“Because I’m not a person who thinks in black or white, Tinker. Because I have to believe there’s a reason you beat a guy so severely he’s in a wheelchair because otherwise, I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you trust me?” It really all came down to that one question.
“I want to,” she said.
“That’s not an answer,” he said.
“It’s not a yes or no question. It’d be really fucking stupid to blindly trust a guy I’ve only known for six weeks, especially when there are two young kids in the mix.”
He tried to interrupt, but she talked over him.
“Trust is earned, Tinker, not given out like alms in front of a church. And it’s a two-way street. You want it? You need to give it, and you obviously don’t trust me fully, otherwise you’d have started this conversation explaining instead of ‘what the fucking?’”
She spun and vomited into the sink.
What the fuck were alms?
Sick
Abby’s glorious tirade was ruined when she emptied her guts into the sink. She’d felt nauseated all day but had been staving it off with lukewarm tea and fleeting hopes it would pass. No such luck. She knew it was a long shot—no way she could avoid getting sick after being thrown up on twice and having to hose down a crying kid after a bout of diarrhea.
Abby braced her arm on the edge of the sink and rested her head on it. Behind her, a cabinet opened and closed, then the fridge. Tinker placed a gentle hand on the middle of her back. She tilted her head and took the small glass of water he held, swished, spit, then took a small sip.
“How long have you been sick?” His voice was soft as he took the glass back.
“A few hours. Started feeling nauseous a bit ago.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She let the blanket fall. Now she was hot. “Would it have mattered?”
“Probably not.”
His voice was gentle. She liked it and hated it at the same time. Hated him seeing her in this state. Liked that he was trying to be nice, even when he was angry with her. She might need an intervention.
“Let’s get you to bed.” He slid an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting her into his arms.
Her stomach rolled and she groaned.
“You gonna be sick again?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. She refused. “I hate throwing up.”
“I don’t know anyone who likes it.”
She kept her eyes closed and her head pressed against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to ghost you. I really didn’t have time to process it. Will threw up almost as soon as I opened the envelope. I haven’t even read all of it.”
She didn’t know if she was making things better or worse. She should probably shut up and concentrate on not throwing up on him.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”
Abby raised her head and glared at him. “You seemed pretty insistent a few minutes ago.”
“That was before you blew chunks.” He managed to get her to her room without any more jostling and laid her down in her bed. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
He left her room and returned a few minutes later with the promised water, setting it on the bedside table.
“You want me to move him into his room?” He nodded at Will on the other side of the bed.
