“The air conditioning is broken.”
“I can take a look at it for you,” I offer, but she just shakes her head.
“It needs replacing.”
“Right. Okay.”
Silence falls between us as she closes her eyes. Although just like out in the hallway, it isn’t anywhere close to being silent. I don’t mention it, though. I’m pretty sure Bea can hear it just as well as I can.
My heart continues to race as I sit there watching her, wishing I could take her pain away.
Her face is flushed red, and not in the good kind of way. The circles beneath her eyes are so dark they almost look like bruises. Her lips are dry and her hair is a mess. She’s wearing a tank, which is all twisted up, and it’s so thin I’m unable to ignore the fact she’s braless beneath it. And she’s just wearing a pair of panties on her bottom half. I understand why. I’m pretty sure I could strip to my underwear and still be sweating right now.
“Tell me what you need,” I beg quietly. “Tell me what to do.”
Slowly, she opens her eyes, letting me see just how tired she is, how much she’s suffering. “Sleep,” she rasps. “I just need to sleep.”
“Right. Okay. We’ve got this,” I say as I climb to my feet, and then, with one arm behind her back and another beneath her knees, I lift her from the floor. “Which is your bedroom?”
“The only one with a bed in it,” she mutters, letting me know that my sassy girl is still there.
I look into the first room we pass, but I keep going when I spot a small kitchen. There is only one more door, and the second I kick it open, I discover what I want. Only…the music is even louder in here.
“It’ll stop soon,” Bea mumbles as if she can read my thoughts.
After placing her in her bed, I sit on the edge beside her as she curls up on her side.
“I wish you’d have called me, sweetheart,” I say softly as I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
Her eyelids flicker closed as she almost instantly begins to drift off.
She’s almost gone when the song changes, the beat drops, and her eyes fly open as it startles her.
“Shit,” she hisses, staring at me. “I’m sorry. It’s?—”
“No,” I say, a little more firmly than I was expecting, as I jump to my feet. “Do you have a bag or a suitcase?” I ask, looking around her compact room.
“What? Why?”
I pause at the end of her bed and take her in. She’s exhausted. She needs rest—decent fucking rest that she isn’t going to get here.
“Because I’m packing you a bag,” I state before taking matters into my own hands and opening her closet.
There’s a small carry-on suitcase right there, and I pull it out and throw it onto her bed.
“Tell me what you need.”
43
BEATRICE
One minute, I’m at home staring at the larger-than-life man at the foot of my bed, and the next, he’s got me tucked into his side, my suitcase and a grocery bag hanging from his other hand as he guides me out of my building and toward his truck.
If I had the energy, I might fight him, but I don’t.
And while I might not be one hundred percent sure of where he’s taking me, I do know that it’ll be cooler and quieter than my apartment.
“If you feel like you’re going to vomit, tell me and I’ll pull over,” Everett says softly after he’s lifted me into his passenger seat.
