88

As they settled Carver in the bed, Ava began the task of undressing him. His jeans, the same pair he had been wearing when he first arrived at Esmerelda's over a week ago, were tattered and stained with blood. Carefully, she helped him into a pair of pajama pants and one of his T-shirts. It became apparent that Carver had lost a significant amount of weight; the shirt, which would have once fit him snugly, now hung loosely on his frame.

“When was the last time you ate?” Ava asked gently, her concern evident in her tone.

Carver’s response was faint, “I don’t even know.”

Peyton, sensing the immediate need, headed into the kitchen to make soup, considering it the most appropriate and easy-to-digest food for Carver in his current state.

While Peyton was away, Carver, with a sudden surge of energy, rolled over and pulled Ava into a tight embrace. As she held him, Ava realized he was burning up with fever. “You’re so hot,” she whispered, her worry growing.

Peyton returned with the soup, and