The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(67)

My work around the farm went from crazy to part-time, and with idle hands came the itch to leave. Every night that Della slept beside me, taller, prettier, more girl than child, I wondered where our future would take us.

There was no question that if I left she’d come too, but I was trapped by both returning cold weather and Della’s love for going to school.

On the last week of her term, before winter closed classes down for a while, she seemed off when we ate together in our room. I’d taken to keeping produce that I’d helped plant and tend in a mini fridge that John Wilson had delivered to us a few months ago.

I had a camping stove and preferred to cook on my own rather than accept the nightly invitation to eat with the Wilsons in their snug home. Not because things between Cassie and I were strained right now, or even that, as I grew older, I became more wanderer by heart and outsider by nature, but because I enjoyed keeping my skills sharp.

One day, I would live off the land again, and when that day came, I couldn’t be soft and useless when it came to skinning rabbits or preparing meals for two. I’d already let my talent at thievery turn rusty thanks to earning an honest wage, but it was never far from my mind.

I didn’t think that mentality would ever fully leave me. Even at seventeen, I still studied unprotected spots in house defences, body language of easy prey, and weaknesses that I could exploit if I wanted to.

That night, instead of a normal Wednesday evening when Della and I curled up in front of the TV with a simple meal of simmered carrots and honey glazed chicken, my life took a swerve into terror territory.

She accepted her dinner with her usual politeness and even gave me a weak smile.

But something was off.

My heart, that usually calmed down and found happiness whenever I was around her, skyrocketed with anxious nerves. “You okay?” I asked softly, brushing aside hair that’d stuck to her cheek.

The instant my fingers connected with her skin, I yanked them back faster than a whip. Immediately, I took the plate she held listlessly, climbed off the bed, and scooped her from the end.

She didn’t mutter one annoyance or frustration which layered my already anxious heart with more fear.

“Della…”

With as much tenderness as I could, I placed her on top of the bedspread and gathered her hair away from her back and neck so it draped over the pillow out of the way.

She groaned softly as if lying on a comfortable mattress hurt.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” I kneeled by the bed, hoping I looked in charge and strong when really, I was dying inside. “What is it? Something you ate? A cold? Tummy bug?”

We weren’t immune to everyday illnesses, especially now that Della spent the majority of her time around grubby children and unhygienic school classrooms. We’d had enough colds to know the symptoms.

But this was different.

She’d been listless yesterday too but still chirpy when I pushed her. Then again, she’d only eaten half her dinner and none of her dessert, when normally, she wolfed whatever I put in front of her.

I’d stayed up late, watching her sleep, and she’d been deep under all night.

I should’ve been more diligent. I should’ve known she was worse than she let on.

She had a habit of hiding things—keeping secrets close to her chest. Most of the time, I could handle her need for privacy and lived in constant hope that one day, she would trust me enough to share her secrets.

But today wasn’t that day, and I should’ve known better than to accept her lies.

She’d fibbed right to my face about her health and put herself in harm’s way.

Didn’t she know that was the worst kind of punishment? I loved her unconditionally, and she’d hurt herself yet again by keeping things from me.

My hands curled.

I wanted to tell her off, but instead, my mind raced with questions and theories of what could be wrong as my fingers rested on her forehead again, wincing at the heat radiating from her.

Goddammit, how had I not noticed?

Why did I let her go to school this morning?

“You lied to me. You said you were feeling better.” I cupped her cheek, willing her to open her eyes. “Little Ribbon…what have you done?”

She moaned, her lips parting just enough for a flinched breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I just wish you’d said something.”

“I had to hand in my science project that you helped me with.”

I scoffed. “I think two caterpillars turning into chrysalis and butterflies in a jam jar could’ve waited if you weren’t feeling okay.”

A lonely tear leaked from her left eye. “I’m sorry.”

I bent and pressed my forehead against her cheek, curling my arm around her head. “Don’t. It’s me who should apologise.”

“But I made you mad.”

My heart cracked. “You didn’t make me mad. You made me worried. Big difference.” I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she winced and wriggled in discomfort. “You have me so damn worried, Little Ribbon, and here I am scolding you when I should be making you better.”

“I’m sorry.” She snuggled into my embrace even though her body was a mini furnace.

“Stop saying that.” I held her tight, willing the chaos in my brain to settle enough to talk without bite and ask questions gently. “I’m the one who’s sorry, and now I’m going to do everything I can to make you better.”