"Callum, I can wal—"
"No," I gently say, shaking my head as I kick the car door closed with my foot and carry her into her building.
All I can concentrate on in the elevator is Sophie's head on my shoulder, her panting breath coming hot and fast against my neck as she tries to murmur another apology.
"Shh. You're okay, Sophie," my mouth is against her temple, she always smells so nice, like warm vanilla, and her arms tighten around me. Her eyes are closed, her brow is furrowed in pain, and my chest aches from the sight of it. "I'm here, sweet girl. It's okay."
The nickname came naturally. Could it be any more appropriate?
Sweetest girl I've ever met.
Gently maneuvering Sophie, I take her keys out of the bag and unlock the front door, carrying her inside the apartment. Walking down her hallway, I carry her to her bedroom, and gently, though a bit reluctantly, lay her down on the bed.
She didn't make her bed before we left, so I'm able to pull her boots off her feet and then pull the comforter over her shaking body. "Do you still feel sick?"
She hesitates, her brow furrowing, and then shakes her head.
"No, I'm okay. Can you close the blinds?"
Nodding, I pull the blackout blinds down, darkening the room while she reaches over to the side table and flips on the lamp. Sophie lies back down and settles in with a sigh. I crouch down next to her and feel oddly delighted when she curls up on her side—toward me—her hair falling into her face.
I brush the hair back for her, but the hair gets caught in the calluses of my hands, the rough patches that have been built upover years of working with my dad, and when I pull my hand back, some of her hair comes with it.
Horror swirls like bile in my stomach when I see a slight bald patch near her temple. For a split second, I'm terrified that I somehow ripped out some of her hair and hurt her. Then it all comes together for me, her behavior last night and this morning, and her choice to cover her hair with her hood and hat, what chemo does to you.
It all makes sense now.
Oh, sweet girl...
We both freeze, my hand stilled in the air between us, dark strands hanging from my fingers. Her face crumples, some tears leaking from the corners of her lovely eyes.
"It..." Sophie starts, her voice cracking. "It started falling out last night."
I don't say anything. I remove the strands from my fingers, then, carefully, I brush another strand back, tracing softly along her temple, then down to her cheek. This precious, wonderful, brave woman.
She doesn't need to hear empty assurances right now, because it's not okay, and it's not'just hair'. It's scary for her, and it has affected her enough to want to hide it from me. My thumb glides just under her eye, catching a tear, and I nod my head in understanding.
"I read that would happen."
"You read a lot," her lips curve into a grin, small but there.
"When it concerns you, I want to be informed," I say, my fingers still on her cheek, and her eyes close, in what looks like relief and maybe even a little pleasure. She’s sweating a little bit, with moisture at her temples. "You're a little warm. Do you want a cool cloth for your head?"
Her eyes pop open, and she looks at me with surprise before she nods, and those pretty eyes flash with gratitude. I stand upand walk into the bathroom as she calls out, "Linen closet is behind the door."
When I open the closet, I chuckle softly. The organization of her towels, sheets, and cleaning supplies is quite impressive. Everything is labeled, neatly folded, and in its correct place.Virgo,I think fondly and grab a white washcloth out of the labeled bin. Running it under cool water in the sink, I return to her side, fold the cloth, and gently dab her forehead.
She sighs, "Thank you, Callum."
"Do you need anything else?"
"I... I don't feel like sleeping," Sophie says, looking a little unsure as she looks up at me. "Do you want to watch something?"
I grin and nod, honestly very relieved that this gives me some more time with her. I don't want to overstay my welcome, but more time with Sophie isalwaysa good thing. And she seems to want me here, too.
"Can you grab my laptop?" she points to her dresser, and I grab the silver laptop and hand it to her. Slowly, she sits up against the headboard, opens it up, and types a few times before biting her bottom lip and patting the spot next to her on the bed.
We'll both be clothed, she'll be under the covers, and I won't, but this still feels incredibly intimate sitting on her bed together. I walk around to the other side of the bed and toe off my boots before gingerly sitting down next to her. I take my phone out of my back pocket and place it on the end table next to my side.
