Rogue Beast (The Rourkes #12) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,71

door. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she says. More retching.

I grimace. See? Fine is never fine.

I hear the toilet flush and then water running. She opens the door, her skin chalk white, her eyes glassy. “I might have food poisoning. That manicotti.”

“I had the manicotti too, and I feel fine.”

She pats my arm and brushes by me. “Going to bed.”

I follow her, going back to what I was about to say. “Tonight was special—”

“Oh God.” She races by me on her way to the bathroom, slamming the door, locking it, and turning on the fan.

This is concerning. What if she passes out in there? Would she even let me help her? The lock looks like one of those pinhole kind. I could open it with a piece of wire or a paperclip if I had to.

“Call out if you need me,” I say through the door.

“Please go away. In fact, go home. I don’t need any witnesses. It’s going to get ugly.”

“I can take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m staying.”

Silence.

I head back to bed. But I don’t sleep. I listen for her collapse or her calling out to me. Maybe she’ll just stumble out and come back to bed.

Finally, after a quick doze, I wake at three a.m. and knock on the bathroom door. No response.

I search for something to jimmy the lock open. I find a paperclip on a script sitting on top of her dresser. That’ll do. I straighten it, pop the lock, and slowly open the door.

She’s asleep on the floor in front of the toilet on a large bath towel. Poor thing.

I scoop her up, and she moans in her sleep. I settle her back in bed. Her skin is clammy. I cover her with the blanket and pull a small trash can to her side of the bed in case she needs it.

She’s up again at six, retching into the trash can. She collapses onto the mattress afterward. I get up and take the trash can to empty it in the toilet.

“What are you still doing here?” she croaks when I get back. “If it’s not food poisoning, you’re going to get whatever this is. Some kind of stomach virus.”

“I’m sure if it’s a virus, you already gave it to me.” I set the trash can back in place with a new liner I found under the bathroom sink. It smells like lemon.

She waves me away weakly. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“You’re just sick. Same old Harp.”

“Saint Garrett,” she mumbles before falling asleep.

I pull my phone out and Google what to do for a stomach virus and food poisoning too, just to be safe. Normally I’d get in touch with my mom, but it’s too early to call. Knowing my mom, she’d want to come over and take care of Harper herself. She’s very hands on and doesn’t flinch at the tough stuff. She’s gone through plenty of illnesses, broken bones, and bloody wounds with me and my brothers. Sometimes I think she would’ve made a good emergency room doctor. Nothing fazes her.

The alarm on Harper’s nightstand goes off an hour later, and she jerks awake, sitting up and then moaning. “The room’s spinning.”

I help her lie down again. “You got up too fast.”

She moans. “Turn it off.”

I reach over her and turn off the alarm.

“I have to go to work,” she says.

“You’re sick.”

“No, I’m feeling better.” But she doesn’t move.

“You’re still weak. You were up all night puking up your guts.”

“Not just that. I think I lost ten pounds last night. I need to brush my teeth at least.”

“I’ll help you to the bathroom. Take it nice and slow.”

I walk around to help her slowly move to a sitting position. “Let me know when you’re good. I don’t want you to pass out.”

A few moments later, she says, “I’m good.” I help her stand and walk her to the bathroom. She gets her toothbrush and toothpaste out of the medicine cabinet, but before it even gets to her mouth, she’s retching in the sink.

I hold her hair back and put a hand on her forehead so she doesn’t crash into the faucet.

She finishes and rinses the sink. Then she rinses her mouth.

“You’re not going to work,” I say. “Call in sick.”

“I can’t take a sick day. People depend on me. The cast, the crew, the writers. It’s the read-through.”

I guide her back to bed. “What happens at the read-through?”

“Everyone gathers to read through the script. The crew takes notes on