Page 75 of Unapologetic

Page List


Font:  

Chapter Twenty-Three

The unending loud shrill of my alarm brought me out of my deep slumber. River began to stir, as well.

When I reached out to touch his forehead, his temperature hadn’t gone down as I had hoped.

Barely awake, I slid off the bed and rounded toward his corner and took two pills from the foil packet before pouring water into a glass tumbler. His pale pallor didn’t ease my worry.

“It’s time to take your meds.” I softly shook his arm to wake him up. “It’ll be a quick sec, I promise.”

He barely managed to crack his eyes open as he made an effort to sit up and open his mouth. I slipped the pills inside then held the water to his lips. He gulped it down with no hesitation before slumping back into the pillows.

He appeared to have sweated a little, so I figured I had to do something about it. I went downstairs to get a few essentials, such as a fresh icepack, a large bowl filled with cold water, and a towelette, before hurrying back to his bedroom.

“River, I’m going to give you a little bath to lower down your temperature, okay?”

He incoherently mumbled something, which made me smile. Back in the old days, we used to nurse each other when the other was sick.

Diverting my attention back to the half-filled bowl of water, I gave him a towel bath, running the cold wet cloth over his feverish skin, limb by limb. Once that was done, I dried him off with a clean towel before securing the comforter over his body. Then I carefully left an icepack behind his head, hoping that it would help with his headache and rising temperature.

After cleaning up my mess, I strode back to his side. His skin didn’t feel as heated to the touch, which was a good sign. I knew I had to bathe his body a few more times to help lower his fever down.

Softly gazing at him, I prayed that he would get better soon. It had only been a little over six hours. Hopefully, by tomorrow the fever would break.

Sighing, I plucked my phone from the side table to check the time. It was five in the afternoon. I set my alarm for eleven o’clock for his next dose.

I reverted back to my old spot and situated myself next to him. For another hour or so, I steadfastly watched him breathe before that, too, lulled me to sleep.

The room was dark with only a few streaks of moonlight filtering through the curtain when the familiar sound trilled, indicating it was time to take care of River again.

Browsing through his fridge, I was aghast to find that it was filled with beer, bread, cheese, and not much else. Who put bread in the fridge? Frowning, I wondered how the heck this man survived without food? Oh right, he ordered in. I would have done the same, but it was past normal delivery hours, so I had to make do with what I could.

I scoured his pantry and found two containers of chicken soup. I took my time heating them in one of his white ceramic saucepans.

His kitchen was beautifully equipped. It made me wonder how often the man cooked. Then again, this new version of River, I barely knew anymore. The old one used to love cooking, but by judging on what I could see, he barely used the kitchen these days.

Making sure the soup had fully simmered before pouring it into a bowl, I then placed it on a serving tray, along with some fresh toast. This was the best I could work with, so hopefully he wouldn’t mind it.

Gripping the tray on each side, I made my way upstairs, overtly cautious not to spill anything. He was still fast asleep when I lowered the food tray on his side table.

Switching the lamp on, the room immediately basked aglow.

Gazing down on him, I took one towel to gently dab the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Wake up, sleepy head. It’s time to eat a little bit before you take your meds.” When he didn’t wake, I pondered what to do next. Should I shake him or gently lure him out of unconsciousness? “River … wake up.”

“Another hour … Just wanna sleep,” he mumbled with his eyes closed then rolled his head to the side, avoiding the bright light coming from the lamp close by.

This patient loved being difficult.

“Honestly, River, if you don’t eat, I’m going to force feed you. You know I mean it, too, so the choice is yours. Do you want to give in, or do you want to fight this one, too?”

“Christ, I hate it when you begin terrorizing me,” he groaned before irritably sitting up and leaning against the headboard.

That made me grin stupidly. He was damn right.

“You know how it is.” Even in the least opportune time, we still bickered like old people.

Peeking with one eye, he groggily watched me give him a spoonful of soup. He gradually opened his mouth as I fed him. And after the tenth attempt, he was begging to go back to sleep. I indulged him after making sure he took the pills. And in a heartbeat, he was out like a light.

Just like I performed earlier, I gave him a quick sponge bath that seemed to be helping, then made a new ice pack for behind his neck. The whole process took almost an hour, and by the time I finished, I was dire need of nourishment myself.


Tags: Pamela Ann Romance