Page 5 of Your Second Chance
“Let me help you,” I said, my voice quieter.
She stared at me for a moment, like she wanted to argue, but then she gave a small, tired nod. I reached forward and dabbed the wet towel gently against her face, wiping the sweat and remnants of sickness from her skin.
Her shoulders sagged as she closed her eyes, like the smallest act of care was too much for her to fight against.
“You think you can get up enough to grab some water?” I asked and looked down at her.
She nodded.
I stood up and held out my hands. She reached for them and slowly stood up, dropping my hands as soon as she did.
I led her out of the bathroom, keeping my pace slow as she followed me down the hall to our small kitchen. She still looked pale, her steps unsteady, but she held herself together as best she could.
I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting off the cap before handing it to her. She took it with a small nod and sipped carefully, like even that was a struggle.
“Thank you,” she murmured, holding the bottle up in acknowledgment. “I just—I think I got sick.”
“That’s alright.” I leaned back against the counter. “Happens to the best of us, especially after a heavy night out.”
She gave me a weak twist of her lips—something that might’ve been a smile if she wasn’t so wiped out—but her eyes flicked past my shoulder, unfocused and distant.
“I’m going to head back to my flat and rest.”
I frowned. “You got a car to drive?”
She hesitated, and that told me everything I needed to know.
I straightened up, crossing my arms. “You don’t look like you should be driving anyway.”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, though she didn’t sound convincing. “I live far. I’ll take the tube.”
I narrowed my eyes at her.
“No, you won’t. Not in this state, you’re not.” I grabbed her hand. “I’m taking you home.”
Her gaze flicked to mine, and she shook her hand out of my grip.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“IknowI don’t need to,” I replied, holding her gaze. “But you look like you might pass out halfway down the path, and I’d rather not hear about that in tomorrow’s headlines.”
“I’m in no mood to argue, so if we’re going, let’s go,” she finally said with a deep exhale.
I smiled, seemingly satisfied that I’d won, and walked as she grabbed her bag out of an empty office.
We walked down the steps, and I guided us down the block to where my car was parked. The fresh air seemed to do her some good—the color was coming back to her cheeks, and her steps were steadier.
I pulled open the passenger door and held it for her. She climbed in quickly, a soft laugh slipping from her lips as she settled into the seat.
“What’s funny?” I asked, shutting the door behind her and rounding the car.
“I forget it’s on the opposite side,” she admitted as I slid into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know if I’d ever get the hang of driving like this.”
Ah. She must have just moved here.
“You’re new, then?” I asked as I started the car.
It would explain the hangover. Americans always underestimated London pubs—some were open late, but people from the States tended to act like they’d never seen a pint before.
