Chapter Thirteen
Inside Aubrey's house, Serge stood in the entryway. She hadn't talked to him on the drive to her house despite him telling her that whatever was wrong, he'd fix it.
For how much Aubrey loved to talk, she'd clammed up the moment the meeting was over. Then, shot out of the car when he parked outside her house and rushed inside, disappearing into the back.
He stalked through the living room, down the hall, and hunted her down. No matter what happened, she was taking it too hard. He didn't want to see her upset.
He walked into her bedroom and looked for her. Where the hell had she gone?
A toilet flushed. He walked around the bed and stood in the open doorway to the attached bathroom. Seeing her on her knees in front of the toilet, he reached her in two steps, leaving any irritation behind.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and gathered her hair behind her back. "I've got you."
Her slim body seized, and Aubrey gagged. His chest tightened as he took her weight while her body involuntarily fought against him and the contents of her stomach. He murmured words without putting any thought into them—utterly useless promises. He damned himself for not knowing what to do.
"Try to breathe through your nose." He smoothed her hair back.
Each attempt she made to swallow triggered a chain reaction in her body. At least she hadn't lost more of her stomach's contents. Her head hung forward as a shudder rippled through her.
Letting her hair down, he pulled the nearby towel off the bar and reached toward the sink without losing his grip on her. After wetting the corner, he pulled her back against his chest and applied the dampness to her face. He dabbed her cheeks, lips, and forehead until he sensed her relaxing.
When she no longer gagged and could breathe properly, he carried her into her room. He removed her clothes, pulled back the blankets on her bed, and settled her down. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand resting gently on her stomach.
His only experience was taking care of Alain when he was a kid. There were times when he and his brother ate rotten food that made them sick, leading them to spend all night and day throwing up until they couldn't even walk.
Aubrey kept her face averted and her eyes closed. He gave her time, not wanting her to talk in case her stomach rebelled again. Instead, he cussed himself out for jumping to conclusions.
He believed she was strong enough to attend the meeting with him, but he should've listened when she explained that she was too tired.
She hadn't run away from him. She was ill.
In the car, she hadn't ignored him. She wasn't feeling good.
He'd assumed the worst out of fear of losing her.
He had to remember everything was fresh and new between them. He'd failed to take care of her.
"Bree?" he whispered.
She continued to keep her head turned. "Sick," she mumbled.
"I know." He rubbed her stomach, hoping the action would permeate the blankets covering her and ease her troubled insides. "What can I get for you? What can I do?"
