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I nodded but made no move to stand.
Vik’s eyes washed over my reddened face. His nose bunched, and he uttered, “You got a little—” He tapped on his chin. “—right there.”
Vomit on my chin? Cool. Because why not?
Well, this day was perfect. Just perfect.
I took some tissue and wiped my mouth. Without daring to look at him, I held up one heavy arm, and Vik helped me stand. He kept his hold on me, around me, as he walked me out of the bathroom and onto the main floor.
The moment Anika saw me, she dashed out from behind the bar, took a long look at me, and spoke softly, “Oh, Nas. You poor thing. You look awful.”
Nice.
But relief rushed through me at her apparent concern. I guess we were still friends.
Mina sat at a booth with Trey, and when the little boy saw me, he looked at my sparkly, revealing costume and said brusquely, “I like your pajamas.”
My Lord.
It was so cute that I swallowed past the thickness in my throat and muttered, “Thanks. I like 'em too.”
Sasha and Lev walked into the room together, and with a single glance my way, Sasha peered at my cold, sweaty self and exhaled a slightly irritated, “Well, you’re useless to me now.”
God. He could be a real jerk sometimes.
“Go eat a di—” And then I remembered the little boy only a few feet away. “A banana.”
“Funnily enough,” Lev began, “you should eat a banana.”
Excuse me, sir?
He did not stop at my glower. “Bananas contain potassium. Potassium increases mucus production—”
“Jesus. Don’t say mucus, Lev,” I shuddered, holding my tender stomach.
“—which protects your stomach lining. They’re a natural antacid and can help relieve symptoms of indigestion,” my brother finished helpfully, looking rather pleased with himself.
Ugh.
These people.
“Whatever. I’m going home,” I grated out through the soreness in my throat and leaned into Vik for support.
Anika handed me my purse, and the man beside me walked me out back, to his sensible silver sedan. My cheeks flushed a delicate pink. I was feeling super sorry for myself as we made the short ride home. Relief washed over me when Vik turned off the car and began to walk me inside. I didn’t want to be alone.
Vik did everything right. He brought me upstairs, washed my face, helped me change, then put me to bed, tucking me in and making sure I had both water and a bucket by my bedside. I was beginning to feel the twinging pain in my stomach lessen when he said words that made my gut sink.
“Rest up. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.”
“Wait.” My heart clenched. I lifted my head off my pillow to look at him and let out a small, sad-sounding, “You’re leaving?”
“I…” He hesitated. The bed depressed as he sat down beside me, and he pulled the sheets up to my shoulders, refusing to meet me eyes. “Got a job tonight.”
It came out regretful. Apologetic. Even mildly embarrassed.
Of course he did.
My chest felt tight. “Sure.” I nodded, loathing the way it made my head spin.
He seemed to hesitate a moment. “If I could stay with you, I would.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, not really feeling it.
“If I had the choice”—he looked me in the eye—“I would choose you, Nas. Every time.”
That was the second time he’d told me as much, and I knew he truly believed he would… as he continuously left me.
I forced a small smile I did not feel in the slightest. “I’m feeling a little better now.”
And the relief in his face told me I’d done well hiding my sorrow. “Good. That’s good.” But he continued to look down at my rosy face, refusing to move, clearly at war with himself.
He needs the money.
He has a family to support.
My ego took a beating as I conceded he really did need to go.
“I’m okay,” I reassured him quietly. It pained me to dismiss him the way I was. “I’m…” I swallowed hard around the thickness in my throat. “I’m really tired.”
“Right.” He took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
My heart cracked as I watched his retreating form. When he reached the door, I called out, “Vik?”
He twisted back to look at me.
“Thanks for looking after me,” I said in softly spoken gratitude.
I don’t know why he seemed to be irritated at my appreciation, but he lowered his face and said a somewhat distant, “Feel better, yeah?”
And then I was alone.
Again.
It was funny how eight letters could change your life.
My day had been like any other day. I had fought through the worst of my stomach troubles, ate nothing but crackers and toast, sipping on ginger ale, and felt a whole lot better than I had yesterday.
Every time I thought about food, real food, my stomach churned violently in my gut, so I nibbled here and there, appeasing my belly and avoiding another bathroom catastrophe.
