Did he believe her that she loved him? That she would stay? He knew she was his angel. She believed she loved him. But how long could a woman face his kind of monster and love him through it? Fuck it. He was going to believe the fairy tale because he had to. He needed her desperately just to breathe.
“All right, baby. Tell me what you want right now.”
She caught the handle to the door of the truck, shoving, and pressed a little desperately. “I think the pain pill made me sick, Savage, just like alcohol. I’m going to throw up. I can’t get out of the sleeping bag. You’re going to have to forget all about sex and help me.”
Then his woman was puking her guts out, just as she had when she’d had a couple of drinks. He was out of the truck and around the hood to pull her out of the cab and help her so she wasn’t trapped in the bag. He got her to the side of the road, away from any prying eyes. Eventually, he texted Steele and then Preacher. Preacher texted Hannah Drake Harrington in the hopes of having something to help by the time Savage got Seychelle back to their home.
“We’ve got company, baby,” Savage said. “A whole slew of company. I’m going to fire up the grill. Looks like they’ll be staying for dinner, since they invited themselves right at the dinner hour.”
Doris Fendris pushed her way right past Savage and marched out onto the large octagon-shaped deck that was a little more secluded than the front deck. The solid redwood deck with its firepit and carved railing overlooked the ocean, jutting out closer to the ravine and bluffs. Thankfully, there were several chairs, as behind Doris came Inez; Eden Ravard; Marie Darden, another close friend; and even more women.
“Don’t worry, Savage, we brought drinks,” Doris called out as she bent to kiss Seychelle on the cheek. “Don’t get up, dear. Hannah told us you were sick. Something about an allergic reaction to a pain pill. That’s so terrible.”
“She can’t drink worth shit either, Doris,” Savage announced. “She’s allergic to alcohol as well, so don’t offer her a drink, even if she begs. She thinks she can drink one of those ridiculous frou-frou drinks you’re always making.” He winked at Seychelle, brushed the top of her head with a kiss and gave Doris his stone face.
Doris sputtered, looking outraged. “Frou-frou drinks?” she echoed.
“Is that true, Seychelle?” Eden asked. She laid a hand on Seychelle’s wrist. “How awful for you to be allergic to alcohol.”
“We don’t know for certain that I’m allergic to alcohol,” Seychelle said. “I’ve only tried it a couple of times. Both times I was horribly sick. Maybe I just haven’t built up a tolerance.”
Her phone began to play “Wrong Side of Heaven” by Five Finger Death Punch. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced down. You looking to get in trouble at your own party? You are not drinking tonight. Bog, you make me crazy sometimes.
Seychelle did her best to smother the laughter and sent him a series of laughing emojis interspersed with cocktail glasses.
“I don’t make frou-frou drinks, Savage,” Doris declared indignantly, following Savage across the deck to the barbecue, where he was pulling off the cover and opening the lid.
“Doris. They’re pink. You make pink, girly drinks and you know it. Just own that shit.” Savage ran a large wire brush over the grill a few times.
Seychelle’s phone vibrated this time because she had the good sense not to let it blare at her every few seconds. There were hand-spanking-the-bare-butt emojis, half a dozen of them running across her screen. She glanced up at him to see him diligently working on the grill. How did he do that?
“Where do you want the side dishes, Savage?” Rebecca Jetspun asked.
“And the plates,” Ava Chutney added. The two women had followed Doris and the others onto the deck and were asking Savage as he made his way back into the kitchen.
Seychelle swiveled around in her chair. The slider was open to the house. Six women were now on her deck. There were eight chairs out. A sideboard had been placed outside already, and Savage was back, carrying out a platter of steak and chicken that he’d clearly marinated ahead of time.
She stared down at her phone and finally sent him a text. You planned this.
She couldn’t help the way her heart did that little melty thing it did whenever she realized Savage did something completely out of character for him. The women hadn’t just shown up. Savage had invited them.
Sometimes, like now, he made her want to cry. For the last two days, packages had arrived from the Floating Hat. Hannah had delivered all sorts of lotions and creams as well as bath products in person the first two days they’d been home, and a variety of organic drinks and powders she had come up with to try to help Seychelle feel better.