Chapter 27 Sick
Sick
Abby’s glorious tirade was ruined when she emptied her guts into the sink.
She’d felt nauseated all day but had been staving it off with lukewarm tea and fleeting hopes it would pass.
No such luck. She knew it was a long shot—no way she could avoid getting sick after being thrown up on twice and having to hose down a crying kid after a bout of diarrhea.
Abby braced her arm on the edge of the sink and rested her head on it. Behind her, a cabinet opened and closed, then the fridge. Tinker placed a gentle hand on the middle of her back. She tilted her head and took the small glass of water he held, swished, spit, then took a small sip.
“How long have you been sick?” His voice was soft as he took the glass back.
“A few hours. Started feeling nauseous a bit ago.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She let the blanket fall. Now she was hot. “Would it have mattered?”
“Probably not.”
His voice was gentle. She liked it and hated it at the same time. Hated him seeing her in this state. Liked that he was trying to be nice, even when he was angry with her. She might need an intervention.
“Let’s get you to bed.” He slid an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting her into his arms.
Her stomach rolled and she groaned.
“You gonna be sick again?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. She refused. “I hate throwing up.”
“I don’t know anyone who likes it.”
She kept her eyes closed and her head pressed against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to ghost you. I really didn’t have time to process it. Will threw up almost as soon as I opened the envelope. I haven’t even read all of it.”
She didn’t know if she was making things better or worse. She should probably shut up and concentrate on not throwing up on him.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”
Abby raised her head and glared at him. “You seemed pretty insistent a few minutes ago.”
“That was before you blew chunks.” He managed to get her to her room without any more jostling and laid her down in her bed. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
He left her room and returned a few minutes later with the promised water, setting it on the bedside table.
“You want me to move him into his room?” He nodded at Will on the other side of the bed.
“No, it’s easier to get a bucket under him if he’s here.” She pulled the coverlet over her shoulder, suddenly cold.
He nodded. “I moved the papers to the top shelf of your bookcase. I didn’t want Olivia to see them until you’re ready to explain everything to her.”
His voice was flat. Matter of fact. Hardly any intonation. It bothered her. She’d take him yelling at her again over this…nothing.
“Tinker—”
“I’ll give you your space, Abby. Read the full report, then let me know if you still want to know why.” He turned and strode out of her room.
She wanted to call out to him, but what would she say? Let me read it now and we can discuss it afterward? It wasn’t that easy. God, none of this was easy. She needed to talk to someone about it. She needed her mom.
She grabbed her phone from the bedside table. Her mom answered on the second ring.
“Hey, honey. How are the kids?”
“Hey. I think they’re over the worst of it, but now I’m infected.”
“Oh, no. Do you want me to come over?”
Tears welled up and she felt her throat constrict. “Can you?” Her voice sounded thick.
“Abby? What’s wrong? Is this more than just being sick?”
She nodded, then realized her mom couldn’t see her. “I got in a fight with Tinker.”
“What kind of fight?” her mom asked slowly.
Damn it. She heard the hesitation in her mom’s voice and understood Tinker’s reaction better. “Just an argument, but I need someone to talk to. Do you have time?”
“Of course. I’ll be over in about thirty minutes. I need to finish checking out and drop the groceries off at home. How’s your vegetable situation? I think a hearty chicken and vegetable soup would do wonders. I’ll grab a few more things.”
Abby chuckled softly. Her mom was the original Chicken Soup for the Soul mom. She believed it fixed everything. Cold? Chicken soup. Broken leg? Chicken soup. Broken heart? Chicken soup.
“Thank you.” Abby paused. “There are some papers on the top shelf of the bookcase. Can you read them when you get here?”
“Of course. Is that what you and Tinker were arguing over?”
Her mom was also incredibly perceptive. “Yes.”
“Is it bad?” her mom asked.
“It’s not great,” Abby said.
“Okay. Whatever it is, we’ll work through it. I’ll be there soon.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“I love you, sweetie. Try to get some rest.”
“Love you too.” Abby ended the call and set her phone down.
Sighing, she rolled to her side and placed the back of her hand on Will’s forehead. He was warm, but not hot like he was before, and he hadn’t woken up since earlier that morning. He was probably over the worst of it and would sleep the rest of it away.
Tucking her hand under the pillow, she closed her eyes, her mind drifting to Tinker.
There had to be a reason for what he did.
She couldn’t believe he could be violent for no reason.
Didn’t want to believe it. There was no way a man as protective and caring as him would do something like that to another person and not have a motive. He’d been so good with Will and Olivia.
Melanie.
Her eyes flew open. Oh. God.
Another wave of nausea hit her, but not from whatever bug she had. Abby thought about their past conversations, how he’d always steered away from talking about Dani and her switch from dancing to fighting. Whoever Tinker had attacked had hurt Dani.
Her stomach gurgled and spasmed as a wave of real nausea hit her. She threw back the covers and bolted for her bathroom, shutting the door behind her. By the time she returned to her bed, she was wrung out.
Burrowing under the covers, she stared at Will with his brown hair sticking out in every direction. She could only imagine the violence she would be capable of if someone hurt him. She settled her hand gently on his arm, needing the small physical connection with him as her eyes drifted shut.
Abby woke slowly with a heavy weight pressing on the right side of her neck. Fuzzbutt’s fur tickled the corner of her mouth, and she rubbed the spot, before petting the cat. She blinked several times before moving the cat off her neck. He let out a squeak of protest. “I know, buddy.”
The display on the bedside clock showed 11:03. She glanced at her windows and noted it was dark. God, she hoped that was eleven o’clock that night and she hadn’t slept for more than twenty-four hours. The space beside her was empty.
She flipped on the bedside lamp and got up, shuffling across the hall to Olivia’s room.
She opened the door and peeked in. The dim lamp on the opposite side of the room highlighted Olivia’s form under the covers.
Abby padded in next to the bed and placed her hand on Olivia’s forehead. She was no longer warm.
Olivia’s eyes blinked open and she jolted away from Abby’s hand.
“I’m sorry. I was just checking on you. Go back to sleep.”
Olivia nodded, but the fear still lingered in her eyes.
Abby backed away before turning to leave the room. Damn it. She hadn’t even thought about Olivia’s reaction when she touched her. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t meant to wake her or frighten her.
She thought about the note Olivia’s aunt had sent. Fuck. That. Bitch.
Will was tucked into his bed. He didn’t wake when she touched his forehead. His fever had broken as well. He was wearing new pajamas, so he’d gotten up at some point. Her mom must have convinced him to go back to sleep in his own bed, which was a miracle in and of itself.
Abby tiptoed back out of the room and down the hall, finding her mom asleep on the couch. In the kitchen, she found a container of chicken soup and her tea from earlier.
Staring at the microwave, she briefly considered warming up one or both but didn’t want to take the risk of waking her mom. She shrugged and sipped the cold tea.
Back in the living room, she found Tinker’s record on the top shelf of the bookcase. She didn’t know if her mom had returned them or even had a chance to look at them.
Abby took her mug and the papers back to her room. Back in bed, she read the full police report.
By itself, out of any kind of context, it was damning. Tinker had beaten a man named Dimitrii Popov. One sentence in the report caught her attention and confirmed her fears.
She closed her eyes as the words she’d read played through her head.
During initial questioning, the suspect admitted to assaulting the victim, stating that the victim had previously sexually assaulted the suspect’s minor sibling.