by J. L. Perry
“Are you sick again?” he asks. I can tell, just by the look on his face, that he is worried.
“I am fine,” I reply in between throwing up.
“Bullshit, Brooke,” he snaps. “You are hugging the toilet bowl, for fuck’s sake. Don’t tell me you are fine.”
He lets go of my hair that he is holding, grabs a cloth, and rinses it under warm water. I sit back so he can wipe my face. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Once I am all cleaned up, Logan picks me up and carries me back to bed. “Stay there,” he orders “I am going to call the front desk and see if they have a doctor on hand.”
I grab his arm. “I am fine now,” I say. “Honestly. I just want to get up and have some breakfast with you.” He looks at me. I can tell he is having an inner battle with himself.
“Okay,” he eventually says with a sigh. “But if you start feeling sick again, I won’t hesitate to take you to a doctor.”
I get out of bed and make my way to the table. When I smell the food, I can already feel the nausea settling in. I look at Logan and fake a smile. I am going to eat something and keep it down even if it kills me.
As I sit down, I try not to look at the bacon. I put some fruit on my plate before picking up a small piece and putting it in my mouth. I can feel Logan’s eyes on me, but I try not to look at him as I slowly chew it.
See, I can do this.
“Are you sure you are okay, baby?” he asks. “You are awfully pale.”
I look at him and smile. “I am fine,” I reply with another fake smile. “Stop worrying.”
Shit! I made the mistake of looking down at the food on Logan’s plate. As soon as I see the bacon and the scrambled eggs, I lose it. I quickly get up from the table and run to the bathroom. Before I even reach the toilet, I can feel Logan behind me.
“Don’t tell me you are fine, Brooke,” he snaps. “It’s quite fucking obvious that you are not. I am calling for a doctor when you’re done.” He stays with me and holds my hair out of my face whilst rubbing my back. When I am finished, he washes my face with the cloth again. As he brushes my hair off my face, I can see worry in his eyes. He scoops me into his arms and carries me back to bed.
“I am calling for a doctor,” he says, kissing my nose.
Once Logan ends the call he stretches out next to me while we wait for the doctor to arrive. About thirty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Logan gets up to let him in.
After the doctor gives me a quick examination, he says, “You probably ate something that didn’t agree with you, or maybe you have a virus.” The doctor then tells me to rest and drink plenty of fluids. Logan shows him out, but I can tell he isn’t happy with what the doctor just said.
“We have eaten the same things,” he says as soon as he closes the door. “If it was something you ate, I would be sick, too.” He picks up the phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I am booking a flight to take us back to Australia,” he explains. “I am not having my wife get sick in a foreign country.”
I get out of bed and walk over to him, taking the phone out of his hand. “We are not going back to Australia,” I snap. “This is our honeymoon. I will be fine.” I can tell he wants to say something but, thankfully, he doesn’t.
Logan picks me up and carries me back to bed before lying down beside me and pulling me into his arms. “I will let it go…for now,” he says. “But if you get sick again, we are on the first plane out of here.”
I kiss his chest. “Thank you for caring, but you are overreacting. I am okay.”
He kisses my head. “I am going to get you something to drink,” he says. “Then I will come and lie down with you.”
I held onto him. “Please don’t fuss,” I plead. “Just stay here with me.”
“Not until you have some fluids,” he says sternly. “You heard what the doctor said.” I roll my eyes at him again, but I let him get up.
He sits on the side of the bed with a glass of juice and holds it out to me. I sigh before sitting up so I can take a sip.
“That’s enough,” I say, pushing the glass away. He obviously doesn’t agree because he shoves the glass back in my face. I roll my eyes and take another sip.
“Stop rolling your eyes at me,” he growls.
I just smile at him. “I’m sorry,” I reply. “You just fuss over me like a mother hen and I am not used to that.”
He puts the glass down on the bedside table and starts to tickle me. “I am a mother hen now, am I?” he chuckles.
