Chapter 42 Everett
EVERETT
Isit on my couch the next morning with my cell on my knee, waiting for my first message of the morning.
Excitement buzzes through my veins. It’s stupid, but I can’t stop it.
I was a teenager the last time I got excited about a girl messaging me. I’m a fully grown-ass man now. I shouldn’t have butterflies as I wait for her name to flash on my screen.
Hell, I shouldn’t want a lot of things when it comes to Beatrice Walsh, but it seems I have a hard time following any rules when it comes to her.
From the moment I first saw her, everything I thought I knew about women and what I wanted when it came to them shattered around my feet. I might not have accepted it that night, but it was never going to be enough.
One night. One week. One month…
I’m not sure anything will be enough when it comes to her.
I shake my head, unable to believe the thoughts that have been running through it recently.
Not only am I excited about the prospect of fake dating Bea, but I’m also considering the idea of buying a ring.
It’s fake, of course, and we wouldn’t actually get married. But it’s a ring all the same.
The outside world is going to believe it’s real. Or at least, they will if we do a good enough job. I’ll get to keep my spot on the team; Bea will get her inheritance, and we’ll get to welcome our little person into the world together.
It sounds like a perfect plan. Well, assuming I can convince her that she needs a reminder of just how good that night was, because damn it, I need a repeat.
I drag my hand down my face as a laugh erupts. It’s full of disbelief. But the truth is, I need another taste of Beatrice Walsh, because there is no way it could have been as electric as I remember.
When another ten minutes pass and no message arrives, I wake my cell up and check our thread.
Coffees for her and her team arrived fifteen minutes ago, and she hasn’t thanked me yet.
She does it every day. And never more than five minutes after I get the notification that my delivery has been successful.
It’s never taken her this long.
Concern tugs at me, but I tell myself she’s probably got an early client.
But when an hour has passed and I still have nothing, my concern and impatience get the better of me.
Rett: Good morning. How are you feeling today?
I stare at the ticks beneath my message, showing it as unread, the unease is growing.
Something is wrong.
I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Jumping to my feet, I pull up another contact and hit dial as I march toward my hallway and shove my feet into my sneakers.
“Good morning, Mr. Donnelly. What can I do for you?” Sienna sings, the lightness in her voice putting me a little more at ease.
“Is everything okay with Bea?” I bark, unwilling to be distracted by her.
“Oh, uh…she’s called in sick. She—”
I don’t need to hear any more. I’m grabbing my car key and marching through my front door before I know what I’m doing. “Is she at home?” I demand as I jab at the elevator button over and over in the hope it makes it move faster.
“As far as I know, yeah. She said she was struggling with morning sickness. I don’t think she’ll—”
I cut her off, not wanting to hear her opinion.
If Bea is at home feeling like shit, then there is nowhere I need to be but with her.
I do a quick Google search as I descend through my building, and then I make a pitstop on the way to Bea’s apartment for supplies that I hope will help.
I don’t second-guess anything as I put my truck into park, pull the grocery bag from the passenger seat, and march toward the entrance.
But as I approach the door and notice that the intercom is busted and the lock that keeps everyone inside secure is buckled, my hackles rise.
It’s no secret that this part of town isn’t the best. And one look at the surroundings only confirms that. But I assumed her building was safe. Now, I’m not so sure.
As I slip inside and the stench of the stairwell hits my nose, it becomes more and more obvious why Bea didn’t want to direct me back here that first night.
She deserves so much better than this.
I take the stairs two at a time, and only a few minutes later, I’m stepping up to her door. Once upon a time, it was royal blue, but now the paint has faded, it’s chipped and covered in dirt. We’re on the third floor of the building. I dread to think how it got there.
I shake my head, lift my hand, and knock.
Silence.
Well, no. It isn’t silent, because there is music booming from the apartment down the hallway. It’s so loud, I can feel the bass beating through me.
I knock again, only harder this time.
“Bea. It’s Rett. Can you open the door, sweetheart?”
Still nothing.
Unwilling to take no for an answer, I begin hammering on her door, ensuring it’s loud enough to be heard over the drum and bass oozing through the walls.
The longer I stand there, the tighter my teeth clench, and the more my muscles tense. At no point is there a break in the music.
“Beatrice,” I bellow. “Please. Open the door, sweetheart.”
I stand there knocking for so long that I figure that she’s not here.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I check our message thread, but it’s still unread.
