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She was asleep. Her loose braid was a mess with long strands of hair falling into her face. She wore stretchy pants and an oversized top that swallowed her small body. Her cheeks were flushed, and there were shadows under her eyes.

She must be exhausted, and Jude would be damned if he woke her up.

She probably hadn’t gotten much sleep for almost three days because he’d been so sick. Every time he’d been conscious, she’d been in that chair or on the bed with him, trying to make him feel better and ready to get anything he needed.

What the hell were Nancy and his father thinking? They should have sent her to bed to catch up on sleep a long time ago. Someone needed to take care of her.

It was supposed to be him.

As quietly as he could, he eased himself to his feet, grabbing for the nightstand when a wave of dizziness hit him unexpectedly.

He shouldn’t be this feeble. Why was his body doing this to him?

He practiced more deep breathing and regained his stability. Then he walked into the bathroom and was relieved to finally pee.

As he washed his hands afterward, he stared at himself in the mirror.

He was a ghost of himself. Pale skin. Untrimmed beard. The deep smudges under his eyes made him look like he’d been beaten up.

His head was still throbbing badly enough for the pain to be reflected in his eyes.

He hated the sight of himself right now. Maybe this was what it looked like when someone was dying.

He thought about making himself more presentable, but as soon as he picked up his wide-tooth comb, he put it down again.

He simply didn’t have the energy.

On his way out of the bathroom, he nearly ran into Eve. Her eyes were wide and worried as they searched his face and body.

“I’m okay,” he told her, reaching out to hold her shoulder because their near impact almost threw him off-balance. “Just going to the bathroom.”

“How’s your head?”

“It’s a little better.”

“But not gone yet?”

He swallowed over a lump in his throat. “Not gone yet.”

“Okay.” She turned him around and put a hand on his back to push him toward the bed. “Well, lie down again. We’ve got a couple more hours until you can take another pill.”

“I’m sick of lying down.”

“I’m sure you must be, but what else can we do? I don’t think it’s a good idea to risk going downstairs until you’re feeling better. It was hard enough getting you up here the other day.”

“I don’t even remember that,” he admitted, searching his memory until it made his head hurt too much. He sat down on the side of the bed and pushed the fingers of both hands into his scalp.

“It took both your dad and me to get you upstairs. So I don’t think you should go back down until you’re feeling better.”

He didn’t say it, but he had to wonder if he’d ever feel better.

“If you want a change in scenery, you can move to my bed. The sheets are clean since I haven’t been sleeping in there.”

“You should have been sleeping in there. Why haven’t you gotten any rest?”

“I’ve gotten some rest in here. I didn’t want to leave you.” Her voice wobbled slightly, but she was clearly working on keeping her expression steady.

He covered his face as a wave of grief hit him unexpectedly. He shook a few times as he reined in the emotion and was finally able to lower his hands. “Thank you.”