Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
The thought of West dying was something I didn’t want to consider. As much as I loved my aunt Coralee, Brady, and even my uncle Boone, West was my family. He was where my home was. Wherever he was, I wanted to be. This child inside of me was a part of him. I already loved it just as fiercely, and no loss or pain would change that.
I sat back on my heels and took a deep breath to make sure I was done before standing up and going over to the sink to wash my mouth out. I stared at my reflection. My face was far too pale, and West was going to notice. Hopefully a hot shower would put some color in my cheeks. I went to the tub and turned on the water. Closing my eyes tightly, I focused on breathing as more nausea waves hit me. This was worse than a stomach virus. Throwing up didn’t even ease it.
I glanced back down at the toilet, wondering if I should stay close to it for a few more minutes, but decided there was nothing else inside of me. I had cleared that out already. Instead I took off my clothing and stepped into the warmth of the running water. It was nice. The sickness didn’t go away, but it was soothed some. Maybe I should stay in here all morning.
Taking my time, I finished washing my hair and then my body. When I was done, I was tempted to stand under the water until it ran cold. But that would be unfair to West and Aunt Coralee if they needed to shower.
With one last blast of the warmth, I turned it off and stepped out to dry off. My nausea was still there, but I did feel clean. Opening the bathroom door, I stepped out to see West standing there staring at me. His arms were crossed over his chest and his jaw clenched tight. It was his angry stance.
It was a rare moment that it was ever directed at me. The last time I got that look from him was because I’d walked back to my apartment alone from class in the dark and not called him to tell him I needed a ride. He’d been furious with me then and we’d fought about it for maybe thirty minutes. Then we’d ended up not making it to the bedroom and made up on the sofa.
This morning I didn’t feel well enough to figure out what had caused this reaction.
“What?” I asked, feeling weak.
He said nothing, but his gaze studied my face and I saw the muscles in his neck flex. I started to demand a reason for this when his eyes dropped to my stomach. The nausea intensified as realization sank in. He had heard me. He knew.
Wrapped in a towel, I walked past him toward the bedroom. I went directly to the closet, where the suitcase lay open. I wasn’t going to talk first. I had imagined many reactions from West when I told him, but this was not one of them.
The bedroom door clicked shut as I picked up a pair of panties.
“I heard you, Maggie.” He stated what I had already figured out.
Turning around, I looked at him. “Okay,” I replied.
“I’m assuming it’s not a stomach virus.”
“Nope,” I said.
“Have you taken a test?”
“Several.”
He let out a deep sigh and ran his hand through his hair. “Were you planning on telling me?”
“Of course. I just wanted it to be after this was over.”
He muttered a curse and walked over to stare out the window. Tears filled my eyes without warning, and I fisted the panties in my hand, trying hard to fight off my need to break down. I would cry about this, but I didn’t want to do it in front of him. The feeling of loneliness weighed down on me, and I turned back toward my closet before the first tears fell.
A sob escaped me, and I let the panties fall back into the suitcase so I could cover my face. There was no stopping the emotions bursting free now.
“Maggie.” West’s voice was softer. The anger that had been in his expression wasn’t echoed in his tone, but I didn’t look back at him.
His arms came around me and pulled me to his chest. That only made the sobbing worse. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I was just taken by surprise. I wasn’t expecting this. I handled it wrong.”
I was trying to stop crying, but it was a battle I wasn’t winning. No matter how hard I tried, more sobs broke free. It was making my nausea worse. We hadn’t talked about kids. We’d talked about where we wanted to live and the places we wanted to visit. We’d shared our dreams, but we’d never talked about kids.