Page 25 of Wild Hearts

“Good. Busy. Missing Faith.”

Faith is Alaska’s girl. She was the part-time receptionist for Dusty’s until she went on maternity leave. That’s why the waiting room is such a mess right now. She kept everything tidy and organized, but in her absence, it’s gone to shit—the way it was prior to her arrival.

Probably should hire a temp until she returns.

If she returns.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Faith decided to stay home with her newborn, and I wouldn’t blame her. She’s perfect mother material, the antithesis of my mom.

Grace taps my shoulder. "Can we leave soon?" She nervously licks her dry lips.

“Of course. Give me a minute to say goodbye.” I guess forty-five minutes is her limit in a place like this, and the realization sucks.

Grace nods her head and rocks back on her heels before pausing then rushing out of the room. Worry clenches my gut as my gaze follows her hasty exit.

“I gotta go…”

The murmured farewells fade as I trail her footsteps in time to see Grace disappear into the hallway bathroom.

Debating my choices, I say, "Fuck it," and push the slightly ajar door open wider. Ragged coughing echoes off the walls. Grace is bent over the toilet, her body shuddering with each heave, and I hurry to hold her hair back as wisps of curls cling to her damp skin.

"I've got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’m here."

She continues to vomit until dry heaves are all that’s left, then unrolls some toilet paper, wipes her mouth, and flushes everything away, leaning heavily against me as I help her stand.

More sweat shines on Grace’s forehead even though shivers wrack her body. I strip off my leather jacket and drape it over her trembling frame before settling her on a chair in the kitchen—away from the crowd of people in the living area.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab another water bottle for you and let Timber know what’s going on. Will you be alright for a few minutes?” I hate leaving her alone, but I plan on being quick.

There’s a short groan in response.

When I return two minutes later, a man is kneeling in front of Grace.

"What are you doing?" I bark, marching toward the stranger hanging so close to my girl.

The guy stands and lifts his hands in surrender. "I'm just checking on her. I noticed she looked pale. Thought I could help."

"She's fine."

She's mine.

I glare at the man until he takes the hint and backs off, sparing one more glance toward Grace before leaving. Slipping my arms beneath Grace’s thighs and across her back, I carry her out to my truck and carefully buckle her in. Her breathing is labored as I offer the water bottle with the cap off.

“Here, baby, sip this.” This may be a twenty-four-hour stomach bug, but that doesn’t mean my own belly isn’t in knots worried about her.

Because I hate seeing Grace in pain.

She has to be okay.

The street that leads to her place passes on our left as I opt instead to take her to my home where I can look after her. Sure, it’s still in the middle of a renovation, but I’m not abandoning my girl.

Thankfully, the drive doesn't take long, and soon, we’re through the front door headed straight to my bedroom. My intentions are to get her changed into something dry—not damp with sweat—but her fingers stop me from tugging at her clothes once I set her down.

“I can do it… I need a shower.” Each sentence takes longer than usual as she sways on her feet.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I'll be fine." The words sound painful coming from her raw throat, so I decide not to fight her, which will hopefully speed up the process of getting her to bed.

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