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The image of her wearing it, looking like the grown-up version of herself, flashed through his mind with a tug to his gut. “That sweater looks nice on you.”
“Oh. Well, Sloane picked it out. I liked a different one, but she said this was more appropriate preteen couture, whatever that means.”
Dread descended, low and horrible in Gavin’s belly.
What it meant was that he wasn’t done on the apology front just yet.
Okay, so Sloane should’ve come to him rather than taking Bree on an impulsive trip to the mall, but still. Bree clearly felt a connection with Sloane, and while he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, it didn’t change the fact that Sloane didn’t blow off his sister. She’d taken care of Bree in her own, well-intentioned way. And wasn’t that all he’d been trying to do himself?
Shit. Why did all of this parenting stuff only make sense after the fact?
Gavin cleared his throat. “Well, it’s nice. You probably need more than one of them, though. Maybe next week I can take you back on my afternoon off. You know, if you feel like it.”
“Maybe.” But her word held no indecision, and her smile, albeit slight, stayed in place. But then she coasted a hand over her stomach, and the pained expression from a few minutes ago returned and lingered.
“Are you okay? When was the last time you ate?”
“We had Pad Thai for dinner at that place in the mall,” Bree said. “Probably not the best idea.”
It was Gavin’s turn to grimace, and he held nothing back. “Ugh. No wonder you’ve got an upset stomach. You want a cup of chamomile? I can go put some water on real quick.”
“Yeah, okay.” She swung her feet over the edge of her bed and followed him toward the door, but after a few steps, she stopped short. Her face bent into another painful frown, followed quickly by a look of shock so disconcerting that his pulse clattered through his veins.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, cursing the very nature of fast-food Pad Thai. “Do you feel sick?”
“No.” But then her eyes widened with something he couldn’t place. Without elaborating, she turned and darted across the hall, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
“Bree! Open the door. If you’re sick, I can help you.” Oh, God. If something was really wrong with her, he’d never forgive himself for all the stupid head-butting they’d been doing lately. “Bree, I mean it!”
“It’s not the Thai food,” came the muffled cry from behind the door. “I’m not sick, but you can’t help with this. Just…I’m sorry. Could you please go away?”
If he lived to be a hundred and fifty, he wouldnevermake sense of these ridiculous hormones. Hadn’t they just made a truce?
Gavin tried as hard as he could not to just whip the door open anyway, digging his fingers into his palms instead. “Remember what I just said about taking care of you? I really can’t go away until I know you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Bree choked on a sob, making his heart twist with both fear and the desire to protect her from whatever was making her voice sound so shattered.
He put a hand over the door, pressing against the cool wood as if it could give him oak-like strength. “All I want to do is help you, Bree. Please just tell me what’s wrong.”
Bree’s words were barely audible through the door, but they punched all the way through Gavin anyway.
“I don’t think you can help with this. I…I think I got my period.”
15
After twenty minutes of rabid tossing and turning, Sloane gave up and got out of bed. She wasn’t exactly a stranger to one o’clock in the morning, and anyway, there had to be some bad-karma rule against going to bed this full of piss and vinegar. She padded down the hall toward the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle and the growing stack of mail she’d been ignoring for the better part of two weeks.
“Electric bill…credit card statement…oh, look, I may have won a cruise. Details inside.” She tossed the sheaf of junk mail and bills back to the counter with a disgusted plop.
While Gavin hadn’t come right out and fired her, it had to be just a technicality at this point. Good money said Sloane had doomed her fallback plan for getting to Greece the minute she’d popped off at the mouth and left him standing speechless in the middle of his living room floor. While it was unlikely he’d find a replacement babysitter overnight, there was sure to be one on the near horizon, which meant her chances of getting on that plane were slim and none.
And slim was looking more non-existent by the minute.
But come on! She’d apologized not once, but twice, only to have her decision to take Bree for a simple trip to the mall tossed back in her face like dirty laundry. It wasn’t as if she’d dragged the kid bar-hopping or out to get a tattoo. Taking Bree shopping got her what she needed while still keeping her pride intact, and the last thing Sloane had wanted to do was out the poor kid. Plus, deep down she knew that if she put a spotlight on how Bree had hidden her old, threadbare clothes from Gavin, he’d feel horrible that he hadn’t noticed, and as sappy as it was, Sloane had wanted to spare his feelings. All things considered, she’d just tried to make the best possible decision for the circumstances.
Of course she’d never admit that to the Ice King, and not just because it would betray Bree’s confidence. They might not be buddy-buddy soul mates or anything, but Sloane had been around Gavin Carmichael long enough to know what he thought of her ability to think rationally. Anything she had to say—no matter how reasonable or grounded in good intentions—would probably just make him madder. The thick-headed, chiseled-jawed, hot-melty-eyed jackass!
Although…
