Worth Any Cost

by Brenna Aubrey

  "Adam, you were shivering, and your teeth were chattering. Now, unless you want me to stand over you like this all night till you fall asleep again, let me take your goddamn temperature."

  "Okay, okay," he said. "As long as you promise to leave me alone if it's normal." I bent down and pushed it into his ear. "Ouch. I still need that eardrum."

  "Don't be a baby."

  A few seconds later, the thermometer beeped. Pulling it out, I read the digital screen--only to almost drop it again in shock. "Holy shit!"

  "What?"

  "Your temperature is 103.4. That's way too high. You've got a virus or an infection."

  He groaned loudly. "I don't have time to have a virus."

  "You don't have any say in the matter."

  He reclined against his pillow, his hair damp from perspiration. "Jesus. I feel like shit."

  "And you have all day, haven't you? That's why you were in bed so early. I should have known then." I set the thermometer on his night table. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

  "I can guarantee that I'm not going anywhere." With eyes closed, he rubbed his forehead.

  I went to the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of acetaminophen and, from an upstairs cupboard, a bottle of water.

  Adam wasn't in the bed when I returned, but soon appeared from the bathroom.

  "Did you vomit?"

  "No. I peed."

  I shoved two pills and the bottle at him. "Here. Take this now. And if your temp is not down in thirty minutes, we are taking a trip to the ER."

  He scowled, took the pills and the bottle, and downed them. "I'm not going to the ER."

  "You are if I say you are." I pointed to the bed. "You are running a very dangerous temp. Now, do you feel like taking a tepid shower, or can I run a wet towel over you?"

  With a groan, he sank on the bed, rubbing at his neck. "Neither. And that's saying a lot that I'm turning down an offer of a sponge bath from you. Even if you were wearing a naughty nurse's costume."

  "Is your neck stiff?"

  "No, but I'm achy. It's a flu."

  "I'm the med student here, not you." Crawling onto the bed from my side, I sat beside him. "Any pain in your stomach or abdomen?" I pressed his shoulder so that he was lying flat on the bed.

  "Well, you're starting to become a bit of a pain."

  Reaching over, I began to lightly palpitate his stomach and abdomen. I hit upon a swollen spot, and he let out a slight grunt.

  "Your voice sounds weird. Do you have a sore throat?"

  "Sore throat, head ache, body aches, the whole package-- Ow." He jerked away when I reached up to check the glands in his neck.

  "Hmm. Tender."

  "Tender? That fucking hurt."

  "I barely touched you. Your glands feel like golf balls. You've been vaccinated for parotitis?"

  "Paro-what-is?" he said, sounding exhausted again.

  "Mumps," I answered.

  "Yeah, I had all the shots when I was a kid."

  "Then it's probably mononucleosis." I pulled the sheet over him. "But that can't be diagnosed without a blood test."

  He slumped against his pillow. "I'm gonna take a nap."

  I bent down and kissed his hot cheek. "I'm sticking this thing back in your ear in twenty minutes. Fair warning."

  He mumbled something incomprehensible in reply, already half-asleep.

  When I rechecked, his temp had dropped a full degree. With relief, I set the alarm on my phone for three and a half hours, when he could have more medicine. I needn't have bothered. I stayed awake to make sure he was covered whenever he started shivering, but was uncovered whenever he seemed hot. Instead of sleeping, I sat and read a textbook on my tablet, keeping a watchful eye on my not-so-patient patient.

  In the morning, he only felt worse, and yet--insanely, but unsurprisingly--he wanted to go to work. I threatened to bar the door with my entire body or attach myself physically to his right leg so he'd have to drag me along. And in his state, he wouldn't have been able to put up a fight even if he tried.

  What really clued me in that he was feeling crappy, though, was that he didn't argue when I challenged him.

  It did take me a few days to get him to go to the doctor, however. And each day, he got grumpier and grumpier, but also sicker and sicker.

  After my one and only class of the day, I came home late morning, went into his closet, and pulled out some clothes. At his bedside, I stood over him with his clothing choice. He appeared only semi-conscious, with three days' growth of beard and an ashen complexion.

