“Are you hungry?” she asks after a few minutes, and I smile, sifting my fingers through the hair at the side of her head.
“Are you asking because you’re hungry?”
“I’m not really hungry, but all I had to eat today was an orange at the airport. I need to eat something so I can take my pills,” she says, and I instantly pull out of her then roll off the bed, dragging her with me as I go.
“Sage…?”
“Come on. Let’s get you some food. Are your pills in your purse or your luggage?” I question, starting to leave the room, and she latches onto my arm, holding me in place.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay,” I growl, picking up my shirt from the floor, attempting to put it over her head, only to have her bat my hands away. She takes a step back and plants her hands on her hips.
“I’ve been dealing with this for a long time and know what I need to do to take care of myself. So please, don’t start going all weird on me. I don’t need that or want it.”
“Baby—”
“No, don’t ‘baby’ me, Sage Mayson. I need you to hear me when I tell you this. I’m okay, and the minute I stop being okay, I’ll tell you.”
“Will you?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, and her body jolts back and her eyes fill with anger and frustration. Fuck.
“You….” She pulls her eyes from me then jerks her hand through her hair while looking around. Spotting whatever it is she’s looking for, she moves across the room and picks up her shirt. She starts to put it on, but I grab her around her waist from behind before she can.
“Let me go.”
“Never.” My hold on her tightens as I lead her across the room to the bed and fall into it with her in my arms.
“Sage!”
“I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” She wiggles, trying to break my hold.
“I’m sorry, baby, but I have no fucking idea how bad this is or what you need from me.”
“I need you to let me go,” she growls, trying to pull free.
“Anything but that. Now talk to me,” I prompt, turning her in my arms to face me. As soon as we’re front-to-front, I tighten my arms around her and toss my leg over both of hers.
“You are so annoying!” she screams, trying to shove free, but I don’t let go or loosen up.
“Talk to me,” I demand, giving her a shake, and her eyes fly up to meet mine then narrow, showing just how pissed off she is.
“If I were bigger, I swear to God I would kick you in your balls.”
“Then you’d be kissing them better, baby, so it’s a good thing you’re not bigger,” I mutter, and she glares.
“Put your balls near my mouth and I’m biting them off.” She snaps her teeth together.
I try not to laugh, but I still feel a smile twitch my lips. I’ve never seen her like this, and it’s both adorable and hot as fuck. Not the part about biting off my balls, but the rest. “Talk to me.”
“Fine,” she pants, narrowing her eyes on me when she realizes she’s stuck. “My kidney disease is at a stage three right now. I still have about fifty-eight percent function in my kidneys, which isn’t great, but since I got a new doctor and started my new diet, my function has improved. The last time I went in for lab work, my numbers were even better, putting me at a functioning rate of sixty-one percent.”
Her body slowly starts to relax against mine as she continues. “For a while, I wasn’t doing so well because of stress and my diet, but I’m better. I will never be one hundred percent. There is no cure for what I have, but right now, I’m all right. And I will keep fighting and working at being all right. If my numbers start to go down again, I will get on a transplant list and go from there.”
“How did it happen?” I ask, and she closes her eyes briefly.
“The doctors think that it was my biological mom’s drug use that was the cause of it. She was addicted to crack when she got pregnant with me and Kelly, and didn’t stop using until the day she gave birth to us.”
“What the fuck?”
“She was an addict,” she whispers, dropping her eyes from mine. “Kelly and I were both addicted when we were born. We had to stay in the hospital for three weeks after we were delivered while we were both carefully monitored and weaned off the drugs the hospital gave us so that we didn’t suffer from withdrawals.”
“And they let your birth mom keep Kelly?”
“The system is messed up,” she replies quietly, tipping her head back to look at me. “She told the doctors and the social workers that she wanted to change and they believed her, so they set up my adoption and got her the help she needed in order for her to take Kelly home with her. My parents were there for the three weeks I was in the hospital. They said after she made the decision to give me up, she never saw me again.”