I panic at the idea of falling in love with Edward. It's on my mind for days while I go about my week, and I can't help but think it's wrong of me to fall in love right now. Of course, he may not feel the same, and a large part of me hopes he doesn't, but it's unfair to him if he does. I'm probably going to die. Even if I get a heart, the chances of me living a long life are slim. I could reject it at any time and still die young, so I shouldn't put someone through that if I don't have to.

It's unfair.

I know death closely, and I know I'm going to hurt people when I die. If I can prevent one person from hurting, isn't that for the best? Fuck if I know. I'm a jumbled mess from the idea of it all. I never burn myself from baking, and I do just that twice while working. I need to get a friggin' grip. Even my head hurts from it all.

"You look tired," Emmett comments as I sit at the island and watch him make dinner. "A little pale, too."

I shrug, coughing into my elbow. I'm so tired of the fluid in my lungs, and lately, the medicine Edward has me on isn't doing as well. "Nasty headache, that's all."

He eyes me suspiciously, dropping the spatula he's cooking bacon with and coming around the island. He puts his hand on my head and furrows his brow. "You have a fever, Bella. Shit."

I feel myself and shake my head. "No, I don't. Your hand is warm from the stove."

"I'm a fucking doctor. I think I know what a fever feels like, and to be honest, you don't just look tired but like warmed over shit."

"Wow, you're a compassionate doctor, aren't you?" I ask as he takes the bacon off the stove, and then quickly heads to his office in the den.

I roll my eyes when he comes back with his medical bag and pulls out a thermometer. "Okay, twenty bucks says I'm right."

I indulge him, fully expecting him to be wrong, but when it beeps and he pulls it out of my ear, I hear the words I dread.

"I fucking knew it," he says. "One-hundred point six—a full blown fever."

"Barely a fever."

He shakes his head. "Nope, so needless to say, you're seeing Edward tomorrow if he can fit you. If not, I'm running my own tests. You've got some kind of infection, which can easily be devastating for you. After dinner, you need to go to bed."

I don't like it when he orders me around—even if he is right—so I act like a five-year-old and stick my tongue out at him. "You're not running any tests. Is the bacon done yet? That's all I really want."

"Well, you're eating eggs, too," he says, resuming cooking breakfast for dinner. "I'm going to call Edward once I'm done."

I decide to warn Edward about Emmett first by texting him.

Emmett thinks I'm sick. I'm NOT. He's overreacting, so be prepared.

Unfortunately, it seems he's not on my side when I get the reply.

I'll see you in the office first thing. I trust your brother's medical judgment more than yours, beautiful. Also, I miss you.

I smile to myself even though I shouldn't like him missing me.

I miss you, too, handsome. Guess I'll see you tomorrow.

The second Emmett puts my plate in front of me, he's pulling out his phone and making the call. Edward tells him the same thing—eight a.m. tomorrow—which seems to satisfy my brother too much.

It's really not fair they can team up against me like this.


Thanks to May, Nole, Fran, Brier, and Meg for prereading and Sally for Beta'ing