Page 104 of Red Flagged
Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she ask me for help? Was she afraid I’d be angry? Afraid I’d leave? After everything—everything—didn’t she know I’d drop it all and run to her? That there was nothing I wouldn’t have done?
She needed me. Sheneeded me.And I hadn’t been here.
She couldn’t do this alone. At least, she shouldn’t have to do it alone. And right now, who knew if she’d even eaten, or hydrated, or if she was evenokay.
I drew in a breath, shaky and shallow, trying to slow the spinning. The plastic tests rattled softly as I loosened my grip. The sound of my own breathing filled the small room, uneven and desperate.
I didn’t even realize I was crying at first.
It took everything in me to move. To push myself to my feet, to wipe my hands on my joggers, to stand up straight. I forced myself to put the tests down. Then I went back into her room, kicking off my shoes as I sat on the edge of the bed, shifting so I could tuck an arm under her, pulling her closer. She whimpered but didn’t fight it, her body limp against me.
My strong woman felt so weak in my arms, and that nearly fucking took me out.
"Hey, hey," I murmured, pressing my lips to her temple. She smelled like sweat and lavender and everything I missed and loved all at once. One hand splayed over her lower abdomen, hoping I could take away the pain she was in. "I need you to wake up for me, baby."
Another tiny noise. Her brows knitted, her lashes fluttering. Then, finally,finally, her eyes cracked open, glassy and unfocused.
"Callum?" Her voice was hoarse. Confused.
My chest ached. "Yeah, baby. I'm here."
She blinked slowly. "How’d you…?"
"Doesn’t matter." I brushed my knuckles down her cheek, my other arm still wrapped around her, feeling how lethargic and overheated she was. "What’s going on, huh?"
She swallowed, and it took her a second to answer. "Just… tired." Her voice cracked on the last word. Not from pain—grief. Like saying it out loud took something from her.
She didn’t want me to know. Didn’t want me tosee.
I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep my voice steady. "You feel like you have a fever. When’s the last time you ate?"
She didn’t answer.
But her brow pinched, and a single tear tracked from the corner of her eye down into the pillow.
Fuck.
I shifted, tucking the blanket tighter around her. She didn’t even flinch at the movement.
"I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere."
She made a quiet noise that was somewhere between a sob and a snort. "Not planning on it."
Her voice was threadbare, barely there. I kissed her forehead before I stood and left the room, following a hallway until it spit me out beside a staircase and an open view of the dark living room and kitchen. I flicked on the lights and saw the mess.
Chest tight and lungs barely functioning, I walked closer. There were open bags full of supplies. Items laid out with bloody fingerprints on the packaging. An empty box of pregnancy tests. More feminine products. Ibuprofen. A heating pad tangled in its cord. Empty water glasses. An untouched box of saltines.
It was like she’d been preparing to take care of herself without letting anyone else in. Like she’d been waiting for the storm to pass on its own. Like she hadn’t planned to tell a single soul.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
The realization hit me like a fucking train.
She had been suffering.Alone.
I brought the water back to her room, hands still shaking. I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed a cold pack from the freezer until I saw the condensation dripping onto the floor. My brain was operating in fragments, one task at a time, anything to keep from spiraling completely.
