Chapter 7
Pain ripped through Brooks’s gut. He moaned and pressed his back into the seat. Every time he opened his eyes, the glare of headlights or streetlamps incinerated his brain. The sound of the tires whirring made his head pound. He’d lost track of how long they’d been driving, but the darkness told him they were a long way from morning.
“Just hang on. You’re going to be fine. It’s all fine. Breathe...” Cam’s soft, steady voice was like a lifeline in a tumultuous sea. He clung to every syllable, praying she wouldn’t stop talking.
His breastplate threatened to crack with every bang of his heart. Damn, this withdrawal was hitting him fast and hard. Probably because they’d given him the sedative too soon, while the drug was still working in his system. “Where are we?” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“Almost in Battle Mountain.”
“Nevada?”
“Yeah. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He grunted, but even that took too much effort. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax the tension in his neck. The symptoms would only get worse. He had to summon his strength. At least until they got to the motel and he could let his body push the drug from his system.
The vehicle slowed. The car hit a bump, tossing him into the window.
“Sorry,” Cam said on a squeak. She lurched to a stop in the parking lot, throwing him forward.
“You trying to make me puke?”
“No, I’m trying to hurry so you can rest,” she said, her tone sharp enough to impale him.
An apology burned his tongue. If she hadn’t taken him in, he’d be suffering in a park right now.
“Stay here.” She leaped out of the car and ran toward the front entrance.
A low buzz started behind his ears and worked its way through his senses. He dropped his hand to the button for the window. As it rolled down, he gulped a breath of cool desert air. Sweat droplets rolled into his mouth, and the taste of salt hit his tongue.
This is the last time.
Never again would he go through withdrawal because from here on out, he wasn’t taking the drug—or any drug—ever again. He’d rather die. The door opened and Camryn dropped into the seat.
“We’re at the end. Hold on.” She whipped the car backward, making him jiggle in the seat. The nausea seized his gag reflex. The vehicle lurched to a stop outside the door marked 110.
Slowly, he unbuckled his seatbelt. Had he put it on? No. Cam must have while he was out of it. The passenger door opened, and Cam’s slight hands wiggled under his arm as if she could actually pull him to his feet.
“C’mon,” she coaxed. “One foot at a time.”
He followed her direction. As soon as his feet were under him, she slithered her much smaller body under his arm, bearing a portion of his weight. And hell if admiration didn’t flow through him as she kept him upright until they reached the unit. Leaning against the doorframe, he waited for her to unlock the door. She returned to her position against his side, aided him into the room, and lowered him to the bed.
“I’ll be right back. Just getting the stuff from the car.”
Brooks knelt and folded his body so his face lay on a pillow. The musty scent of the hotel’s unwashed comforter made him cringe, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
The click of the lock told him Camryn had returned. “Listen,” she said, her voice strong and confident. “I swiped a vial of the drug from the twelfth floor. I wanted to keep it for evidence, but maybe you can use it to wean—”
“No,” he growled. He didn’t look at her.
“It could help with the effects. We only have one, so it won’t do much. But if it makes it more tolerable—”
“Dammit, I said no!” he yelled. He turned to face her. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving only her lips pink. Regret twisted inside his chest like a knife. “No. Okay?” he said, more softly. “It—it makes me dangerous. I could... hurt you or anyone else who’s within miles of this place. I can’t do that again.” Guilt exploded inside of him, making the agony burning beneath his skin almost unbearable.
“I understand. I’m sorry. I just hate to see you go through this.” She pulled a white bottle from the bag at her feet. “How about Advil? Might take the edge off?”
He shook his head again. Advil. Christ. What did she think—he’d had a few too many beers? He bit back the snarky comment that would only hurt her feelings and swallowed the rage that expanded in his throat. It wasn’t her fault he was in this. Actually, he owed her his life. And as soon as he was on his feet, he’d be sure she knew how grateful he was. But until then, he could only do what was required to stay alive. Keeping manners and feelings in check wasn’t one of those things.
The screeching sound of a whistle ringing in his head made him cry out and cover his ears.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Cam’s panicked voice broke through the waxy fog closing in around him.
