“Gage?” a pained whisper says.
My head whips back around, taking Isabelle in. Her face is pale, hair tied at the nape of her neck, with rogue curls stuck to her sweaty forehead. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt with little sleep shorts that have ruffles on the hem.
I cup her face, directing her eyes up to mine. “I heard you were sick. Are you okay?”
I attempt to soften my voice, hiding the worry. She smiles sweetly up at me, eyes barely open as her hands come up to wrap around my wrists, her thumbs rubbing against the back of my hands.
“I’ve been better.” She chuckles, but the sound is exhausted.
“Back to bed then, come on.” I bend down, scooping her into my arms, careful not to jostle her too much.
I kick the door closed behind me and head straight for her bedroom. The blankets are pulled back in a mess, and I pull up when I spot a grey ball of fluff glaring at me from the end of the bed.
“Ah, is this the cat you’ve told me about, Iz?”
She nods. “Hallie.”
She’s told me about her cat before, but I didn’t see it when I was here the other night. I didn’t notice anything besides the pure existence of Isabelle.
I walk around to the other side of the bed, one eye on the animal who looks like it could pounce at a moment’s notice, then I lower Isabelle to the mattress.
There’s a bucket beside her bed, but there’s nothing in it. I crouch down beside her, brushing her hair back from her face.
“Do you think it’s all out of your system now?”
She huffs out a tired breath. “I think so.”
I look on her nightstand, noting there’s no water, so I kiss her temple and then head into the kitchen.
She’s got some bottles of water in the fridge, so I grab one and set it on the bench before going through her cupboards, trying to find where she stores her medicines. I open the first cupboard andwow. I thoughtIwas organised. Everything in here is sorted into a labelled tub: snacks, baking, cereals, condiments. Everything has a place. The inside of the doors is lined with contact paper covered in pastel coloured fruit.
It makes a smile break out on my face. Is there nothing this woman does in life that isn’t completely untouched by her eternal sunshine? I shut the door and move on to the overhead cupboards next. I find a white basket labelled with a red cross and start searching for some electrolytes. Thankfully, she has some soluble ones, so I crack them and drop them into the bottled water and head back to Isabelle’s room.
She’s curled up in a ball, hands tucked under her head. The damn cat is still sitting on the end of the bed, glaring.
I sit beside Isabelle, rubbing a hand up and down her back.
“I got you some water,” I whisper, but she just mumbles in response. “Can I do anything for you?”
My foot bounces. I feel helpless.
“Can you cuddle me?” she says with her eyes still shut, and my hand stills on her back.
Well, shit, that’s the easiest thing I can do for her, but she must need more. “You don’t want anything else? Paracetamol? A heat pack?”
“No. I just want you.”
Emotions well inside of me. At the feeling of being needed. It’s not just something anyone could have given her. She needsme.
I stand up, unlace my boots, and kick them aside before rounding the bed. The cat wags its tail menacingly, but doesn’t move as I crawl over the other side of the bed, aligning myself behind Isabelle’s body.
My arm comes around her, resting over her side, and she stirs. Rolling herself over to face me, she buries her cheek against my chest and threads one leg between mine.
My chest settles as I hug her close, letting my fingers glide under her shirt where it’s pulled up on her back, and I tickle her skin gently.
I have group therapy at seven. I haven’t missed a session in the decade I’ve been going. I’ve tried to be present in my healing,to not be dismissive of my need to feel and process my grief in my own time, but right now, I’m torn. If Isabelle says she needs me, I can’t leave.
I sneak my hand back from under her shirt to double-check the time on my watch, freezing as soon as I spot the numbers.
