He felt the cloth on her forehead, it was already warm. He ran it under the cold water of the bathroom sink, then wrung it out. When he came back, he gently said her name again as he pressed the cold cloth to her head. “Tiana.”
Once again, her eyes fluttered open.
“Pops’ surgery was moved up to tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” Her heavy lids were closing before she even got the full word out.
He wiped down her cheeks and neck. “Do you know what’s happening tomorrow?”
She nodded.
“What?” he prodded gently.
“Surgery,” she slurred.
“Who is having surgery?”
“Pops.”
Niko exhaled. That was the best he was going to be able to do. He sat beside her, freshening her cloth every five minutes or so until Liam arrived. His brother-in-law asked what her symptoms had been. Niko explained that when they got in the SUV the night before, Tiana said she was exhausted and her body ached, and she felt like she had been hit by a truck. And he explained when they woke up this morning, she was burning up. Before even walking back and examining her, Liam diagnosed that he was ninety percent sure she had the “Super Flu,” which apparently was going around.
He said that it came on suddenly and could cause delirium, the onset of high fever, intense body aches, extreme fatigue, and confusion. Once he was done checking her over, he felt strongly that was the case. He gave him flu medication to administer with instructions to keep her as hydrated as possible, to monitor specific markers that would indicate she needed to go to the emergency room and to call him immediately.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate this.” Niko pulled Liam into a hug and squeezed him tightly.
When Niko released him from his Hulk-like hug, Liam stepped back and stared down at Niko and didn’t say anything. His expression was pensive. A pensive Liam was one with something to say. Liam rarely gave his opinion or talked at all, but something told Niko he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear what he was about to tell him.
“What?” Niko finally asked.
“Didn’t you say this wasn’t real? That night you came over, didn’t you say this was only because of your exes being in town?”
“It’s real,” Niko admitted. “Tome, it’s real.”
Liam grinned, as if amused by his situation. “Call me if her fever goes over 103 and you can’t get it down.”
“I will. Thanks.”
He closed the door, and as he headed back to the room, he wondered if it was real to Tiana or if this was still just an “arrangement,” as she’d put it. It was obviously not a conversation he’d be having with her today, or tomorrow, or the next day for that matter. But when she was healthy again, they needed to sit down and talk because Niko wanted more than wanted more than pretend.
Today scared him.
What if he hadn’t been in her life and she’d been in that fucking shack by herself? Who would have found her? Who was her emergency contact? Pops? He was amazing, but he was in his eighties, and he lived in an assisted living facility himself.
Niko wanted to be her emergency contact, legally, forever. This was real for him now. Who was he kidding, it had been real for him from the start.
26
Tiana’s senseof time fractured into something unrecognizable, a mosaic of blinks and brief, oxygen-bright interludes where her own body felt like a foreign planet, humid, heavy, teetering on the edge of gravity.
Everything felt like one long fever dream.
She would surface, in slow motion, to find Niko always there, a steadfast moon orbiting her bed. The landscape split into strange intervals, each one marked by small, pragmatic rituals, a straw in her mouth with an instruction to drink, a chilled cloth against her brow, the soft, coaxing tenor of Niko’s voice, as if he were singing her back to consciousness, asking her to take a pill or take a drink.
Niko’s energy was strong and steady as he tucked the comforter around her as a chill ran through her body. “You’re okay,” he’d repeated. She remembered the grip of his fingers, the condensation on the glass, and the edge of his thumb brushing her cheek as she drank. Even half-conscious, she tasted the gratitude at the back of her throat that he was beside her. The next minute, her eyelids were closing again, the world softening like the fade at the end of a song.
Then her eyes opened, and sharp white sunlight bounced off the nightstand, and there was a glare across the blacked-out TV screen. Niko’s arm was behind her shoulders as he tipped the pills into her mouth, water sliced through the cotton in her throat, and her legs were shaky as she walked to the bathroom. Niko guided her gently back to bed, pulled the duvet up, and whispered, “Just close your eyes.” She tried to thank him, but her brain was full of static. She blinked again, the memory unfinished.
When she opened her eyes again, the room held the warm glow of candles, but she realized it was because the Himalayan sea salt lamp on the nightstand was illuminating the space. Her body ached in new places, and her joints were swollen. She could hear the cadence of Niko’s voice, but it sounded far away. She tried to sit up, but her arms felt like lead. Then he was there, at her side, as if summoned. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, then the inside of his wrist, then there was a thermometer pointed at her forehead and a loud beep.
