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“No. I don’t want you here.” He gripped the wheel even tighter. “Don’t want you… I’m done. Get the…message.”
Shaking her head, she crossed her arms. “You can’t scare me away by being a jerk. I grew up with Steven—you’re nothing compared to him. Get out of the truck so I can get you inside. Now.”
He stared at her, breathing heavily. “I don’t want you. Don’t you hear me? Get the hell out of here.”
“Nope.” She put her hands on her hips. “I understand you’re frustrated, and feeling like crap. But hear me and hear me well. I will not leave you until you’re better.
”
“I’m never going to be—” He broke off, gritting his teeth. He was starting to look less pale, and more green. “—Better.”
“Then you’ll never be better. But I’m still not leaving.”
“You little—” He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and the fight seemed to leave him. He collapsed against the seat. “—S…shit.”
She swallowed hard. It hurt to see him hurting, and it hurt even more that he didn’t want her there. “I just want to help you. Can’t you see that?”
He nodded once, not replying. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, he let go of the wheel. “I need to get inside,” he rasped.
“Okay.” She caught his hand. “Let’s go.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he entwined his fingers with hers and turned back to her. Pain and regret and something else she couldn’t name were written all over his face, and almost made her fall over. He swallowed hard. “Lydia…”
“Shh. Come on.”
He climbed out of the truck silently, his fingers still entangled with hers. Reaching into the truck, she grabbed his keys out of the ignition and walked up to his door with him. His silence was both a relief and a worry. Would he go off on her again? Say rude things to try and scare her away? She didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.
She wouldn’t leave until he was okay.
With trembling hands, she unlocked the door. As soon as she shut it behind her, she turned to him. “What do you need?”
“Pills.” He collapsed against the door, his face pale. “Kitchen.”
She hurried into the kitchen, her heart pounding. Next to the sink, beside an empty bottle of whiskey, was an orange container filled with prescription medication for migraine headaches, according to the label. So…he got migraines. That’s what this was. After she got the meds in him, she needed to get him in a dark, quiet room, and get a cold compress on his head.
At least she knew what to do now.
Twisting the lid, she shook a capsule out onto her hand. After opening a few cabinets, she found the one that held glasses. By the time she came back into the foyer, he’d shrugged off his coat and kicked off his shoes. When he heard her coming, he dropped his head against the door again.
“Here.” She held out the water, and he took it with a trembling hand. Next, she gave him the pill. “After you take these, we’ll get you in bed.”
He nodded once, tossed the pill in his mouth, and downed all the water.
As soon as he finished, she grabbed the glass out of his hand, set it down, and clutched his hand. “Can you make it up the stairs?”
He grit his teeth so hard she could hear them scraping against each other. “Yes. I’m not—a—” He didn’t finish that thought. “Fuck.”
Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she fell silent, knowing she was only annoying him. Plus, if he had a headache, then talking—hers and his—would hurt. Slowly, they made their way up the stairs. As soon as they entered his room, he let go of her and stumbled toward his bed. She watched him go, her heart in her throat with every step he took.
When he stumbled, she lurched forward, ready to catch him. “Oh my—”
He caught himself and threw a scowl over his shoulder at her. “I’m not a child.”
“I know. I never said you were.”
When he reached the bed, he sat down and then fell back, flinging an arm over his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t say anything.
Neither did she.