I laugh and fall back down onto the bed. “Yes, you are,” I giggle. “But a very sexy one.”
He brushes his lips softly against mine. “A sexy one?” he says, looking down at me with a smile on his face.
“Yes, very sexy,” I reply with a laugh. I pull him down on top of me. “Good enough to eat sexy.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” he exclaims, pulling himself away from me. “As much as I want to make love to you right now, I’m not going to. You are sick and you need to rest.” I pout at him. “Don’t give me that lip or those big puppy dog eyes. You know I can’t resist them.”
“That’s the whole point,” I reply sarcastically.
“Lie down and get some rest, baby. If you are feeling better later, we can make love.”
I pick up one the pillows off the bed and hit him in the head with it. “You are such a party pooper,” I whine.
He laughs. “I have been called a lot of things in my time,” he says with a smile. “But that is the first time I have ever been called a party pooper.” He smacks me on the arse and tells me to rest.
Thankfully, he lays down with me and we sleep for a few hours.
I am feeling a lot better when I get up. “Let’s go somewhere. We are in Rome. I don’t want to be stuck in the hotel all day.”
“If you are feeling up to it, we’ll go for a drive.” Yay! We shower and dress before heading out.
CHAPTE
R THREE
Logan
As we drive around Rome, I reach over and grab hold of Brooke’s hand. I love being with her like this, and I don’t want our honeymoon to ever end.
She looks so beautiful just sitting there watching the city roll past, even though she is still a bit pale. I am worried about her because not only has she been vomiting, she appears to be lethargic and is sleeping a lot, which is unusual for her. The fact that she always tells me she is fine pisses me off because I know she isn’t.
I’m sure she only does it so I don’t worry, but she doesn’t realise I’ll worry anyway. I love this woman with every fibre of my being. If anything ever happens to her, it will kill me. She is my life, and I just want to take care of her.
Eventually, we stop and park the car. I want to get Brooke something to eat because she didn’t eat any breakfast. After walking around to open her door, I reach out my hand to help her out of the car. We walk around for a while before finding a nice restaurant.
“What do you feel like, baby?” I ask after we had been shown to our table. Brooke screws her cute little nose up, making me smile.
“Something light,” she replies.
“Are you still feeling sick?” I ask in a concerned tone.
“I am fine. I just don’t want to take any chances, that’s all.”
Brooke ends up ordering a salad and some bread. It isn’t much, but I will be happy if she can keep it down. After lunch, we walk around Rome, doing all the touristy things. Of course, my little photographer snaps away the whole time. She has taken so many photos since we arrived in Italy that I don’t think it will be possible to forget one second of our holiday.
Late in the afternoon, I ask if she wants to head back to the hotel. I don’t want her to overdo it, but I don’t say that to her, either. I know how much she hates me fussing over her.
Once we are back in our room, we lay on the lounge together and talk. The colour in her face has come back, and I am so relieved. We decide to eat dinner downstairs in the hot
el restaurant. We have done a lot of walking today, so I want her to take it easy.
After dinner, we go back to our room. Brooke lays on the bed. “Baby, I’m going to check my emails really quick, then I’ll come and join you.” She nods weakly as I head out of the bedroom. I am only on the laptop for twenty minutes, but when I get back to the bedroom, Brooke is sound asleep.
I undress and climb in beside her. She doesn’t even flinch when I pull her into my arms. All that walking today must have worn her out. Again, I find myself worrying about her.
I wake early and Brooke is still asleep. After brushing my teeth and throwing on some pants, I order breakfast. Today, I want her to eat something substantial. Once breakfast is brought to our room, I go into the bedroom to wake her up. She smiles at me with her sleepy little face, which I adore. I kiss her softly on the lips and ask her to come and eat.
She picks up the t-shirt I’d been wearing yesterday and puts it on. There is something really sexy about her wearing my clothes. She follows me out into the main room, and I pull out her chair so she can sit down.
