Every Girl Wants A Moon

Chapter 22: Let Me Take Care of You

The first sign that something was wrong came in the form of silence.

Not the comfortable, peaceful kind that Chase and I often shared—the kind where we could sit together, lost in our own thoughts, and still feel connected. This silence was different. It was heavy, pressing against the air in the apartment, making my stomach twist with unease.

I glanced up from where I was curled up on the couch, my book resting open in my lap. Chase had just walked in from work, but something was... off. Usually, he'd walk straight to the kitchen for a drink or drop onto the couch beside me with a lazy grin, pulling me close like he always did. But this time, he just stood there, his body stiff, his head slightly bowed.

Something wasn't right.

His shoulders, normally broad and confident, looked weighed down. His tie was loose, the top few buttons of his shirt undone like he had been trying to get comfortable but hadn't finished the task. His usually sharp blue eyes were dimmer, unfocused, his lashes fluttering as he blinked slower than usual.

A prickle of concern climbed up my spine.

I sat up immediately. "Chase?"

His head lifted slightly at the sound of my voice, but he didn't answer right away. He just took a slow, unsteady breath and dragged a hand down his face.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice lower and rougher than usual. "Hey, sweet girl."

My frown deepened. His voice lacked its usual warmth—it was scratchy, hoarse, almost strained.

I shifted, setting my book aside, my heart beginning to beat a little faster. "What's wrong?"

Chase let out a slow breath before pushing off the counter, walking toward me—but his movements weren't his usual smooth, effortless stride. They were sluggish, as if every step took more effort than it should have.

"Just a long day," he muttered, sinking onto the couch beside me with a quiet grunt.

I turned toward him fully, worry tightening in my chest. Up close, I could see the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way his jaw tensed like he was trying to keep himself steady.

"Chase," I said softly, my fingers hesitantly reaching out to touch his arm. "Are you okay?"

He gave me a weak smirk, but it barely lifted the corners of his lips. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he murmured.

I didn't believe him.

"You don't look fine," I argued, my eyes scanning his face. His skin was slightly paler than usual, but there was also a faint flush to his cheeks.

He exhaled and leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Just tired."

But something in my chest twisted painfully. Something wasn't right. My fingers itched to touch him, to make sure. Slowly, I reached out, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead.

The heat that met my skin made my stomach drop.

"Chase," I whispered, my voice catching. "You have a fever."

His lashes lifted slightly, his gaze meeting mine in that slow, tired way that sent a rush of panic through me.

"It's not a big deal," he muttered.

I shook my head, my worry deepening. "You're burning up," I murmured, my palm moving down to cup his cheek. "Have you felt sick all day? Are you having trouble breathing? Do you feel lightheaded?" My heart was thudding painfully now, my mind spinning with possibilities.