Chapter 136 Gavin's call
Touched by her vulnerability, Martin felt an itch at the tip of his heart and forcefully resisted the urge to embrace her.
He then threw the umbrella to the ground, lifted her in his arms, and forced her into the passenger seat, draping his jacket over her as a gesture of comfort.
"Go ahead and cry, but inside the car," he said firmly as she wept, "it's raining out, don't mistreat your body."
Hearing his concern, Patricia halted her tears, looking at him with wet lashes, appearing as a forlorn rabbit.
Martin felt the tickle in his heart again, fighting the impulse to pull her into his arms, he closed the car door firmly, circled around to the driver's side, and sat down.
Taking a dry towel from the compartment, he tossed it onto her lap.
"Dry yourself off first. We're going home. Everything else can wait until we get there," he said with an authoritative, husky voice.
Patricia, head empty and unable to think clearly, complied blindly.
Earlier, the heartache had numbed her to the cold, but as the realization set in, her body felt like it had been submerged in ice water for days, numb and frozen solid.
It seemed as though Martin could read her mind; he increased the temperature on the car heater, and soon enough warmth filled the car, thawing Patricia's frozen core.
He considerately refrained from probing further, and both remained silent on the drive home. Once there, Martin instructed a servant to fill the bathtub with hot water, then led Patricia directly into the bathroom to soak in a warm bath.
The silent care warmed the depths of Patricia's heart. With the steam clouding around her, she regained her composure somewhat, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, deeply contemplating until a decision was finally reached—
Martin asked the chef to make ginger tea chicken soup for Patricia.
Lacking appetite, she managed only one bowl before declining more. Seeing her in a more stable state, Martin inquired,
"What in the world happened to you today? What did you do this afternoon? And why were you out in the rain alone? Did you run into some trouble? Tell me, maybe I can help."
Patricia shook her head and lied, "I was just feeling a little confused, but now I've thought it through."
Martin scrutinized her, "What was it?"
Again, she shook her head, "It's nothing now; I've resolved it."
His disbelief was palpable, "Really?"
She nodded affirmatively, "Really."
He opportunistically pushed another bowl of soup towards her, "Then have another bowl. It'll warm you up. With winter nearing and you soaked in the rain, you'll catch a cold easily."
She felt drowsy and truly without an appetite, so she gently rejected it, "I don't want any. I'm so tired. I need to sleep."
He didn't press further and, showing concern, he suggested, "Then go on up to bed."
"Okay," Patricia responded, rising too quickly, she felt the room spin, the surroundings doubled and she wobbled before her eyes, increasing her nausea.
Martin, sensing something amiss, asked, "What's wrong? Are you feeling ill?"
Stubbornly, she denied any discomfort. Shaking her head to clear the vertigo, she took unsteady steps towards the stairs.
Despite her attempts to hide it, Martin noticed her distress. He was about to text Alan to have him investigate Patricia's afternoon movements when a loud noise echoed from ahead.
A thunderous "boom..." interrupted by the servants' alarmed cries.
"Sir, terrible news, Miss Watson has collapsed..."
Martin's heart skipped a beat, dropping the phone to rush over. He scooped up Patricia, commanding the servants as he hurried upstairs, "Get the doctor here immediately..."
Settling Patricia in the master bedroom, his hand brushed her nape, sensing an abnormal warmth, he touched her forehead, meeting the searing heat of a fever that inflamed his suppressed fury.
"You have a fever? How is it that at your age you can't even tell when you're sick?" he snapped.
Unfortunately, Patricia was already delirious from the fever, her eyes tightly shut, and her cherry-red lips parted, murmuring in pain intermittently.
Seeing her so careless about her own health, Martin felt a pang in his chest as if it were about to split open, his eyes, aflame with worry, wishing fervently he could just devour her and bend her to his will.
Though angry, he resignedly fetched a damp towel from the bathroom and laid it on her forehead. Soon after, Dr. Hayes arrived.
He checked Patricia’s temperature at first—it was a high fever of 39 degrees Celsius. Fearing the fever might cause her to become delirious, he immediately hooked her up to IV medication to bring the fever down and then ran a series of tests.
The final diagnosis was a cold invasion, an acute common cold. Hearing this, Martin was too upset for words, wishing he could give a thorough reprimand to this woman who didn’t know how to cherish herself.
Seeing his worry, Dr. Hayes reassured him,
“Don’t worry, a cold comes fast but leaves just as quickly. The most important thing is to keep warm. Besides taking the medicine I’ve prescribed, drink plenty of hot tea to expel the cold.”
Taking the doctor's advice, Martin immediately turned the heating up to maximum temperature. The doctor closed the window, leaving only a small crack open for airflow while maintaining the room’s warmth.
“She also has a wound on the back of her head, could you take a look at that too? It’s not serious, is it? No risk of an infection?” Martin asked.
Dr. Hayes carefully examined the wound, ensured there was no infection, then disinfected it, reapplied medication, and properly bandaged it up. After the IV, Patricia's fever quickly subsided.
Fearing she might have special conditions overnight, Martin settled Dr. Hayes in the guest bedroom next door while he himself kept vigil by her bedside.
The first half of the night passed uneventfully. Patricia, now fever-free, slept peacefully. In the later hours, her temperature rose again.
Her small body curled beneath the blankets, shivering fiercely, her lips unconsciously murmuring, "Cold... so cold..."
Martin immediately checked her temperature. 38 degrees. The fever wasn't high enough for more medication. Seeing her shivering uncontrollably, his heart ached unbearably.
After a moment of thought, he lifted the blankets and lay down, letting Patricia rest her head on his arm while his strong arms encircled her waist tightly, holding her close.
The moment their bodies touched, Patricia, as if finding a furnace, kept burrowing into Martin’s embrace like a docile kitten, nestling close to him.
They lay together, fitting perfectly as though they were melding into one. Close enough to hear each other's breath and heartbeat clearly.
The soft touch in his embrace, as light as a feather brushing over his heart, made Martin go soft and his arms instinctively tightened, cradling the world’s most precious treasure.
Perhaps too tightly, for the woman in his arms let out a muffled protest. He immediately relaxed his hold. Patricia, content in her slumber, turned up the corners of her mouth and snuggled closer.
The sweet scent of Patricia filled his nostrils. Martin's heart was about to melt, soft as a sponge, full and brimming, as if about to overflow. He couldn’t help but plant a kiss on her forehead.
With Martin's body warmth, Patricia finally settled into a deep sleep that lasted until dawn.
The next day...
Early in the morning, the serene room was interrupted by a series of phone rings, waking the two sleepers.
Patricia, not realizing the intimate pose with Martin, reached out half-asleep for the phone with her eyes closed as she answered the call, and pressed the phone to her ear.
"Hello?"
A roar came from the other end, "Now, immediately, come back right now!"
Patricia's drowsiness vanished instantly as she opened her eyes wide—it was her father Gavin.
Debbie had just had trouble, and his call followed. Without guessing, she knew his intentions. He wanted her to return, doubtlessly having something to do with Debbie’s issue
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