After taking my seat opposite her, I notice she has a funny look on her face as she looks at all the food on the table. “Are you alright, Brooke?” She nods her head and smiles. I pick up her plate and start to dish out some food for her. Again, she smiles at me when I pass it to her, but she looks worried.
I sit there and watch her for a minute. I have a feeling she isn’t feeling well again, and I wait to see if she eats anything. She picks up her fork and moves the food around on her plate, but doesn’t put anything in her mouth.
“Are you going to eat, baby?” I ask with a raised eyebrow, and she puts some food in her mouth. I watch her chew it, but it looks like she was struggling to swallow it.
She looks over at me again and smiles, but I can tell it is forced. I just sit there and watch her. Nervously, she keeps looking over at me. She puts some more food on her fork and puts it up to her mouth. As she chews it, the colour drains from her face.
She quickly gets up from the table and runs to the bathroom, her hand over her mouth, with me two steps behind her. I’d been right about her not feeling well. God, I wish she wasn’t so stubborn!
Brooke runs straight to the toilet before falling to her knees and vomiting again. I reach down and hold her hair, rubbing her back. I hate seeing her so sick.
“I am booking us a flight back to Sydney today, whether you like it or not! You are sick, Brooke, and I want to take you home so I can get you checked out.” I am surprised she doesn’t argue with me. She just nods.
After washing her face with a warm cloth, I run her a bath and lift her in. I tell her I need to make a few calls, and then I’ll join her. She is awfully quiet and just nods in response. That worries me. She is obviously sicker than she is letting on.
I call Claire and ask her to make all the arrangements because I don’t want to be stuck on the phone. Brooke needs me, and I want to keep an eye on her.
Claire says she will call me back with the details. I walk back into the bathroom and my heart drops when I see her. She is out of the bath with a towel wrapped around her, her head back in the toilet again.
“Oh, baby,” I say in a concerned tone, kneeling down beside her and stroking her hair.
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “I feel like shit,” she whispers.
When she is done, I carry her back to the bath and get in behind her. She lay back on my chest and I put my arms around her waist. “Claire is going to make all the arrangements and call me back with the details,” I explain.
“I’m sorry I have ruined our trip,” she replies with a sniffle.
“Oh, baby. You haven’t ruined anything. I just want to get you back home so we can make you better. We can come back when you are feeling well again, okay?” I kiss the top her head before reaching for the body wash so I can wash her.
After drying her off, I put her back in bed. Picking up the phone next to our bed, I call room service, ordering her some soup. She needs to eat something.
While I’m waiting for the soup to arrive, Claire calls me back to say she got us on a flight today, but not until late this afternoon. After thanking her, I ask her to email me the details.
When I walk back into the room to check on Brooke, she is sound asleep. I call room service again and ask if they can send the soup up in an hour. I just sit on the side of the bed and watch her sleep. I am so worried. I hope that whatever is wrong with her isn’t something serious.
When the soup arrives later, I take it back into the bedroom and wake her up. “How are you feeling, baby?”
“A little bit better,” she mumbles.
I climb in beside her and ask her to sit up. “I am going to feed you some soup, then you can go back to sleep.”
She smiles at me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now, open up.”
I put some chicken soup into her mouth and she smiles. “It tastes good.”
Brooke eats most of the soup before saying she’s had enough. I am happy with what she ate, and pray that she can keep it down. Kissing her softly, I tell her to lie back down. She doesn’t argue, which is good. I get out of bed and kneel beside her, gently stroking her hair. She looks up at me and smiles. It is killing me to see her like this.
“Thank you for being a wonderful husband,” she whispers, and I smile at her. I continue to stroke her hair as she falls back asleep.
While she is sleeping, I pack up all of our luggage before calling my doctor in Sydney. After I explain what has happened, he tells me to call him when we land and he will fit us straight in.
