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.
Nothing made me happy. Or everything made me miserable. I hadn’t decided which.
By the end of the second week, when I was beginning to feel slightly better, I was surprised to get a visit from Heath, of all people. I assumed he was here to talk about his role as dude of honor to the bride. Strangely, he arrived at a time when he knew damn well that Emilia was in class.
By this time, I was able to sit up. So we sat out on the deck outside my office and sipped lemonade—I’d been forbidden alcohol by the doc. This lady was number one on my shit list these days. Okay, number two after Jordan. Or maybe further down if I counted the rest of the bastards on the BOD.
I tried not to think of that while I made awkward small talk with a sullen Heath. Emilia hadn’t been kidding about how depressed he was over Connor staying in Ireland. Ten minutes in the guy’s presence and I needed to return to bed—badly.
We talked about random shit, the game, whatever. In truth, I hardly ever spent time alone with Heath, and that was sad because he was my friend—for the same length of time that I’d been friends with Emilia. I was this close to suggesting we bust out the laptops and game instead of sit here and stretch a conversation between us.
“Mia says you had no idea who implemented Lord Sisyphus’s Wedding Quest or even what it does,” Heath said as he squinted out over the balcony, looking down onto the boats puttering in the back bay.
“Yeah…I’m surprised you found that,” I replied. “A few people have talked about it on social media. They are calling it the new hidden quest, but the hype hasn’t quite picked up yet.”
“Word on the street is that the quest chain is broken. People can’t get past the initial dialogue with the quest giver.”
I scratched my jaw. “Huh. That’s weird. My guy in play testing says it’s working perfectly. He tested it himself.”
Heath shrugged and took another sip of lemonade. His shoulders sagged more with each passing minute. “Maybe you should delve into it, since you appear to have more time than you know what to do with.”
I rubbed at my swollen neck, still sore as hell. But since I wasn’t shaving, my neck was itchy. It was a conundrum that was bugging the hell out of me—like everything else.
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
A few more minutes passed, and Heath got squirmy, so I gave him an out by telling him I was feeling tired again—not a lie. I was always tired these days. He stood up and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. But instead of following me off the balcony so I could at least walk him to the top of the stairs, he fiddled with his key ring. Then he set two keys down on the outdoor table before turning to follow me.
I recognized the keys immediately. They had a distinctive shape to them—a lopsided oval head with big letters spelling Porsche engraved across them. I paused, not moving to let him by when he asked me to.
“What’s that?” I nodded toward the table. “Why are you leaving your car keys here?”
“They’re your car keys. I’m giving back the Porsche. She’s parked in a safe spot right on this end of Edgewater Street. You won’t be able to miss her. I’m sure Mia can move her into the parking structure later.”
I blinked. “That car is yours. I signed the pink slip over to you. You’ve been driving it around for over a year.”
His head drooped when he realized I wasn’t going to let him by until he explained himself. “I’m giving her back. Thanks, man, but…I can’t take care of her like she deserves to be taken care of. And I get twitchy whenever I park her. I’m always afraid some asshole is going to scratch her or some bird is going to shit all over her. I can’t enjoy myself when I take her out anywhere. She’s made me a nervous wreck. Isn’t that like a woman?” He shrugged. “No wonder I’m into guys.”
I was puzzled as I tried to follow what he was saying. He loved that car about as much as I did. He’d nearly peed himself when I’d given it to him. And he called it her. He was attached. Definitely attached.
“I’m not taking it back.” I folded my arms across my chest. “It’s yours. Once I’ve given something away, that’s it—it’s final. You should know that by now.”
“Please take her, Adam. I can’t. I just… I can’t right now.” His voice shook when he said it. I averted my eyes to afford him some dignity, recognizing that he was in a vulnerable state these days. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other.
“I’ll take it under one condition.” I met his gaze again. “That we agree that it’s still yours and I’m only holding on to it for a while. I’ll drive it around and get it serviced like I did before. But it’s yours. And you’ll come get it when you’re ready.”
