***
Tyler, Erin and Jax arrive just as we’re ready to leave. Tyler’s expression is grave, his dark eyes filled with concern as he leans into the car to pat Dylan’s arm.
“You’ll be fine, Dylan.”
“My brothers,” Dylan whispers.
“Erin and I will look over your brothers, man. You concentrate on getting better.”
Jax is jumping around, a miniature of Tyler, and Erin grabs him just before he runs in front of a car speeding down the road.
“Hey, Tessa.” She smiles at me as she hefts Jax in her arms, but her gaze is somber.
I fasten Dylan’s seatbelt, and he lifts a hand to my face, strokes my cheek. “My Tess…” he whispers.
The gesture, the words almost undo me. I can feel tears burning behind my brow. “I’m right here. See? I haven’t run away.”
“No,” he says. “You haven’t.” In spite of the fever, in his eyes I see clarity and determination. “I was wrong. About many things. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’ll be fine.”
I shut the passenger door and straighten.
Erin is watching us, her small mouth tight. When I walk around to the driver’s seat, she begins, “Tessa, you shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what? Care for him?” I snap. Oh God, I’m falling apart. I rub my face. “You gave Tyler a second chance. Why shouldn’t I give Dylan one?”
“Tess.” Erin steps closer, lifting her hand. “What I meant to say was, you shouldn’t trust in anyone but yourself. We’ve all been through doubt and even despair, but love won out. You love him, and I think maybe he loves you, too.”
I wasn’t expecting this. I nod, biting my lip.
“Thanks for coming,” I mutter and let her draw me into a one-armed hug, the other full of a squirming Jax. “I really appreciate it. Take care of Dylan’s brothers. We’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“Don’t worry. Poor kiddos. We’ll keep them busy.” She gives me one last parting pat on the back and pulls away. “Go take care of your man.”
I smile at her and sit behind the wheel. I wait for Rafe to cram his big frame into the back seat, wave at Tyler, Erin and Jax, who’s waving back enthusiastically, and set out for the doctor’s office.
***
“There seems to be no infection,” the nice lady doctor says. “Could be just one of those viruses that go around these days. Especially if there are young children in the house.”
“I think it might be Lyme disease,” I say from my perch on a plastic chair in the room corner. Rafe is standing by the desk, head down, arms folded over his chest.
“Why would you think that?” the doctor asks, her red lips pursed.
“His little brother was diagnosed with Lyme disease a couple weeks back. And Dylan said his joints hurt.”
“He said that?” The doctor turns her attention back to Dylan, who’s lying on the narrow examination table, bare-chested and shivering, his swirling tattoos the only vibrant color in the room. I’m surprised she doesn’t seem fazed by all that inked, muscled flesh on display.
As for me, I’m torn between staying where I am seated, out of the way, and ignoring the doctor’s presence to go sit on the bed, by his side.
“Yes. Joint aches, and he’s been constantly tired for weeks now. Also gets light-headed a lot, but I guess this could be the fever…” God, how long has he been feverish and I didn’t notice?
“But you saw no rash on him. No red bull’s-eye rash on any part of his body?”
“No, I…” I glance at Dylan, but he doesn’t seem to hear our conversation, his eyes closed. Shudders shake his tall frame. “Haven’t seen one.”
The doctor frowns. “Not so important. In a great number of cases, there is no characteristic rash. Has he spent time outdoors?”
“The garden. His brother probably got it like that, and Dylan was always with him.”
“Okay. Well, only one way to know for sure. We need to do some lab tests to identify antibodies to the bacteria. If the tests come back positive, we must check the organs to make sure they haven’t suffered, then administer antibiotics as soon as possible.”
Dylan whispers something, and I strain to hear, but I can’t. The doctor leans closer, then she straightens and smiles at him.
“Yes, these tests are expensive, but they’re deemed ‘medically reasonable’ and as such are covered by Medicaid,” she says kindly, “if you were worried.”
The doctor gives Dylan his sweater back, and I get up to help him dress. His teeth are chattering, and he’s clumsy with the fever. He doesn’t fight me when I lift his arms to pull on the sleeves.