Page 31 of Saved By A God
Putting my phone away, I grab the central remote Rosie is obsessed with having on her at all times and also shove it into my pocket. Hooking an arm beneath her knees and another around her back, I lift her to my chest.
Her head slumps against my shoulder, and she mumbles something unintelligible.
“You overdid it again,” I snap as I walk to the elevator and ride down to the seventh floor.
“Gonna puke,” she groans, and when she begins to move, I say, “Try to hold it in for a few seconds longer.”
The doors open into her apartment, and I haul ass to the nearest restroom.
Rosie’s body jerks, and just as I set her down on her feet, she loses the contents of her stomach, which are only fluids. Some of it lands on her shirt, and gripping the back of her neck, I position her over the toilet.
Fuck knows when she last ate something. Probably the goddamn carrots yesterday morning.
While I wait for her to stop heaving, anger swirls in my chest.
Knowing she won’t take in anything I say right now, I keep quiet, and once she seems okay, I grab toilet paper and clean her mouth and shirt before I flush the toilet.
“Sorry,” she whispers, swaying a little.
Picking her up again, I head straight to her bedroom and only stop when I put her down in the shower.
“I’ve got it,” she mumbles, and when I don’t move, her bloodshot eyes meet mine. “I’ll be quick.”
“Five minutes, then I’m coming in,” I say, my tone tense with anger because she has once again put everyone before her own fucking health.
I leave the bathroom and pull the door shut behind me. Leaning against it, I rub my hand over my face and let out a tired sigh.
It’s not all Rosie’s fault. No one gives her a moment’s peace. Whenever a request or order comes through from the rest of the family, she has to do it. She carries the entire fucking Cosa Nostra on her shoulders.
Rosie didn’t even finish her fucking haircut yesterday.
I shake my head, very unhappy with how hard she’s pushing herself. Listening to the water running, I rein in my anger.
When the shower switches off, I hear Rosie moving around, then she asks, “Can you pass me a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, please?”
“Okay.” I push away from the door and walk into her closet.
Grabbing the clothes, my eyes touch on her underwear for a split second. The moment the black lace registers, I rush out of her closet. Opening the bathroom door slightly, I push my arm through with the clothes, and once Rosie takes everything, I shut it again.
I don’t have to wait long for her to come out and only point at the bed.
“Yeah-yeah,” she grumbles, but when she drops down on top of the covers, she lets out a tired groan.
Walking closer, I push my arm beneath her and tug the covers out from under her body. After tucking her in, I brace my hands on either side of her head and lock eyes with her.
“You’re going to stay in this bed until I say otherwise. Got it?”
At first, I think her eyes are watering because of the light sensitivity, but then her chin quivers, and I realize she’s crying.
She turns onto her side, and with shaky hands, she grips her pillow.
Feeling like shit, I sit down beside her and rub my hand up and down her back. “I’m just pissed off because you pushed yourself too hard. Again.”
“What about you?” she whispers. “You’re still in the same clothes as yesterday and haven’t been home.”
“I can handle it. You, on the other hand, keep going until you drop. It has to stop, Rosie!”
“Don’t fight with me,” she whimpers, and I feel even shittier.