He couldn’t explain the surges in his body. The level to which he was tuned in to his energy crackling, his blood flowing, his veins expanding. Every thought was as loud as a gunshot. He closed his eyes and rocked himself back and forth, hanging onto the little thread of Brooks that was still inside him. If he didn’t succumb to the rising panic and rage, he—and Cam—just might survive this.
***
Minutes ticked byas Cam waited for Brooks to stop jostling himself on the bed. Her fingers ached with the need to touch him, to evaluate his stability, but the trembling of his shoulders stopped her.
“Brooks? Can you lie flat so I can check your vitals?”
He lifted his head. Bloodshot eyes met hers, and she staggered back.
“Go,” he said. “You can’t be here.”
She caught the nightstand for support. His arms quivered. Goosebumps covered his skin, making his arm hair stand straight up. His skin was nearly gray. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, soaking his shirt. She couldn’t leave him like this. With his body already depleted of food and no one to monitor his symptoms, he might die.
Steeling herself, she dropped to her knees beside the bed. “I’m going to see you through this.”
He sat back on his haunches and snagged her shoulders, towing her to his face. His grip was unrelenting but not painful. Despite the red-tainted whites of his eyes, the blues of his irises were bright. “You can’t. I could hurt you.” He tore his hands from her shoulders and slumped onto the bed. His breath rode out of his lips rapidly.
She turned for her medical bag, which was packed inside her duffel. She’d encountered dangerous patients before. It was part of the job. All she could hope was that he stayed coherent enough to know she wasn’t a threat.
She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her hand to his chest. His heart pummeled against her palm. “Okay, Brooks. I’m going to listen to your heart and check your blood pressure. I’ll need to do this often, so bear with me. If you need a minute, just hold up your hand or tell me.”
He sucked back a moan. “Please, Cam... you need to get out of here. It’s not safe. I don’t want to—”
“Shh, shhh,” she said softly, stroking her fingers through his gritty hair. “You’re going to be okay. You won’t hurt me or anyone. You’re in control here.”
His breathing slowed.
She waited, continuing to move her hand over his scalp in a steady motion, since it seemed to calm him.
“K-Keep talking,” he said, the words so weak they were barely audible. “P-Please.”
She frowned and leaned closer.
“Your voice—it helps.”
She inhaled deeply. Talk. Okay... “You’re going to pull through this. You just need to focus on your breath, and on my voice. As soon as you’re up to it, there’s a hot shower waiting, and a warm meal.”
A shudder ran over his body and his teeth clanked together. His shirt was soaking with sweat. She needed to get it off him, but she’d wait until the next time he moved to help him remove it. She opened her medical bag, pulled out her stethoscope, and fit the rubber nubs into her ears. “Stay with me, Brooks. I’m going to listen to your heart.”
He didn’t flinch or indicate that she should stop. She slid her hand under his shirt, pressed the metal diaphragm to his chest, and moved the piece around. His heart thumped rapidly—alarmingly fast, but strong. Next, she’d take his blood pressure. Wrapping the cuff around his bicep, she pressed the end of the stethoscope to the crook of his elbow. She counted for a minute.
Holy shit.
“It’s always high,” he said.
She shifted her gaze to his face. He watched her through half-closed eyes. The skin around them was shiny. “How high?” she asked.
His shoulder jerked in a weak shrug. “Not like they told me.”
“I’ll need to keep an eye on it.”
“Not going to the hospital.” He gave one hard shake of his head. “I’ll die here.”
She ripped off the cuff. “Great,” she said sarcastically.
He shifted to his side, his face contorted.
She straightened. “Are you okay?”
He twisted into a fetal position. More sweat rolled down his face. He cupped his hand over his forehead. She pressed her palm to the skin on his arm—scorching hot. She had to cool him down.
Standing, she grabbed the ice bucket from the top of the mini-fridge and went to the bathroom. After filling it with lukewarm water and grabbing a washcloth, she returned to the bed. She set the bucket on the nightstand and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Brooks, we need to get your shirt off and cool you down.”
He didn’t move.
“Brooks?”
He dropped his hand away from his face and pushed into a sitting position on the side of the bed. His weight teetered, and he folded forward. She pressed her hands into his chest, stopping him from taking her down. “Hey, you need to sit up,” she said, gasping. Her arms threatened to buckle.
His unfocused gaze crawled up her body. “You need to go.” His voice broke with desperation. Tears mingled with his lashes.
