Chapter 157 Fever Dreams
Elena: POV
He was across the room in three strides, his hand replacing mine on her forehead, his expression going tight and focused. "How long has she felt warm?"
"I don't know, I thought—I thought it was just—" My voice cracked. "Fuck. The wound. It's infected, isn't it?"
"Probably." He was already gently unwrapping the bandage on her leg, and when he peeled back the gauze I saw it—the skin around the cut was red and swollen, angry-looking, radiating heat. "Cellulitis. It's spreading fast."
"No." The word came out weak, useless. "No, she was fine, she was—"
"She needs antibiotics." Alexander's voice was clipped, certain, but I heard the edge of worry beneath it. "IV antibiotics, Elena. We need to get her to hospital. Now."
"No hospital." Lila's voice was a whimper, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "Mommy, please, you promised—"
"I know, baby, I know, but—" I gathered her into my arms, feeling the heat of her radiating through her clothes, through my skin, straight into my chest where it wrapped around my lungs and squeezed. "But you're sick, sweetheart, and we need to—"
"I don't want to." She was crying now, weak tears tracking down her flushed cheeks. "I'm scared, Mommy. I'm so scared."
"I've got you." I stood, cradling her against my chest, my legs shaking but holding. "I've got you, baby, and I'm not letting go. Not for a second. I promise."
Alexander was already moving toward the door, grabbing his keys, his phone pressed to his ear as he made urgent calls to whoever was on the other end—his driver, the hospital, someone who could get us there faster. Celeste appeared with Lila's favorite blanket, draping it around her shoulders, her face pale and strained.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
"No." The word came out sharper than I'd intended, driven by some primal need to keep my circle small, to protect what was mine. "Celeste, you don't need to—we'll be fine, just—"
"Elena—"
"Please." I met her eyes, saw my own fear reflected back. "Please, just—stay here. I'll call you as soon as we know anything."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but something in my expression must have stopped her. She nodded once, her hand briefly squeezing my shoulder before falling away.
"Go," she said quietly. "Go."
I hitched Lila higher against my chest and ran for the door, Alexander already holding it open, the car running in the drive.
Lila's head lolled against my shoulder, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against my neck, and I felt something inside me fracture and reform into something harder, sharper.
"Hold on, baby," I whispered into her hair as Alexander peeled out of the drive, the tires squealing on the pavement. "Hold on. Mommy's got you. I've got you."
---
The ride to the hospital blurred into a series of fractured moments—streetlights smearing across the windshield, Alexander's voice low and urgent on the phone arranging for the head of pediatrics to meet us, Lila's small body burning against mine like a brand.
She murmured nonsense into my shoulder, half-words that didn't quite connect, her fingers weakly clutching at my shirt.
"We're almost there," Alexander said, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to meet mine. "Five minutes. They're prepping a room."
I nodded, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.
My hand moved in slow circles on Lila's back, the rhythm automatic, soothing—or maybe it was meant to soothe me. I couldn't tell anymore.
When we pulled up to the A&E entrance, there was already a team waiting—a nurse, a doctor in navy scrubs, both moving with the kind of practiced efficiency that should have been reassuring but instead made my stomach drop.
"Ms. Hunt?" The doctor—a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and graying hair pulled back in a tight bun—stepped forward as I climbed out of the car. "I'm Dr. Patel. Let's get her inside."
I followed her through the automatic doors, Alexander close behind, his hand briefly touching the small of my back. I couldn't process it, couldn't process anything except the weight of Lila in my arms and the way her breathing had gone shallow and rapid.
They led us to a small examination room, fluorescent lights too bright overhead, the air sharp with antiseptic. I lowered Lila onto the bed, my hands reluctant to let go, and Dr. Patel immediately began her assessment—thermometer, stethoscope, blood pressure cuff that looked absurdly large on Lila's thin arm.
"Fever's 39.2," she said, her tone neutral but her movements quick. "Heart rate elevated. Let's have a look at this leg."
She peeled back the bandage with practiced care, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. The skin around the wound was worse than it had been an hour ago—angry red streaks radiating outward, the flesh puffy and hot to the touch.
"Cellulitis, definitely," Dr. Patel confirmed, glancing up at me. "The infection's spreading quickly. We'll need to start her on IV antibiotics immediately, and I want blood cultures to rule out sepsis."
"Sepsis?" The word came out strangled, my vision tunneling. "She can't—it's just a cut, she—"
"Ms. Hunt." Dr. Patel's voice cut through my panic, firm but not unkind. "Children can develop serious infections very quickly, but we've caught this early. The antibiotics will work. She's going to be fine."
I nodded, but the reassurance slid off me like water. Fine. Everyone kept saying fine, but Lila was limp on the bed, her eyes half-closed, her skin flushed and damp with sweat.
"I need to put in an IV," the nurse said, moving to Lila's side with a tray of supplies. "Sweetheart, can you hold very still for me?"
Lila's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, and when she saw the needle her face crumpled.
"No," she whimpered, trying to pull her arm away. "No, no, I don't want—"
"Lila, look at me." I moved to her side, catching her hand in mine, my other hand cupping her feverish cheek. "The medicine is going to chase away all the bad stuff making you feel yucky, okay? Just like when we read about the brave knight fighting the dragon, remember?"
"I don't want it!" Her voice cracked, tears spilling over. "Mommy, please, I don't want needles, I don't—"