Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 217988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1090(@200wpm)___ 872(@250wpm)___ 727(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1090(@200wpm)___ 872(@250wpm)___ 727(@300wpm)
“Just stay there. I’m going to clean this up.”
“I’m sick.”
“I know, sweetie.”
Sweetie? Brody was here. Brody would take care of her.
“Make it go away.”
“I wish I could.” A cool cloth was placed over her forehead. “You need to drink something.”
“No.”
“Tutu.”
“No.”
He sighed. And she suddenly felt awful. He was just trying to take care of her and she was being stubborn and mean.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for.” His cool fingers brushed over her forehead.
Oh, that felt sooo nice.
“You just had to hold my hair while I vomited. Then you cleaned the bucket. And now you’re going to get sick. I’m going to make you sick. You need to leave. Let me die in peace.”
“You’re not dying,” he said in an amused voice. “And I don’t think being hungover is contagious.”
Hungover. She wasn’t hungover . . . clearly, she had the flu. She never drank enough to be hungover . . .
Uh oh.
Double uh oh.
She could remember sitting on the couch, feeling sorry for herself and the Birthday Cake Baileys . . .
“Oh shit.”
Opening her eyes, she stared up at Brody. “I drank too much.”
He grimaced. “Yep.”
She flushed red. Here he was, looking as cute as ever while she had to look like a fright. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d showered. Or eaten. Which is probably why she felt so crappy as well.
Rolling over onto her stomach, she buried her face into the pillow, even though that made the urge to vomit again worse.
“Tutu? Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t look at me.”
“Sweetie—”
“I’m hideous!” she wailed.
“Autumn, you’re not hideous.” He settled on the bed next to her. What was he doing? She stank. And she’d just vomited in front of him. Why would he ever want to hold her or kiss her again? What was he even doing here? He hadn’t been around for days, he’d barely answered her texts. And yet he was here today when she was gross and disgusting.
“I am. Please. Just go away.”
He placed his hand on her back and she shied away.
“Autumn, please. I don’t like seeing you like this.”
“Please, just go.” She wanted to wallow. To cry and sulk and feel sorry for herself.
And pee.
Lord, she needed to pee.
A memory danced at the edge of her mind. But she couldn’t quite pin it down. Anyway, that didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was her extreme grossness and embarrassment.
“I can’t leave you.”
“Sure, you can. You go out the same way you came in.” She winced after saying that. It sounded so rude.
He removed his hand from her back. This was it. He was going to tell her that he was leaving. He was going to walk out and never come back.
“I can’t leave you until I make sure you’re going to be okay,” he whispered.
“I’m fine.”
“Right. So fine that you drank a bottle of Baileys last night and then tried to chase it down with some sleeping pills?”
She froze.
Had she done that?
She hadn’t, right? Because that was extremely dangerous.
“Please look at me, Autumn.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Because you’re mad at me? I really am sorry I haven’t been around. I was an idiot. I was working through something, but I never should have pulled back from you. I’ll understand if you’d rather I left and never returned. But I can’t do that until I know you’re all good. So please look at me. Please tell me that you weren’t trying to . . . trying to . . .”
Trying to what?
Drown her sorrows in booze and pills.
Oh.
Turning slowly so she wouldn’t make herself too dizzy, she glanced up into his concerned eyes. No, that wasn’t just concern. She thought she saw guilt there as well.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I didn’t try to . . . to hurt myself. I wasn’t thinking. I mean . . . I wouldn’t have . . . I wouldn’t have taken the pills if I’d been thinking straight. And I definitely wouldn’t have drunk an entire bottle of liqueur. It was so tasty though. Birthday Cake. Yummy. That was my last bottle too.” She put her hand on her tummy. “Although I don’t think I’ll be having more anytime soon.”
“Probably smart.”
She stared up at him. She waited for him to scold her. To give her a disapproving look. But he didn’t do any of those things. He just looked sad.
“Brody? What’s wrong? Are you . . . did you come here to break up with me?” Tears welled in her eyes. He stared down at her in shock. But before he could say anything, she spoke again. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were, I get it. I’m a lot of work. A mess.”
“You’re not a mess.”
“I am. What happened proves that. I nearly took sleeping pills on top of drinking too much. And who knows how many I would have taken. I wasn’t trying to make myself ill or anything, but I also wasn’t thinking properly. I just wanted the pain to go away for a while.”