Page 63 of Wicked Truths

I have no idea what I’m doing, but I also don’t force myself to climb out of the bed. The room smells strongly of Oakley’s lavender scent, and that’s all I need to finally relax enough to drift off to sleep.

* * *

“Yo.” Marcus’s voice wakes me out of a dead sleep.

My eyes pop open, and I’m instantly on alert. The room is filled with the scent of Oakley’s perfume. She’s glued to my chest, and she’s hot. Like considerably warmer than a human being should ever be.

My fingers brush down her sweat-soaked back.

“She’s burning my hand through the material,” I say in barely more than a whisper.

My eyes fly up to Marcus’s and he nods.

“Yeah, that’s why I woke you. I just got off the phone with Jamen. She needs to see a doctor, and there’s more bullshit abound with Angel. She decided to out who she claims is my biological father.” His jaw is tight, but he blows out a breath, pulling his shoulders back. “That doesn’t matter. We need to get packed and be ready to leave as soon as possible.”

“There’s no way she’s doing a show tomorrow night if she’s in heat,” I growl as Oakley whimpers in her sleep. Today was supposed to be a no-show, travel day.

“I told Jamen as much. He’s already on the warpath. He’s pulling both opening acts from the tour. He’s giving us a two-week hiatus because of the shit that went down with Angel. As a consequence, Mourning Glory is fucked because I won’t be able to cover.” He grimaces but shrugs. “It is what it is. He’s also getting Oakley in with a specialist at one of those omega sanctuary places. Fuck.” His head shakes. “We’re going to have to move her. She was whining in her sleep. It’s what woke me up.”

“Can’t they just send a doctor here?” I suggest.

“It didn’t sound like it. Jamen is calling again. Keep an eye on her for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response, simply turns around and strides out of the room.

“I don’t feel so good,” Oakley groans against my shoulder. “Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick.” I grunt, scooping her up and aiming for the attached bathroom. “Just set me down on the edge of the tub.” I comply, but my impulses don’t want to let her out of my sight. “You can go.” She wobbles a little bit, and I take a step forward. “You should go. I’m definitely going to vomit.”

“I should stay.”

“Hawk, get out.” She leans close to the toilet bowl and my fists clench. Being a pushy son of a bitch won’t get me very far if she ends up completely kicking me out.

I nod, stomp out of the room, and aim for the kitchenette to grab her a bottle of water.

Marcus talks on the phone in the corner of the living room, but I ignore him in favor of what I came for.

I grab what I need and make it back into their room, pacing the floor similarly to a caged lion.

My head falls back as it shakes.

I don’t do well when I feel helpless, and that feeling seems to be clawing at my chest from the inside out.

Oakley chokes and gags. A minute or so later, the sounds of vomiting fill the air.

I’m striding into the bathroom before I can stop myself. I drop the water bottle on the counter, flick on the sink to give her some background noise, and wrap her hair up in one hand.

My other palm runs over her back, trying to give her comfort. She’s physically burning my skin through the material.

It’s not a good sign.

Oakley finally settles. She doesn’t fight me as I smash the handle to flush and help her over to the sink.

“Try not to brush just yet. It’s not great for the enamel of your teeth.” I run my hand down her back and turn to grab a washcloth.

“You should go. I’m pretty sure I caught the flu.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and they’re beet red. I suck in a sharp breath. I know some of the redness on her face is from vomiting, but her pale skin is blotchy, and she has broken blood vessels on her cheeks and near her eyes.

“Where are your pills?” Marcus asks from just outside the doorway.

Oakley groans, making a grab for her makeup bag at the back of the counter. My hand falls to her hip and stomach as I flip the lid and grab the packet of suppressants.

I turn, shoving them at Marcus’s outstretched hand.

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