I perch on the edge of her bed, tugging the duvet higher over her shoulder.
Her face is pale, eyes shut tight, lips parted like she just finished a marathon. Or maybe a triathlon. Hell, maybe both back-to-back.
"How was girls' night?"
Her voice is slurred, barely hanging onto the words. "I... didn't get to... go."
"Why not?"
"Didn't feel good earlier and..." she sighs, long and shaky, "went to the clinic. Slept... and I overslept."
My head snaps up. "Wait—you're telling me you've been at the clinic this whole time?"
Sam gives the tiniest nod, duvet shifting with her breath.
I reach out and press the back of my hand to her forehead. Not burning up, but a bit warm and a little sweaty.
"How are you feeling now? Did the nurse give you some medicine?" My brain launches straight into Mother Hen Mode.
"...nurse... gave me Tylenol."
"Why didn't you text me? I could've picked you up. This is literally why we made the 911 code!"
She groans, trying to roll away from me. "I'm fine, Care. Just tired."
"Still," I insist, tugging the duvet straighter because fussing is all I know.
"You're like Zachy," she mutters, voice muffled by the pillow. "Both of you worry too much. That's why I didn't say anything."
"Gee, thanks," I deadpan, but she's already turning over, giving me her back like that's the end of discussion.
"Seriously, Care... I'm good. Just need sleep."
I blow out a breath, hands up in surrender. "Fine. But if you need anything, let me know, okay?"
She gives a tiny nod, still not saying a word.
And that's my cue.
I whisper a soft "Goodnight," flip off the lights, and crawl back into my own bed.
The thunder outside is still throwing its tantrum, shaking the walls like we're living inside a subwoofer. But for once, I don't care. My brain's too busy worrying about Sam to obsess over the storm.
I glance at Sam's side of the room again — she's out cold, hasn't twitched in half an hour.
Fine. If she's asleep, I should be too.
Except my phone lights up.
ZACH
Still up?
I could just ignore it.
But apparently my thumbs didn't get the memo, because next thing I know I'm typing:
ME
