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Great. “I’ll tell the others.”

Everyone stands up when I re-enter the living room. Even Liam looks concerned, which—it’s too damn late for that. He should’ve been concerned about Maeve back when she was his girlfriend and it was his job to care about her.

“It’s a cold or flu,” I announce. “Seems mild, or at least the fever’s not too high.”

“She’ll want soup,” Gabriel says immediately.

“Chicken noodle?” Lydia asks, eager to help.

“No—I mean, yes, but she prefers miso soup, and there was this Asian one, I think Thai—I’ll speak to the chef. I’m sure if I describe it he’ll know what I mean and can make it for her.” Gabriel heads toward the kitchen.

“You can get her some Tylenol and Powerade or Gatorade, whatever we have,” I tell Lydia. I know she wants to help, and I don’t want her to feel left out just because she doesn’t know Maeve as well as we do. “She’ll need electrolytes. And it’ll help the medicine go down easier.”

Lydia jumps up, happy to be useful. Hayden gives me a meaningful look and follows her, apparently supervising to make sure she does it right. I can’t blame him. I get it. I’m protective of Maeve too.

“Mom,” I ask, turning to her, “where are the extra blankets kept?”

I swear every time I’m here, she’s rearranged where everything is stored.

“Oh, of course, right this way, sweetheart.”

My mother leads me to a closet where I grab a couple of blankets of varying weights for Maeve. By the time I bring them upstairs, Hayden is helping to tuck Maeve in while she makes a face.

“The medicine isn’t that bad,” he says, aiming for his usual teasing tone and failing miserably. He’s clearly too wound up with concern.

“Hm. You’re not the one who has to take it.” Maeve’s voice is groggy as she settles back into the pillows as Hayden arranges and fluffs them.

Something in my chest twinges as I watch him take care of her. The flash of jealousy I feel isn’t exactly surprising, but it isn’t welcome either. I don’t like the idea of being jealous of Hayden, or Gabriel, for that matter. These men are brothers to me, far more than Liam ever has been.

But there’s another feeling in my chest too, and it takes me a moment to identify it. It’s… relief. I’m relieved that Hayden is taking care of her, that it’s not just me, that someone is with her even when I step away.

I don’t have time to analyze that thought, so I brush it off as I step into the room and announce, “I’ve got more blankets and a hot water bottle.”

I don’t sleep much that night.

Mom gets another room ready for me, but I don’t want to sleep apart from Maeve in case she needs something. There’s concern about me catching whatever she has, but I don’t care. I’m going to make sure she’s looked after all night.

I do doze fitfully, but I check on her often. She sleeps restlessly but without fully waking, so I take the win. She needs as much rest as possible. Sometimes I can tell she’s starting to surface, and I soothe her until she slips back into deeper sleep.

In the morning, everyone else gets up. I can hear Hayden and Gabriel moving around in their rooms. I should get up and grab something to eat—I’m starving—but I’m transfixed watching Maeve sleep.

She’s no longer restless, and looks lovely in the warm morning light. Not as vibrant as she usually does, obviously, since she’s sick. She’s pale, and her skin has a slightly waxy look from the fever.

It makes my chest ache. I don’t know what to do with this feeling. I’ve never felt so protective over someone before. She looks so vulnerable and small like this. Soft and delicate. Maeve carries herself with such elegance, and she’s always looked wonderfully feminine. But I know full well how fiercely she can stand up for herself.

To see her this way is new, and so is this overwhelming desire to look after someone. It’s dangerous territory.

As if startled by something, Maeve stirs and blinks, opening her eyes. She stretches slightly and I reach for the glass of water. “Hey there, Spitfire.”

“Ugh.” Maeve lets me help her sit up and sips at the water. “Thank you.”

Her voice is raspy. I feel her forehead—she still doesn’t feel right. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I tell her sternly.

She sighs. “Okay, I don’t feel great. Just general… awfulness.”