Hitting call, I lift my cell to my ear and then press the other to the door.
The second I hear the faint ring, my heart jumps into my throat. I keep my cell pinned to my ear with my shoulder as I start knocking again.
“I swear to God, Bea, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down,” I warn. “I don’t give a fuck if—”
A click on the other side of the door makes my words falter. The sound of locks disengaging hits my ears before, finally, it opens an inch.
Bea doesn’t say anything, nor does she open the door any wider.
Lifting my hand to the old, tattered paintwork, I push it open and step inside.
“Bea, what—” My words die when I finally find her hunched against the wall with her arms around her middle. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
She takes a deep breath before holding her hand up to stop me before she spins on her heels and races down the hallway.
The sound of her heaving rips through the air, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve slammed her front door and I’m chasing after her.
Not taking a second to consider my actions, I step up to her where she’s curled over the toilet, and I gather up her hair, holding it in one hand while the other gently rubs her back.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”
“No,” she whimpers weakly. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I swear, someone wraps something around my chest and pulls it tight.
“But I am, and I’m going to take care of you.”
“No,” she cries again, but it’s barely a whisper this time before she retches again.
Dropping to my knees, I stay there right beside her while she continues to heave. I feel utterly useless as I hold her hair and rub her back, but what else can I do?
Eventually, she places her arm on the toilet seat and rests her head against it.
I remain quiet, waiting for her to say or do something. I’m so far out of my depth here, I have no idea what to do. And while I’m using both my hands, I can’t message anyone for help.
Not that I’d know who to message. The only woman I know who’s had a baby is my mom, and I still haven’t told them about this plot twist.
So instead, I just keep doing what I’m doing, ignoring the sweat that trickles down my back from how hot it is in here, or the way the floor tiles hurt my knees. Neither of those are important right now.
It takes long minutes, but eventually, Bea twists her legs beneath her before resting back against the wall.
“I’m okay,” she says weakly as she wipes the back of her hand across her forehead.
“It’s really fucking hot in here,” I say, dropping to my ass in front of her just in case she needs me again.
“The air conditioning is broken.”
“I can take a look at it for you,” I offer, but she just shakes her head.
“It needs replacing.”
“Right. Okay.”
Silence falls between us as she closes her eyes. Although just like out in the hallway, it isn’t anywhere close to being silent. I don’t mention it, though. I’m pretty sure Bea can hear it just as well as I can.
My heart continues to race as I sit there watching her, wishing I could take her pain away.
Her face is flushed red, and not in the good kind of way.
The circles beneath her eyes are so dark they almost look like bruises.
Her lips are dry and her hair is a mess.
She’s wearing a tank, which is all twisted up, and it’s so thin I’m unable to ignore the fact she’s braless beneath it.
And she’s just wearing a pair of panties on her bottom half.
I understand why. I’m pretty sure I could strip to my underwear and still be sweating right now.
“Tell me what you need,” I beg quietly. “Tell me what to do.”
Slowly, she opens her eyes, letting me see just how tired she is, how much she’s suffering. “Sleep,” she rasps. “I just need to sleep.”
“Right. Okay. We’ve got this,” I say as I climb to my feet, and then, with one arm behind her back and another beneath her knees, I lift her from the floor. “Which is your bedroom?”
“The only one with a bed in it,” she mutters, letting me know that my sassy girl is still there.
I look into the first room we pass, but I keep going when I spot a small kitchen. There is only one more door, and the second I kick it open, I discover what I want. Only…the music is even louder in here.
“It’ll stop soon,” Bea mumbles as if she can read my thoughts.
After placing her in her bed, I sit on the edge beside her as she curls up on her side.
“I wish you’d have called me, sweetheart,” I say softly as I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
Her eyelids flicker closed as she almost instantly begins to drift off.
She’s almost gone when the song changes, the beat drops, and her eyes fly open as it startles her.
“Shit,” she hisses, staring at me. “I’m sorry. It’s—”
“No,” I say, a little more firmly than I was expecting, as I jump to my feet. “Do you have a bag or a suitcase?” I ask, looking around her compact room.
“What? Why?”
I pause at the end of her bed and take her in. She’s exhausted. She needs rest—decent fucking rest that she isn’t going to get here.
“Because I’m packing you a bag,” I state before taking matters into my own hands and opening her closet.
There’s a small carry-on suitcase right there, and I pull it out and throw it onto her bed.
“Tell me what you need.”