Page 186 of True Blue

The tenderness makes my eyes sting with tears, but I smile at him and nod, thankful the pounding has subsided.

It all comes back to me in fragments as Teddy takes a washcloth and some soap—the same soap I use, I smell—and washes my tight, sore limbs.

I had woken up with a pounding headache, not entirely uncommon, especially since I still haven’t been able to master my circadian rhythm out here yet.

I pounded back a Red Bull, thinking some caffeine would help, and then another when that didn’t work. Then, somewhere between checking charts and speaking to a patient, I started feeling foggy. Too hot. Then shivering from being too cold. Then a strange combination of both where I couldn’t get comfortable.

Being sick and working in a Cancer Center is dangerous; everyone is vulnerable and immunocompromised from the treatments.

I remember heading to find my chief because I knew I needed to go home, even though some awful, conditioned part of me was already bracing for annoyance. For someone asking who would cover my patients before asking if I was okay.

The next thing I knew, the world tilted, and I was waking up on the ground with a pain in my brow and Mimi’s concerned face hovering over me, snapping at me to keep my ass down when I stubbornly tried to get back up.

When they were stitching me up, she told me I had fainted and cracked my head on the edge of the front desk. In front of everyone. Embarrassing, but the pain and fever had kept me from caring fully.

Then, Teddy.

A month after I started, Mimi had been harassing me for my emergency contact, telling me that I needed someone for them to call if something happened.

It’s silly how something like an emergency contact can really put into perspective just how alone you are. I used to make up fake names or just use characters from my favorite movies and television shows when I didn’t have anyone.

Ouiser Bourdreaux.

Cristina Yang.

Ellen Ripley.

Those were some of my favorites. Women who were strong enough to survive on their own.

But here, in New Jersey, I have my Teddy.

Teddy, who gently tilts my head back now, shielding my eyes with one hand while he pours water over my greasy hair with the other. The carefulness of it makes tears leak from the corners of my eyes.

It feels incredible not to be sitting in my sweat anymore, but that’s not what’s making me cry.

It’s the fact that he took care of me, that he didn’t think twice to come and get me when I needed him, that he remained and took care of the gross stuff as I was sick.

And is still looking at me with adoring green eyes.

His brow furrows when he sees me crying.

“Is the water too hot? Are you alright⁠—”

“Thank you,” I sniffle, tears falling steadily.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” I say, shaking my head. “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

“Why?” I ask. “You’re still... you’re still here. I feel like I’ve just been taking from you.”

He frowns at that, and I keep going because if I don’t get it out now, I never will.

“You’ve done so much for me, Teddy. You followed me to Europe, you made the vacation one I couldn’t have dreamed of, you drew me those beautiful sketches, you’re staying when I haven’t… when we haven’t… you’re just still here for me.”

“Indie—”