Her heart constricted. The moisture left her mouth. She took in his sallow, gray skin, the crinkle in his brow. Heard the waver in his voice. He caught her arms, pinning them to her sides.
“Please, dammit. Just go—I don’t want to fucking hurt you.” He spoke the last part through clenched teeth.
She wiggled free from his hold and brought her palms to his cheeks. “I’m staying with you.”
He hung his head, and tears coursed down his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her waist and burrowed his face into her neck. His soft sobs ripped at her heart. Running her hands over his shoulders, down his back, then up to his hair, she murmured softly, “It’s going to be okay. You’ll get through this. Just breathe...”
Minutes dallied on. Slowly, he pulled away, his gaze lowered.
“I’m going to get this shirt off you, okay?” She caught the hem and tugged it up. He lifted his arms, and she pulled it over his head. Tossing it to the floor, she took in the sight before her. Later, she’d make a point of examining the ink that decorated his upper body, but at the moment, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his stacked muscles. Bandages still covered his midsection.
She eased him back onto the bed. He lay his head on the pillows so it was slightly elevated. She sat beside him and dipped the washcloth into the water. After wringing out the excess moisture, she wiped his forehead then his cheeks, taking care to avoid his bruises. Most of his cuts had healed. Weird.
“That’s nice,” he said. His voice had taken on a dreamy quality. He blinked heavily.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered.
He obeyed. His hand moved across the mattress. He brought his palm to her knee, and his fingers cupped the inside of her thigh. A low hum started beneath her flesh. She pushed it from her mind.
“Cam,” he said, his eyes still closed.
“Mmm?”
“Tell me something. About you, please.” He spoke softly, his request desperate, like that of a child struggling with a nightmare and begging for one more story.
She relaxed her shoulders and moved the cloth over his pec. There was little she could do to take his pain away. All she could do was help him through each wave of the withdrawal—and if her voice helped, she’d tell him anything.
“Okay.” Several beats passed. “When I was young, my sister got pregnant. She had a little boy named Isaac. It was tough for Stacey, my sister. And it was especially tough for Isaac, not knowing his biological dad...”
Soft breaths broke through Brooks’ lips.
She continued talking until he drifted off to sleep. She’d let herself get sucked back to thoughts of her family. Of Isaac. Of her sister’s tragic death and Isaac’s rage and hatred toward her mother. Drugs hadn’t conquered Isaac’s pain. They’d only intensified it and his need for revenge on someone—anyone he could blame.
Guilt made her press her lips together. She was to blame.
***
Nausea hit Brookswith the force of bowling balls smashing together. He shivered. His teeth chattered. He rolled to his side and curled his arms around his waist. Wetness coated his skin, making his arms stick to his abdomen. He hadn’t been sick since he was a kid, but the wrenching of his intestines was bringing back vicious memories of high fevers. His mom had given him ice-cold baths. He kept grasping for her face, but every time it came into focus, the image floated away.
The withdrawal.
Jesus.
He cracked open his eyelids. A bucket with a washcloth dangling over the edge sat on the nightstand. A blurry sheen covered his vision. The bed tilted beneath him, and his body threatened to roll off the side of it. He gripped the nightstand, anchoring himself so he could drag his foggy gaze around the rest of the cheap motel room.
Cam. Had she left? He’d told her to, dammit. He couldn’t blame her. She hadn’t signed up to care for a junkie. He yearned for her presence, for her touch and voice, the one beacon in this nefarious sea.
The click of the bathroom door opening reached his ears, but he couldn’t turn in the direction of the sound. The quick rustling of footsteps followed.
“You’re awake?” With a featherlight touch, Cam brushed his hair away from his forehead. She flattened the back of her hand to his cheek, then his brow, then settled her palm on his shoulder. Relief so great brought tears to his eyes, but not enough to squelch the acidity bubbling in his stomach.
“How are you feeling?”
He ached to look at her. To find her green eyes and lose himself in her care, but turning his head might kill him. “Like death.” Jeez. He hated the whine in his voice.
As she moved closer to his head, he forced his eyelids open. She’d pulled her hair back. Her face was freshly scrubbed, and the scent of minty toothpaste was faint on her breath.
“You’re warm. How about some water?” She swept her hand under his head and lifted it an inch then guided a straw to his lips. The cool liquid touched his tongue, swam in his mouth, before he swallowed over the grittiness in his throat. He groaned in delight and sucked back the rest of the water.