  "C'mon, sicko. Time to get dressed."

  He brightened, sitting up. "I do feel better today. I think I might go in for a few hours." He sat up and put a hand to his head.

  "Head still hurt?"

  "Yeah."

  "And your temp is still high despite popping pills like crazy. Keeping any food down?"

  "Ugh." He blinked and pushed his legs over the side of the bed. Figured that the promise of work would have him fighting being half dead in order to get his ass out of bed. Too bad for him we wouldn't be going to work. I wasn't going to break that news to him until he was dressed and ready to go.

  "So no food at all? You're drinking the water I leave by the bed, though, so that's good."

  He grimaced. "It makes me have to get up and pee all the time."

  "You need your fluids."

  He stood up, fastening his khakis. "If I wasn't feeling like I'd been dropped off a five-story building, your Dom-doctor routine would be making me so hot right now."

  "You like playing doctor?" I wrapped my arms around his waist. "How about a really mind-blowing BJ when you feel better?"

  He paused. "A BJ for getting better? Wow, I like this hospital already."

  I smiled. "Good, because you're going there. Right now."

  He froze. "I'm going to work."

  "The fuck you are." I put my hands on my hips, standing in front of him. "Have you seen yourself in a mirror? Do you want your employees to scream and run in terror when they see you coming? Zombie boss. Rise of the undead CEO?"

  He blinked, appearing to have to think about it, as if he wasn't quite capable of complex thought in his state.

  "You're going to the doctor, Adam."

  "But you're a doctor."

  I shook my head. "Not quite yet. I'm going to take you over to the medical center at the school."

  "You can't abduct me and take me where I don't want to go. We're not married yet."

  I stared him down, eyes narrowing. "I can be as stubborn as you, Adam Drake. Stubborner."

  He hesitated, but I gave him no time to contemplate an escape plan. Tugging his hand, I towed him behind me. "Come on. Let's go."

  There was no further argument. Men. So pigheaded, even when practically at death's door.

  We drove to Orange, to the facility where I'd received the majority of my cancer treatment and where I now trained to become a doctor. When we arrived, the phlebotomist took Adam's blood before he was assigned an examining room. Adam sat in his underwear, refusing to put on the paper gown they'd offered him. He was scowling, his arms folded across his chest. I turned my face toward the wall, pretending to admire the reproduced artwork while, in truth, avoiding laughing at his pouting.

  He was cute when he was playing the part of the reluctant patient.

  Once I composed myself, I turned to him. "Well, this is a switch...you on the examining table, me the healthy one."

  "Yeah. Hilarious," he replied. He'd opened his mouth to say more when the doctor knocked on the door and entered. Odds were it would be a physician that I knew, but I was pleasantly surprised that it was one of my current instructors, Dr. Sharma.

  She was surprised to see me there, as evidenced by wide eyes and raised brows. "Mia. Hello," she said, glancing down again at her tablet, which probably displayed Adam's chart. Adam darted a glance between us. It seemed almost...nervous.

  I quietly asked him, "Want me to step outside?" He shook his head. "Dr. Sharma i
s one of my instructors." To her, I said, "Adam is my fiance. He's been spiking a high temp over the past three days. Swollen lymph nodes. Body aches. Nausea. Migraine headaches, but he presents those regularly anyway."

  The doctor glanced down at the tablet. Then she approached him. "Your monospot test results are positive."

  He cursed under his breath and looked away. I moved up to rub him on his back. "It's okay. You need to rest and take care of yourself."

  "Well, I'll do an ultrasound to check the internal swelling, but basically, yes, you have a viral infection. No physical exertion and no work until I release you to do so."

  Adam sat up straight at the mention of no work. "How long? A week? Two?"

  She unhooked the wand from the ultrasound machine and held it up. "Let me see what's going on inside, and I'll give you a better estimate. Lie back now."

  She squeezed some gel onto Adam's perfect abs, and he sucked in a breath.

  "Sorry for the cold," Dr. Sharma apologized, and Adam rolled his eyes skyward while I fought laughter.

  She moved the wand over his abdomen before angling the screen toward me. Dr. Sharma, it seemed, never passed up a teaching opportunity.

