, and so damn sweet to me that I completely forget how he hates the general population. He drives me wild in the best kind of way and he makes my heart race whenever he’s in the same room as me.
Oh, yeah. I’m in love with Rowan Kane.
The real question is does he love me back?
“Come on, Zahra. You’ve got to eat something.” Rowan’s voice sounds far away like he’s on a different kind of radio frequency.
I shove his arm away from my shoulder and sink further into his silky sheets. I’m drawing a blank on how long I’ve been using his house as an infirmary tent. All I know is his bed is a hundred times better than mine and I never want to leave.
I’m pretty sure my sinuses make up three-fourths of my brain by now, and my left nostril hasn’t felt fresh oxygen since yesterday when Rowan picked me up from my apartment.
“Zahra.” He turns me toward the edge.
“Go away,” I mumble.
He flicks me on the forehead. My head pounds in response, and I wince. I open my eyes to find a distressed version of Rowan. I’ve never seen him look like this before. His hair is unkempt and he has purple bags under his eyes.
I trace his unusual stubble. “You need to shave.” My voice croaks before I let out a wet cough.
Ugh. Disgusting.
“You slept through breakfast, lunch, and—” He checks the time on his watch. “Dinner. It’s time to get some food in you before you pass out.” The rare high pitch of his voice makes my head throb harder.
“Shh. Talk lower.” I place a finger against his lips. “Wake me up in another—” My sentence is cut off by my body attempting to expel one of my lungs through my throat.
“Here. Take a sip of water. Please.” His voice cracks. He all but shoves the metal straw in my mouth.
I take a sip. “Happy now?”
He frowns. “No.”
“I feel like I’m dying.”
His grip on my chin tightens. “Don’t be dramatic. You have a cold.”
Is that worry I hear in his voice?
“Okay.” I turn over and give him my back. “I’ll be up in an hour. I promise.”
“I’m going to call a doctor to come check on you.”
“Doctors still do house calls?”
“For the right price.”
I cough again, but this one doesn’t stop. My chest rattles from the sheer intensity of it. There’s a sharp stabbing pain poking me in the lungs, and it takes every ounce of energy to breathe.
His hand stroking my hair freezes. “Shit. I’ll be right back.”
Rowan places a kiss on my forehead before tugging his phone out of his pocket and exiting the room. His murmurs carry through the door, but it takes too much effort to listen in on his conversation.
I shut my eyes and give in to the darkness pulling me under.
I wake up to someone opening my eyelids and shining a flashlight on my face. I try to put some room between us, but I only end up falling back on my shaky elbows.
“She’s been sick for three days straight already.”
“Three days?!” I regret the loud shriek as soon as it leaves my mouth. My head and lungs work, revolting against me one cough at a time. The pulsing intensifies the more I hack.
“In my professional opinion, she needs to be taken to a hospital.”
“Hospital?” Rowan and I both speak at the same time. He practically spits the word out.
I look over at him. He looks almost as bad as I feel, with days’ worth of stubble covering his face. The bags under his eyes stand out even more now because of how red his eyes are. He looks like he might keel over any second.
My chest aches for an entirely different reason than my illness.
The doctor stands and packs up his medical bag. “She’s severely dehydrated and needs proper medical care.”
“Anything else you suggest?”
“Based on the symptoms you described and what I see and hear, it’s probably some kind of viral pneumonia. Her tissues are covered with green mucus and she has a fever. If you don’t take her to the hospital tonight, she’s going to end up in the back of an ambulance soon enough.”
Pneumonia? Shit. No. That sounds scary. The only person I know who got pneumonia was one of my parent’s friends and he didn’t make it.
I want to cry, but I don’t think I have enough water in my body to produce tears. I sweat it all out on day two.
While Rowan sees the doctor out, I sit up and fumble for my phone. I should call my parents and let them know about how sick I am. Except I can’t find my phone anywhere within the sheets or on the nightstand.
Did I leave it in the bathroom? I slide out of bed and stand on weak legs. My walk to the bathroom steals all my energy, and the room spins.
I grab the handle for stability and push the door open. My legs give out at the same time, and all I see is black.
