My stomach drops. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sick,” she mutters, pressing a tissue to her nose. “Fever. Might be the flu. Go without me.”
“I’m not leaving you like this.” I push my way inside and kick the door shut behind me.
“Please go. You have to.”
“Nope.” I shrug off my jacket and toss it on a chair. “You need looking after. And lucky for you, I’m devastatingly good at it.”
She blinks at me, forehead glazed in sweat from the fever. “You’re supposed to be with your family today.”
“I am spending it with family.” I roll up my sleeves, exposing forearms that usually make people shut up. “You’re the only family I need today.”
I call Trace while filling a kettle for tea. “Bad news. Fallon is sick,” I tell my brother. “Can’t make it, mate.”
“You’re skipping Thanksgiving?” The shock level in his voice astonishes me. “The whole day? Not even later for football?”
“Aye,” I say proudly.
There’s a pause, then a low chuckle. “You may not be a real boyfriend, but she’s got you under her green thumb.”
“Go to hell,” I growl and hang up.
As I work out how to make steamed tea of herbs used to make these medicine balls I hear about, numerous texts start lighting up my phone.
Mum: Please tell Fallon to feel better!
Shea-Lynne: Sorry to hear Fallon isn’t well. We can’t wait to meet her when she’s better.
I bring a mug on a tray to Fallon with some crackers. She’s curled on the couch under a knitted quilt that could have come from my Gran’s home in Waterford.
Her hairline is damp. Her lips are pale. And my chest aches for her in a way I’ve not felt before.
“Here, sit up,” I say, kneeling to press the warm cup into her hands. “Small sips, love, it’s hot.”
She obeys, eyes fluttering shut as she sips. “What’s in this?”
“Jade, citrus, and mint. Not from the jungle you made for me,” I say to be playful.
“It’s amazing.” She sniffs and drinks. “Quiet, Basil!”
Groaning, I say, “Do you want me to…take care of him?”
Her eyes flash wide. “No. I would never ask…”
“Never ask me to hurt someone for you?” I lean in and keep the mug tilted so she takes more sips. “You would never have to ask. I would just do it. I already have.”
Here I go with more confessions. More blackmail dollars that I have to make it rain on her. I’ll have to kiss her on New Year’s Eve and buy her six dozen roses on Valentine’s Day.
None of it sounds completely awful, and that chokes me up.
Fallon clears her throat and looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I know you have.”
“That guy who broke into my flat was after me, not you.”
“I meant the guy who bothered me in the garden. Bill. His name was Bill. You dragged him into the park and hurt him so badly he went to the hospital.” She sounds as calm as I am in Connor’s tunnel, describing to some eejit how he’s going to die.
Shite.She can call the police at any time. But Fallon has no intention of snitching on me. That’s not who she is.
