She glared at him. “If you –“
He felt as if his lungs were sitting in his throat. “If I what?”
She shook him off and they eyeballed each other for a moment, before Maggie turned her back on him, making for the front door. “Just stay the hell out of it. We’ll sort it out. You’ve done enough.”
He stared after her, fear rapidly obliterating the confusion from moments ago. What the hell was going on? What had her so frightened?
“I’m coming whether you like it or not,” he said, with more courage than he felt.
Three Years Earlier
Callum paced Ally’s kitchen, wrestling with his instincts. It had been two weeks since the overdose. The only way he could get any sleep at night was to move in with her, to keep an eye on her. She hadn’t even argued about it. In fact, she hadn’t said much at all. She had withdrawn into herself, blocking everyone out, including him. Every attempt they had made to reach her, to get her to open up, had so far been met with silent resistance or total apathy.
He and Tom had met with Ally’s new therapist last week, shortly after her discharge from hospital. Doctor Saunders was in her early forties, a brunette with a kind smile and a quiet way about her that they hoped Ally would respond to.
But he was getting impatient. Tom reminded him that this wasn’t going to be a quick fix – it had taken her twelve months to reach this low, she wasn’t going to just bounce back within a few weeks.
Callum glanced at his watch irritably. Oversleeping was one of the danger signs they had been warned to look out for. She usually got up around six, six-thirty. It was now after eight. He picked up the cup of coffee he had prepared for her and walked along the hall to her bedroom.
“Hey, you awake?” he called through the closed door, straining to hear sounds of movement from within.
He opened the door and peered around the corner. Like the image of Jack bending over her still form on that chilly evening a year earlier, he didn’t think he would ever forget finding Ally lying unconscious in her bed in the dark two weeks ago. A chill crawled up his spine as he tried to banish the memory.
She lay on her side, facing away from him. He pulled the curtains back and mid-morning sunshine flooded the room.
“Pills,” she croaked, voice laced with pain.
His heart leapt into his throat and he covered the distance between the window and her bed in seconds, almost dropping the coffee cup on the bedside table. She stared up at him, sweat beading her brow.
“Shit! Why didn’t you call me? Just… hang in there, I’ll be right back!”
He ran out of the bedroom and across the hall to the living room, reaching up onto the top shelf of the bookcase on his tiptoes and grabbing the bottle of painkillers. Sprinting back to her room, he skidded to a halt next to her bed. He fell to his knees, fumbling over the lid of the bottle as he elbowed her wheelchair aside.
“One or two?”
“Two.”
He tipped two pills out into his palm and grabbed the small bottle of water on the bedside table next to her, opening it and discarding the lid. She groaned quietly, her face twisting into a grimace as she reached with trembling fingers to take the pills from him, slipping them on her tongue slowly and taking a sip of water, spilling some on the pillow.
She closed her eyes and he sank back on his heels, anxious for the pain medication to take effect. He smoothed her hair away from her clammy forehead.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I thought you’d just overslept.” He took her hand and she breathed out carefully. “Can I do anything? Do you need anything else?”
She opened her eyes and he could see the pain embedded within them. “Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He squirmed into a more comfortable position on the floor beside her bed. “Just hang in there. The meds will kick in soon.”
The minutes ticked by slowly. She lay perfectly still in the quiet room, eyes closed. The grandfather clock chimed in the hall.
Finally, the pain eased enough to allow her to sit up, and he helped her, carefully lifting her legs over the side of the bed.
“Sorry,” he winced as she took a sharp intake of breath. “Maybe you should just give it a few more minutes?”
“It’s better when I’m up,” she mumbled.
He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed beside her as she held onto the mattress, breathing out through her teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We’re gonna have to rig up some kind of system so this doesn’t happen again.”
“Give me back my meds and it won’t.”
“I can’t do that, not yet.”
Her fingers dug into the mattress. “I’m not a child. I don’t need babysitting.”
Callum fought the nerves that seemed to cloak him, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “I know, and I’m sorry if it feels shitty right now, but it’s for the best. We’re just worried, that’s all.”
They sat beside each other in silence for several long moments. His heart boomed in his ears.