My Bad Boy Doctor

13

How could I have been so stupid?

I spend most of the day in the spare bedroom, staring at the blank screen on my laptop. I can't write, not after reading that text. And I didn't mean to go through his phone. Not really. Blake is going to be angry when he finds out, especially if I'm wrong about the sender of the text.

For all I know, she could be a friend just checking in on him. But what kind of friend sends heart and kissy emojis?

I feel sick to my stomach, and it has nothing to do with the pandemic raging across the globe.

When I hear a soft knock on my door, I jump. Brushing the tears from my face, I turn to see Blake standing in the doorway, watching me with heavy eyes. His face is so pale, and he looks like he's ready to collapse any minute.

"Hey."

Oh, yikes, his voice sounds like he joined a band of toads and sand grinders.

I clear my throat, hoping I don't look or sound like I've been crying. "Hi."

I'd ask how he's feeling, but it's pretty obvious he feels like crap. Besides, I keep thinking of the other girl on his phone, and I'm somewhere between raging and feeling guilty for snooping through his device.

He looks around slowly, frowning as if he's both confused and a bit dazed. Then his tired eyes meet mine. "What are you doing in here?"

I shrug, putting on an air of nonchalance. "I didn't want to bother you while you rested."

I almost ask if I can get him anything, but again, that text holds me back. I sit still instead, clenching my fists into the sheets.

He opens his mouth, but when he takes a breath, he starts coughing, covering his mouth with his arm. He sounds like his lung is ready to come out, and he doubles over when the fit lasts nearly a minute.

Forgetting my anger, I spring top my feet and go to him, looping my arm around his waist. "You need to lie down. Come to bed, and I will bring you some medicine. Then I'll make you some soup."

He leans on me, and I nearly fall over from his weight. It feels like I'm hauling a sack of bricks as I lead him back to his bed, and I toss his arm off once he sits. I claim a vacant spot at the edge, keeping as much distance between us as I can.

Blake watches me, furrowing his brows. "Am I so repulsive that you have to sit all the way over there?"

He looks miserable, and a huge part of me feels guilty. I swallow, averting my gaze to the comforter. "No."

"Then what is it?"

He coughs again, worse this time than before. Then he curls into a ball and groans, clutching his pillow. "Frack, I hate being sick."

I slide off the bed and move to the door. With my back to him, I say, "I'll be right back."

I say nothing else as I go to the kitchen, where I go through the non-perishables I left on the counter when his order was delivered. Then I go through his pantry and refrigerator, where I pull out everything I need to cook celery soup. It's not the same as chicken, but this is my comfort food, and one I make well.

Once that's underway and the mixture is boiling, I open the medicine and grab a bottle of Gatorade before bringing it to his room and setting it on the nightstand. Blake looks at me through red-rimmed eyes, blinking slowly as he frowns.

He doesn't say anything as he sits up, hunched over and taking shallow breaths. Taking the bottle of Gatorade, he struggles with the cap, but can't seem to get it open, and he tosses it on the bed. He grabs the medicine that I've careful measured instead, and tossing it back like a tequila shot. A set of sneezes follows as well as another coughing attack. Finally, he leans against the headboard and closes his eyes.