Page 67 of Undying Resilience

I can’t kill Jordan.

But almost immediately, a second realization enters my mind. This one steadies me and washes down the panic that’s still trying to claw its way up my throat.

But I know someone who can.

. . .

It takes me a while, but I find Rhett in what looks to be the library. He’s standing over a desk, glaring at an open laptop like it’s done something to personally offend him.

As I cross the room, he looks up. His gaze sweeps over my body, taking in every little detail. Apparently, he’s not satisfied with what he finds.

“Did something happen?” he asks, still looking me over with a hardened gaze.

“What?”

“You look worse than you did last night. Did something happen?” He’s already halfway across the room, meeting me in the middle and pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling off? Have you been drinking water?”

“I woke up with a headache,” I mutter. “And my stomach feels a little weird, but I figure that’s normal. I think I’m okay.”

“How much water did you drink while Jordan had you?” He sighs. “Never mind. I know the answer.”

He leads me to the desk, grabbing a glass of water that’s next to his laptop and handing it to me. I take a few sips. When he gives me a disapproving glare, I drink some more.

“I had some water,” I say after I’ve drained most of the glass. “From the bathroom sink of the room I was locked in. But I didn’t think about it a lot.”

He nods, still frowning. Again, he looks me up and down. “I’m calling our doctor.”

“What? I don’t think—”

He holds up his hand to shush me, already tapping buttons on his phone. “We should’ve done it last night, or at the very least this morning. Fuck. We were all too preoccupied to think straight.”

“Rhett, you don’t...” I trail off with a sigh, watching him bring his phone to his ear.

He has a short conversation, and I can just make out a masculine voice on the other end. When he hangs up, he says, “He’ll be here in an hour. Christ, Wren. Sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

I do, sinking into the chair behind the desk. Rhett stays close to me, checking my temperature with the back of his hand again and frowning.

“I’m okay,” I mutter.

“The doctor will decide that. Fuck. We shouldn’t’ve given you coffee this morning. That’s not going to help get you hydrated.”

I shrug off the thought, mostly because Elliot bringing us coffee in bed was really sweet. With a sigh, Rhett leans against the desk. I scooch the chair forward so our legs are just barely touching.

Nodding to his laptop, I ask, “What were you up to before I came in here?”

He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re not getting out of answering my question.”

“Wha... what?”

“Did something happen?”

I frown. “I’m probably just dehydrated. And tired.”

“Don’t think I can’t tell the difference between a physical ailment and an emotional one, sweetheart. You’re obviously suffering from both. So I’d advise you to stop avoiding my question.”

Jesus. Maybe I really am a horrible liar.

Drumming my fingers against the desk, I say, “I’m just not sure what to do about Jordan. It’s weird having him here.”