And maybe it was her softly spoken word that broke him out of his distracted state. Or maybe he finally heard the crowd calling out behind them.
She tugged his hand, and he let her pull him toward the car.
"Stay away from me," he spat at his brother.
She hadn't intended to get in the car, but the flush on his face and the way his hand shook on the doorframe altered her decision. "Get in," he demanded.
She didn't want to argue, so she slid onto the smooth leather seats.
He rounded the car and climbed in, then took the keys from her when she offered them.
He could put her out of the car around the corner, when they put some distance between themselves and this craziness.
Valentin seemed to have the same idea, because he turned the corner and pulled over two blocks down.
He slid the car into a parallel spot smoothly, shoved the gearshift into park.
She was going to excuse herself, promise not to mention his brother, but he gripped the top of the steering wheel with both hands and bowed forward to press his forehead against his wrists.
"How—?" he gasped the word. She couldn't make out if he was crying or just upset.
She couldn't leave him there like that, not without Conrad or a bodyguard or someone.
She reached out to comfort him, touching his shoulder. She could feel that he was burning up even through his shirt.
"Your fever is out of control," she said. "My apartment is nearby. Why don't you come up? At least take some ibuprofen or something to bring the fever down."
He only grunted in response.
Valentin couldn't remember feelingthis miserable, ever. He'd had his share of head colds and even the flu once or twice, but none of them compared to this. Right now, his head felt like it was going to explode, and chills racked his entire body.
That was the only reason he allowed Crystal to drag him bodily across the street, through a vine-covered alleyway, and up a back staircase.
Or maybe it wasn't so much her dragging him as him leaning on her so he could remain upright.
He'd felt it coming on this morning but thought he could power through it. He'd gotten steadily worse while they were at the school and told his date—Petunia?—that he'd love to see her again another time. And then the full force of this illness had struck when he'd come face to face with Max. He'd felt like he'd been hit by a bus.
"I didn't punch him, did I?" he asked. "I was just thinking about it..."
Crystal stumbled on the top step, almost toppling them both into a door that was painted bright red.
"You didn't punch him," she confirmed with a grunt as she tried to maneuver her key into the door.
"Not this time," he muttered.
Her keys rattled against the knob, and then they were inside. It was much cooler here. Her A/C was doing a good job battling the late-spring heat.
She gave him a full-body nudge toward a sofa beneath a long window. Yes. He wanted to be lying there. And then he was, although he was a little fuzzy on how he'd gotten horizontal.
"You hit him before?" she asked. Her voice was far off and muffled by the sound of running water.
Were his eyes closed? They were. The darkness was nice. Then he couldn't see her judgment.
"I hit him. It didn't make me feel better. Just hurt my hand."
"Yeah. That's kinda how it works." She was whispering now. Something damp and cool touched his forehead. "Can you sit up? Just a little. Here."
She put a hand beneath his arm as he pushed up on a wobbly elbow. She gave him some pills and a cool drink of water and then let him lie back down.
