She swats me away weakly. “I'm fine,” she slurs.
“Goddammit, Callie,” I mutter the words more to myself than her. “Why the fuck didn’t you call anybody?”
I pull out my phone and dial Mama’s number.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Callie’s burning up. What should Ido?”
“How bad is it? Can you take her temperature?”
“I don’t know. She’s really out of it.”
“Get a wet washcloth. You’ll want to use it on the back of her neck and forehead. I’ll have your father bring you the medical kit.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
“Of course. Call if you need anything.”
I pad into the kitchen, silently cursing myself for not having anything on hand to take care of her. I should at least have a goddamn thermometer in this house.
When I return to the living room, armed with the wet washcloth, and Callie’s still in the same position. I gently place it against her forehead and cheeks, dabbing along her hairline.
Her head lolls to the side, and she groans.
“I’m sorry. I have to get you cooled down.”
Her eyes slowly blink open. “Jax?”
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
“Like somebody set my body on fire,” she says, her voice low and hoarse. “Did I swallow glass?”
I give her a small smile. At least she’s still able to crack a joke. “Don't think so. Can you roll over for me?”
A pained groan slips free as she shifts onto her side.
“Maybe I should take you to a doctor,” I say.
“No. No doctor. I’ll be fine.”
There’s that word again. Fine. Everything is fucking fine, even when I know damn well it’s not.
“Did you take anything?”
She murmurs a quiet dissent.
I press the cloth to the back of her neck and hold it there, stroking my thumb along her soft skin, unable to resist the pull. I’m so close, all I’d have to do is lean in slightly and kiss her, but now isn’t the time for that.
“Why didn't you tell anyone you were sick?” I whisper.
“Didn't want to bother you.” Her eyes fall closed again,long lashes fanning out against her flushed cheeks. Even like this, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve seen.
“I can take care of myself,” she says groggily. “I always have.”
My anger flares at the thought of someone mistreating her. I want to throttle whoever made her believe she can’t rely on anyone. Kindness and caring are the bare minimum. I want to give her so much more than that—the whole goddamn world if she asked it of me.
Pops arrives a short while later with a first aid kit and a canvas tote full of groceries. “How's she doing?”
