But right now, I doubted everyone. No one had the power to stop Della’s pain, and I hated them. I’d expected miracles, and Della had received subpar attention with lacklustre results.
Despite their un-miracle-working care, she slowly got better. I didn’t give the tired looking doctors and harassed looking nurses any credit.
I gave it all to her.
Della was strong.
She fought hard.
And when she finally stopped vomiting and her symptoms abated to an annoying scratch with no fever, she was released, and John Wilson drove us back to Cherry River.
Cassie, Liam, and Patricia all wanted to crowd and cuddle my patient upon her arrival, but I forbade them.
My possessiveness only grew worse now the doctors had relinquished her back into my care. Not that they had technically. They’d put her into the Wilson’s care as I was still a minor.
Before, when I was young and terrified of having someone’s whole existence hinge entirely on me, I would’ve been grateful to the Wilsons for loving Della as much as I did. If they had been the ones I left her with, I would’ve made the right choice.
But that was years ago, and things had changed. Della no longer needed me to survive, but I sure as hell needed her, and even with her sick, I needed her close.
At least the Wilsons knew she was mine and backed off after their initial welcome.
Della was my responsibility, and I ensured her every beck and call was met: applying lotion to her spots, duct taping her hands into my thick baling gloves to stop her from scratching, and feeding her whatever she wanted.
No matter that I was left alone to do whatever Della needed, I still couldn’t get over the desire to growl at anyone who came close or snarl at those who offered help.
I acted like a controlling, dominating bastard but that was what Della’s fragility made me become. I patrolled around her like a wolf would his cub, ready to bite anything that dared damage what was his.
I’d do anything to make her well again; including destroying anyone who got too close.
The Wilsons provided us with healthy soups and drinks—when they braved my temper—and when Della blinked awake one afternoon from yet another nap and her familiar strength started to glow beneath her illness, I found my selfishness at keeping her to myself fading.
I ‘borrowed’ John Wilson’s Land Rover—which was so much easier to drive than a tractor—and headed into town where I used a handful of change found in the middle console to purchase Della’s request for a Filet o’ Fish happy meal.
For so long, we’d never had processed food, and I didn’t particularly like that she’d grown to enjoy it. Ever since she started having lunches and weekend play dates with friends from school, her palate had adapted to not only enjoy fresh produce but also greasy takeaway.
I preferred to keep burgers and fries as birthday treats but Cassie called me old fashioned whenever I’d grumble about Della’s new favourite foods.
John saw me arriving with the cab of his truck reeking of takeout but didn’t say a word as I parked on his driveway and climbed out with the brown paper bag.
We stared at each other.
I tipped my head in gratitude along with the acknowledgment that I’d been a grumpy bastard and taken something I shouldn’t. He nodded back, forgiving me and understanding.
Giving him another nod, I jogged back to Della to give her what she craved.
If junk food was the recipe to getting my favourite person back, then I’d do it.
I’d do anything for her.
Just like I’d stayed here past winter for her.
Just like I’d sacrifice anything of mine so she could have everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DELLA
* * * * * *
Present Day
THERE ARE SO many things I remember about Cherry River, but one of my sharpest memories isn’t the itch and horribleness of chicken pox—to be honest, I don’t really want to remember it so I probably shoved that part aside.
What I do remember is what happened afterward.
What was that, you ask?
Well, the boy who nursed me back to health hadn’t factored in his own invincibility against diseases we hadn’t been around or vaccinated against.
Ren gave me everything he had those few weeks while I was ill.
He barely slept. He delivered my cravings. He gave me anything I asked for.
And what did he get in return?
Chicken pox.
I noticed it one night when his usual tossing and turning was eerily catatonic. Ren didn’t sleep well. He never had. I’d been selfish and never minded because if he was awake, it meant I was safe sleeping beside him.
But this time…Ren didn’t move when I whispered his name in the darkness. He didn’t move just like when he’d had the flu-turned-pneumonia which led us to being befriended by the Wilsons in the first place.
That catastrophe had a happy ending.