Page 7 of Ruthless Protector

Tilly and me.

I didn’t need anybody else, and neither did she.

Unfortunately, my subconscious had other ideas.

I dreamed of cold nights, strong arms, and hot, rough skin.

2

Willa

Tilly whimpered, her small hands cradling her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

I placed a cool washcloth on her forehead, feeling so damn helpless. “I’ll be right back, baby,” I said to her and walked out to the hallway, pulling my phone from my back pocket.

My boss had kids. Surely he’d understand why I couldn’t come in tonight? I hit Alf’s number and waited. Right now, my only hope was somehow tugging on those paternal heartstrings I knew he had to have hidden under the gruff exterior, and getting the guy to sympathize with my current predicament. If not?

I was seriously screwed.

“Why are you calling me and not here serving fucking drinks?” Alf growled into the phone.

“Alf, look, I have a situation here and I’m not going to make it in tonight.”

“You better be shitting me, girl. It’s your first night doing a full shift.”

Shit. “I promise it won’t happen again, but Tilly’s sick,” I lied, and we both knew it. My niece suffered from migraines like my me and my sister both did…or had. They’d started not long after Tilly turned seven. They could be scary, especially for a little kid. This was only the third one she’d had, so unfortunately not the first time I’d called in needing time off, but Tilly needed me. “Please, Alf…”

“Willa, shit, girl….” He was quiet a few seconds, then, “Look, I like you, you’re a good waitress, but I don’t see good things in our future. You’ve got a sick kid to take care of and I need reliable staff. Sorry, honey, but I need to let you go.”

My hand shot out and I grabbed for the door frame, as all my hopes shredded and fluttered to the floor, setting themselves alight. “You can’t be serious, I promise I won’t…”

“You can’t promise shit, girl, and that’s the problem. Come by when you can and I’ll have your final check waiting.” Then he disconnected.

What the hell was I going to do? I was living week to week as it was, even with cheap rent. I’d made piss all at the bar, which meant I’d managed to save exactly nothing. Tilly whimpered again from the living room and I rushed back down to her. I’d made her a bed on the couch because listening to the TV on low gave her something to focus on besides the pain. “It’s okay, Tils, I’m here.”

She sniffed. “It hurts.”

“I know.” Tears stung the backs of my eyes. With my funds the way they were, I couldn’t afford health insurance, so filling the prescription I got when I took her to the emergency room the first time she had one, wasn’t an option. My niece was suffering, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I was failing her and failing Rebecca. All I could give her was Ibuprofen or Tylenol, and it barely took the edge off for her.

“I feel sick,” she said suddenly.

I grabbed for the bowl just in time. Maybe the Tylenol would work better if she could keep it down. Her small frame shuddered as she threw up, more tears running down her face. I held back her long, thick brown hair and rubbed her back until she finally collapsed back.

“I’ll be right back.” I rushed to the bathroom, cleaned out the bowl and rinsed two washcloths under cold water, and rushed back. I wiped her face and hands with one, then folded the second and replaced the one on her forehead. “Try and sleep, honey. I promise you’ll feel much better when you wake up.”

Her lower lip quivered. “You promise?”

My heart broke, just crumbled into a million pieces. “I promise,” I whispered, trying to keep my own tears from my voice.

After that, I curled up on the sofa with her, making sure to flip the washcloth every so often, so she always had the cool side, until she finally drifted off.

I made sure to keep my body perfectly still, so as not to wake her, but my mind was in a frenzy; so much to figure out. Without my tips, the check I got from Alf wouldn’t cover my rent and it was due tomorrow. Tilly needed medicine, and she needed it now. I’d been grocery shopping a couple days ago, so we had food for another few days if we were careful.

Christ. What was I going to do?

The text I received from Trent a week ago jumped to the front of my mind. He’d called like he said he would. His bitter voice had made my skin crawl.

“I need money and you’re going to give it to me.”