Mariah picks up, her voice cheery. “Hey, Tobias. How are things?”
Outside of wanting to beat the shit out of her future husband? Fucking terrible.
“Good,” I lie, because I know anything I say to her is going to be repeated to Titus. “I’ve had a hankering for chicken noodle soup, and don’t really know how to make it. Do you have a recipe you could send me?”
“Of course.” She pauses. “I have a few. A basic one. A creamy one.” Another pause, this one longer. “One that has some extra spices in it and tastes really good when you’re sick. I’ll send you that one.”
Shit. I think I’m already found out.
Don’t care. “Great. Thanks.”
I hang up before I can give away any more, and drive myself straight to the grocery store. Mariah’s already sent me what I asked for, so I hurry up and down the aisles, dumping in not only the required ingredients for the soup, but also a loaf of fancy looking bread, the butter my mother swears is the best, some electrolyte beverages, and half the pharmacy. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but I want to be able to take care of it.
To take care of her.
I manage to make it home faster than I ever have, but instead of going to my place, I go straight to my parents’,pulling my truck up directly in front of the small staircase leading to the back entrance.
Letting myself in, I pause, hoping I’ll hear her moving around. That she’s not actually sick, just in need of a little break.
But the house is silent.
Don’t like that.
Heading straight for the stairs, I take them two at a time, boots hitting the second floor a little louder than they probably should. I hear Brooke gasp, and hate that I’ve scared her, but it gave away her location, which is helpful in tracking her down.
“Brooke?” I don’t want her to freak out, so I say her name loud enough she can hear my voice as I pace toward the room where she’s staying. I knock on the half open door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” Her voice is rough. Nasally. Miserable.
Letting myself inside, I come face-to-face with two things. One hell of a sick woman, and one hell of a spoiled dog.
I kinda forgot about Bruno. But it’s fine. If anything, the puppy makes me even more sure this is what needs to happen. Because there’s no way the woman shivering under the covers, surrounded by a mountain of used tissues, can take care of him right now.
I slowly move toward where Brooke is cuddled up in the king size bed. Her nose is red and her skin is pale. The long waves of her dark hair are wrapped up in a messy wad at the top of her head, and her top lip is chapped.
I’ve never seen her like this, and I don’t like it. When we had dinner together, it was pretty obvious she’s holding back on something big. Something bad. Something that’s probably going to make me slightly homicidal when I find out what it is.
She’s been through enough, and doesn’t deserve any more misery.
“Come on.” I gently pull back the covers. “Let’s get you somewhere you can be taken care of.” I scoop her up, gritting my teeth at how hot she feels. It’s clear no one has been taking care of her.
Not even Brooke.
Holding her close, I angle her body through the doorway, carrying her down the stairs. She’s all but limp in my arms as I load her into the passenger seat of my truck, tilting it back so she isn’t forced to remain upright. Getting her as comfortable as I can, I push back the strands of hair stuck to her forehead. “I’m going to go get Bruno. I’ll be right back.”
She doesn’t respond, and that only makes me move faster. I run up to her room, grabbing everything I can carry, before running back down. I drop everything but the dog into the back seat, then get behind the wheel, Bruno tucked into my lap.
My house is the closest to my parents’, so I’m pulling into my garage in only a few minutes, backing the truck into position before getting out and setting Bruno on the floor. He’s little, but hopefully big enough to tag along as I collect his mama from her seat and carry her in.
I take Brooke straight to the couch, laying her across the cushions. “I’ll be right back.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I go straight up to my bedroom and start grabbing blankets and pillows off the bed. I carry all that down to where Brooke is looking around with bleary eyes. Her brows pinch together as I go down to my knees and begin tucking pillows under her head.
She struggles to focus on my face. “How did I get here?”
“By letting your fever get so high you're delirious.” I coverher with the plush blanket my mother swore I needed so my bedroom would look aesthetically pleasing. Not sure why that mattered since I’m the only one who’s ever been inside it, but arguing with Deidre Bradshaw about the importance of good design is pointless. “Why haven’t you taken anything to bring your temperature down?”
Brooke’s gaze finally finds my face. “Because I don’t know where any of it is.”