  "What do you see?" she asked me.

  As I bent for a closer inspection, I could feel Adam staring at me balefully, clearly unamused. Jeez, he was crabby.

  I squinted at the screen. "Wow."

  "What wow?" Adam snarled.

  "Uh huh." The doctor nodded.

  I turned to Adam. "Your spleen is extremely swollen." I pointed to his left side at the bottom of his ribcage. "You can even see it distending your abdomen. It's probably why your shoulder was hurting so badly the other night."

  "My spleen? Is that a real thing?"

  Dr. Sharma laughed. "It's a risk with mono. Certain tissues can become inflamed--like your glands. Organs, too--the spleen, the liver. You've got an acute case. Have you been working particularly hard lately? Stress? Lack of sleep?"

  I darted a glance at Adam, who lay silently staring up at the ceiling, his jaw set and his mouth a firm line. "All of the above," I answered. "Adam is, um...a compulsive worker."

  Dr. Sharma pulled the plastic off the wand and tucked it back onto the ultrasound machine. "Well, you now have doctor's orders to slow down."

  "How slow?" Adam asked.

  "Bed rest for at least two weeks." She typed something into the chart. "You're only up to use the bathroom. As much sleep and fluids as possible. Eat when you feel up to it. Then I want to see you. After that, no working for at least two more."

  Adam shook his head. "Four weeks? Not possible. I run a company."

  Dr. Sharma opened her mouth to answer and then closed it, darting me a pointed look instead. Another teaching moment, apparently. "Adam. If you don't do this, your health could--and probably will be--permanently impaired."

  "Hmmph," he grunted. "What about our wedding? It's just over two months away."

  "Odds are you aren't going to feel much like working anyway--at least for the next few weeks." I grabbed a towel and wiped the ultrasound gel off his stomach. "I'll work with the wedding planner. You need to rest or you'll prolong this. Then you'll be sick when we're supposed to get married, so I guess we'll probably have to push the wedding date back."

  That got his attention. His narrow-eyed star said it all. Over my dead body.

  Dr. Sharma intervened. "From the look of your spleen, you have a great deal of inflammation inside. This can cause permanent damage to your organs and tissues if you are not very careful with your recovery."

  "Fuck." This time he didn't mutter.

  "Also," she continued, "no heavy exercise for at least six weeks, and no sexual activity."

  "You sure know how to hit a man when he's down," Adam replied, and I burst out laughing.

  I took his hand, which was still really warm. "Let's get you home and recuperated."

  "You took all the fun out of everything," he complained after Dr. Sharma had left and he got dressed.

  "Listen, buster. I'm here to make sure you follow orders. I don't want my new groom passing out at the altar."

  "No sex?" He made a face. "That was a really low blow."

  I goggled at him. "Do you even feel like it right now?"

  "Not really," he admitted. "But I will. And soon."

  "Oh, c'mon. You'll live. Lots of couples abstain until marriage."

  He shook his head. "Fuck that."

  "Don't be salty."

  "Isn't mono the kissing disease? I kiss you all the time. Why aren't you sick, too?"

  "I've already had it, when I was in middle school. It's not common to get it more than once, but it's rarely as bad as the first time, though. Just in case, I won't be kissing you on the lips for a while."

  I ushered him out of the office and drove him home--though he was annoyed about that, too. He usually did the driving when we were together, but he clearly wasn't up to it, given the headache and the nausea.

  The poor guy was a mess. And if he felt half as bad as he looked, then he was going to be out of commission for a while. But damn, he was cranky when he was sick. And it occurred to me that I'd never seen him sick before, not even with a cold. The man had the immune system of an alligator.

  "None of that is possible, you know," he stated as I drove.

  "None of what?" I glanced at him as I exited the freeway onto Newport Blvd.

  "The no work, no exercise. Especially the no sex."

  "Adam, you have to be serious about this. And be vigilant and proactive about your recuperation. Or no wedding. I'm not kidding." He heaved a huge sigh. "Right now, you don't feel like doing any of that anyway. When you start feeling better, but are still unwell--that will be the true test."

