All she’d done at breakfast and lunch was pick at her food. At the time he’d wondered again whether it was just being around him that had her thrown, now he thought it was more than that.
There was another obvious answer as to why she wasn't keen on eating.
Nausea.
If she felt sick, it would make sense that the thought of putting food in her mouth only made her feel worse. And if she knew she was running a fever, she might have been afraid that if he touched her skin, he’d feel that it was overheated.
A bit of a stretch maybe, but it did fit with what he knew about Teresa. She’d never been one to admit weakness. With so much to take care of as a kid, she’d always tried to push through when she was sick because people were depending on her.
Was that what she was trying to do now?
The last few times he’d checked her wounds, they had been a little red and inflamed. There had been no puss and nothing to confirm infection, and he’d been relying on Teresa to be honest with him if she started feeling worse.
A mistake.
Obviously.
She’d been holed up in her room all day, not because she needed space but because she was trying to avoid him.
Shoving off the couch, Micah hurried to Teresa’s bedroom. As much as he had been trying to respect her need for space and not shove himself on her, even though he’d love to haul her into his lap and apologize over and over again until she had no choice but to accept, this wasn't the time for space.
Physical health came first. If she was trying to hide from him that she was sick, he needed to know. There was no way he was going to lose her to her own stubborn pride.
Pride already had her shutting out the people who loved her. He knew for a fact she hadn't responded to any of the texts she’d received because he was in constant contact with Nathaniel and Ava. In fact, the three of them had started a group chat, added Chelsea, then Tobias and Isabella, and even Josiah had reluctantly agreed to be part of it. If she’d replied he would have known about it, and she hadn't. If she didn't soon, she was likely going to find herself the recipient of an intervention.
Not bothering to knock on Teresa’s door because he already knew she’d just tell him to go away, that she was fine, he opened it and saw her standing beside her bed. She had a hand pressed to her temple like she was dizzy, and when she turned toward the now open door she swayed and teetered precariously.
There was no conscious thought on his part.
He was just there, beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against his chest so she didn't hit the floor.
“I was fine,” she grumbled, but her voice was thready, her protest weak at best.
“You were going to fall,” he corrected. When they were kids, he’d never coddled her, he’d respected her strength and determination, but never been shy about pointing out her weaknesses, mainly her stubborn pride, and how it could negatively affect her if she let it.
“Was not,” she shot back, but there was no heat to her tone.
“You're sick.” It came out accusing, because, okay, that’s how he meant it. She should know better than to play games with her health for any reason whatsoever.
“Am not.”
Rolling his eyes, Micah pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Then why are you burning up?”
“Because I was in bed, under the covers.” She huffed, actually sticking out her bottom lip into a pout.
Again, there was no conscious thought on his part, his thumb just pressed to her lip, trailing along it, remembering all the times he’d kissed her. Back then, he’d never thought about what a privilege it was to be able to kiss Teresa whenever he wanted, he’d taken it for granted, not realizing how good he’d had it until it was gone.
“You’re sick,” he said again, more reproachful this time than accusing. “You didn't tell me that you were feeling sick.”
“Didn't want you to think I was weak.” Her gaze dropped, and her already flushed cheeks pinked further.
“Why on earth would I think you were weak?” Micah had a feeling that the answer to that question was also the answer to why she was shutting everyone out.
“Because I didn't save myself,” she whispered. There was so much pain in those few words that his heart ached.
“I didn't save myself either,” he reminded her.
“You would have. You’d already gotten free. I didn't. I didn't stop them from taking part of my liver.”
