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Savannah’s words stung Charlie in places deep within his chest. Places that weren’t supposed to be accessible to anyone, much less vulnerable to words that were all too reminiscent of those flung at him in the past.
He took a step back.
He wavered between wanting to beg her to forgive him and telling himself to walk away and forget her. She was right. He didn’t belong. He’d never belonged. Never would.
He’d always known that. Had never been able to forget that until Savannah. Look at what that memory lapse had caused.
Looking exhausted, Savannah closed her eyes then turned her back to him and walked over to her sofa, where she sat down. “I don’t feel up to doing this again, Charlie. I’m sorry, but I just don’t.”
Her skin had lost its color and she had crossed her arms over her belly.
“You look pale.”
She didn’t comment, just proceeded to turn a few more shades toward ghastly gray. Hands over her stomach, she leaned forward and made a noise that might have been a moan, but might have been a dry heave.
Despite not being invited in, he stepped further into her living room and toward the sofa. “Are you okay?”
Without looking up, she shook her head. “No, I am not okay. Get your stuff and leave.”
He was torn. She wanted him to go. She really did. He could hear it in her voice. But how did he just walk out when she looked as if she was majorly ill?
Then she was.
With a panicked glance at him, she bolted off the sofa and toward the half bath just off the living room.
Worried, Charlie followed her to the small half bath, grabbed a rolled up washcloth from the basket that sat on the v
anity, and ran cold water over it, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Savannah. She knelt over the toilet, gripping the sides and heaving out the contents of her stomach.
When he’d squeezed out the excess water, he folded the washcloth. He pulled her hair back away from her face, put the washcloth across her forehead, and helped support her while she leaned over the toilet.
He didn’t say a word, just held the washcloth to her forehead, kept her hair back from her face, and felt torn into a million directions as to what he should do.
He couldn’t leave her like this even if he wanted to.
He couldn’t.
He didn’t have it in him to walk away with her ill.
When her heaving seemed to have subsided, she glanced up at him with a tear-streaked face and he felt something in his chest squeeze painfully tight.
“I hate that you saw me like this.”
Kneeling, he took the washcloth and gently wiped her mouth. “I’m a doctor, Savannah. I’ve seen worse.”
A long sigh escaped her lips. “Not from me.”
She looked lost, like a child, and more than anything he wanted to ease her distress and take care of her.
“I’m going to carry you to your room, help you change out of your scrubs, wash your face and brush your teeth, then put you to bed.”
She closed her eyes for a moment then shook her head. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”
“You’re sick. Let me help you.”
Her expression pinched, and he expected her to argue, but instead, her skin going gray again, she lowered her gaze. “No carrying. Just...just help me get to my room.”
