“I get that,” he tells me. “I’ll bring it as long as you promise you won’t push yourself to stay up. Sleep when your body wants to sleep.”

“I promise.” I’m feeling tired right now. “It’s not very comfortable here. I like to sleep on my side, and I have all this shit on me.” I look at the wires monitoring my heart rate—which is fine now—along with the blood pressure cuff and the IV lines.

“Let me help you.” Sam moves to the head of the bed, helping me get as comfortable as possible. I give Sam the TV remote, telling him to put something on if he’s going to stay while I’m sleeping. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I’m almost asleep as Sam fusses over the blankets, soothing them out and making sure I’m warm without getting overheated.

“I love you,” he says, thinking I’m asleep. “I wish you knew just much you mean to me, how much you always will no matter…no matter what happens.”

18

Sam

I spent the entire drive home from my mom’s house mentally preparing for telling Chloe the truth. I rehearsed a speech in my mind, reminding her how much I loved her and how much she means to me, now and forever. I took the long way home, giving myself extra time to think, and coming back to Chloe’s dad’s house and finding Chloe in the state she was in was the last thing I expected, totally derailing any and all thoughts of telling her about Stacey. I could tell right away she was very sick, and felt guilty for taking my sweet time getting back to her.

And I fully assumed she’d spent two or three hours in the ER and then go home with medication and would be feeling much better in the morning. Seeing her have an adverse reaction to pain medication was fucking terrifying. I was worried I’d lose Chloe, but because she didn’t want to be with me after finding out I might have a child on the way…not because I watched her die right before my eyes.

She’s okay now, sleeping right in front of me, and the steady rise and fall of her chest brings me comfort knowing she’s going to be just fine in a day or two. I sit in the uncomfortable armchair next to the bed, flipping through the limited channels this small hospital has to offer, landing on a rerun of Friends. I make it through almost a full episode before my phone rings. The number is unknown, with an area code local to Silver Ridge. I answer, thinking maybe it’s Jacob calling from his clinic’s line.

“Hello?”

“Sam? This is Mike, Chloe’s dad.”

“Oh, hi, Mr. Fisher.”

“Call me Mike. Chloe forwarded me your info, I hope that’s okay. I wanted to hear from you how she’s doing. Ever since Alyssa died, Chloe downplays any sort of illness. Part of it is her not wanting me to worry and the other part is denial that anything could ever be seriously wrong with her.”

“That’s not uncommon after losing a family member to an illness,” I say. “And she really is improving. I might have pulled my doctor-card to look at her chart once she signed to give me access. Her labs are steadily improving, and her heart rate has been good for the last few hours. She got dehydrated rather rapidly from the high fever, and I’m still kicking myself for not getting her in sooner.”

“I’m impressed you got her in when you did. I’m glad you’re there with her. “

“I’ll make sure she’s actually better before she’s discharged, and doesn’t just say she’s better.”

“Hey,” Chloe grumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering open. A small smile plays on her lips. “I’m not that sick.”

“Exactly,” I say, heart swelling in my chest when I look at her. I’d do fucking anything for this woman…and yet I haven’t done the one thing I need to do.

“You’ve been so good to my Chloe,” Mr. Fisher says. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ve…I’ve cared about Chloe for a long time.”

“I was aware. I think everyone but the two of you were,” Mr. Fisher says. “Wendy and I need to have you two over for dinner once things calm down over here and Chloe is on the mend. How long are you staying in Silver Ridge? You’re welcome at the house as long as you need it.”

“At least through tomorrow. Chloe is here for observation, and if everything is good, she should be discharged by the afternoon.”

“The morning,” Chloe says softly, slitting her eyes open. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“The paperwork usually takes a while,” I tell her.

“Is she being difficult already?” her dad asks with a laugh.

“Nah, Chloe is never difficult.”

“Good answer,” she replies, and her eyes fall shut again.

“Thank you again, Sam,” Mr. Fisher says. “I know my Chloe is in good hands. I like seeing her happy.”

“I do too,” I say, heart heavy in my chest. All I want is to make Chloe happy. I’d walk through Hell and back for her, and hurting her—again—is the last thing in this whole fucking world I want to do. Yet I have to do it. “I’ll update you later, if you’d like.”

“I would, thanks. I’ll talk to you later, Sam.”

“Bye,” I say and end the call. Standing, I stretch my arms out in front of me. This chair is horribly uncomfortable and is meant for anyone staying the night with a sick family member.

“Was that my dad?” Chloe asks, blinking her eyes open. “He said he was going to call you.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“I told him I was fine. Healthy as a horse.”

“A horse with a high fever, a migraine, who then had a bad reaction to medication.”

“Hey, the reaction has nothing to do with not being healthy.”

“It kind of does,” I counter with a smile. “It’s the reason you’re here.”

“Stupid medicine.”

“How are you feeling?” I ask her. “You said your headache was back not that long ago.”

“It is, but not as bad as before. Closing my eyes for a little bit helped.”

“Sleep is the best thing for you right now.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We can go back to your house tomorrow. You have to work on Tuesday, and I need to get back to work too or I won’t make my deadline. I’m trying not to think about it or else I’ll get panicked and—shit—I just remembered I’m supposed to do an Instagram live video tomorrow at eleven. I’ll text my assistant.” She looks at her phone, which I moved to the table against the wall opposite her bed while I was messing with her blankets. “It’s far away.”

“I got it,” I tell her. “And if you want me to text your assistant, I can. You seem sensitive to lights.”

“Thank you, and yeah, it still bothers me.” She blinks her eyes shut for a few seconds. “My password is zero-six-one-four. It’s the same password for my security system and gate to get into my driveway.”

“You’re supposed to have different codes to make it harder for people to get in.”

“I have a hard time remembering numbers. This one has significance.”