He hesitated. “I’m only saying yes because I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now.”
“Good. I don’t have the energy to argue, either. Now…how are you getting home?”
He held up his phone. “I just requested an Uber.” He stopped me when I went to follow him. “I’m good. I can see myself out. You need to go to bed. You look like shit.”
I grimaced. “Thanks. I’m afraid that, in my weakened condition, I could take a nasty spill down the stairs and subject myself to further school absences,” I quoted.
He grinned, half his mouth drooping, as if, in his depression, he couldn’t allow himself to show full amusement. “Save Ferris,” he replied quietly.
He followed me until we reached the top of the stairs. When I turned and stopped, I put my hand on his shoulder. “If you ever need me for anything, man, I’m here. And, of course, Emilia is never too busy for you. You know that.” It was awkward and stilted, but I thought he understood the sentiment.
He nodded and avoided my eyes. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
And he was gone. I watched him go and puzzled at it. I’d have a talk with Emilia later when she got home to keep her apprised of the situation. I had a feeling that Heath had a long road ahead, and I knew enough of depression, having seen it in family members while still at a young age, to know that he was about to drown in his own.
He needed a support network, and that was what we had to be for him. If we could only figure out how.
I crashed for a long nap, astonished that the thirty-minute conversation with Heath had taken so much out of me. I woke up around dinnertime. A text message from my chef advised she’d left dinner on the warmer. Another message from Emilia awaited, informing me of her late night tonight. She’d rushed home to check on me between obligations, but hadn’t wanted to wake me up because I was fast asleep.
After dinner, I took Heath’s advice and grabbed my laptop—since Emilia wasn’t around to pry it from my hands—and started the quest by opening up a dialogue with the new Town Crier, who stood beside General SylvenWood.
FallenOne says, “Hail, Town Crier.”
Town Crier says, “The high lord of all the land is about to be wed. His lucky bride? The princess Emma.”
Town Crier has offered FallenOne: Lord Sisyphus’s Wedding Quest.
You have accepted th
e quest – Lord Sisyphus’s Wedding Quest.
Your first task: Go to the place his lordship first met his princess and lay a bouquet of roses on that spot.
I scowled at the screen, puzzling over that. How the hell was I, or any other player, supposed to know where this fictional persona—that I sometimes played for official in-game events—had met a completely nonexistent—except for the purposes of this quest—princess? What the hell kind of quest was this? Quality assurance, my ass.
It seemed…personal, though. Like, applicable to things only I knew. And she knew. Could Emilia have been the one to have it implemented?
I shook my head, dismissing that possibility almost immediately. There was no way in hell that she was that good an actress.
“Hey.” Emilia entered the darkened bedroom. I hadn’t even heard her come in or seen her flip the light switch in the hallway. In here, sprawled on my side of the bed, only the glow of the computer screen served as a light source.
“Are you working?” she asked without preamble, her voice tinged with unspoken accusation.
“No, your majesty. I’m playing DE.”
Her mouth opened. “Hah. I didn’t realize you played anymore…I thought you’d quit when we stopped getting together as a group.”
“I haven’t played in months, since our group last ran around together. But I wanted to get to the bottom of this Lord Sisyphus mystery.”
She flipped on the light, and I squinted. She entered the room, apologizing as she pulled off her hoodie. “It’s a mystery? You still don’t know why it’s there or who put it there?”
“Nope.”
“You’re the CEO of the company. They can’t hide that from you, can they? You should demand answers. You’re the boss of them.”
I avoided looking up at her—shame, anger, and embarrassment burned in my chest. If she only knew…
The news of the BOD’s ultimatum was still like an anchor weighing me down. Not an hour went by where I didn’t think about it or how to rail against it.
Sighing, I closed the laptop, mid-game, knowing it would log me off automatically.
Worth Any Cost: (Adam & Mia #4) (Gaming The System Book 6) Page 12