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Pushing myself away from her, I back into the open doorway. My heart drops like a lead balloon. Ripping through me as Rosie stares between the two of us. A hand is clutching at her stomach while she trembles from head to toe. The bottle of water in the other hand slips at the same time as she heaves.
Fuck.
It doesn’t matter how close I am or how fast I lunge for her, she collapses into a heap on the marble floor. The contents of her stomach emptying all over her.
“Have fun cleaning up,” Natalya smirks as she eyes the scene in front of her and then saunters off.
It doesn’t matter how angry I am, Rosie’s endless retching blurs it all into nothing but dread and concern. Something’s really fucking wrong as I try to soothe her. My hand rubs her clammy back while her stare struggles to focus on me when I use the hem of my shirt to clean her mouth and then grab the half drunk bottle on the floor so she can wash her mouth out.
It doesn’t make sense. I’ve done this so many times, and I know what alcohol vomit smells like. It’s something I’ll never forget from all the times I cleaned up after Mom.
“Drink the water, sweetheart,” I coax, brushing her hair back as I try to get a better look at her pallid face. “You need to drink.”
With a hard shake of her head, she collapses into me. Her breathing ragged as she vomits again and falls limp.
“Rosie,” I tilt her head back, trying to rouse her as I stroke my thumbs over her cheeks. “Sweetheart…look at me. Please…”
Nothing. I get nothing. Not a murmur as I lay her onto her side, and place her into the recovery position I was taught. The same thing I used to do when Mom passed out drunk. Except she always stirred. She moaned and groaned.
Not Rosie, though. She’s laying limp and still. Too still as I fumble with my phone, calling 911.
It doesn’t matter what I do, she doesn’t give me anything in return. I’ve never been so damn scared in my life. Blood is freezing my veins and I can’t catch my breath. This can’t be happening. It was me that brought her here. I was meant to look after her. To keep her near me, but I left her. I fucked up and now I am lost.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The throbbing in my head is intense, causing me to gasp in pain and attempt to roll over. The pulling in my hand has me wincing, the movement doing nothing to abate the pain in my head. My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light. Glancing down at my hand I see the canula and frown in confusion.
“Angel.” Brody’s soft voice breaks through my haze and I look up to see his relieved face.
“Brody?” He takes my free hand, kissing it and letting out a breath. The simple gesture going a small way to soothe me amidst the disorientation.
“Thank fuck. I’ve been going out of my mind. Christ, Angel, you had me so worried,” he sighs, his voice is scratchy, like he hasn’t slept. His eyes are red and heavy and I want to embrace him, but just thinking about moving has me feeling dizzy.
“What happened?” I ask, fragments of memories coming back but none making much sense. I feel a little disorientated, like this might be a dream. The nausea rolling around in my stomach has me grimacing as I look around the sterile looking room.
“We were hoping you could tell us.” He sighs and squeezes my hand, almost like he’s reassuring himself I’m still here. “You came back to the hotel in a bad way, I thought you were drunk,” he admits, dropping his gaze as if ashamed by his assumption. “When you stopped responding, I panicked and called 911.”
I gently squeeze his hand, needing to offer comfort, but the slight movement takes more effort than I expected. I ache everywhere.
“Wha… but I…” The fuzzy memories in my head still don’t want to piece together, scaring me a little. Why don’t I remember? “I don’t think I would’ve had a drink,” I tell him, confusion lacing my tone. I can’t remember the last time I had a drink and I know I decided before we left home that I wouldn’t drink while we were away.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, he kisses my hand again, the sweet gesture offering me some comfort. “Yeah, the doctor confirmed that not long after you came in. Said there was no alcohol in your system.”
“Ms. O’Malley,” a petite nurse says from the door. “I have someone else to see you.” She moves her gaze to Brody, “Perhaps you could wait outside?”
“Not a chance. I almost lost her, I’m not leaving her side again,” he tells the nurse, and she pauses for a moment, before reluctantly ushering a frantic looking Summer inside. I hear her ask Parker to wait in the hall.
“Oh thank God. Jeez Ro, you scared the life out of me!” she cries as she rushes over to my side and takes my other hand.
“I’m okay,” I croak, my throat dry. Brody grabs me the glass of water from the side and holds the straw to my lips. I gratefully accept, relishing the cool liquid.
“You don’t look okay. Brody, your dad is outside. He said he needs a word,” Summer tells him. Brody looks at me, hesitating.
“I’ll be fine, go,” I reassure him, offering a small smile. He looks less than convinced but leans down to press a soft kiss to my lips.
“I’ll be right back, okay? If you need me, just shout.” I nod, then regret it, my brain feeling like it’s in a pinball machine.
As he leaves, Summer takes his place beside me, fretting just like Mom would be doing if she were here.
