A little too warm, especially since she usually runs cold.
Well, she is bundled up, and it's warm in here. She felt warm after her shower, but I figured it was from the water, and her wig keeps her head pretty warm, too.
It's probably nothing to worry about. It's fine. She's fine. She's smiling, sweet, and happy.
And yet...
"I love you," she murmurs into my chest, her voice a little sleepy. Is it a little hoarse, too? She was talking a lot this weekend and laughing so much.
"I love you," I reply as we reach the lobby. I grab our suitcase with one hand and take her gloved hand with the other, squeezing gently. She's okay.
When we wait for the valet to get our car, Sophie smiles at me before her face suddenly pulls into a grimace, and she coughs into her fist. And again. The sounds cause my brow to furrow—sharp, and a little wet-sounding.
"You okay, sweet girl?" I ask, keeping my voice light. Even as the muscles in my stomach tighten.
"I'm okay," she smiles, and it looks a little strained, forced. "Just a long weekend. I'm beat."
I nod as the valet pulls our car around, and help her get settled into her seat. We stop at Dunkin' for coffee, but when I ask Sophie what she wants, she asks for water instead. When we're on the way home, I can see that her hands are a little shaky as she lifts the bottle to her mouth. She drinks slowly and long, looking at me out of the corner of her eye like she's trying to prove a point—that she's fine, that there's nothing to worry about.
So I tell myself she's right.
Sophie knows her body. I don't want to overstep, take control, or ask her repeatedly if something is wrong. But the worry settles deep and uncomfortably in my gut. Especially as she tries to smother more coughs on the way home.
When we're twenty minutes from home, she drifts off to sleep. We fell asleep a little early last night and had a bit of a lie-in, but the chemo really does take it out of her. And the rest is good for her. I reach out to brush some of the hair away from her forehead, but when I feel her skin, that worry only burns hotter.
She is still warm. Actually, she feels even warmer.
Almost hot.
My eyes flick back and forth between the road and Sophie. Her usually adorably animated sleeping face is twisted in discomfort—her brow furrowed, and her lips turned down.
I'll get her home, get her in her bed, and she can rest as long as she wants. She doesn't have chemo until Tuesday, and I'll tell my mom to start interviewing. If she likes someone and has a good feeling about them, hire them on the spot. I need to be more available for Sophie. I need to be there to take care of her.
"She just needs to rest," I tell myself, my hands tightening around the steering wheel. There's no music in the car, I don't want to disturb Sophie, and I think I'm too anxious to listen to anything anyway, so when she makes the noise, I hear it.
And my stomach drops.
It's a small whimper—like she's in pain—and tugs at my heart before she cuddles deeper into her scarf.
My foot threatens to press down harder on the accelerator, to get her home faster, but I can't.
Because the sky ahead lookswrong.
Dark, brutal-looking storm clouds with an almost sickly green tinge. We're driving right into the storm. I lean forward in my seat, focused on the road, and hear thunder roll deep in the distance. The rain that's been steadily falling picks up and pounds against Sophie's sedan the closer we get to home.
The storm itself doesn't scare me, but I...
I can't help but see it as a warning.
A bad omen.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Callum
Thunder crashes so violently, it sounds like the sky is splitting open above our heads.
Sophie jolts awake, and I glance at her, but keep my eyes on the road. We've just crossed theWelcome to Starling Covesign, but the rain is so heavy I can barely see the road lines. I wish we were in my truck, not her sedan, especially as the tires catch on the flooding.