  "Yeah, I'll die of boredom. That will be so much better."

  I shrugged. "This is your body's way of telling you to slow down and stop abusing it."

  "Sex is not body abuse," he growled between gritted teeth.

  "Why are you pissed at me? I'm perfectly healthy, and now I have to go without, too. You don't see me bitching about it."

  He gazed at me out of the corner of his eye, like he'd come up with some sly idea and was very happy with himself. "We can do other stuff, right?"

  I bit my bottom lip, but didn't answer.

  His jaw dropped. "No?"

  "Not unless you don't mind, um...not finishing."

  "What? You mean no orgasm?"

  "Yeah. Anything strenuous like that, even an orgasm, can put strain on your spleen--at least while it's super swollen like that."

  "Do I really even need my spleen?" he whined. I pulled the car into the structure and parked it carefully beside his.

  I laughed, opened the car door, and got out. I waited for him to follow suit before I continued. "It filters your blood and purifies it. Removes microbes and old or damaged blood cells. And it keeps your epic immune system going."

  Adam followed me down to the gate that opened the bridge to Bay Island, where we lived. "Well, my epic immune system didn't do such a great job this time."

  I slid my arm around his waist as we walked across the bridge toward our house. "Sigh...stop with the pity party, please? When I--"

  He held up a hand. "Don't you dare pull the cancer card on me."

  I grinned wide. "It trumps everything."

  "Meh," he said, scrubbing a hand across his face. He didn't even object when we grabbed a golf cart at the end of the bridge to drive the short distance to our house. That right there told me he was still feeling like crap.

  "I think you need to take a nice, long nap, and then I'll make you something to eat."

  He cringed. "No food."

  "Oh no." I shook my head. "You were constantly shoving toast in my face when I was getting chemo. You are at least going to have toast."

  "Ugh. What is this, illness revenge?"

  I shook my head, laughing. "It's payback."

  "Very funny."

  Later, I watched him sleep, making sure to monitor
his temperature--still elevated, but below 101, an acceptable level. I let him sleep as long as he wanted and made sure he always had fresh fluids on the nightstand to drink. Then I slipped into bed beside him, propping myself up on pillows so I could keep an eye on him while I studied.

  Right now, he was too sick to be more than a grumpy nuisance. But I knew I had to be prepared for when he was feeling better. Because he was going to be his usual stubborn self and try to ignore doctor's orders. At least I had the wedding to hold over his head to make sure he behaved himself.

  That might get ugly, but if I stuck to my guns, I'd have a healthy bridegroom to take to my exotic, faraway, and probably over-the-top wedding.

  Chapter 11

  Adam

  In the same week that I got sick as hell, I fired my IT director and got an ultimatum from the board of directors. I had six months to sign a prenuptial or postnuptial agreement with my legal spouse or face evaluation by a committee. If found in breach of fiduciary duty, I would be dismissed as chief executive officer of Draco Multimedia Entertainment.

  Talk about a triple whammy. Fuck my life.

  Worse, for the first time in my life, ever, I had no desire to do anything but lie in bed, sleep, or stare at the ceiling. Even reaching for a glass of water and pushing myself upright enough to sip it was too much. Emilia solved that issue by buying me multiple insulated cups with big, flexible plastic straws so I could drink while still lying down. I was a pathetic mess.

  Emilia hovered over me too much, to the point where I had to chase her out of the room, ordering her to go study where she was meant to study--in her office.

  That first week was me hanging on to the edge of a precipice by my fingernails. But it got better. Slowly.

  Into the second week, Jordan showed up with random paperwork. He passed through on his way to or from the office. His gaze never quite met mine--and I preferred it that way. There was definitely a lot of frost between us.

  Emilia let that small amount of work slide, but she watched me like a Rottweiler. If I so much as opened my laptop--which, coincidentally, never seemed to be where I left it--she'd appear, ready to shut it again.

  God help me, but she was driving me insane.

  The only peace I got was when she was at school--which was a lot of the time. And I missed her after she was gone an hour or two, despite my irritation when she was here. It was a lose-lose scenario. My own private Kobayashi Maru.