Survivor (First to Fight #2)(22)

“I don’t know. I just feel crappy. Do you think I could stay in here with you for a while?”

I pause before I answer, unsure of taking this step. Can I do this? This is what mothers should do. I’ve never even taken care of a goldfish, let alone a sick kid. All those mothering genes must have skipped my generation.

Studying Donnie in the pale fluorescent light, I bite my cheek. He keeps his eyes on the floor studying his Superman socks and seeing them makes my insides warm and soft. I tuck an arm around his waist because reaching his shoulders is a no-go, and lead him to my bed. After I wrap him up in my covers and smooth the hair away from his face, I say, “Let me go get a big bowl, okay?”

I’ve been very okay with being alone. I learned that the hard way. There have been a few times, though, when I’ve actually craved having the comfort of my overbearing Italian mother and when I’m sick is one of them, so God only knows how this kid feels because instead of her knowing, comforting presence, I’m all he’s got.

I’m all he’s got.

The thought stops me in the middle of the dark, silent kitchen, clutching the big white bowl my mom kept from my days with an upset stomach.

“Sofie,” comes his plaintive call down the hallway, spurring me back into action. I round the doorway into my bedroom and find Donnie curled in a fetal position on my bed.

“Hey, here we go.” I place the bowl on the floor by the bed. “Do you need anything else?” I murmur, feeling his forehead because it feels like the thing mothers would do.

“Water,” he croaks, hugging a pillow to his stomach and groaning.

“Right, one sec.”

On my way to grab a glass, I snag my phone off the nightstand and frantically dial Livvie’s number. Coding, piece of cake. Hacking, no sweat. Taking care of a sick kid? Color me clueless.

Thankfully, she answers after the first ring. “Hello?”

“Livvie, thank God. Donnie is throwing up and I don’t know what the hell to do.”

She moans. “I think we passed it around ‘cause all of us have it too.”

“Well, shit,” I say.

“Just give him some sips of water until he’s able to keep them down. Then little bites of bland food and Gatorade. Should go away in twenty-four hours. If Rafe isn’t already sick, too, I’d keep him away from Donnie for a while until it passes.”

“Great.” I barely know how to handle Donnie, I don’t know what the hell I would do if both of them get sick.

“You’ll be fine. Call me in the morning if you need anything.” She makes a strangled sound in her throat and the line goes dead.

“Sofie!” Donnie calls from the bedroom.

Stumbling through the darkness, a glass of water clutched in my hand, I feel the first stirrings of nausea and pray it’s just the coiling of nerves.

I press a hand to my mouth as I stumble from my bedroom to my bathroom. My foot catches on the little step up to the bathroom and I nearly knock myself out when my head collides with the towel rack. With one hand nursing the bruise forming on my head and the other holding back my hair, I lose what little contents I have left into the toilet.

A glint of sunlight catches my eye and on any other day, I’d love its red-gold hues shimmering through the window, but not today. Not after the night of hell. Now, the sight of it makes me nauseous, but then again, so does pretty much anything at this point.

I flush, then rinse out my mouth. I can already see a good sized goose-egg forming on my brow in the mirror. I groan. Hopefully, that disappears before I start my new job in town next week. I manage to shuffle back to my bedroom and slip carefully between the covers so I don’t disturb the two sleeping teens.

I tap out Livvie’s number on my cell and hope she hasn’t died from the plague. If she feels anything like me, she’s damn near close to death as it is. The phone rings and I will my eyes to stay open and my stomach to stay settled.

The line clicks and a groan answers.

“Livvie,” I manage to croak out, my head now pounding from the serious beating and exhaustion.

Another groan and some garbled words, then static as someone fumbles with the phone.

“Hey, Sof, it’s Ben. Guessing you’re not feeling too good.”

“Stomach bug, I think. Livvie said you guys had it to.” I curl into a ball, the warmth of my brothers at my back and their deep, inhalations the only sound in the darkened room. “I’m pretty sure we’re all dying.”

“Yeah, she and Cole are laid up as we speak. Is there anything you guys need? How can I help? I know one kid is a handful, can’t imagine how it’s been with two sick ones.”

“You’re a saint. I was going to ask if you could pick up an emergency pack of Popsicles, but you’re taking care of Livvie and Cole, so I don’t want to bother you.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’d come over myself, but you’re right, I don’t want to leave these two alone. Livvie’s already threatening to kill me.” I’m making plans to live out the last of my days in this room when he says, “I’ll have Jack pick up some stuff for you and stop by on his way to the gym.”

My heart jumps to my throat and if I had the energy, I would have bolted straight up in the bed. As it is, I can only manage a feeble, “No!” that sounds like the croak of a frog. “I don’t want to bother Jack.”