“Not too much,” she said softly.
After lowering his head back to the pillow, she picked up the bucket from the nightstand, disappeared, and returned a few minutes later. The bed dipped slightly as she sat. “I’ve been checking your vitals. Blood pressure is still high, but you seem to be handling it well.”
A cool cloth grazed his shoulders and the back of his neck.
“It’s the drug.” The statement took more effort to make than it should have.
She frowned and dabbed at his hairline. “I know the drug is causing the withdrawal—”
“No.” He coughed, clearing the grogginess from his throat. “My body repairs itself faster than normal. It’s the only perk.”
“Interesting.” She lowered the washcloth then brought her fingers to the bruise by his lip. “This is almost healed. It was swollen the other night.”
“It’ll be gone tomorrow.”
Her knuckles dusted over his beard, her gaze intent on his profile. “Won’t that change now that you’re not taking the drug anymore?”
Bile flopped in his stomach. He bolted upright, a gag lodging in his throat. Cam caught his shoulders, not revealing any fear of getting puked on.
“Easy, easy. What’s wrong?”
“Sick.”
She ran to the bathroom and returned seconds later with an empty wastebasket. “Here.”
He shoved it away. The putrid taste of vomit crawled up his esophagus, but there was no way in hell he’d puke in something she was holding. He gagged again and crushed his knuckles to his lips.
“It’s okay,” Cam said, rubbing his back. “Let it out.”
Jesus, had he no dignity? He struggled to stand. The floor seesawed beneath his feet. Cam propped her shoulder under his armpit.
“You need to sit down. If you fall in the bathroom, I won’t be able to get you up.”
He caught the wall with his hand, pulling out of her grasp and stumbling to the bathroom. “I’m fine.” Trudging his feet across the cold tile, he lowered himself to the toilet. He didn’t even get the chance to shoo Cam out before he emptied his stomach. Her hand ran up and down his back in a slow movement as he retched. He sucked back one breath after another, and the nausea settled. Cam filled a glass with water and handed it to him. He coiled away. His stomach would reject anything he put into it.
“Small sips this time.”
The foul taste in his mouth made him comply. First, he rinsed his mouth, spitting the excess in the toilet, then he swallowed a tiny mouthful. Exhaustion pulled at his muscles and fatigue made the tendons in his neck too limp to hold up his head.
“C’mon, back to bed.”
He rose on shaky legs. This time he didn’t resist her help. He’d be more embarrassed if he woke up on the floor. “How long have we been here? What time is it?” He dropped onto the bed.
She caught his feet and swung them on top of the mattress. “Four hours or so. It’s almost 5:00 a.m.”
He groaned. “You haven’t slept yet?”
She tickled her fingers through his hair. “No. I’m fine.”
Another bout of sickness gripped his insides. He held his stomach while the pain throbbed across his midsection. Cam moved to the other side of the bed. The mattress tilted as she shimmied close to him. He glanced over his shoulder to see her sitting at his back.
“Rest,” she said.
Before she could stroke his hair again, he caught her fingers and turned to face her. It wasn’t fair that she’d been up all night because of him. If he weren’t sick as a damn dog, he’d sleep on the floor so she could take the bed. His brain fuzzed again as the need for the drug ravaged his psyche.
He swept his arm around her waist and pressed his face to her abdomen. “I will if you will.”
She stiffened. A beat later, her hands, so fucking gentle he craved them more than the drug, settled on the bare skin of his back. Her legs stretched out, and she reclined. The steady rise and fall of her belly slowed his heart rate to a tolerable pump.
His body jerked and withered. His head pounded like a jackhammer rattling his fucking skull, but the scent of Cam made it all worth it. He dragged one deep breath in his nose after another, savoring each note of the fragrance that touched his memory but that he couldn’t put a finger on... Lavender and some kind of citrus with a hint of something sweet. God, it was nice. If aromatherapy were his thing, he’d breathe her in all day.
Soft puffs of air met his ears, and the rising and falling of her belly grew steady. He curled closer to her body, holding her slim waist in his hand, anchoring himself to the only solid thing in his fucked-up world. Sleep yanked him deep into its clutches, but this time, he welcomed its darkness.