Maybe hours later, Dom comes back. I am manhandled into an upright position. “Oh, honey,” he says, voice dripping with worry. A touch too dramatic for my liking. “I’m going to put this ibuprofen in your mouth, and then you’re going to drink some of this water, okay?”
I do as he asks. He annoyingly makes me drink a lot of water.
I guess Dom also feels this urge to unnecessarily narrate his movements, because he tells me, “I’m going to change your clothes first. Then I’m going to lift you up, put you in the armchair, and then change your sheets. Then you’re going right back, okay?”
I make a noise that I hope conveys consent.
I vaguely note that I’m still in my work clothes, and Dom has to peel them off me because they are soaked through, and I imagine this is what being flayed alive feels like. I’m stuffed into a soft shirt, and then I’m airborne, then freezing cold. Then airborne, then freezing cold with dry sheets.
“Sleep,” he commands, and it’s still sexy when he gets all bossy like this, even if I’m dying.
I dream of thermometers and rough hands checking my temperature. I am disappointed that Blackbeard is gone.
* * *
I feel a little more human when I wake up. It’s daylight, so I assume I slept through the night. I turn my head, and Dom is asleep next to me. I take a long moment to trace the sharp angles of his face with my eyes, but he feels it with his Super Dad powers, probably, and his eyes shoot open and immediately focus on me.
“Hey,” he says, with a smile, hand automatically moving up to check my forehead. “You’re still pretty hot.”
“You too,” I tell him again.
He launches himself out of bed, walking around to my side. I notice a bunch of pills and a full water bottle on my bedside table. “Here, take this. Your last dose was maybe six hours ago. And please finish the water bottle.”
My eyes start to water, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the fever or my helplessness or this feeling I’m feeling about Dom, or because I realize that he’s here without Frankie.
“Where’s Frankie?” I decide to go with. He watches me like a hawk to make sure I finish the water.
“She’s still with Tita Gloria,” he says gently. “She’s fine. I’ll call her in a bit.”
“I missed our date,” I say. I’m horrified to find a tear or three running down my face.
“Hey,” he croons, not missing it. He crawls over me and back into bed, tugging me into his body. “It’s okay, Lina. You’re incredibly sick right now. Let’s focus on you. What do you need? Do you need the bathroom? Do you think you feel well enough for me to take you to urgent care? I have a feeling you have the flu… parents have been saying in the parent chat that the flu has been going around the school. Did you get the flu shot this year?”
“Which question should I answer first?” I ask after a moment of processing.
He winces. “Sorry. Do you need the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
He hops out of bed and runs around the bed to give me an arm. I’m about to snap that I don’t need it, but then I try to stand up, and realize I do. “Shit,” I whine, still inexplicably crying. “I fucking hate this.”
“I know,” he murmurs, walking me to the bathroom. “But even boss-ass bitches get sick and need help once in a while. Especially ones that are in a building with nine hundred snotty kids every day.”
“Hey. One of those snotty kids is ours,” I say without thinking. Oh, wow. I went there. I did. I blame it on the fever dreams.
Dom’s head whips towards me with surprise, because he never misses a fucking thing when it comes to me or his daughter. He turns ahead towards our destination again, but it looks like he is attempting to smother a huge grin, suddenly shy, and the tips of his ears are red. “Frankie is exceptionally snotty.” And that’s all he says about that.
He gives me privacy after making sure I’m firmly secure on top of the toilet. He’s back inside as soon as he hears me flush.
“I had some soup and some super sugar electrolyte drink delivered last night,” Dom says as he tucks me back into bed. “Let me go heat up the soup.”
I sit back on my headboard and feel generally miserable until he comes back. “How did you get in here?” I don’t remember giving him a key, because we’re always at his place for Frankie.
“Your mom let me in,” he says, handing me a bowl of broth. “But I didn’t tell her you were sick because I figured you wouldn’t want her to worry.”
This statement brings a fresh wave of stinging behind my eyes. How did I get so lucky, to be dating this magnificent man who happens to understand me on a bone deep level?
“Did she give you the evil eye?” I say, sniffling.