****
She sleeps on the plane nearly all the way home. Thankfully, she hasn’t been sick again. I call the doctor when we arrive at Sydney Airport, and he advises us to come straight to his office. I call Chris while we are waiting at the baggage claim area and he is waiting for us once we exit the airport. He is happy to see us, but is also concerned about Brooke. Brooke hugs him and I shake his hand before we climb in the back.
When we arrive at the doctor’s, Chris says he will wait for us. We make our way up to the office, and I introduce the doctor to Brooke. He has been my doctor for over twenty years and I trust him with everything. He gives her an examination, then says he wants to do a blood and urine test. After the doctor hands her a little cup, Brooke takes it into the bathroom.
While she is in there, I ask, “Is she going to be okay?”
He smiles at me. “She should be fine. I just want to run a few test, but from what you have both told me, I have my suspicions.”
“What suspicions?” I ask in a panic.
“Let me run the tests first. Then I will discuss everything with you both.” He isn’t giving me much, which pisses me off. Brooke comes back out of the bathroom and hands the doctor her cup.
“I’ll just take some blood,” he explains. “Then I will send it off to the lab.”
“How long will that take?” I ask.
“There is a nice coffee shop downstairs. Go have a cup and come back in an hour. We should have the test results back by then.”
We both thank him and make our way downstairs. Brooke is looking pale again. “I think I’ll just have tea. I don’t think I could stomach coffee right now.”
I grab her hand. “He is a great doctor, Brooke,” I say with confidence. “In an hour, we will know what is wrong, and then he will make you better.” She looks at me and smiles, but I can tell she is worried.
“Talk to me, Brooke.” I squeeze her hand. “Tell me what you are worried about.” She just shakes her head and I notice a tear fall down her cheek.
I reach over and pull her onto my lap. “Don’t cry, baby,” I whisper, wrapping her in my arms. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”
I’m not sure if I am trying to convince her or myself. I just want this hour to hurry the fuck up so we know with what we are dealing. Brooke sips her tea, but doesn’t say much. I don’t even touch my coffee bec
ause I’m sick with worry.
The hour passes quickly enough, and we make our way back upstairs. The doctor takes us straight into his office and asks us to take a seat. I reach over and grab Brooke’s hand. “What is it, doc?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say.
“Well,” he says, “my suspicions were correct. Mrs. Cavanagh, I don’t know if you were planning this, but you are pregnant.” We both look at each other in shock.
“Are you sure?” I croak out.
“Positive. Both the urine and blood tests confirmed it.”
I look back at Brooke and smile. Oh, my god! I am going to be a father.
I am both happy and relieved. I squeeze her hand. She is smiling, too. The doctor asks Brooke when her last period was. “I’m not sure. I am a dancer and run every day, so my periods aren’t very regular.”
All of a sudden, what happened in Melbourne comes flooding back to me, so I explain my concerns to the doctor.
“I was going to ask you to come back in a few weeks for an ultrasound, but under the circumstances, I will do one now,” he said. “You will need to go back into the waiting room and drink a litre of water first.”
Once Brooke drinks her water, the receptionist lets the doctor know we are ready. As she lays down on the bed, I can tell that she is just as worried as I am. After the doctor gets Brooke settled on the examination table, he leaves the room for a few minutes. I bend down and kiss her.
“Everything will be fine, baby,” I say. “You are going to be the best mother.” She squeezes my hand, and I brush the side of her face with the fingers of my other hand.
When the doctor comes back into the room, he is wheeling what I presume to be the ultrasound machine. He asks Brooke to pull up her dress before he squeezes some kind of jelly substance on her stomach. He rubs the wand over her stomach and tells us both to watch the screen.
“There we go,” he says, pointing to something. “That is the baby there.” I don’t know what he’s looking at because I can’t see anything. “By the size of the foetus, I would say you are about nine weeks along.” Seeing my perplexed look, he says that at this stage in Brooke’s pregnancy, the baby isn’t much bigger than a jellybean. He points to something. “If you look closely, you can just make out the tiny heart beating.”