Page 29 of Before the Bond
“What is it?”
I frowned. “His condition is progressing,” I said. “Faster than I’d like. What I’m doing isn’t working anymore.”
I went over everything that happened over the past week. Jake’s vitals, his pain readings, his daily intakes.
Caleb listened. He was good at that, but today I needed more.
“You’re right,” he said. “His condition is approaching its critical phase.”
“I know that,” I said, my patience already at its limit. “But what does a ‘critical phase’ even entail?”
“I —”
“Don’t give me anything vague, either,” I added. “How am I supposed to prepare for something I don’t understand? Jake’s the one who suffers if I get this wrong.”
Caleb’s hands pressed together. “You’re doing what you should. You don’t have to worry.”
“Of course I’m going to worry!” It was the first time I'd raised my voice at him.
I expected Caleb to shout back. Argue. Anything.
If he wasn’t going to give me answers, he could at least be adamant about it.
“Olivia.” His voice lowered. “You have to trust me.”
I slowed my breathing. No matter how much I wanted to fight, I knew it was going to go nowhere.
“You don’t get to ask me for trust,” I retorted.
I pressed my fingers against my temples and shook my head. “You know what? Whatever. You’re obviously not going to tell me.”
I walked to the end of the study. The papers shuffled.
I thought he might stop me. Nothing happened.
I closed the door behind me.
By the time Jake was anywhere close to sleeping, it was late night.
“I’ll be okay,” Jake murmured. “You need rest, too, you know.”
“I’m a nurse,” I replied. “I don’t really sleep.”
I adjusted the blanket over Jake’s bed as I checked his temperature. His eyes closed and he drifted off.
I carefully examined his breathing. It was steady for now.
My eyes then drifted to his tableside. Between the slurry of pain meds and vitamin supplements, I noticed an unopened book.
It was the one he’d asked me to bring down — a collection of regional histories, old enough that the spine was soft and the pages had that particular yellowed quality of paper that had absorbed decades of damp air. I’d been reading passages to Jake when the pain made sleep impossible.
Jake’s love of estate history extended to a passion for lore and mythologies. The times when we couldn’t do anything for his pain, I’d read a few passages to him. He said he already knew them all, but that my voice “added a new spin on things.”
I would have read it to him tonight, but we spent most of the evening dealing with his fever.
I meant to leave it and go to bed.
Instead I picked it up and made my way to the fireplace.
