Page 60 of Found in Wild Sage

I don’t respond because it seems odd to tell her I like to carry her. I like that she lets me.

“You know you’re so painfully hot, right? Like, you’re married to me, but you could get anyone.”

I set her down feet first, then keep an arm around her back as I sit her on the side of the tub. It’s built in so there’s a solid lip to it, thank goodness.

Her hand on my face forces me to look at her. Her eyes are wide and yet unfocused when she says, “I’m telling you, anyone, Doctor Declan Ryan.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” Because what else could I tell her at this point? Her brain’s overheating, so I’m focused on letting lukewarm water rise in the tub. “Let’s get you in.”

I keep hold of her until she’s sitting in the tub. She leans back and I shift my eyes away, torn between the man who wants her desperately and the doctor doing his best to care for her.

“I’ve imagined this a lot of times. Always thought I’d at least wear matching underwear for it.”

My gaze shifts back to hers. “Imagine sitting in a cool bath to break your fever?”

Her eyes are closed and her head rests against the back of the tub. “You seeing me naked. Or, almost naked. Ideally in coordinated, lacy underthings and not a boring pair of black boy shorts and a worn-out comfy bra.” One of her arms rises, then drops with a slap back into the water. “Not exactly sexy.”

I smooth the hair back from her face and wait for her to open her eyes. When she does, I hold her attention. “I’m not worried about the color of your clothes. I’m taking care of you. And I promise that I’ll happily see you in matching lacy things any time you want, as long as you’re fever-free.”

A soft grin pulls her lips up. “Deal.”

I ease back, and after waiting a beat to make sure she’s not going to slink down into the tub and drown, though of course there’s only about five inches of water right now, I pace away and expel a pent-up breath.

She’s febrile and speaking without thinking. Her words right now aren’t a real reflection of her thoughts. She wouldn’t say this to me in any other circumstance.

I shout these truths into the void of my mind, but there’s no erasing her words.

“I’ve imagined this a lot of times.”

Such a simple statement has lit me on fire at the exact wrong time. Not that there would be a right time to know that she has thought about being in her bra and panties with me, a reality I am deeply pleased about, and yet now is unfortunate.

Because right now, I can’t say the same. I can’t revel in it. And even after this moment, I’m certain that if she remembers, she won’t bring it up.

“Dec?”

My fool heart flips when our eyes meet in the mirror. I turn and see she’s shivering.

“Let’s give it another minute so you reach a solid five. Then I’ll check your temp.”

Her shaky nod makes me want to haul her out of there, wrap her in a towel, and hold her. But the point here is to keep her from a seizure or worse, and her uninhibited chatter has made clear she’s absolutely still feeling the effects.

I glance at my watch, then back at her. She has her eyes closed, arms wrapped around her legs and chin resting on her knees.

She looks so small and alone. Which, of course she looks alone. She’s in the bathtub. But it strikes me that for the last few years, and from what she’s described, for maybe her whole adult life, she would’ve been alone to deal with illness. She’s such a warm, loving person, and to think of her without people surrounding her, supporting her, loving her… my heart aches.

I brush a hand gently over her forehead. In medicine, we talk about how unreliable a hand is at measuring fever, but I would bet my share of the clinic it’s at least two degrees lower.

“I’m going to get you some clothes. I’ll be right back.”

I don’t want her getting back in those sweatpants, and she’ll need dry underwear. The side of my dresser I left empty for her is now full. I don’t dwell on the satisfaction this brings me, instead reaching for what looks like shorts and a T-shirt, and a pair of underwear from a neat stack in the top drawer. Maybe at another moment, this would feel illicit or thrilling, but it’s simply right in this one. I’m the person who’s here to help her—I’m her husband. Of course I get her clothes from the dresser we share.

Not that we really share it, as I have a small backpack full of clothes I’m living out of paired with the laundry room where I have some things hanging. It’s not ideal. It doesn’t even feel like a long-term solution, but this all happened so fast, and my focus wasn’t me, but her and Charlie.

Back in the bathroom, her fever has dropped several degrees, so I help her out. She uses the bathroom and changes into the fresh clothes, then I guide her back to bed. I leave her to rest, and right as I’m about to return to the couch downstairs for a few hours, her voice stops me at the door.

“Dec?”

I walk back to the bedside, so she needn’t exert herself any more than she already is.