RUSH (City Lights, #3)(45)

“I’ve got the pills, Noah. I found them. It’s going to be okay.” I filled a glass with water from the other sink, sloshing it all over my wrist. “Just hold on.”

His reply was to moan and grip the sides of his head as if were trying to keep his skull from breaking apart.

My hands were shaking so badly, it was a miracle I got the childproof cap off the bottle. I shook one violet-colored pill into my palm, then almost dropped it down the sink. I grabbed the glass of water and knelt on the hard tile beside Noah.

“Here.” I pressed the pill to his lips. His mouth fell open weakly, taking in the Azapram. I cupped the back of his head with one hand and held the glass to his mouth. “Now water. Swallow…”

He drank, and I watched him swallow the pill, breathing a sigh of relief and praying he wouldn’t throw it up at the same time.

“How long does it take to work?” I asked, trying to keep the panic from my voice.

“I don’t know…” he said from between clenched teeth, his face drawn with agony. “Ah, Christ!” He slammed his head back, over and over on the wooden cabinet, like a horrible metronome keeping time to the pulsing pain in his brain.

“No, no, this isn’t right,” I said, my hands twisting. “I’m going to call an ambulance…”

“No!” He grasped at empty air. “No, please…Don’t leave.”

“But Noah…”

“It’ll pass.”

“How do you know? Has it ever been this bad?”

“Yes. In the beginning. Please…don’t leave me.”

I bit my lip, unsure, but one look at Noah’s face and I nodded quickly. “Of course not. I won’t leave you. I won’t. I’m here.”

I scooted close and pulled him toward me, to cradle his head against my chest. I understood that the banging wasn’t self-harm, but to distract himself from the pain. I rocked him instead and stroked his head that was damp with sweat. I just held him and rocked him, keeping a steady rhythm he could concentrate on, and he clung to me. He wrapped his long arms around me and hung on, and we waited for the medication to do its job.

After twenty minutes that felt like hours to me—probably longer to Noah—I felt his muscles loosen from their coiled tension, and he took long, deep breaths, as if he were sighing with relief over and over. I couldn’t imagine a pain so strong it made you vomit or want to bang your head.

He released me, and slumped heavily against the cabinets, his gaze cast down.

“Okay, I’m…okay,” he muttered dully. “You can go. I’m a mess. I stink. You…” He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. “You don’t need to see me like this. I’m just going to take a bath and then sleep. Thanks. Thanks again for…helping me.”

“I’m not leaving you, Noah. You want to take a bath? I’ll help you, but I’m not going to walk out now just so you can slip and fall…” I felt tears burn in my eyes and blinked them away before he could hear them in my voice.

“Charlotte…”

“I have some lavender bubble bath. Downstairs. It’ll help you relax, but it’s not strong. I promise you won’t smell like a girl or anything.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

I got up and started the bathwater. “Do you like hot? Warm? Somewhere in between? Personally, I like baths so hot I can barely stand it and then I get light-headed when I get out, but that’s just me.” I was conscious that I was babbling like a maniac—Noah’s migraine had scared me more than I’d realized—and took a few steadying breaths myself. “So, um, water temp?”

“Not too hot. I can’t take it.”

I adjusted the faucet and got to my feet. “I’m going to go get the lavender stuff. Don’t get in that water until I come back.”

I hurried down the two flights of stairs, to my bathroom, grabbed the bottle of bubble bath and raced back up. I was out of breath when I got to Noah’s bathroom, which was good because he was at the sink, gargling mouthwash. He had taken off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and the sharp gasp I made at the sight of his chest reflected in the mirror was camouflaged by my wheezing.

He was sculpted in lean muscle—arms, abs, pecs…a simply beautifully masculine body swathed in smooth skin. My heart did some inexplicable stutter, and my body felt warm all over. But I tore my gaze away quickly. Now was absolutely not the time or place to be ogling him like a piece of meat.

“I’m back,” I said, crossing to the huge soaker tub and pouring in a good dollop of lavender soap. Then I went to his side. “You ready?”

He nodded dully. “If you insist.”

“If you want to keep your, um…boxers on, or whatever, that’s fine. Okay?”

“Like it matters,” he muttered and stripped off his athletic pants to reveal boxer-briefs. “What am I going to do about it? You look or you don’t, it’s all the same to me.”

“I’m going to give you your privacy,” I declared. “I swear it.”

His features softened slightly and, with my help, he went to the bathtub, walking slowly, like an old man. At the tub, I held onto him but kept my eyes averted.

“Go ahead.”

He said nothing but removed his underwear, and I kept my promise, keeping him in my sight only enough to ease him into the water where the bubbles covered him to his waist.