Chapter 8: Byte

BYTE

Ispent the rest of the weekend taking care of Gabby and searching for information regarding her situation. Despite my efforts, I still had found nothing on the man pretending to be Chad Higgins. I needed a good photo of him or a piece of legit information to use. Hitting a dead end was rare for me, and it was frustrating as hell.

The sound of a door opening upstairs broke me out of my thoughts. Since Gabby was the only person up there, I hurried up the stairs to see what she was doing out of bed.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm feeling better, so I thought I'd go downstairs and get something to eat."

"Nope. Get back in bed, and I'll bring you something," I insisted.

"You've been waiting on me hand and foot all weekend."

"And I'm going to keep doing it for a little while longer. You might be feeling better right now, but you don't want to overdo it."

"Yeah, you're probably right," she admitted and leaned against the wall.

"Come on, let me help you back to bed, and then I'll bring you some soup."

"Thanks, Byte."

When I returned with a bowl of ramen noodle soup and a sleeve of saltine crackers, I watched in horror as she crumbled the entire package of crackers and dumped them into her soup. "What are you doing?"

"Having soup and crackers."

"No, you're having crackers with a little bit of soup."

"I like it this way," she said and took a bite. "I don't tell you how to eat your soup."

I laughed. "You mean you don't tell me how to eat my crackers."

"If I felt better, I'd throw something at you."

"I thought you said you were feeling better."

"I am, and I'm not. I think my fever finally broke, because I woke up covered in sweat. But I still feel like crap."

"Have you talked to your instructor?"

"Not yet. I'll see how I feel Monday."

"Gabby," I said slowly. "It is Monday."

"What?" she gasped and reached for her phone on the nightstand. "I can't believe it. I've been asleep for three days?"

"Yes, and no. You woke up long enough to take your medicine or make a trip to the bathroom," I explained.

"I don't remember any of that."

"Well, you were pretty out of it. Patch said that was because of the fever."

"How high was it?"

"Anywhere between one hundred and three and one hundred and five."

"That explains all the sweat," she grumbled. "I really need to take a shower."

"Why don't you finish eating first?" I suggested.

She looked down at the half-eaten bowl of soup and frowned. "I don't think I can eat any more."

"Are you sure?" I asked, hoping she'd reconsider.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she said and picked up her phone. "I need to let my instructor know what's going on." Her eyes widened as she read something on the screen.

"What's wrong?"

"Lauren has been blowing up my phone. I have twelve missed calls and seventeen text messages from her."

"Is that unusual for her?" I asked.

"Hold on, let me send this to my instructor before I forget," she said and quickly typed out a message. "I don't know Lauren that well, but I'm going to say this isn't normal behavior for anyone. What do you think?" she asked and handed me her phone.

I read over the text messages and had to agree with Gabby. The first couple of messages were fine, but they became increasingly insistent and demanding.

"Yeah, these messages sound like they're from a controlling parent or a jealous girlfriend, not from a concerned friend."

"I guess I should text her back and tell her I'm sick."

"Before you do, there's something you should know. I asked Flint to go to your house and pick up a few things for you on Friday. She showed up at your place when he was headed back out to his truck and grilled him about where you were."

"What the hell?"

"Yeah," I said. "He told her you were in Croftridge for the weekend. Then she asked him if he was single and gave him her phone number."

Gabby covered her face with her hands. "I can't believe she did that. What did Flint do?"

"He took her number and left, but he has no intention of calling her."

"This is unbelievable. We've studied together a few times this semester. Before that, we'd had lunch together the handful of times we had a break between classes. We're acquaintances, not friends, so I don't know why she's acting like I owe her explanations of my whereabouts."

Gabby's phone dinged with a text.

"Is it Lauren again?"

"No, it's from my instructor. She said three people at the office are out with the flu, including the physician I've been shadowing. He's out for the rest of the week, which means I am, too," she explained.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"Not unless something else happens. I had some extra hours worked into my schedule to cover for emergencies, but this is going to use up all of them."

Gabby's phone dinged again.

"It's Lauren," she sighed. "I'm not sure what to say to her. I don't exactly want her to know I'm still in Croftridge or that my clinical hours have been canceled for the week."

"Tell her you're sick and have been sleeping a lot. If she pushes for more info, don't respond."

Seconds after Gabby sent the message, Lauren responded with multiple texts. I could tell Gabby was overwhelmed. I held out my hand. "Give me your phone."

She handed it over without hesitation.

Lauren: Are you okay?

Lauren: Where are you?

Lauren: Do you want me to stop by?

Lauren: Do you need anything?

I typed out a response and turned Gabby's phone off.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I told her you had the flu and there was no need for her to stop by because your family friend was taking care of you. Then I said you were going back to bed and would text her in a few days when you were feeling better."

"Thank you."

"No problem," I said and got to my feet. "I'll let you get some rest. Do you need anything before I go?"

"I'm good, but I'm going to take a shower first," she said.

"I don't think so."

"You're telling me I can't take a shower?"

"I'm telling you I don't think standing in a hot, steamy shower is a good idea. You could barely walk down the hall," I pointed out.

"Byte, I haven't showered since Thursday, and quite frankly, I stink."

"I think you should wait until you have more strength. Maybe tomorrow."

"No," she said firmly. "If you want to hang out in the bathroom while I'm in there, fine. But I'm taking a shower."

"All right. Let's go," I said, hoping to call her bluff. Unbeknownst to me, she wasn't bluffing.

I got the water started for her while she gathered her clothes and toiletries. When she was ready, I waited outside while she undressed and stepped into the shower. "You can come in," she called out.

She'd only been in there for a few minutes when her hand shot out from behind the curtain. "Towel, now," she demanded as the water shut off.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I placed a towel in her hand.

"You were right," she admitted and shoved the shower curtain to the side. Seconds later, her towel-clad body fell against mine. I wrapped my arms around her to hold her up as her head rested against my chest.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Instead of answering me, her big blue eyes filled with tears. "Gabby," I said quietly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I feel awful," she cried. "I thought a shower would make me feel better, but I can't even wash my hair."

I helped her walk to the edge of the bed and sit down. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

I rushed out of the room before she could argue and returned with a bathrobe I'd received as a Christmas gift and had never worn. "Put this on."

"What are you doing?"

"Making you feel better," I said cryptically.

Once she had the robe on, I scooped her into my arms and carried her downstairs to the kitchen, where I placed her on the countertop by the sink.

"Seriously, Byte, what are you doing?"

"You'll see. Do you think you can stay there without falling off?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Yes, I think I can manage that."

I ran back upstairs to get a couple of towels as well as her shampoo and conditioner. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw what I was carrying.

"Byte—" she started.

"If washing your hair will make you feel better, that's what we're going to do," I said and helped her lie back so her hair was in the sink. "Let me know if the water's too hot."

"It's perfect," she said and sighed when I started to work the shampoo through her long, dark hair. I was surprised by how thick it was and even more surprised at how long it took to rinse all the suds out.

Once I finished rinsing the conditioner, I wrapped her hair in a towel and nudged her to sit up. She jolted, and her eyes shot open. I couldn't help but laugh. "Did you fall asleep?"

"What? No, of course not," she lied.

"Yes, you did," I said and helped her sit up.

"You can't hold it against me. I'm sick," she said and wrapped her arms around me. With her head resting on my shoulder, I felt it more than I heard it when she whispered, "Thank you."