"No. You're going to the actual bed.Mybed." I scoop her up before she can protest, and she's so light it scares me. "When's the last time you ate?"
"I don't know. Yesterday, maybe?"
"Nora."
"I couldn't keep anything down."
I carry her upstairs, and she doesn't even fight it; lets her head rest against my chest. That's how I know she's really sick—Nora never lets anyone take care of her.
I take her to my room, not the guest room she's been sleeping in. My room, with my bed that's bigger and more comfortable, where I can actually keep an eye on her.
I set her down carefully. She blinks at the unfamiliar room, and I can see the moment she realizes where we are. “Your room.”
“My room,” I confirm.
She manages a weak nod, then tries to push herself up. "I should check on?—"
"You should lie down and rest." I pull the covers up over her. "I've got Harper. You just focus on getting better."
"But she might wake up?—"
"And I'll handle it. I've been handling her for eight months, Red. I think I can manage one night." I press my hand to her forehead again. "Have you thrown up?"
"Twice."
"Okay. I'm getting you water and more medicine. Don't move."
I head to the bathroom, grab the thermometer and Tylenol, fill a glass with water, and bring it all back. Nora's exactly where I left her, too sick to even think about moving.
The thermometer reads 102.1.
"That's high," I mutter, helping her take the medicine. "If it doesn't come down in a few hours, I'm taking you to urgent care."
"I'm fine."
"You keep saying that, but the evidence suggests otherwise."
She manages a weak smile. "Bossy."
"You slapped my team captain. I think I can be bossy about you being sick."
I stay until she falls asleep, then head back downstairs to clean up. The house shows signs of the weekend's chaos—laundry everywhere, dishes in the sink, Harper's toys scattered across every surface.
I spend the next hour putting everything back together, doing the dishes, starting the laundry, and making sure everything's ready for tomorrow, when I'll be handling Harper solo.
Around 1 a.m., I check on both of them. Harper's still sleeping peacefully. Nora's restless, her fever making her toss and turn even in sleep.
I grab a pillow and an extra blanket, settling into the chair inthe corner of my room where I can watch both the monitor and Nora.
I don't sleep much.
Monday morning, Harper wakes up at six-thirty like clockwork.
I'm in her room before she can work herself into a full cry, scooping her up and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She's cool to the touch, completely healthy, grinning at me like the past weekend never happened.
"Morning, baby girl. Let's let Nora sleep, okay?"
I take Harper downstairs, make her bottle with practiced ease, and get her changed. We play on the floor while I drink coffee. When she first got here at two months old, I could barely hold her without panicking.