Until the World Stops - L.A. Witt Page 0,70

killing me.”

“Tell me about it.” Tristan laughed quietly as he nudged the dishwasher shut with his hip. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to go back to the base for anything, but the more I think about it, the more going there almost sounds better than being in the house ninety-nine percent of the time.”

“Okay, true, but at least you don’t have a shitty boss here.” I nodded toward Tilly, who was “hunting” some birds through the kitchen window.

Tristan chuckled. “She doesn’t pay very well, either.”

Tilly glanced back at us as if she’d just figured out we were talking about her. Then she returned her glare to the birds outside, and started chittering as if that might somehow help her get to them.

I opened my mouth to make a snarky comment about working for a cat when my phone trilled with a familiar ringtone. My heart jumped. “Shit. That’s my dad.” I fumbled with my phone. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, kiddo.” His voice was heavy with fatigue. “I just wanted to give you an update.”

My stomach dropped into my feet. “Uh. Okay?”

“Your mother finally got in for a test this morning.” Dad sighed heavily. “It’s going to take time to get the results, but they told her to consider herself a presumptive positive.”

My blood turned cold. “Is she… Is she showing symptoms?”

“Yeah.” He sounded so resigned. Not just worried anymore, but like he felt completely powerless. “She’s had a cough the past few days, and a fever off and on. And nothing has tasted or smelled right since yesterday morning.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing hard against the acid rising in my throat as fear chilled me right to the core. “How long before she gets results?”

The heavy sigh wasn’t promising. “They’re putting as much of a rush on it as they can, but they told us it can still take a week or more.”

“A week or more? But that’s… That’s insane!”

“I know it is. But it’s what they’ve got. And from the sound of it…”

I exhaled, my shoulders sinking along with my heart. “The results don’t really matter.”

“Exactly.”

I swallowed hard. “How is she, though? Can I talk to her?” I hated how desperate and scared I sounded, but to hell with it—I was desperate and scared.

“I, um…” Dad cleared his throat. “We have to keep quarantined from each other for the moment, so I can’t go give her the phone. But if you want to call her, I’m sure she’d love hear from you.”

My head spun. What the fuck? How was this real? I worked with guys who thought this was just a bad cold or a weird flu, and my parents couldn’t even be in the same room?

“Uh.” I moistened my suddenly dry lips. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll call her.”

We ended the call, and I paused just to stare at my phone. Holy fuck. This wasn’t just hitting close to home now. It had kicked down the door and set up shop in my damned living room. In my parents’ living room.

“Casey?” Tristan asked softly.

I put up a hand. If I started telling him what was going on—though he’d probably figured it out—I’d lose it, and I wanted to keep myself together long enough to talk to my mom. “Hang on,” I croaked, and quickly sent the call.

“Hey, honey.” She sounded gravelly and tired, but it was good to hear her voice. “Don’t let your dad worry you. I’ll be fine.”

I laughed quietly. “You don’t have to downplay it.”

“I’m not downplaying it.” She paused to cough a few times, and each cough was like a punch to the chest for me. This was way, way too real. “Honestly, it’s just like a bad flu.”

I leaned against the counter and stared up at the ceiling, pretending I couldn’t feel Tristan’s scrutiny. “It’s not, though. You know that.”

“I know it isn’t. And I’m taking all the precautions they—” She coughed again, and when she spoke, her voice sounded even weaker. “I’m taking care of myself. I promise.”

I swallowed hard. “All right. I won’t keep you. I just…” Wanted to hear your voice so I know you’re still okay, even though we both know you’re not okay. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Please take care of yourself?”

“I will, sweetheart.”

“Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too.”

Ending that call physically hurt, but I couldn’t make her stay on the line. Talking sounded painful, and the last thing she needed was something that made her cough more. I needed to be there with her, and I needed