Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(98)

My stomach twisted, a gnashing, sudden ache I couldn’t recall ever experiencing before, making it momentarily hard to breathe.

She’s sick. She’s really, really sick.

Biting back both my fear and the inexplicable urge to yell at her, to reprimand her for not calling me, not asking me for help, I wiped my hands on a towel. Reprimanding her in this moment would’ve been ridiculous and cruel for several reasons, the least of which was how she swayed on her feet. Not only was she sick, she was clearly exhausted.

Flipping off the stove, I swung Sonya off my back and set her on the ground. “Sonya, darling, please pick up your toys so your momma doesn’t trip,” I said, rushing over to Charlotte and her stunned, bewildered expression.

The first thing I wanted to do—dirty clothes and bewilderment be damned—was gather her in my arms and kiss the hell out of her. But her bloodless lips and the green tint to her coloring had me pulling her into a gentle hug instead.

“Are you really here?” she asked once I embraced her, her voice scratchy and weak.

“I am.” I smoothed a hand down her back, her cheek burned against my neck, and I ground my jaw. Frustration an entire damn mountain on my chest.

I should’ve made chicken soup. I should’ve come over earlier. I should’ve ignored her demand that I hold off on selling the club. I should’ve spent the last few weeks cleaning up my image so I didn’t have to be here under the ruse of owing a debt to Jackson ‘Beige’ James or asking Beau to move my truck elsewhere.

Her hands lifted and gripped my shirt, a broken sob shaking out of her. “I can’t believe you’re here. How are you here?”

“Shh.” Reluctantly, I separated us and pressed my hand to her forehead. The ache in my stomach returned. “Angel, you’re burning up.” I kept my voice low so her babies wouldn’t hear.

Her chin wobbled. “I’m sick.”

“I can see that.” I gave her a lopsided, sympathetic smile, hoping I didn’t look as worried as I felt. “Have you taken anything for the fever?”

Wincing, her dazed stare moved over my shoulder. “Not yet. I need to make dinner.”

“Dinner is done.” I turned her around, placing my arm along her back to keep her steady. “Where is your bedroom? Does it have a bathroom?”

She didn’t answer my question, but her feet shuffled down the hall, her hand braced against the wall.

Cursing under my breath, I bent, tucked an arm beneath her knees, and lifted her into my arms. “Which one is it?”

“Last one”—her head lolled against my shoulder—“at the end.”

I carried her to the room and paused just inside, surveying the surroundings. Spotting another door to the left of the tidy bed, I headed for what I hoped was the bathroom. Once there, I gently set her on the edge of a huge clawfoot bathtub and knelt in front of her.

“This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to find you something for the fever and you’re going to take a lukewarm bath. I’ll keep checking on you, and when the fever is down, you can come out of the bath. When is the last time you ate or drank anything?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t slept much.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

I frowned, my throat tight with emotions I couldn’t name. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

She gave me a sloppy nod but said nothing else. Turning slowly, she fiddled with the faucet, again bracing a hand against the wall. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Worry and fear kept me rooted in my spot at her feet.

“Did you call anyone? To help?” I thought and asked at the same time.

Charlotte faced me again, her eyes now closed, and reached for the hem of her shirt. “I—no.”

That horrible twisting returned below my ribs. This time I required a few seconds to breathe through it before I could form words. “Why not? Why didn’t you call your momma?”

“She’s not good at this kind of stuff,” she said, working to free herself from her shirt.

I helped, taking over and gently pulling it off. I then helped her stand. Not waiting for her shaking hands to do the job, I pulled her shorts and underwear down her legs, helping her step out of them. Her body was hot to the touch, her skin fevered and flushed. She looked like she’d lost weight, and I swallowed around another knot of frustration and fear.

“What about Patty? Or Sienna?” Setting her clothes to the side, I stood and grabbed her hand, guiding her into the tub. “Or Ashley Winston? She’s a nurse. Or—or Jackson?”

Not even self-preservation and selfishness could stop me from asking why she hadn’t called Jackson. Anyone would’ve been better than no one if it meant she’d have help.

“Sienna and Ashley have enough on their plates. Patty isn’t in town, she’s at a conference, but usually I’d call her. And Rae is leaving tomorrow . . .” Her voice trailed off as she settled into the tub, her legs curling up, her arms wrapped around her torso, her eyes still closed. She shivered.

“Momma?” Sonya’s voice called tentatively from the bedroom.

I grabbed a fluffy towel from where it hung on one of the racks and placed it next to the bathtub. “Do not try to leave the bath without me here, okay? I’ll be right back with juice and your medicine.”