Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Justin Keller,” Justin grouses, eyeing me through narrow slits. “You look better.”
“I’m good, Justin. Great.”
Another hit of guilt slithers through me. Apparently, my ploy to fool people over my dad’s condition was transparent.
The words are barely out when my stomach churns. I know what’s coming and hope I can make a swift exit before totally mortifying myself and causing a chain reaction.
Justin may be a big, strong, unshakable force of man, but the mention or sight of someone getting sick immediately sends him hurling.
“Excuse me.” I lift off Major’s lap and stand, swaying at the onset of lightheadedness.
He grabs my hips to help steady me, his eyes a cloud of concern. “Baby?”
“I need to use the restroom.”
The first few steps are shaky, but luckily, the guys are too wrapped up in the upcoming hockey game to notice. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my mom’s intuitive glare and my stomach pangs for a different reason.
Dizziness hits when I get to my bathroom and sink to my knees.
Please let this be quick, I beg my body.
All the signs begin. The stomach rolling increases, saliva fills my mouth, my face and neck flush, and my hands get clammy. I wait and wait, but nothing happens.
“Okay, gumdrop, make this easy on me. My family will get suspicious if I spend the night hugging the toilet.”
“Let them get suspicious.” A cold cloth presses to my neck, and I moan in appreciation.
“Major, please leave.”
He crouches behind me, sweeping my ponytail to the side, and places his lips to my ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“This will not be pretty. It’s bad enough you witnessed it a few weeks ago with food poisoning.”
“We should acknowledge you weren’t sick because of cream cheese.”
That does it. The mention of the cream cheese sends a sensory message to my brain, and it’s as if the taste bursts inside my mouth.
I lurch, emptying my stomach until I’m trembling. All the while, Major stays at my back, caressing my neck.
What a disaster.
We haven’t had one minute alone since he arrived. I played off our scene in the barn as an emotional overreaction to everything bearing down the last two weeks and hormones. Luckily, my brothers were too horrified to push the issue. Once I formally introduced them to Major, they haven’t left us alone. The few times I tried to pull Major aside, my whole family interjected.
I do not know how he found out about the baby or what his true thoughts are. He obviously found out about Darla’s confrontation, and the rage on his face put the fear of God in me, so I thought it best to drop it.
But now, here we are, my family in the other room getting ready to settle into a night of beer and hockey. All the while, I’m in the bathroom, sick as a dog while my boyfriend comforts me.
A fucking disaster.
“That’s probably it,” I croak, reaching for the bottle of water I’ve learned to keep on the closest shelf.
“How often does this happen?”
“Occasionally, but tonight is my fault. I know better than to eat such rich food.”
“Baby, you’re practically skin and bones, which makes me wonder if you’re eating any food.”
“I eat, but I’ve learned to graze in small portions.”
“How often do you get sick?” His question is soft but laced with impatience.
“Once or twice a day.”
“Jesus, Jewls. No wonder you’re a skeleton. We need to get you to the ER.”
“No, we don’t. I communicate with my doctor’s office daily. Everything is normal.”
“This can’t be normal.”
“Some women suffer morning sickness, while others are lucky enough to skate by with nothing. I, unfortunately, got morning, noon, and night sickness. There’s no telling when it will hit.”
“I’d like to hear it from a doctor.”
“I have an appointment in two weeks.”
His body tenses and his mouth comes back to my ear. “We have an appointment, Julianna. There will be no more lone wolf. You’re carrying my baby, and I’m not missing another thing. I’m already pissed I wasn’t with you to find out. Don’t test me on this.”
Tears cloud my vision and my heart splinters. “I knew you’d resent me.”
In a flash, I’m twisted and in his lap, his hands framing my face. I cry harder at the beautiful blue orbs staring back at me.
“I don’t resent you, baby. I’m pissed I missed it. This is my first baby with you, and I want to experience all of it. Even if it’s waiting with you while you pee on a stick or in a cup. That’s mine, too. Holding your hair, wetting a cloth, rubbing your back while you vomit—you may think it’s gross, but there is nowhere I’d rather be than with you.”
More tears fall, but I’m able to scrunch my nose. “That is nasty.”
“Yeah, it is, but it’s happening because of our child, and I need to learn what helps you through it.”