Page 118 of Dare To Love Me
LUCA
Scooping an unconscious Becka into my arms I stood stunned for a moment. Looking down at her beat-red, wet face hurt my eyes. She looked so fragile and broken.
Her grandmother is dead.She had been so exited for the trip to see her grandmother, now she would be attending her funeral.
The loss was something I could relate to. Losing my parents felt the same way. The pain would stay with her for a long time and I wished I could take it all on myself. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. All I could do was be there for her.
Carefully I carried her into the foyer, her head lulled back with her dark waterfall of hair swaying, arms dangling out at her sides. Steven waited there for me. When he looked at Becka passed out in my arms he flushed with regret and dipped his head, settling his hands on his hips.
“Boss, I’m sorry. I should have called earlier. She was just so adamant that I…”
“It’s ok Steven. Go home. I won’t be leaving the rest of the evening. Call Matteo and inform him I won’t be back in tonight.”
Steven pinched the bridge of his nose with exhaustion, looking a bit confused he’d gotten off so easy. He gave me a nod and headed for the door, setting the alarm system on his way out.
Becka’s breathing sounded far too shallow for my liking. I began to wonder how much alcohol she’d consumed. I certainly hadn’t been able to get a good enough look at the bottle while it hurtled toward my face. I gently laid her in bed and checked her pulse; strong and steady. After tugging off her jeans and rolling her onto her side I tucked her in, placing a light kiss to her temple.
Then I headed for the bathroom. The night had beat me down lower than dirt. I needed a shower, hoping to dispel enough of the day’s trauma so I could get some moderate sleep. I was going to need it for the days to come.
* * *
Becka woke with the worst hangover I’ve ever witnessed. From the moment her eyes opened she curled around the toilet and didn’t move. I hovered— much to her protest— doing anything I could think of to help.
When she tried to lock me out of the bathroom, saying she didn’t want me to see her like that, I broke that door in as well. Nova was there, bringing water, crackers, and dry cereal for Becka to try and keep down. Nothing helped. Becka couldn’t take a sip of water without throwing it back up.
I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I’d only ever taken care of myself, this was uncharted territory.
My insides twisted every time she got sick. It made me feel utterly helpless and useless that I couldn’t make her better. Physically and emotionally.
After a few hours of no improvement I called the doctor we kept on staff for house calls. He entered the bathroom just as I placed a towel over her shivering half naked form.
“Wha… what is that?” Becka croaked, eyeing the syringe in the doc’s hand.
“It’s for nausea. It will help,” I answered encouragingly.
She didn’t even flinch when he lifted the towel and poked the needle into her left butt cheek.
“It should take about twenty to thirty minutes to fully take effect,” the doctor said as he stood to leave. “Then she will need lots of fluids. She is already on the edge of severe dehydration.” He handed me a pack of pills. “Have her take this these every eight hours to keep the nausea away.”
“Thanks doc,” I shook his hand before he left.
The thirty minutes passed by agonizingly slow. It was easy to see when the drug started taking effect. The sorrow crawled across her face, her body curled into the fetal position all over again, crying. It was obvious without the hangover consuming her mind Becka was remembering why she’d tried to— what I assumed at this point— down a whole bottle of whiskey in the first place.
When I felt sure she wasn’t going to vomit again I drew a bath and sat at the edge of the tub. I poured water over her shoulders while she stared silent and unfocused at the soapy water. Anyone could see Becka was down to nothing but broken pieces inside. My heart cracked a little more every time I stared at her dejected state.
“Becka, look at me,” I asked gently.
Nothing. Not even a twitch. Dead eyes stared into the rippling water.
I cupped her chin, tipping her gaze up so she had to meet my eyes. “It will fade Becka. The pain will lessen in time.”
“Promise?”
I palmed the side of her face. Becka leaned into it, closing her eyes as she brushed her face against my hand. I used my thumb to wipe away her tears. “I promise, sweetheart. It will hurt for a while, but it will fade.”
She nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know anything about planning a funeral.” Fresh tears hit my palm.
“I’ll help you.” Unfortunately, I had plenty of first-hand knowledge about funerals. When men died who had no other family, it usually fell on me to make some sort of funeral arrangement.