Page 26 of Fearlessly Us

I stand from my chair so quickly it hits the wall, Mia and Aidan both turning at the noise. “Sorry,” I say with a forced smile, pulling my phone out of my pocket and making a show of looking at it. “I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”

“We’ll be here!” Mia says cheerfully. Then, without a backwards glance, I head straight to the door, closing it behind me and shoving my phone back in my pocket. The second I’m in the hall, I look right, then left, seeing no sign of Caitlin and wondering where she might have gone. When I spy the bathroom a few doors down, I head there, and I’m two steps away when I hear the retching inside.

“Caitlin,” I call, tapping on the door, my heart hammering in my chest. “Are you in there?”

The answering cough and the sound of someone throwing up filters through the door, and before my brain even engages, concern has me turning the handle. I push open the unlocked door and immediately see Caitlin kneeling on the floor, wearing only her suit pants and a pink lace bra as she leans over the toilet, back heaving. What I can see of her body is covered in sweat, damp hair obscuring her face.

“Fuck,” I mutter, slamming the door shut and locking it before dropping to my knees next to her, gathering her hair in my hand to hold it back. Worry tightens my gut at her pale face, the way her body clenches as another wave rocks her and she lets out a low groan. “I’ve got you,” I murmur, my free hand rubbing circles over the bare skin of her back. “Get it all out, Catie.”

Caitlin gives a weak laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “There is no all,” she mutters. “It’ll never be all. This is my fucking life.”

I wonder what she means by that but before I can ask, her entire body tightens as she throws up again. Spying a hair tie on her wrist, I lift her hand and gently take it off, pulling her hair into a ponytail and securing it with the tie. With two hands free, I take a few paper towels from the dispenser and reach up to wet them with cool water from the sink, using them to mop her damp face.

When I see a water bottle in the bag spilled open on the ground, I grab that too, and when Caitlin pushes up a little, hands braced on the toilet seat as if she’s waiting for the next wave to come, I flip open the top and lean around her, holding it to her lips.

“Drink, baby.”

The endearment I’ve never used before spills out of me, and my only thought is I like the way it sounds. That when it’s me saying it, the word should belong to her.

I feel an outsized sense of satisfaction when Caitlin wraps her lips around the straw and drinks, my pressing need to care for her overwhelming in its enormity. She takes a couple sips then pushes the bottle away and leans over the toilet again, sucking in a breath as if she’s bracing for another storm. When it doesn’t come, her entire body collapses in what looks almost like relief before immediately tightening again. But this time she curls in on herself, both arms wrapped firmly around her abdomen, the noise she makes a painful sort of groan.

My chest aches at the sound and I’m behind her before I even realize I’m moving, wrapping my arms around hers and pulling her body into mine. “What do you need?” I ask, knowing if it’s in my power to give it to her I will, and if it’s not, I’ll figure out a way to do it anyway. To give her anything. “Should I get a doctor? You look like you need one, and we’re in the right place for it.”

She shakes her head, gasping a little and curling herself into a tighter ball, her head dropping down to rest on her knees. “I don’t need one,” she manages, her voice a raspy whisper. “I don’t need you either. I don’t need anyone. Seriously, Drew, you can go. I’m fine.”

“The fuck you are,” I say, stroking my thumb over her tightly clenched hand. The loneliness in her voice at her I don’t need anyone—the lie in those words—tattoos itself on my brain, and I suddenly, urgently want to be exactly what she needs, even though I have no idea if I can. If I’m the kind of person who can be that for anyone. But I think, for her, I really want to try. “Whatever is happening here is the opposite of fine. We’re in a hospital full of doctors right now. Let me get one of them for you.”

She scoffs, or as much of a scoff as it can be when her body is trembling, her skin clammy with drying sweat. Unwinding myself from her, I yank off my hoodie and guide her up gently, tugging the sweatshirt over her head.

She turns to look at me, the sudden horror in her eyes a stark contrast to the mask of pain she’s been wearing since I found her in here. “I wasn’t wearing a shirt.”

I chuckle, holding out the sleeves of the sweatshirt so she can push her arms through, thinking even with tears drying on her cheeks and makeup under her eyes, she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And the way she looks wearing my sweatshirt? Fuck. I’ll be revisiting that in my dreams. Reaching up, I wipe the leftover tears from her face with my thumbs. “You sure weren’t. I didn’t take you for a pink lace girl but…” I trail off, letting out a low whistle. “Hot, Princess. So fucking hot.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off. I took off my shirt so I didn’t sweat through it or throw up all over it. There’s not a single thing about this that’s even the least bit hot.”

I grin at her sharp tone, tucking a hair that came loose from her ponytail back behind her ear. “I beg to differ. Now, can we discuss the doctor? We’re in a hospital full of them. I’m sure there’s at least one who can help.”

Caitlin sucks in a breath, her body tightening again and her forehead dropping back down to her knees. “I don’t need a doctor for fucking period cramps. They’ll pass in a few hours, and until then I just have to deal. You can go. This isn’t anything I haven’t dealt with a thousand times before.”

This is period cramps? I catch myself before I say the words out loud, and thank god because I prefer my balls right where they are. I didn’t have a mom for most of my life, didn’t know Avery when she was a teenager, and I’ve never been in any kind of relationship, so I don’t know what’s normal but this can’t possibly be it.

“What about medicine? I can go find you some ibuprofen. That might help, right?”

She shakes her head, face still buried in her knees. “It won’t help. It’s too late for that.” Her voice is muffled, but I hear her clearly. “The time to take it would have been before all this started, but I missed the signs so I missed the window and now I just have to tough it out.”

I consider my next move. Leaving her here is a nonstarter, and she’s not exactly a lets others help kind of girl, but I decide to take my chances.

“If it’ll be like this for a few hours, you’ll probably be more comfortable at home, don’t you think?”

Caitlin lifts her head and turns to look at me, her eyes saying more clearly than words ever could, How stupid could you possibly be? Her bite and the color coming slowly back into her cheeks after this latest wave has relief pouring through me. “Yes, Drew, home would be better than a hospital bathroom floor, but unfortunately, driving isn’t really something I can do right n—” She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, curling back in on herself as her body shakes, and when she tips backwards, leaning heavily against me, my heart clenches at the dual feelings of helplessness at seeing her in so much pain and appreciation for the fact that this woman, who leans on no one, is leaning on me.

It occurs to me I would rather be sitting on this bathroom floor with her than be doing anything, anywhere, with anyone else, and without warning, I feel myself start to fall.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling, but I recognize it all the same, accepting Caitlin and me as a kind of inevitability—a sum certain—even as the idea fills me with a complicated sort of fear. Fear I’m not enough. That I don’t know how to have something as important as this. That she’ll leave like everyone else. That I won’t know how to stay.

I push that away and wrap my arms tightly around Caitlin, bringing my lips to her ear. “I have an idea. What if I steal a wheelchair to bust you out of here? I’m parked right in front of the hospital, and I can take you home.”

She sighs and lifts her head again. When she rolls her eyes, the little bit of attitude has unexpected warmth flooding my chest. “You can’t steal a wheelchair from a children’s hospital, Pretty Boy.”