“Blaise wants you to sleep as much as possible, so we’ll get to know each other when you feel better,” Robyn said. “Just push the tray over to the other side of the bed when you’re finished. I’ll pick it up later.”
That sounded about all Hadley could manage at the moment. “Thanks.”
Robyn glanced at the open suitcase sitting on the floor with clothes piled on top. “Blaise mentioned you were in New York last week. Most everything must be dirty. I’ll wash your clothes.”
Hadley sucked in a breath. A coughing fit erupted.
“I’ll take your suitcase to the laundry room,” Robyn said, without waiting for an answer. She picked up the luggage and clothes. “That will be easier and less distracting for you. Blaise is working from home today. I’m sure he’ll be up to see you now that you’re awake.”
“O-kay,” Hadley croaked.
Except it wasn’t.
Not only was Robyn doing more work because of Hadley, Blaise had also stayed home when he should be at his office.
This was bad and shouldn’t be happening.
She was used to taking care of herself. Fallon and the kids, too. Now someone else was having to do everything and she was in the way.
A lump burned at the back of Hadley’s throat.
She ate another spoonful of soup, but it didn’t make her feel better, so she pushed the tray to the empty side of the bed.
Stupid.
That was how she felt.
Stupid and tired and helpless.
A trifecta she’d never expected to be experiencing.
Least of all in Oregon.
Okay, she’d taken her medication, washed her face, and brushed her teeth this morning. But the trip to the bathroom had worn her out. Doing more…
Impossible.
Her chest ached. Each breath hurt. Tears burned.
She hated being sick.
She hated being stuck at Blaise’s house.
She hated being a burden.
Her carefully planned life was spinning completely out of control. The worst part? Until the antibiotics started working, she couldn’t do anything to make it better.
She hiccuped. Coughed. Cried.
As hot tears rolled down her face, she closed her eyes.
“Hadley?”
Her eyelids sprang open. She wiped her face.
Blaise stood in the doorway. He wore black pants and a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He rushed toward her and sat on the edge of the bed.
She must have missed a tear or two because he ran his finger down her cheek before lowering his arm. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
