Page 15 of The Thug And His Doll

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Toby whispers, his skinny shoulders rolling over as he drops his head.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” she replies, cupping his chin and lifting his head. “It’s not your fault you’re ill.”

I hear the unspoken words she doesn’t say, she blames herself. I see it in the tense way she holds herself, the concern in her eyes, and the sadness that silently gathers in the bathroom around us.

“How about we get you back into bed?” she asks him, plastering on a smile as she pushes upwards, taking the soft towel that I silently hand to her.

“But I threw up all over it. Where will I sleep?”

“That’s okay, buddy. The cleaners came up to change the bedding whilst your Ma got you all cleaned up. It’s like nothing ever happened,” I explain, grateful that my sister didn’t question why I needed the bed sheets changed fifteen minutes after we entered the room. Pretty sure she’ll have a hell of a lot of questions for me tomorrow, but right now she’s leaving me to deal with this on my own.

“I’m so sleepy,” he says, flicking his gaze back to Lia as she helps him out of the bath.

Stepping back out into the suite to give them some privacy, I stride over to the kitchenette, flipping on the switch to the kettle. The expensive machine silently heats the water as I busy myself grabbing a couple of chamomile tea bags from the vast selection of expensive teas and coffee displayed on the counter. If Daphne says it can help to relax a person, then I’m gonna pour a cup for Lia and me. Can’t hurt to try.

Leaning against the counter, I scrape a hand through my hair questioning what the fuck I think I’m doing. Lia and Toby aren’t my responsibility, and yet the longer I’m in their company the more protective I feel, which is fucking ridiculous since I’ve only known them for such a short amount of time.

No doubt Daisy will find great pleasure in psychoanalysing me. She’ll tell me it’s because of my past and the experiences I had as a kid. To a certain extent she’d be right, but there’s more to it than the urge to help out someone in need. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to Lia’s soft curves, pretty eyes and full lips. She’s a beautiful woman, and you’d have to be fucking blind not to notice. Not to mention a fucking incredible mother. Whatever her story is, she’s protecting her son out of a fierce kind of love. A love both me and Daisy were sorely lacking from our own parents growing up. Fortunately for the both of us, we were adopted by a man I was proud to call my father; the late, great, Hubert Hammer. He was always such a good judge of character, and he appreciated, and respected women as much as I do. And I sure do appreciate Lia.

“Fuck, get a grip man,” I scold myself. This ain’t the time to start thinking sinful thoughts about a woman who has the weight of the world on her shoulders.

When Lia finally enters the suite with Toby cuddled against her chest it’s past three in the morning, and none of us have had a wink of sleep. I’m usually a night owl, but fuck, this whole experience has been exhausting. Christ knows how Lia has kept going, she’s a fucking saint cleaning up after her kid without uttering a single complaint. I’ve watched her take care of Toby, reassuring him and keeping him calm these past few hours, and my admiration for her has only grown. I may not know anything about her, but I do know that she’s a good woman.

I watch as she lays him down on the bed, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. He immediately closes his eyes, and within seconds he’s asleep. For a moment she just watches him, her fingers gently stroking his damp hair. Then with a deep sigh, she pushes upwards and walks towards me.

“That was pretty rough going,” I say, handing her the cup of chamomile tea that she takes from me, placing it on the marble island separating us. “Do you think he might throw up again?”

She rubs at her forehead, glancing over at him. “I hope not.”

“You should drink the tea, sleep,” I encourage her, taking a sip from my own cup and wrinkling my nose at the taste. It ain’t as tasty as the black coffee I usually drink, that’s for sure.

“Actually, I could really do with taking a shower,” she sighs wearily.

“Then you go do that. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Her gaze meets mine, and the tense lines of her face relax a little, but still she remains standing where she is, uncertain once more.

“I’ve got this. Promise,” I reassure her.

“Okay,” she agrees. “Thank you.”

I watch her walk across the room and reach for her suitcase, pulling out some clothes and a washbag, cursing myself again for staring at her arse. With one last glance at me she heads into the bathroom and quietly closes the door behind her.

Moments later my phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out, answering the call from my best mate. “What’s up, Dalton?”

“Have you fucked her yet?” comes his immediate reply. I can hear the smirk in his voice and, frankly, it pisses me off.

“No, I haven’t,” I snap, annoyance littering my voice. “Not everyone is like you.”

“So you steal my shag-suite and don’t even fuck the woman you take up there?” he asks amused, not in the least bit put off by my anger. “You need to up your game.”

“Firstly, she’s got a kid with her, arsehole, and secondly this ain’t no game,” I growl into the mouthpiece.

“Then what is it? Have you grown a conscience in your old age?”

“I resent that remark, dickhead. Besides, it ain’t me who needs to grow a conscience. I’m not the one fucking every woman who looks his way.”

“Fuck, tetchy much,” he counters, and I hear the distinct sound of a woman moaning.

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