Page 165 of Rookie Attraction

“What does that mean?”

“A private room, all visitors have to gown, mask, and glove up before they enter, plus there’s a special air filtration system.”

“Jesus.”

He nods.

“Dad got her here as quick as he could, so the doctors say that’s in her favor. We’ll see if the first round of antibiotics works, but she’ll probably be here for at least a week, if not more. Her fever spiked again and she’s confused.”

“Fuck, she was doing so much better these last two months.”

He sighs and rubs his head.

“I know. All we can do now is wait.”

“Are you heading back to your place?”

“No, I’m going to grab a bite at the cafeteria, and then I’ll head back up here. You want me to bring you something?”

I shake my head.

“I don’t think I can eat.”

“When was your last meal?”

“Um—”

“Okay, I’m grabbing four sandwiches, and you will eat them. All of them,” he insists.

Typical Will, always my big brother. The familiar teasing has me breathing easier.

“Thanks.”

“I thought your shoulder was better?” he asks, concern on his face.

“It is. I don’t need the sling, but I wore it on the plane so people wouldn’t bump into me.”

“Good idea.” Will nods. “I’m so glad it wasn’t any worse. We were all scared for you.”

“I’m fine. Well, not fine given where Mom is, but you know what I mean.”

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

As he wheels off, I continue down the hallway. There’s a bathroom at this end, so I quickly pop in, remove my sling, and scrub up as best I can. When I step back out, I head for my mom’s room and stop outside the door to suit up in a gown, mask, and gloves. Placing my hand on the door, I take a deep breath before I step inside. The room hums with the beep of machines and what I assume is the sound of the ventilation system. Mom’s asleep, her skin translucent and sweaty, an IV in her arm, and I take note of the machine that’s tracking her vitals. Fear claws at me, but I refuse to let it yank me under.

My dad sits in a nearby chair, his head in his hands.

“Dad,” I whisper.

He raises his head, anxiety etched on every line of his face.

“Finn.”

He gets up and stalks toward me, his hug so tight I’m in danger of adding bruised ribs to my physiotherapy list.

“Will told me she’s not coherent right now.”

“Yeah,” his voice trembles. “The fever.”