My Bad Boy Doctor

14

The test results confirm what I already knew: Blake and I both have Covid. And while I seem to be completely asymptomatic, his health has steadily declined over the past few days.

His fever hasn't abated, and his cough is so bad at night, he's had an inhaler prescribed to help with his breathing.

It's been a week since he initially came down with the virus, and while he's been in bed, I've spent my time making sure he eats and drinks. If he's feeling up to it, I coax him to shower.

When I'm not cooking or disinfecting the house, I'm writing. During a moment of wakefulness, he apologizes for inconveniencing me, but I assure him I'm fine. Then he asks how I'm passing the time, and I tell him. That's when he asked me to tell him about my book.

At first, I'm freaking out. Writing is so personal. It's one thing to post on Wattpad. I sort of know my readers through the comments, and a lot of them are writers too. But to put myself out there with someone in real life? It's terrifying. What if he thinks my book is stupid or my writing is bad? I'm not sure I have the courage to face his opinion.

But then he looks at me, his exhausted eyes pleading, and his weak hand reaching for mine. "If this is your passion, I want to be supportive."

Aww.

So I give in and read out loud, sharing what I've never been able to with anyone, excluding Val. And as I read, Blake keeps his heavy eyes directed at me until he can no longer keep them open. His lips creep into a smile as his breathing deepens, and I plant a kiss on his hot forehead.

He mumbles something before curling into a ball on his side, hugging one of the spare pillows. Even though he's sick and smelly from sweat, he's so peaceful. I can't help but think he's adorable.

Picking up my laptop, I tiptoe to the living room so I can write uninterrupted. I've taken notes on the things Blake asked about in my manuscript, but I'm really not in an editing mood. Instead, I open up Wattpad and scroll through dozens of missed notifications. Apparently, it's been awhile since I've updated my fanfiction, and my readers have grown restless. A few strangers have randomly asked me to check out their work, a couple of scammers have DM'd me to dazzle me with their offers of making money as a writer, and my more loyal followers have pleaded for an update. Then there are those who have posted on my wall, asking if anyone knows what happened to me.

Oops.

I respond to as many notifications as I can and mute the spam accounts. Then I post a short announcement to let people know I'm alive before getting to work on a new chapter.

I'm almost two thousand words into my chapter when the doorbell rings. I look up with a frown. I didn't order anything, and Blake has been too sick to use his phone. From what he's told me, everyone he knows is aware he has the virus and to keep away. Perhaps it's a random solicitor?

Closing my laptop, I go to the front door and peek through the peephole. A young woman is standing outside, rocking from side to side. In her hands is a bouquet of flowers and a food container. Her dark hair is pulled in a ponytail, and her face is flawless enough for her to model in an advert. Then I roll my eyes when I remember her picture to accompany her phone call earlier this week. It's Audrey.

What is she doing here?

I back away, careful not to make any noise. I don't know how thin these walls are, and I don't want my footsteps to echo.

She rings the bell again, this time banging on the door after the chime. "Blake, open up, it's Audrey!"

My lip curls in disgust. Who does she think she is? Blake broke up with her, she has no right to drop in, uninvited. Even more, if Ajay told her that Blake is sick, what the hell is she doing here?