"When I'm better, we'll wipe down every wall, ceiling, and floor, not leaving a spot untouched. As long as we do our due diligence, we'll be okay. I just have to survive the next week," he breathlessly says.
"My cooking isn't the best, so you’re probably starving," I mock, wanting to get a rise out of him. It works because he laughs. “Bruno wouldn’t even eat my hamburger.” I pout.
“To be fair, he’s a vegetarian,” he states, and I burst out laughing.
“You’re such a liar.” I shake my head. “It was burnt. He probably thought it was mud.”
“I would’ve eaten it,” he says. “I can’t taste for shit anyway.”
Chuckling, I smile and love that we can still communicate like this. If this is as close as we can be, I'll take it. And when he's better, I’ll make it up to him in all the right ways. I miss his touch, his kisses, and the way he looks at me as though I'm his everything. Just the thought of losing him scares me beyond belief.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ELIJAH
DAY 35
It's been twelve grueling days of feeling like shit, but when I woke up this morning, I didn't feel like there was a pillow over my face. Though my back aches from coughing so much, I think the hard part is over, as long as I don't relapse or get pneumonia. I roll over in bed and reach for the thermometer. I place it under my tongue and wait, and I’m shocked to see my fever has finally broke. Thank fuck.
There were a few days when I was worried. My inhaler barely provided any relief, and I almost asked Cameron to rush me to the hospital, but I kept holding on, hoping my body would fight it. When I was at my worst, I told my mother I was sick too. She nearly had a heart attack, but I couldn't keep it a secret just in case something terrible happened.
Mom called Ava, who then insisted on coming to the cabin, but I told her it was best if she didn't and that I’d check in as much as I could. I climb out of bed and go to the window that overlooks a meadow. Fog bellows over the dense grass, and in the distance, I can see the mountains. Instead of going back to sleep, I take a hot shower. Though my skin is sensitive to the touch, the water relaxes me and the steam helps my breathing. Once I’m done, I realize I gave Cami all my clothes.
I forgot I asked her if she could do my laundry yesterday. I only packed one suitcase because I didn't know how long I'd be here. At this rate, I should've taken everything I owned, considering I probably won't be returning home for at least another month. Probably longer, though. Not that I'm complaining because that means more uninterrupted time with Cami.
For the first time in ten days, I leave my bedroom and walk down the hallway with a towel wrapped around my waist. I carefully take the stairs, and when I get to the bottom step, Bruno comes rushing toward me.
"Hey, boy." I smile wide as he tries to jump on me, and I tell him to sit, then pet his head. It's barely past six in the morning, so everything is quiet.
When I walk into the washroom, my clothes are in the dryer. A grin touches my lips because she actually figured it out, not that I completely doubted her. Okay, maybe just a little. I put all of my items into a spare basket and put on a pair of joggers and my favorite Yankees T-shirt. Just as I turn around, I nearly run into Cami.
"Oh my God!" she yelps, covering her mouth with her hands. "I thought you were a burglar."
I chuckle. "Who broke in to steal my underwear?"
"I came downstairs to make some coffee so I could start doing schoolwork, and I heard noises."
I look down at her hand and notice she's tightly grasping a skillet.
"And what's that for?" I point at it and grin.
"To kill you!" She swings it in the air, putting all of her weight into it. Bruno runs to her and thinks it’s time to play.
I hold the basket under one arm and laugh. “Not sure if that would do the job, babe. You should stick with statues. At least they’re heavy as hell."
Her eyes meet mine, then she gazes down my body and back up. A blush hits her cheek, and I smirk. “Are you feeling better?" she asks, swallowing hard.
I nod. "Much. Not fully, but I'm on the rebound. No fever."
"Thank God," she whispers, her shoulders relaxing. Cami drops the pan, then wraps her arms around me. Dropping the basket, I hold her close, smelling the sweetness of the shampoo in her hair, and never want to let her go. "I've been so worried."
"I know. Me too," I admit. "I got lucky. Didn’t hurt having you take care of me." I smirk.
"It's easy to take things for granted when you suddenly realize you may never be able to again," she says, then pulls away. "I had tons of time to think about that between my fever-induced nightmares. The fear of not living is what scared me the most. But the realization that tomorrow isn’t promised was empowering in a way."
I grin and pick up my basket of clean clothes. "I can relate. I thought about all the things I wanted to do and never have, along with adding to my bucket list. I've never been in a situation like this before, and I never want to be again." I cough, and suck in as much air as I can, but I end up dropping the basket, and Cami moves toward me.
"I'm fine." I gasp, trying to catch my breath. This has rapidly become my new normal for the past week and a half. While I bend over because I don’t have much strength, I know it's best to stand straight to open my airway. Quickly, fatigue takes over, and I have a full-blown asthma attack.
"What can I get you?" Cami asks, panicking. I can't even catch my breath long enough to say two syllables, but she figures it out on her own. She rushes away, running as fast as she can out of the room. I feel like someone is squeezing the air out of me as the pressure of a million pounds sits on my chest. Though she's only gone for a moment, it seems like an eternity.
She hands me my inhaler, and I put the plastic up to my mouth and push down, allowing the medicine to fill my lungs. I take three more pumps, needing it to work faster than it is. Eventually, it does, but my heart is galloping at full speed, and my hand is unsteady from the medication hitting my bloodstream. Cami watches me intently with fear written all over her face.
"I'm okay," I tell her. "My asthma attacks are a million times worse right now. Go wash your hands," I remind her, knowing she touched something that came from my room.
She quickly does, and I pick up the basket, then follow her into the kitchen as she scrubs her hands under the hot water. I’m exhausted all over again, and my body aches, but I’m determined to have a little time with her today.
"You're going to make me worry to death or give me gray hair."
“You’d be sexy with some gray." I chuckle and notice how spotless everything is. "You know what would be great right now?"
Blinking up at me, she grins. "Coffee?"
"Yep. The caffeine helps with my asthma."
"Really?” She tilts her head. “That’s good to know."
"Yep, I learned that in college. My doctor suggested it when I didn’t have a rescue inhaler at work one time. He said coffee acts as a bronchodilator and in a pinch can help with attacks. It's a reason I drink several cups in the morning."