Eight hours later, just as Elijah was getting ready for the concert, Dylan’s virus struck Seger. While Iris juggled monitoring the boys’ fluid intake, Eli went on stage, and their mother called. She spoke to both of the boys, but when Dylan had to drop the phone and race for the bathroom, Heidi suddenly had to go. She told Iris, “Good luck with that!” and hung up.

A raise, a raise, I am definitely asking for a raise.

Elijah came back from the venue near midnight, freshly showered but looking flushed. Iris eyed him suspiciously, thinking he seemed not himself, far more tired than usual. He snapped at her that he was always destroyed after a show, and he was fine. But he went straight to bed, which also wasn’t like him.

He stayed in bed the entire next day, but Iris didn’t think the symptoms hit him quite as hard as it had the kids. He claimed he only felt like hell, but he managed to roll out of bed long enough to do his show.

The day after that, he ambled out of the bedroom wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt, his hair loose around his shoulders, corners of his mouth downturned. Iris sipped her coffee, watching over the rim of her cup as he sat on the couch across from her and tugged on a pair of running shoes.

Amazing, really. He couldn’t have looked more like any normal, good-looking guy she might pass on the street. But there was a line of people out there to meet him right now who were probably about to faint from sheer excitement. She could hear them: a low buzzing hum of nervous chatter and high laughter.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, placing her cup on the table. “It’s hot out there.”

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “It’ll be hotter tonight.”

Yes. Exerting himself under the glaring stage lights, near the pyro, in front of thousands of people in ninety-plus degree temperatures even after sundown. She couldn’t imagine. Just stepping off the bus into the stagnant oven-hot Houston air outside had made her want to jump into a pool of ice water. The humidity was a killer all by itself. She’d almost skipped her coffee because the mere thought of it made her sweat, but the caffeine was crucial. “I don’t know how you do it.”

He got to his feet and stretched, reaching for the ceiling. Iris yanked her gaze away lest she get too caught up in watching the fascinating play of his muscles, and then he sighed and let his arms swing down by his sides. “It’s my job,” he said simply.

“Are you feeling better?”

With a shrug, he moved over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Iris watched him chug half of it, feeling something of admiration spark inside her. He could blow this whole thing off. She wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to hole up in his room in the air conditioning and sleep until he absolutely had to get up for the show, like yesterday. Actually, she wouldn’t blame him for calling off the entire set. But those people out there would be so disappointed. She knew it, and he did too.

“You can talk to me, you know,” she said softly. “I can help if you need anything.”

“I have plenty of people ready to jump when I say so. I don’t need another one.”

Nodding, she cast her gaze dejectedly to her empty mug. Which only made him sigh again and kill the rest of his water. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, tossing the empty bottle in a wastebasket. “No, I don’t feel better. I feel like shit, and that pisses me off. It’s the last thing I need. I appreciate the offer, but I kinda just want to be left alone.”

It wasn’t much of an apology and it didn’t make her feel any better. “Are you always like this when you’re sick?”

“Yes.” He stood there leaning against the counter, not moving for a long time. When she finally forced herself to look up at him, she found his dark gaze steady on her. The directness, the intensity there, startled her. She had a feeling it always would, that she would never become accustomed to his scrutiny.

He wiped a hand down his face, which was a little on the chalky side. Given the glassiness of his eyes, she wondered if he might have a touch of fever. “Personally, I think you should stay in bed, but that’s just me,” she blurted out.

Eli shook his head. “No fucking way.”

Iris swept an arm toward the front of the bus. “Well, then your public awaits.” Stubborn ass. He threw her a grudging look. She pinned her gaze to the wall across from her. A moment later, his feet stomped down the bus steps.

Seger took that moment to shuffle into the front lounge from the back, his hair tousled, his lips pouted. Iris managed to shove Eli out of her mind to focus on the only thing that should concern her. “Hey there, buddy. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Seger! Language.”

“Like crap.”

Iris sighed. “That’s only marginally better. Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Thirsty.”

She pushed herself up to get him a drink while he plopped onto the couch and promptly fell over, pulling his knees into his chest. Poor kids. Nothing worse than a stomach bug. “If I make you some toast, will you eat it?” she asked, grabbing a Gatorade from the fridge. She figured he could graduate from the Pedialyte at this point.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of hungry but I don’t want to eat.”

“I hear ya.” She diluted the drink with some water in a glass. He didn’t need that much sugar. “What about a couple of crackers?”

He acquiesced to that, so she brought them to him with his drink and handed him the tablet that controlled most of the amenities of the bus. “Where’s Dad?” he asked, settling back to watch Iron Man 2. It remained his favorite superhero movie of all time.

“Meet and greet.” Iris moved to the front of the bus to see if she could get a peek outside. The murmur from the fans remained steady, and she could see Eli moving down the line, smiling, signing autographs, pausing for quick selfies. She smirked as she wondered how many people he was infecting with his virus. As devoted as some of them were, they would probably be honored. Turning away, she settled across from Seger while he munched on his crackers, his messy mop of hair adorable despite its desperate need for a cut.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to get sudden rushes of fierce affection for these kids, but the one that swept through her then was especially intense. She’d often though Seger was a perfect little copy of his dad, but now that she’d spent some time around Eli, it was even more apparent. He had Heidi’s eyes, but the pout and mannerisms and angular bone structure—even his moods—were all Eli. For some reason though, she hadn’t been able to see much of Eli in Dylan. The younger boy looked more like his mom and nothing like his dad, except for his dark hair.

She wanted someday to gaze at her own children and find herself reflected back alongside the man she loved, whoever he turned out to be. If he ever showed up.

Sometimes she thought it didn’t matter. If it came to her biological clock ticking down to doomsday, she would do it all on her own. But she had plenty of time before she had to resort to those measures.

Eli came back, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. He gave Seger a fist bump as he went by, walked straight back to his room, and shut the door.

Iris sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch cushion. The boys seemed to be a little better, but they still couldn’t do much, and she was bored out of her mind. Talia had retreated in horror at the mere mention of vomit, so Iris doubted she would see her again until everyone was one hundred percent recovered. They were doing their best to keep this thing contained, lest it sweep through band and crew both.

After making sure Seger didn’t need anything else and checking to see that Dylan was peacefully napping in his bunk, she went back to knock softly on Eli’s door. “Yeah,” came the gruff response. She let herself into the dim, chilly room.

Really, she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, and having her image thrown back at her all around from his mirrors was disconcerting. As if she were someone else, various shadow selves looking back at her. “Just checking on you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No, but I will be.” The lump of covers with dark hair sticking out the top stirred, and his face appeared as she moved to the side of his bed.

“Are you drinking enough?” All she’d seen him have lately was that one bottle of water.

“I’m good. You’d better get away before you catch it.”

She shrugged and sat beside him. “I’ve probably already got it, just waiting for it to incubate.”

“Maybe you should have been a nurse.”

“I considered it. I considered a lot of things. Nurse, teacher . . .”

“You’d have been great at either of those.”

“Thanks. Anyway, I won’t keep you up. You can text me if you need anything.” She started to get up, but he caught her hand, and she caught her breath. His feverish green eyes burned up at her.

“Taking care of me too, huh? Why? Not your job.”

Iris licked suddenly dry lips. Around her much smaller, daintier hand, his was big and strong and hot. One of his fingers slid between two of hers, and her heart skipped a beat. “Because I want to,” she said softly. “Can I, um . . . bring you some Advil?”

“Sure.” He released her and pulled his arm under the covers again. Her heart settled into its normal rhythm, one that maybe wasn’t as likely to kill her.