“Grace?”
Grace opened her eyes slowly, scared to death that the room would tilt horrifically should she do it too quickly. She immediately grimaced. The pounding in her head, along with the nausea that gripped her entire body, made her pull the duvet closer, cocooning herself in her sweats, hoodie, and socks. That was the second time she’d woken thinking that she’d heard Max’s voice. Hallucinations no doubt brought on by the hundred-degree temperatures that had spiked in the early hours. She couldn’t understand it; she was so cold her teeth chattered.
“Grace?”
The voice sounded louder now, closer. She hummed into her pillow, shivering and mumbling, wishing that Max really was there so she could snuggle into him, get warm next to him, maybe grope him a little.
“Grace, are you in here, we’re supposed to be on our run— Jesus Christ! What the hell?”
Yeah, that sounded like him, all curse words and exclamations. Wait. A run? Some part of her understood what she was hearing, knew what the words meant, but her brain was so very tired. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond. Instead, she smiled to herself, the image of Max running flashing behind her eyes.
There was a sound of a window being opened and gust of fresh air hit her face, making Grace squirm and bury her head farther under the covers. “It’s like a fucking sauna in here! And shit—is that puke I smell?”
Yeah, it probably was. Grace could vaguely remember vomiting a few times on herself, before she’d managed to muster the energy to change out her bedsheets, but not enough to crawl into the shower. Her legs had been far too weak. She couldn’t recall, however, how long ago that had been. It could have been days. She almost cared that Max, hallucination or not, was near her when she was full of sick bits, but she couldn’t gather enough energy to tell him to go away.
“Are you awake?” The duvet was pulled gently from her grasp, causing another violent shiver to gallop across her. She gasped when something large and freezing cold touched her forehead. “Shit, Grace, you’re burning up.”
Maybe he was real. “Max?” The cover disappeared altogether. Grace tried to protest, tried to reach for it, but her body just wouldn’t move. “Don’t,” she mumbled, opening her eyes into small slits, seeing a blur of dark hair and darker eyes. “Cold.”
“You’re not cold,” the dark eyes told her. “You have a fever. Come on.”
She cried out when hands grabbed at her and hauled her into strong arms. “I know. I’m sorry,” he said soothingly. She hurt everywhere he touched. God, she wanted her momma.
“Shhh,” he whispered against her cheek. “I’ve got you.” His hand was icy on her face. “Don’t cry.”
“It hurts,” she croaked against the nausea, slumping against him.
“I know,” he murmured. “I’m going to try and cool you down, okay?”
“Max?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I was sick.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I think you were.”
“Don’t smell me.”
“Too late.”
“Oh God.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re going to take a shower, all right?”
A shower sounded cold. She shook her head. “Please, don’t.”
“It’ll feel colder than it is because you’re so hot. Jesus, Grace, you’re shaking, why the hell didn’t you call?”
She didn’t know. The last thing she remembered was getting home last night from DC feeling more tired than usual, with a splitting headache, and crawling into bed. Then her dinner had made a reappearance and everything went tits up.
“I’m gonna sit you down. Hold on to me.”
Grace’s backside hit something cool and she tilted sideways, caught by Max’s hand on her shoulder. She didn’t have the strength to hold on to him. Her fingers just wouldn’t work.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she muttered back. “It hurts, Max. Can you—”
“Can you do me a favor?
A favor! Was he nuts? She could barely sit up. She opened her eyes to see Max crouching in front of her, his handsome face serious. They were in the bathroom. She was sitting on the toilet seat. He had a cell phone to his ear. What the hell was going on?
“I’m at Grace’s. I found her in bed. She’s running a really high fever . . . no, she’s not really with it.” His hands found her face again. “She can’t hold herself up— No, she’s not. Yeah, she’s definitely puked. I was going to put her in the shower, try and cool her down . . . okay. I don’t have the number. Can you call him? Thanks.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he slipped his cell back into the pocket of his shorts, the urge to cry again scratching her throat.
“For being ill?” he asked, standing up in front of her. “Don’t be dumb. Lift your arms for me.”
She did as he asked without question and hissed when the frigid air of the bathroom hit her skin. “Please, Max.” She shivered. “I need my sweater.”